THE BEACON-LIGHT OF LOVE.
Mollie Ainslie had been absent from Red Wing more than a month.
It was nearly midnight. The gibbous moon hung over the western
tree-tops. There was not a sound to be heard in the little hamlet,
but strangely draped figures might have been seen moving about
in the open glades of the piney woods which skirted Red Wing upon
the west.
One after another they stole across the open space between the
church and the pine grove, in its rear, until a half-dozen had
collected in its shadow. One mounted on another's shoulders and
tried one of the windows. It yielded to his touch and he raised
it without difficulty. He entered and another after him. Then two
or three strange-looking packages were handed up to them from the
outside. There was a whispered discussion, and then the parties
within were heard moving cautiously about and a strong benzoic
odor came from the upraised window. Now and then a sharp metallic
clang was heard from within. At length the two that had entered
returned to the window. There was a whispered consultation with
those upon the outside. One of these crept carefully to the corner
and gave a long low whistle. It was answered after a moment's
interval, first from one direction and then from another, until
every part of the little hamlet resounded with short quick answers.
Then the man at the corner of the church crept back and whispered,
"All right!"
One of the parties inside came out upon the window-sill and dropped
lightly to the ground. The other mounted upon the window-sill, and
turned round upon his knees; there was a gleam of light within the
building, a flicker and a hiss, and then with a mighty roar the
flame swept through it as if following the trail of some combustible.
Here and there it surged, down the aisles and over the desks, white
and clear, showing in sharpest silhouette every curve and angle
of building and furniture.
The group at the window stood gazing within for a moment, the light
playing on their faces and making them seem ghastly and pale by
the reflection; then they crept hastily back into the shadow of
the wood--all but one, who, clad in the horribly grotesque habit
of the Ku Klux Klan, stood at the detached bell-tower, and when
the flames burst forth from the windows solemnly tolled the bell
until driven from his post by the heat.
One had hardly time to think, before the massive structure of dried
pitch-pine which northern charity had erected in the foolish hope
of benefiting the freedmen, where the young teachers had labored
with such devotion, and where so many of the despised race had laid
the foundation of a knowledge that they vainly hoped might lift
them up into the perfect light of freedom, was a solid spire of
sheeted flame.
By its ghastly glare, in various parts of the village were to be
seen groups and single armed sentries, clad in black gowns which
fell to their very feet, spire-pointed caps, grotesquely marked and
reaching far above the head, while from the base a flowing masque
depended over the face and fell down upon the shoulders, hiding
all the outlines of the figure.
The little village was taken completely by surprise. It had been
agreed that the ringing of the church bell should be the signal
for assembling at the church with such arms as they had to resist
the Ku Klux. It had not been thought that the danger would be imminent
until about the expiration of the time named in the notice; so
that the watch which had been determined upon had not been strictly
kept, and on this night had been especially lax on one of the roads
leading into the little hamlet.
At the first stroke of the bell all the villagers were awake, and
from half-opened doors and windows they took in the scene which
the light of the moon and the glare of the crackling fire revealed.
Then dusky-skinned forms stole hastily away into the shadows of the
houses and fences, and through the rank-growing corn of the little
truck-patches, to the woods and fields in the rear. There were
some who since the warning had not slept at home at all, but had
occupied little leafy shelters in the bush and half-hid burrows
on the hillside. On the eyes of all these gleamed the blaze of the
burning church, and each one felt, as he had never realized before,
the strength of that mysterious band which was just putting forth
its power to overturn and nullify a system of laws that sought to
clothe an inferior and servile race with the rights and privileges
theretofore exercised solely by the dominant one.
Among those who looked upon this scene was Eliab Hill. Sitting upon
his bench he gazed through the low window of his little cottage, the
flame lighting up his pale face and his eyes distended with terror.
His clasped hands rested on the window-sill and his upturned eyes
evidently sought for strength from heaven to enable him manfully
to perform the part he had declared his determination to enact.
What he saw was this:
A company of masked men seemed to spring out of the ground around
the house of Nimbus, and, at a whistle from one of their number,
began swiftly to close in upon it. There was a quick rush and the
door was burst open. There were screams and blows, angry words,
and protestations within. After a moment a light shot up and died
quickly out again--one of the party had struck a match. Eliab
heard the men cursing Lugena, and ordering her to make up a light
on the hearth. Then there were more blows, and the light shone upon
the window. There were rough inquiries for the owner, and Eliab
thanked God that his faithful friend was far away from the danger
and devastation of that night. He wondered, dully, what would
be his thought when he should return on the morrow, and mark the
destruction wrought in his absence, and tried to paint his rage.
While he thought of these things the neighboring house was ransacked
from top to bottom. He heard the men cursing because their search
was fruitless. They brought out the wife, Lugena, and two of her
children, and coaxed and threatened them without avail. A few blows
were struck, but the wife and children stoutly maintained that the
husband and father was absent, attending his old master's funeral,
at Louisburg. The yellow light of the blazing church shone on
the house, and made fantastic shadows all around. The lurid glare
lighted up their faces and pictured their terror. They were almost
without clothing. Eliab noticed that the hand that clasped Lugena's
black arm below the band of the chemise was white and delicate.
The wife and children were crying and moaning in terror and pain.
Oaths and blows were intermingled with questions in disguised
voices, and gasping broken answers. Blood was running down the
face of the wife. The younger children were screaming in the house.
Children and women were shrieking in every direction as they fled
to the shelter of the surrounding woods. The flame roared and
crackled as it licked the resin from the pine logs of the church
and leaped aloft. It shone upon the glittering needles of the
surrounding pines, lighted up the ripening tobacco on the hillside,
sparkled in the dewy leaves of the honeysuckle which clambered over
the freedman's house and hid the staring moon with its columns of
black smoke.
The search for Nimbus proving unavailing--they scarcely seemed to
expect to find him--they began to inquire of the terror-stricken
woman the whereabouts of his friend.
"Where is 'Liab Hill?" asked the man who held her arm.
"What have you done with that snivelling hop-toad minister?" queried
another.
"Speak, damn you! and see that you tell the truth," said a third,
as he struck her over the bare shoulders with a stick.
"Oh! don't! don't!" shrieked the poor woman as she writhed in agony.
"I'll tell! I will, gentlemens--I will--I will! Oh, my God! don't!
_don't!_" she cried, as she leaped wildly about, tearing
the one garment away in her efforts to avoid the blows which fell
thick and fast on every part of her person, now fully exposed in
the bright light.
"Speak, then!" said the man who held the goad. "Out with it! Tell
where you've hid him!"
"He ain't--here, gentlemen! He--he--don't--stay here no mo'."
Again the blows came thick and fast. She fell upon the ground and
rolled in the dust to avoid them. Her round black limbs glistened
in the yellow light as she writhed from side to side.
"Here I am--here!" came a wild, shrill shriek from Eliab's cabin.
Casting a glance towards it, one of the men saw a blanched and
pallid face pressed against the window and lighted by the blazing
church--the face of him who was wont to minister there to the people
who did not know their own "best friends!"
"There he is!"--"Bring the damn rascal out!"--"He's the one we
want, anyhow!"
These and numerous other shouts of similar character, beat upon
the ears of the terrified watcher, as the crowd of masked marauders
rushed towards the little cabin which had been his home ever since
Red Wing had passed into the possession of its present owner. It
was the first building erected under the new proprietorship, and
was substantially built of pine logs. The one low window and the
door in front were the only openings cut through the solidly-framed
logs. The door was fastened with a heavy wooden bar which reached
across the entire shutter and was held in place by strong iron
staples driven into the heavy door-posts. Above, it was strongly
ceiled, but under the eaves were large openings made by the thick
poles which had been used for rafters. If the owner had been capable
of defense he could hardly have had a castle better adapted for a
desperate and successful struggle than this.
Eliab Hill knew this, and for a moment his face flushed as he saw
the crowd rush towards him, with the vain wish that he might fight
for his life and for his race. He had fully made up his mind to
die at his post. He was not a brave man in one sense of the word.
A cripple never is. Compelled to acknowledge the physical superiority
of others, year after year, he comes at length to regard his own
inferiority as a matter of course, and never thinks of any movement
which partakes of the aggressive. Eliab Hill had procured the
strong bar and heavy staples for his door when first warned by the
Klan, but he had never concocted any scheme of defense. He thought
vaguely, as he saw them coming towards him in the bright moonlight
and in the brighter glow of the burning sanctuary, that with a
good repeating arm he might not only sell his life dearly, but even
repel the attack. It would be a proud thing if he might do so. He
was sorry he had not thought of it before. He remembered the Spencer
carbine which he had given a few days before to Berry Lawson to
clean and repair, and to obtain cartridges of the proper calibre,
in order that it might be used by some one in the defense of Red
Wing. Berry had not yet returned. He had never thought of using it
himself, until that moment when he saw his enemies advancing upon
him with wild cries, and heard the roar of the flaming church. He
was not a hero. On the contrary, he believed himself a coward.
He was brave enough in suffering, but his courage was like that
of a woman. He was able and willing to endure the most terrible
evils, but he did not think of doing brave things or achieving great
acts. His courage was not aggressive. He could be killed, but did
not think of killing. Not that he was averse to taking life in
self-defense, but he had been so long the creature of another's
will in the matter of locomotion that it did not occur to him to
do otherwise than say: "Do with me as thou wilt. I am bound hand
and foot. I cannot fight, but I can die."
He shrank from acute pain with that peculiar terror which the
confirmed invalid always exhibits, perhaps because he realizes its
horror more than those who are usually exempt from its pangs.
As he pressed his face close to the flame-lighted pane, and watched
the group of grotesquely disguised men rushing toward his door,
his eyes were full of wild terror and his face twitched, while
his lips trembled and grew pale under the dark mustache. There was
a rush against the door, but it did not yield. Another and another;
but the heavy bar and strong staples held it fast. Then his name
was called, but he did not answer. Drawing his head quickly from
the window, he closed the heavy wooden shutter, which fitted closely
into the frame on the inside, and fastened it with a bar like that
upon the door. Hardly had he done so when a blow shattered the
window. Something was thrust in and passed around the opening,
trying here and there to force open the shutter, but in vain. Then
it was pressed against the bottom, just where the shutter rested
on the window-sill. There was an instant's silence save that Eliab
Hill heard a click which he thought was caused by the cocking of
a revolver, and threw himself quickly down upon his bench. There
was a sharp explosion, a jarring crash as the ball tore through
the woodwork, and hurtling across the room buried itself in the
opposite wall. Then there were several shots fired at the door. One
man found a little hole in the chinking, between two of the logs,
and putting his revolver through, fired again and again, sending
spits of hot flame and sharp spiteful reverberations through the
darkness of the cabin.
Eliab Hill watched all this with fixed, staring eyes and teeth set,
but did not move or speak. He scrambled off the bench, and crawled,
in his queer tri-pedal fashion, to the cot, crept into it, and with
hands clasped, sat bolt upright on the pillow. He set his back
against the wall, and, facing the door, waited for the end. He
wished that some of the bullets that were fired might pierce his
heart. He even prayed that his doom might come sharp and swift--that
he might be saved from torture--might be spared the lash. He only
feared lest his manhood should fail him in the presence of impending
suffering.
There came a rush against the door with some heavy timber.
He guessed that it was the log from the hitching rack in front of
Nimbus' house. But the strong bar did not yield. They called out
his name again, and assured him that if he did not undo the door
they would fire the house. A strange look of relief, even of joy,
passed over his face as he heard this declaration. He clasped his
hands across his breast as he sat upon the bed, and his lips moved
in prayer. He was not afraid to die, but he was afraid that he might
not be strong enough to endure all the pain that might be caused by
torture, without betraying his suffering or debasing his manhood.
He felt very weak and was glad to know that fire and smoke would
hide his groans and tears.
While he waited for the hissing of the flame the blows of an axe
resounded on the door. It was wielded by stalwart hands, and ere
long the glare from without shone through the double planking.
"Hello, 'Liab--'Liab Hill!" cried a voice at the opening which
seemed to the quiet listener within strangely like that of Sheriff
Gleason. "Damn me, boys, if I don't believe you've killed the nigger,
shooting in there. Hadn't we better just set the cabin afire and
let it burn?"
"Put in your hand and see if you can't lift the bar," said another.
"I'd like to know whether the scoundrel is dead or alive. Besides
that, I don't fancy this burning houses. I don't object to hanging
a sassy nigger, or anything of that kind, but burning a house is
a different matter. That's almost too mean for a white man to do.
It's kind of a nigger business, to my notion."
"For instance!" said another, with a laugh, pointing to the blazing
church.
"Oh, damn it!" said the former, "that's another thing. A damn nigger
school-house ain't of no more account than a brush-pile, anyhow."
A hand was thrust through' the opening and the bar lifted from
one socket and drawn out of the other. Then the door flew open and
a half dozen men rushed into the room. The foremost fell over the
rolling chair which had been left near the door, and the others in
turn fell over him.
"What the hell!" cried one. "Here, bring the light here. What is
this thing anyhow?"
The light was brought, and the voice continued: "Damned if it ain't
the critter's go-cart. Here kick the damn thing out--smash it up!
Such things ain't made for niggers to ride on, anyhow. He won't
need it any more--not after we have got through with him."
"That he won't!" said another, as the invalid's chair which had
first given Eliab Hill power to move himself about was kicked out
of the door and broken into pieces with blows of the axe.
Eliab Hill felt as if a part of his life was already destroyed.
He groaned for the fate of this inseparable companion of all his
independent existence. It had grown dearer to him than he knew.
It hurt him, even then, to hear the coarse, grim jests which were
uttered as its finely-wrought frame cracked beneath the blows of the
axe, and its luxurious belongings were rent and torn by the hands
that would soon rend and tear its owner. He had come to look upon
the insensate machine with a passionate regard. While it seemed
like tearing away his limbs to take it from him, yet there was
a feeling of separate animate existence about it which one never
feels towards his own members. He had petted and polished and cared
for this strong, pretty, and easily worked combination of levers
and springs and wheels that had served him so faithfully, until it
seemed to his fancy like an old and valued friend.