A POLITICAL TRICK.
"Hello, Christian, old boy. I am truly glad to see you back."
"Thank you, friend Stewart, thank you. I confess that I am much more
than glad to be back. I would not have missed being here this year for
anything. Why, we are to have a Railroad Bill before us and the question
of electing a United States Senator, and nobody wants to miss good
things like those."
"You are right. But from the way the papers read, you were having a hot
time of it, and we all gave you up as a gone chap, once. How on earth
did you pull through?"
Horace Christian's face took on a serious expression, and he looked
around and around anxiously, and said, "Come with me over to my room,
Stewart, and I will tell you the whole story. The thing isn't altogether
to my credit, but I can trust a chap like you."
Such was a conversation that took place in front of the State Capitol at
Richmond at the close of the first day's session of the Legislature. The
sun was just down and flashing a defiant look backward on coming night.
The speakers were two members of the House of Delegates. The time is but
a short period subsequent to John Wysong's confession to Erma.
Horace Christian was slightly below the medium in stature, had dark eyes
and facial features of the most commonplace type. There was no marked
peculiarity about him, nothing that would so impress you that you could
point him out again if you saw him in a crowd. The two locked arms and
went walking out of the Capitol yard, and over to Christian's room in
Ford's Hotel. Once there, they locked the door to his room and took
seats at a table in the center of the room. Christian offered
Stewart a cigar, and taking one himself, lighted it, and leaning back in
his chair, threw one leg over the table. Sitting thus, his hat on his
head, he began his story, the gloom of evening fast creeping on.
"Well, Stewart, my election came about in this way. You know my district
is a very close one, and a fellow's election is determined by a very few
votes. On previous occasions I had paid out a little money and bought up
the Negro vote to such an extent as to secure my election. But this time
the Republicans put up as their candidate an ex-general in the
Confederate Army. An Ex-Confederate who confesses to the error of his
ways and joins the Republicans can always rely on the Negroes killing
the fatted calf for him. So my opponent was just sweeping things before
him. I began to look upon my candidacy as a forlorn hope, until an idea,
which I regarded as a brilliant one, flashed into my mind.
"You know, Stewart, the Negro's weak point is gratitude to the white
man. That point in the Negro race is over developed. I have noticed that
a merchant can keep a Negro's trade forever by merely speaking to him
kindly. The Negro seems to feel that he owes the white man his trade for
that friendly greeting, and he will not quit trading with him to trade
with a member of his own race. A smile from a white man will go farther
toward getting a Negro's trade than a day's pleasant conversation from
another Negro, the Negro feels so grateful for the condescension of the
white man. If a white man cuts off a Negro's leg, expresses sorrow for
it, and gives him a cork one, accompanied with a kindly pat on his
shoulder, that Negro feels under a debt of gratitude to that white man
all his days. I reasoned, then, that my only salvation lay in doing
something to get the gratitude of the Negro. Just now all the gratitude
of the Negroes is lavished upon Southern whites who denounce lynching. I
decided to get an anti-lynching record. But I could not get that record
without a lynching. If I was to get to the Legislature and have a finger
in the pie, I must have a lynching. The question had reduced itself to
this simple proposition; no lynching, no seat in the Legislature, or a
lynching and a seat in the Legislature. I argued with myself that it
would not matter so much with the universe if one more innocent Negro
were lynched. Just one more name to the long list of innocents slain
would not be such a great addition. Besides, I argued, if the lynching
spirit goes on, some innocent Negro will soon be lynched and nothing
gained, but in my case there is something to gain--a seat in the
Assembly at a most opportune time.
"Having toned my conscience down, I began to concoct my scheme. Of
course, that was the easiest part of the job. You know that in the
chivalrous South whenever a white woman throws out a hint against a
Negro, he might as well make his will. I decided to take advantage of
this chivalrous feeling and make it serve my purposes. A false charge
was trumped up against a Negro, and he was soon in the hands of a mob.
According to prearranged plans, the Negro was being led forth to the
place where he was to be hanged, when I came upon the scene and besought
the mob to halt. This they did, and listened to remarks from me,
denunciatory of their proposed actions. Only the leaders knew of my true
relation to the whole affair.
"The fury of the mob had been aroused to such a pitch that nothing could
induce them to desist. That Negro did look at me so appealingly,
evidently regarding me as his only possible hope. Finally the crowd
became impatient at listening to my harangue. They started off with the
Negro. I then drew my pistol as if about to kill and be killed for his
sake. I was overpowered in short order; but that one deed, the drawing
of that pistol, has made me solid forever. The poor Negro was taken near
the scene of the alleged crime and was hanged and riddled with bullets.
"That night I could not sleep. About twelve o'clock I got out of the bed
and dressed. The moon was gleaming down upon the earth. Something drew
me irresistibly to the scene of the lynching. The murdered Negro was yet
hanging there, and by the light of the moon struggling through the
treetops and falling in spangles over his form, I saw a horrible sight.
The face was ploughed up with bullets, his eyes were bulging out, his
stomach was ripped open and his entrails were visible. On his breast
there was a placard, and an inward voice seemed to say to me, 'Read!'
With my hair rising on my head and the strangest feeling I ever had in
my life stealing over me, I crept up to the body. I could not see
distinctly, so I struck a match and read these words: 'Whatsoever a man
soweth, that shall he also reap.' I looked up at the bulging eyes, and
they seemed to be trying to speak to me and say, 'Thou art the man.' My
strength failed me, and I fell forward, and, clutching at anything to
keep from striking the ground, caught hold of the dead Negro. My weight,
added to his, broke the rope, and we fell down together, my head getting
caught under his mangled form.
"But, Stewart, the story is too uncanny. I can't go on with it!" His
voice now grew loud and wild. "I would like to tell you about my dream.
Oh! it was awful. But I can't tell it to you! That queer feeling is
stealing over me. My hair is rising now. Don't you hear my teeth
chattering! Light the lamp! Light the lamp, Stewart!" Christian was now
standing up, grasping the table in terror, and shaking like an aspen
leaf.
Suddenly a rap was heard at the door. Christian cried out with the
terror of a child, "Oh, don't open that door, Stewart, don't! That
nigger will come in!" Stewart lighted the lamp, and this had the effect
of restoring Christian to his normal condition. Christian now went to
the door and opened it himself.
"Why, Speaker Lanier! Come in, Mr. Speaker, come in; your call does me a
signal honor," he said. Mr. Lanier was a large, tall man, of grave
aspect, and of a commanding appearance. "Be seated, Mr. Lanier, be
seated." Speaker Lanier sat down and let his eyes rove around the room.
He caught sight of the grave look on Stewart's face, and inquired the
cause.
"Oh, nothing, Mr. Speaker. A nigger stood in the way of my coming to the
Legislature, so I just killed him. I have been telling Stewart about
it," said Christian.
"In cold blood?" asked Lanier.
"Oh, it's a small matter about the sort of blood," laughed Christian.
"Killing a nigger does not amount to anything. A man isn't popular these
days unless he kills a nigger. I have got mine." Lanier looked at
Christian contemptuously. The subject was so disgusting that he hastened
to discard it at once.
"Say, boys," said Lanier. "I have just come from the house of Ex-Mayor
Turner's wife, and she has sent me to you all on the queerest mission
possible. It comes about in this way.
"You know she has staying with her, a Negro girl, Erma Wysong, who is
currently believed to be the daughter of Ex-Governor Lawson. This girl
has so favorably impressed Mrs. Turner and has so elevated the opinion
of the people as to the capabilities of Negroes, that Mrs. Turner has
decided to use a number of Negro girls to kill off inimical legislation
relative to the Negro race, which legislation threatens them at this
session. You know a determined effort will be made to pass a separate
coach bill; and also a law so dividing the school funds that Negro
children shall get only that proportion of school money that comes from
taxes paid on Negro property. Of course that means death to the Negro
schools. Well, Mrs. Turner wishes to defeat these bills and desires to
have the credit of the performance. Here is her idea. She holds that the
social tie has been the assuager of all racial antagonisms in history
and that what makes the Negro Race Problem so hard of solution is that
the social factor is missing and ever shall be.
"She has decided to employ this idea of the power of social influence in
dealing with the pending legislation. She wishes to hold at her house a
number of fetes at which no one shall be present but about twenty young
Negro women of the very purest and highest type in their race, together
with an equal number of the leaders in the Legislature. She wishes to
bring you all together in this secret way for a purpose which she
regards as lofty, even to the sublime.
"Of course, as Speaker, I am not supposed to influence legislation too
strongly in a partisan way, so I shall not be asked to the fetes. But
you fellows can go to talk with and listen to the girls. One thing,
coming in contact with the better element of the race, you can form a
more correct opinion of it. What say you, boys?"
"Oh, I am in for it, Hon. Mr. Speaker, I am in for it. I need something
to divert my mind this session. What do you say, Stewart?" remarked
Christian.
"Well, after your weird tale, I need a diversion, too. So put me down as
all right. When the music starts, I will be there to dance."
"One thing, boys, I was asked to say to you, by all means. You are asked
to pledge your most sacred honor to me on two things: first, you are not
to breathe the matter to your warmest friends; second, as the honor of
Mrs. Turner's house is at stake, you are implored by her to pledge me
upon _your honor_ to treat the girls as ladies. They come from the best
homes, and a misfortune would be a most damaging and blighting affair.
Do you promise?"
"Oh, yes; we promise you faithfully," said Christian, winking slyly at
Stewart.
"Well, that is all settled, then," said Lanier. "By the way," he
continued, "you will find that Erma Wysong a gem. She is as beautiful as
a mermaid and as gifted as any girl I ever met. She made a strange
request of me just as I was leaving. She caught hold of my hand and
said, excitedly, with a pleading look in her eyes, 'Mr. Lanier, they
tell me that you are a great man, a man of wide influence. Will you
promise an orphan girl, sorely troubled at heart, that you will use your
powerful influence in her behalf if ever she stands in need of it and if
such action will not violate your sense of right?' A man with a heart of
stone could not have resisted such pleadings as that from such a source.
I gave my most solemn word, and when the time comes, be it soon or late,
I shall redeem it. Well, boys, I must hurry away. I have an appointment
with the Lieutenant Governor as to some matters to come up in the Senate
to-morrow. Remember your pledges. Good night."