THE SCALLAWAG.
“Get thee gone!
Death and destruction dog thee at the heels.
* * * * *
If thou wilt outstrip death, go cross the seas,
And live with Richard from the reach of hell.
Go, hie thee from this slaughter-house
Lest thou increase the number of the dead.”
—KING RICHARD III.
WHEN Col. Baker ordered Mrs. Marmor to leave her home, she would not
ask shelter in the house of her nearest neighbor—that most Christian
Jew, Dan Lemfield—lest her presence might jeopardise the safety of her
husband; and she stood upon the doorsteps with her infant in her arms,
and little Louie beside her, gazing up and down the street in utter
dismay, and not knowing whither to flee. Only a few steps at her left
was the drill-room, the centre about which all the warlike preparations
were arranged, and every dwelling in the beleaguered square, except her
own and Lemfield’s, was the abode of at least one colored family, and
therefore clearly unsafe.
“Where is my papa? Why don’t he come and go with us, mamma?” asked the
little boy in the piping voice of childish grief.
“Hush, child! Mamma’s glad he is not here. Keep still and maybe the
soldiers won’t hurt us.”
“Will they hurt us maybe, mamma?” The boy now began to wail piteously,
and the babe cried in sympathy.
“Hush, Louie! Mamma will tell you,” said Mrs. Marmor. She sat down
upon the steps, in presence of the armed foe by which the street was
occupied, and, placing her own person in range of any possible shot
that might be aimed at Marmor’s boy, she spoke in low and rapid tones:—
“If you cry, these men will see you; and if you keep still, maybe they
won’t notice, and sister will keep still too. You don’t want little
sister to get hurt. You will be a brave man, like papa, won’t you? Papa
isn’t afraid, and he keeps still.”
Pressing both his little hands over his mouth for an instant, and
choking back one or two great sobs, the child looked up into his
mother’s eyes, smiling through his tears, and repeated—“I cried unto
God with my voice, even unto God with my voice, and he gave ear unto
me. Mamma, there’s Mr. Dan. See! Mamma, see!”
Turning, she saw the Jew at his door, beckoning her with earnest
gesticulation, although beside him stood the burly Rufus Baker. As she
approached, she heard Mr. Lemfield say something about hostages, and
Baker replied with a significant wink and nod.
“We will all die together, if we must,” said the distressed wife and
mother, mentally.
“Co im, Mrs. Marmor. Co im,” said Lemfield. “Don’t sthop out here mit
de leetle kinder. You huspand go vay? Dat ish pad. May pe he’ll come.”
A quick glance at his shrewd face, and she accepted his invitation,
and entered the hospitable door with her little ones.
Dan soon followed, and taking her aside, said hastily, “You must not
tell. You pe like you know not vare de man ist. I tink I co get old
Bob and feed ’im viskey. Ven he trunk he shleeps much, and vants more
viskey. He pe here he not tink you huspand be here; and ve knows he pe
killing no mon. Now you take care.”
Poor Mrs. Marmor took the cue quickly.
Almost immediately after this the first gun fired. The Jew flew to the
front door, and soon returned accompanied by the great bushy-whiskered
negro-hunter, who was much excited.
Mrs. Marmor feigned great uneasiness and anxiety for the safety of
her husband, and could but shudder under the piercing eye of the old
man, while Louie hid behind her chair and peeped out at him with the
fascination of fear.
Their host seemed to forget the presence of his other guests in his
solicitude for Mr. Baker’s comfort.
“You not pe vell I see. Dat ish pad. Vat ish te matter?”
“I’m excited, and I reckon I’ve taken cold. Give me some whiskey,”
replied the hypochondriac. “I’ve sweat too much. The day has been
terribly hot!”
“Ya. Dat ish goot. Col. Paker tole me shut up mine par; but I not open
it to serve you. I shust pring it here, and you trink mit my family.
Vill I make shling? oder toddy?”
“O sling, sling.”
“Alle right. Dat ish goot;” and Dan bustled away to the bar-room and
brought a bottle of strong liquor, from which he soon mixed what he
called “de ferry pest shling eber made in de country,” and with great
show of solicitude presented it to the old man, who gulped it down and
smacked his lips with evident satisfaction.
In common with all mankind Robert Baker had an impressible point; and,
as with every other tyrant, that point was vulnerable to flattery. By a
discreet use of this depletive, and a vigorous administration of sling,
and industrious cultivation of his hypochondriacal tendency, the Jew
soon had him upon his back, and courting a perspiration which should
relieve him of numerous imaginary ills. The rapid discharge of firearms
upon the street, however, kept the patient nervous and excited; and
Dan’s family screamed and exclaimed, and Mrs. Marmor and her boy wept
silently as volley followed volley.
“Where is my papa?” Louie sobbed into his mother’s ear; for to him “old
man Baker” was an ogre, who would devour any little boy he chanced to
observe.
“Let us pray God to take care of him. He is taking care of _us_. See,
little sister is asleep.”
“What makes you cry, mamma?”
“Oh, just hear the guns? Somebody will get hurt,” and they wept and
trembled together, while Lemfield continued to ply his patient with
whiskey, till even his eagerness for the fray could not master the
oncoming stupor of drunkenness.
Two hours or more passed thus, and it was dark, when fearful yells
burst out, curdling the blood of every listener. They were like the
jubilations of demons, and were soon followed by the booming of cannon.
Couriers brought frequent advices of the progress of affairs, which
Lemfield carefully received for the old man, and as carefully withheld
from every occupant of the house except the refugee in the chamber.
At the sound of the artillery, Baker rolled from the sofa, and
gleefully exclaiming, “We’ll get ’em now —— them!” he reeled from the
front to the rear door, pistol in hand, chafing under the restraint of
his self-appointed nurse, like a hound in the leash when the horn of
the huntsmen is heard.
A tramping sound in the back yard drew both men to the door.
“Who ish dat?” demanded Dan, peering into the darkness of a shady part
of the enclosure.
“There goes a —— nigger! Here he goes! Here he goes!” shouted the old
slave-catcher.
“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” cried the Jew; but while he yet spoke it
was too late.
“I’ve got ’im! I’ve got ’im!” cried the old man, running to his fallen
game.
“Co im quick! Co im quick, Meester Paker! Somebody vill shoot _you_,”
and the excited little man caught the murderer’s arm and dragged him
into the house, while the dusky form of Nat Wellman crept on all fours
into a yard still further to the rear, and found safety in a deeper
shade.
Filled with such terrors the night wore on, and Marmor’s were not the
only infants that sobbed themselves to sleep in the midst of those
dreadful alarms, though many were laid in the shadows of the cornfields
or the dampness of the swamps that surrounded the besieged town.
“_Ich vill make ine shling, vat vill make_ Old Bob _shleep, so Ich
vill_!” muttered Dan, as he mixed a few drops of laudanum with a fresh
mug of the steaming beverage. “Ich hab no more mens killed by mine
house.”
The patient was at length awakening great echoes in his bed room, with
his stentorian breathings, notwithstanding renewed disturbances upon
the premises, and that most Christian Jew stole up to Marmor’s retreat.
“For your life, Meester Marmor, do co hide somevare! Dey pe hunt you,
and say dey vill purn your house. Dey shware dey vill hab you. Dey
say you be ine —— scallavag, ine republican, and dat you pringht
ammunition to de nigger militia.”
“It is false!” said Marmor, “the only ammunition I ever brought to this
town is republican newspapers.”
“Dat make no odds. Dat pad ’nough, dey tink, and dey pe hunt you; dey
co tru mine house shust now. Dey find Shimmy’ (Jimmy, Marmor’s servant)
in yo’ yard, and dey vip ’im to tell vo you ist; but he know notting.”
The hunted man fled to the house top, where he lay long, listening to
the crashing of his printing presses and furniture, and the shrieks
and cries of colored women and children whom he saw violently dragged
from their houses by fiendish men athirst for the blood of their
husbands and fathers for whom they sought; and wondering if his own
mother was suffering similar indignities, he blamed himself for hiding.
He saw houses fired, in various directions, but the flames were
soon extinguished by the less reckless of the assailants, or by the
occupants, some of whom were thus captured.
About two o’clock in the morning the tumult in his own house was
renewed and increased; and, driven from their hiding place there, two
colored men leaped from a window of the second story, upon a roof
beneath it, and with almost superhuman effort, climbed upon that of a
higher part of the building, and scarcely less miraculously escaped
death by the pistol of their friend Marmor, who mistook them for foes.
“For mercy’s sake don’t shoot!” cried one, just in time to arrest a
second discharge.
The three men lay flat upon the roof to avoid discovery, but the sound
of the pistol and the voice had betrayed them, and several of the
rioters attempted to follow the young men.
Meanwhile the three men slipped down through the scuttle into
Lemfield’s house.
Obliged to abandon pursuit in that direction, the ruffians re-entered
the window, descended to the street, and pouring into the next house,
rushed to the stairs.
“Vas fur you co up mine shtair? Co town! Ich say, co town!” cried Dan.
“Ich been goot freund to _ebery man_, so you shall not break mine
tings. You must go vay, mine vamily pe sick up dar, and you will schare
mine cronk poy so he co todt!” and pushing past them, he mounted the
upper steps, still persisting in his opposition, and obstructing the
way.
“_Ich no niggah, no’ publican, no notting dat votes’ cainst you. So you
co vay!_”
“We won’t hurt you, nor your family, Dan, if we find you all right,
but, (the reader must imagine the vilest and most profuse epithets and
profanity), Louis Marmor is up there, and we _will have him_. He’s a
scallawag, and a republican, and is helping the niggers, and we must
get him. He has got to die as well as the rest.”
“Er nicht dar.”
“You’re a lying Jew dog!”
“Ich schvare youns, Louis Marmor ist not pout mine blace, _py de beard
of Abraham_!”
“You swear to that, do you?” asked the leader.
“Ich schware! Ich schware!”
“B-o-y-s, b-o-y-s,” said old man Baker, staggering from the couch
where Mrs. Marmor had shaken him into consciousness, “Boys, oh,
come back! come, come, come back! Dan’s a good fellow. I’m quite
unwell, quite unwell,” drawled he, “and he has taken care of me and
pro—pro—protected me from them —— niggers, and I’ll protect his
house and family. Now just come back. Don’t go up there. I’ve been
here all night, so far, and hide nor hair o’ Louis Marmor ha’n’t been
seen about here. I’ll vouch for _this_ house, and guard it too. So
don’t go up.”
“If you say so, Mr. Baker, we’ll come back, but we thought he was thar
sho’.”
“Ha’n’t been about here to-night. I’ve been here and could see, and
Dan’s all right.”
The ruffians yielded, and the three men, who had been unable to reach
the scuttle and escape, were saved; though, confident of a speedy
return of their foes, the colored men immediately sought another place
of concealment.
The cries and pleadings of another captive were soon afterwards heard
in the back-yard, and he was conveyed in triumph to the “dead-ring”
which was still insatiable while ungraced by the persons of Marmor and
Doc.
Though the house was not again entered by the mob, so strong and
general was the suspicion that Mr. Marmor was upon the Jew’s premises,
that after his return to his home even Robert Baker was persuaded to
believe it, and a vigilant watch was maintained several days thereafter.
While Aunt Phœbe was hastening the preparation of Uncle Jesse’s
breakfast the next morning, Jane Marmor sat beside her husband in the
Jew’s chamber, and described the condition of things, as she had found
them in their home; for she had already ventured there, and had looked
in upon her mother-in-law, who had locked herself into her own little
shop, and remained there, alone, and (strangely), unharmed, through the
night.
Harry Gaston, and Hanson, Tommy, and old man Baker relieved each other
on watch all the next day, each being assisted by a band of trusted
followers; and Marmor, close behind Dan’s window-shades, listened to
their threats against himself, and their attempts to convince such
negroes as ventured near them, that he, Kanrasp, and the “carpet-bag
Governor,” were solely responsible for the massacre; and while his
colored friends were anxiously conjecturing his fate, his experiences
in the affair had scarcely begun.
As the day declined, Mrs. Marmor joined her entreaties to those of
their host, urging upon her husband the necessity of attempting escape,
as there were indications of more decided search of the premises.
Night came at length, and spread her dark mantle over the village; but
the hunted man had scarcely escaped the house when the rising of the
full moon made concealment almost impossible.
As the weather was very warm, and he must make speed, he went without
a coat. Choosing a time when the sentry had passed to the extreme of
his beat, he walked up the street with apparently careless moderation,
hoping to be mistaken for a laborer, and to reach a small station on
the railroad three miles distant, before the arrival of the next train.
This he accomplished in safety, but arrived too early.
A congregation was gathering at a church near by, for the Sunday
evening service; and as his lips were parched with thirst, he
approached and procured a drink of water.
Several persons there knew Marmor, but as he had shaved his beard, and
otherwise slightly disguised himself, they were not confident of his
identity.
However, on his return to the carriage-road, he was at once confronted
by six armed men.
The click of their gun-locks was his first intimation of their
presence, and with the bound of a wild deer, he dashed into a black
swamp hard by.
His pursuers were mounted, and therefore could not enter it; but the
swamp, though over a mile long, was narrow; and they hunted him on
either side.
It was a cane-break, and but for the extreme drought of the season,
would have furnished but poor footing indeed.
The tall, stiff reeds reached far above his head, and some skill
was needful to break them over with the font and thus secure a
standing-place. His hat was soon knocked off by a shot, and his
low-quartered shoes lost in the mire. At length a place was reached
where a point of firm land extended into the swamp, and on this several
of his pursuers took position, (for their number had been increased),
to cut him off, should he attempt to pass.
They had lost sight of him, but as he approached he distinctly saw
Robert Baker directly opposite and facing him, and not far distant. He
noted the resolute bearing and determined visage of the old hunter;
but felt himself still incompetent to fully sympathize with the hunted
slave of the former times; whom no arm in the State or nation was
strong enough to deliver from his master, or this hired hunter and his
blood-hounds.
But, having little time for sentiment or reflection, he took a hasty
survey of the positions of such of his pursuers as were in sight,
deliberately approached the edge of the swamp, took aim at the old
hunter, who he felt sure would not scruple to take _his_ life, and
firing, ran rapidly in a direction he thought they would not suspect;
and thus escaped for the time.
But, instead of approaching the town as he intended to do, he wandered
in a circuitous direction, and returned to the church.
The services were over, and as he saw that many of the men were
mounting horses, he retreated to the woods again, where he lay till
morning.
His pursuers inquired of the worshippers, and finally got upon his
track the next morning, bringing their trained dogs. From that time
till Wednesday morning they chased him up and down the woods and
swamps. His feet were wounded and swollen, his bare head exposed to the
burning July sun, and he had eaten nothing since Sunday morning.
On Tuesday morning he became desperate, and resolved to leave the
swamp. He did so, and ran along the road. On several occasions the
dogs were upon him when he again intrenched himself among bushes
surrounded by water, and lay watching, pistol in hand. But as he had
no ammunition besides that in his revolver, he determined to make that
as useful as possible, and reserved for a probable extremity.
Once they caught sight of him at two hundred yards distance and cried.
“There he is! There’s the —— scallawag!” and hissed their dogs upon
him.
On Wednesday morning he eluded them and reached the residence of the
Intendant of Baconsville, on the outskirts of the town. He was a
pitiable object indeed; with clothing torn and covered with mud, feet
bare, swollen and bleeding; fair broad brow burned to a blister, auburn
hair, unkempt; famished, fainting, and only his determined energy left
of his former self.
Refreshed by a cup of coffee and a judicious breakfast, and a bath for
his feet, he hobbled to his home, which he reached about ten o’clock.
It had become his sole wish to see his family once more, and if he must
die, to die with them; and his apprehensiveness had become so great
that he with great difficulty persuaded to tarry at his neighbors for
food. To be driven from home, and hunted through swamps and forests,
like a ferocious beast, had become an insupportable thought.
And wherefore _was_ he?
Because he sought through that great instrument of enlightenment, the
press, to disseminate his political opinions, and the principles of a
Republican government, and to strengthen and perpetuate the Union.
An hour after reaching home he became aware that the foe was on his
track and approaching, but the house was kept closed, and guarded by
leading citizens, and he remained till the afternoon of the following
day; when, so disguised as to be unrecognized by familiar friends, he
took the railroad train for the Capitol, and escaped.
A band of those white ruffians boarded the train, and passed through it
several times, enquiring for him, and even propounded their questions
to him, without recognizing him.
The horrors of this massacre were but the commencement of a succession
which blackened the history of the political campaign of the year 1876
in the State of South Carolina, and in other Southern states, and
disgraced the Republic in the sight of the nations she had invited
to witness the successes she had achieved under a free and popular
government.
Is it asked what punishment was meted out to those miserable offenders?
They were arrested, liberated for several months under bail of $500
each, and clearly convicted upon trial; but because the jury of twelve
was empanelled upon a strictly party basis, and the six white men were
_avowedly_ opposed to conviction on any evidence, a mistrial ensued.
As under “the conciliation policy” of the national administration
which followed the next subsequent election, the United States’ troops
which had been sent into the State at the request of the Governor
were withdrawn, the defeated Democratic candidates for Governor and
Legislature, supported by the unchartered and hence illegal rifle
clubs usurped the State government, and all further proceedings against
the rioters were dropped, and the notorious General Baker was elected
to a seat in the Senate of the nation, by that spurious legislature of
his State.
Such is the justice, and such the tender mercies, to which have been
consigned the emancipated slaves of the Southern States, and these and
similar experiences have caused the “Exodus” of the freedmen to the
great north-west.
With such fearful odds, can the reader wonder at their seeming timidity?
THE END.
End of Project Gutenberg's Other Fools and Their Doings, by Anonymous