THE FUNERAL.
Death, the subtle, crafty, relentless foe of human life, who lurks
within the gloomy shadows which fringe the borderland where time fades
away into eternity; Death, who, bursting from his sunless home, mouldy
with the dew of darkness, springs upon the unwary traveler, and bears
him swiftly to the spirit land--this Death, walking with ceaseless tread
along his dismal pathway, has a strange and, to us, uncanny taste for
music. When he has borne his victim away, he returns to the homes of the
bereft, wearing a mystic veil, plucks with wild abandon at the heart
strings of the sorrowing; and with avidity and in ecstasy drinks in the
plaintive notes, the time beat of which is kept by the steady, perpetual
fall of drops of blood from the heart. However terrible the wail,
however loud the cry, it is but sweet music to the ear of death.
But surely, surely, soulless Death, for once in his awful journeyings,
had even _his_ unholy taste for the music of agony fully satisfied, as
with his ear to Astral's throbbing heart he drank in its anguished notes
and heard that overburdened thing of grief make its futile attempts to
burst through the walls that confined it. Added to and intensifying his
feeling of blighting personal loss, his soul was charged with the
thought that fate had so needlessly reared a ladder to the unspotted
blue of his sky, and climbing there, had fanned out the sun of his
firmament, leaving in its stead the sombre shadows, the inky hues, the
gruesome forms of the dread midnight.
Stunned, bewildered, dazed, Astral cast a look of anguish upon the
lifeless form of Erma and turned away petrified with sorrow. He
staggered out of the room into the hallway and to the door opening upon
the street. This he managed to open, and stood with bared head, facing
the storm and welcoming the fury of the elements. Motionless,
speechless, gazing into the dark abyss beyond, Astral stood as if rooted
to the spot, the fury of the skies unconsciously affording congenial
association to the wild ragings and frozen sorrows within. Sulkily the
night rolled onward. The snowstorm, as if grieved to longer beat upon
the brow of one in the iron grasp of fate, gradually ceased. A hush fell
upon the winds, and they began to speak in whispers, afterwards not at
all.
The remaining hours of the night, hearing the ever approaching footfall
of the coming dawn, leapt over the bars of time and sank into eternity.
The dawn came, cold and cheerless. The sun struggled from behind an
embankment of clouds, and feebly cast a few sickly rays of light over
the snow-covered earth, and, as if ashamed of the feebleness of the
effort, quickly lifted the clouds to again hide his face. And yet Astral
stood in the doorway, as motionless as a stone statue, silent as the
Sphinx.
An officer of the law, clad in blue, and wearing the insignia of his
office, came trudging along on his way to his "beat." When he came
opposite to Astral, he cast a look of earnest inquiry upon the
snow-covered man in the doorway. The gaze of the policeman, in keeping
with the well-known hypnotic influence of the human eye, had its effect
upon Astral. Suddenly casting his eyes upon the policeman, Astral sprang
toward him, grasping him by the shoulder.
"Sir!" cried he, "Enter my home! Enter, I say, and see the havoc which
living side by side with your race has wrought! Enter, enter, I say!"
The startled policeman tried to extricate himself from Astral's grasp,
but he continued to drag him to his door. The policeman drew his pistol,
but Astral took no notice of this action.
Perceiving from Astral's repeated exhortations that he really desired
him to see something and intended him no harm, the policeman ceased
resisting and allowed himself to be pulled to the door of the room where
the dead lay. When his eye fell upon the rigid body of the convict on
the chair and beheld the form of the beautiful Erma--it, too, rigid in
death--in terror at the sight, he began to struggle to get out of the
house. Astral seemed equally determined to have him drink in the horror
of the situation fully. The policeman, now completely terror-stricken,
raised the cry of "Murder! murder!" and struck Astral a violent blow on
the head. As if robbed of life, Astral fell unconscious upon the floor.
The noise of the struggle, and the cries of the policeman drew a large
crowd to the house. News of the tragic scenes enacted in that little
home spread to the remotest quarters of the city. All this while Astral
lay unconscious on the floor. Friends now bore his body to his room.
A coroner's jury was summoned and an inquest was held. John Wysong's
emaciated appearance soon removed all doubt as to what had caused his
death. The absence of all marks of violence upon Erma, the calm, sweet
look upon her face, even in death, predisposed the jury to look for
natural causes for her demise. Before entering upon the task of finding
the cause of her death, they all stood and gazed long at her loveliness
and a hush of awe fell upon them. When at length the doctor had made the
necessary examination, and pronounced her death due to heart failure,
the jury filed out. Before going, each juror had cast a parting look at
the departed queen of beauty, and the last of the official dealings of
the Anglo-Saxons with Erma were over.
Friends of Astral now took charge of affairs and began to arrange for
the interment, he being yet unconscious. Upon his recovery from the
swoon, he was wildly delirious. When made aware by the attending
physician that a protracted illness was likely to ensue in Astral's
case, friends saw that it was unwise to delay the funeral services and
interment until he could attend.
As is well known to the reader, Erma had an unusually large number of
friends among the white people of Richmond, and these friends petitioned
that an opportunity be given them to publicly manifest their esteem. In
deference to their wishes, the funeral services were held at the
Tabernacle, a mammoth structure built for interdenominational use and
for union gospel meetings. White and colored people by the thousands
flocked to the Tabernacle to witness the exercises over the remains of
Erma. The services proceeded in the usual way, tributes of the very
highest nature being paid to the character of the deceased. Resolutions
of respect, signed by one hundred of Richmond's truest white women, were
read, extolling the name of Erma Wysong Herndon.
The last words had been said, the organ was playing the final funeral
march, the pall-bearers were half-way down the aisle bearing the coffin
to the hearse, when, lo, a loud, commanding voice cried, "Halt," and the
tall form of Astral was seen standing in the doorway. "Bear that coffin
back to the front, gentlemen," said he, and with icy clearness. All
recognized his rights in the matter, and the coffin was borne to the
front again. Astral, wild-eyed, fresh from a bed of affliction, followed
with head bowed and with measured tread, mechanically performed. Taking
a position in full view of the entire audience, he spoke as follows, in
a clear, calm manner, but with a calmness evidently produced by the
suppression of powerful emotions:
"Ladies and Gentlemen: On such an occasion as this, only the language of
the heart should be heard, and it is my purpose to deliver to you a
message from my innermost self. First of all, I wish to give audible
expression to the thankfulness that I feel over the tribute of respect
paid to my deceased wife by this vast outpouring of citizens of both
races.
"It is your purpose, I perceive, to bear her remains to your cemetery,
where her body will obey the summons of nature to return unto the dust
whence it came. Before I can give my sanction to this step, there is a
question that must be disposed of in a thoroughly satisfactory manner.
Erma Wysong Herndon was brilliant and true as a girl, devoted and worthy
as a wife and mother, seeking to alter none of your cherished customs,
aspiring ever and only to live out that life which her soul taught her
to be the best. Yet she suffered countless ills. Her heart, unable
longer to bear the strain, gave up the struggle and ceased its
pulsations while her feet were yet treading that portion of life's
pathway that lies within the summer of man's existence. I utter not
these words by way of reproach, believe me. I but recall facts well
known by you to be such, that you may grasp the full purport of what I
am now to lay before you.
"You now desire that her body shall go to enrich this soil. Should I
allow you to proceed, will this land which her dust would help to
compose--will this land render to the son of another mother more than it
will to the son that she leaves behind, though the two be equal in
virtue, in intelligence, in thrift, in all that goes to comprise
vigorous and aggressive manhood? I pause for an answer."
The silence was oppressive. Astral resumed: "By your silence I
understand that you are unable to assure me that her son shall not be
confronted with the same unequal conditions that she so often
encountered. Under these circumstances, ladies and gentlemen, as much as
I love this land, I must refuse to allow my wife to be interred therein.
I bid it an eternal farewell."
He ceased speaking, and, strong man that he was, fell upon Erma's
coffin, his face buried in his hands. One mighty sob forced its way
through the bars that held the others back. Making a supreme effort at
self-control, he arose and gave notice to proceed. The pall-bearers
lifted their burden again and moved slowly out of the building, followed
by Astral and his son.
The great audience continued in silence, soberly pondering over the
strange and solemn scenes. When the hearse had been driven off, and the
sound of the hoofs of the horses had died away in the distance, the
people arose and silently left the building, departing to their several
homes.
Twilight had come, and the dusk of the evening soon enveloped the city,
drawing closer and closer the curtains of night.
That night, Astral, watched by the blinking stars, exhumed the body of
John Wysong, and carried it to his home, placing it by the side of Erma.
With the room dimly lighted, Astral took a seat between the two coffins,
to await the coming of day. In the middle of the night, he heard a
tapping at the window shutters of the room in which he sat, keeping
company with the dead. He arose, opened the window, and bade the party
tapping to enter. The invitation was accepted, and in stepped a large,
tall white man, of very commanding aspect.
"As I expected," the man remarked in a low tone. Aloud, to Astral, he
said: "Mr. Herndon, you are not acquainted with me, but your wife was.
At one time she committed a very grave trust to me, and I was faithful
thereto, but under such circumstances that I dared not to give an
account of my stewardship. Will you let me see the face of this dead man
whom you have by her side?" Astral assented, and Lanier, for it was he,
stepped to the side of the coffin and gazed long at the features before
him. He said to himself, as he continued to look: "Yes, yes, yes; that
is John. I cannot be mistaken. One more secret that by his death is now
assuredly reserved for the Day of Judgment." Heaving a sigh of relief,
he turned away and dropped into a chair.
Astral had resumed his post between the dead. Lanier now addressed him.
"Mr. Herndon, this is indeed an ill-chosen occasion on which to approach
you on a subject uppermost in my mind. Yet, I must do so now, if at all;
for it is with a view of preventing an action that you contemplate in
the near future. You propose leaving us, I learned at the funeral
to-day."
"Your impression is correct," was Astral's response.
"For the sake of your wife's son, hear me for a moment," Lanier
requested.
"Proceed. I shall give you such attention as is possible for a man in my
situation," Astral replied.
"Mr. Herndon, with all its faults, this country is by far the greatest
on earth. You are not now in a condition to decide upon a matter
involving your future and the whole life of your child. I, therefore,
make a personal appeal to you to abide here and flee not to ills that
are certainly worse." Here he paused, but as Astral gave no reply he
resumed.
"Your status here is but due to conditions inherent in the situation.
Why not bow to the inevitable, accept conditions as you find them,
extract from life as much good as can come from well-directed efforts,
and beyond this point have no yearnings? Develop character, earn money,
contribute to the industrial development of the country, exercise your
wonderful capacity for humility, move continuously in the line of least
resistance and, somehow, all will be well."
Astral now lifted his head and, gazing earnestly at Lanier, said;
"I am very grateful to you, kind sir, for your solicitude. One of the
most oppressive of the 'conditions, _inherent_ in the situation,' _you_
say, is the fact that one must ever be listening to a sermon on his
condition. We cannot be guided by the light of our own genius, but are
the subjects of unending advice. The absence of the right of choice--a
right which your presence here to-night denies--is irksome, so irksome.
"You, kind sir, have solved the problem of life to your own
satisfaction; let me do the like, will you, especially when I seek not
to alter your conditions but to abandon them? Without the least purpose
or desire to be discourteous, may I regard our interview at a close?"
Astral's very soul was in these words and were delivered in such a
manner as to startle Lanier into greater admiration.
"No, sir, Mr. Herndon, not until I state that your remarks have won my
most profound respect. I appreciate the desire of your soul for silence,
which, in your case, amounts to a need. I abandon the purpose of my
visit. In whatever direction you may go, my good-will follows you,"
Lanier said most feelingly. So saying, he arose, extended to Astral his
hand and bade him a cordial adieu.
Astral resumed his solitary watch with his dead. When day came, he began
his projected journey, accompanied by his son and the bodies of his wife
and her brother. He went to New York, with the purpose of boarding an
outward bound vessel.
"Are you returning to your fatherland?" anxious friends, gathered at the
pier, inquired.
Astral replied, "It, too, is overshadowed. Aliens possess it."
"Where, then, are you going?" Astral faintly smiled as if in farewell,
but gave no reply. He hurried aboard the vessel and was soon speeding
away from the land of his birth.
When in mid-ocean, he summoned his fellow passengers about him to
participate in a burial service. The caskets containing the remains of
the two departed were gently lowered into the depths of the ocean and
committed to the keeping of the waves.
Astral then stationed his son upon a chair in the center of the deck of
the ship, and, standing by his side, with solemn mien and head
uncovered, made the following deliverance in the presence of the
assembled passengers, who had heard previously from his lips the story
of Erma's life:
"My son," said he, "your mother has been buried in these domains,
because here there abides no social group in which conditions operate
toward the overshadowing of such elements as are not deemed assimilable.
And now, I, Astral Herndon, hereby and forever renounce all citizenship
in all lands whatsoever, and constitute myself A CITIZEN OF THE OCEAN,
and ordain that this title shall be entailed upon my progeny unto all
generations, until such time as the shadows which now envelope the
darker races in all lands shall have passed away, away and away!"
EPILOGUE.
A LAY TO THE COMING KING.
Erma is dead, and disconsolate Astral is adrift upon the ocean.
We who have followed their fortunes, lo, these many days, are loth to
leave them until our minds can fasten on some circumstance external to
our being, to confirm the thought that perennially rises within and bids
us believe that their lives have not been spent in vain; that "somehow
good will be the final goal of ill."
Those who seek for assurance of this hope would do well to recall the
romantic circumstances attendant upon the birth of Erma's son; recall
how that on the last night of Erma's abode on earth the spirits of the
mother and son went forth to meet and stand revealed unto each other.
These circumstances are pregnant with hope and kindle within one the
spirit of prophecy.
The spell is upon us! We don the garb of the seer, wrest the veil from
the face of the future and read in her countenance tokens of the
irrevocable decrees written by her in the book of fate.
We behold that she hath decreed that Astral Herndon, Jr., shall not long
abide on the ocean; that he shall, ere long, make a landing and give
evidence that the mountain-imbued son of a handmaid of God is a
genius--one of those few colossal, immeasurable spirits that have been
permitted, from time to time, to dwell among men for a season; whose
presence is made manifest through the trembling of the frail earth
beneath their ponderous tread.
Under the influences which this child of destiny shall generate, the
Negro shall emerge from his centuries of gloom, with a hope-emblazoned
brow, a heart freighted with courage, and a chisel in his hand to carve,
whether you will or not, his name in the hall of fame.
"Verily I say unto you, that this generation shall not pass, till all
these things be done."
In this hope we calmly abide the coming of Erma's son, Astral Herndon,
Jr. In that day, pleasing thought, Erma shall live again in the wondrous
workings of the child whom she has brought to earth. All hail to Erma!