Such a series of violent incidents of course created excitement beyond
our own boundaries. There was a group of plantations upon the river
lying side by side, and all having a frontage upon the water; they
formed the "settlement." Through these ran the report, spreading like
wildfire; and within the hour, white men could be seen coming from every
direction. Some were on foot--poor hunters who dwelt on the skirts of
the large plantations; others--the planters themselves, or their
overseers--on horseback. All carried weapons--rifles and pistols. A
stranger might have supposed it the rendezvous of a militia "muster,"
but the serious looks of those who assembled gave it a different aspect:
it more resembled the gathering of the frontier men upon the report of
some Indian invasion.
In one hour, more than fifty white men were upon the ground--nearly all
who belonged to the settlement.
A jury was quickly formed, and Yellow Jake put upon his trial. There
was no law in the proceedings, though legal formality was followed in a
certain rude way. These jurors were themselves sovereign--they were the
lords of the land, and, in cases like this, could easily _improvise_ a
judge. They soon found one in planter Ringgold, our adjoining
neighbour. My father declined to take part in the proceedings.
The trial was rapidly gone through with. The facts were fresh and
clear; I was before their eyes with my arm in a sling, badly cut. The
other circumstances which led to this result were all detailed. The
chain of guilt was complete. The mulatto had attempted the lives of
white people. Of course, death was the decree.
What mode of death? Some voted for hanging; but by most of these men,
hanging was deemed too mild. _Burning_ met the approbation of the
majority. The judge himself cast his vote for the severer sentence.
My father plead mercy--at least so far as to spare the torture--but the
stern jurors would not listen to him. They had all lost slaves of
late--many runaways had been reported--the proximity of the Indians gave
encouragement to defection. They charged my father with too much
leniency--the settlement needed an example--they would make one of
Yellow Jake, that would deter all who were disposed to imitate him. His
sentence was, that he should be _burnt alive_!
Thus did they reason, and thus did they pronounce.
It is a grand error to suppose that the Indians of North America have
been peculiar in the habit of torturing their captive foes. In most
well-authenticated cases, where cruelty has been practised by them,
there has been a provocative deed of anterior date--some grievous
wrong--and the torture was but a retaliation. Human nature has yielded
to the temptings of revenge in all ages--and ferocity can be charged
with as much justice against white skin as against red skin. Had the
Indians written the story of border warfare, the world might have
modified its belief in their so called cruelty.
It is doubtful if, in all their history, instances of ferocity can be
found that will parallel those often perpetrated by white men upon
blacks--many of whom have suffered mutilation--torture--death--for the
mere offence of a word! certainly often for a blow, since such is a
written law!
Where the Indians have practised cruelty, it has almost always been in
retaliation; but civilised tyrants have put men to the torture without
even the palliating apology of vengeance. If there was revenge, it was
not of that natural kind to which the human heart gives way, when it
conceives deep wrong has been done; but rather a mean spite, such as is
often exhibited by the dastard despot towards some weak individual
within his power.
No doubt, Yellow Jake deserved death. His crimes were capital ones; but
to _torture_ him was the will of his judges.
My father opposed it, and a few others. They were outvoted and
overruled. The awful sentence was passed; and they who had decreed it
at once set about carrying it into execution.
It was not a fit scene to be enacted upon a gentleman's premises; and a
spot was selected at some distance from the house, further down the
lake-edge. To this place the criminal was conducted--the crowd of
course following.
Some two hundred yards from the bank, a tree was chosen as the place of
execution. To this tree the condemned was to be bound, and a log-fire
kindled around him.
My father would not witness the execution; I alone of oor family
followed to the scene. The mulatto saw me, and accosted me with words
of rage. He even taunted me about the wound he had given, glorying in
the deed. He was no doubt under the belief that I was one of his
greatest foes. I had certainly been the innocent witness of his crime,
and chiefly through my testimony, he had been condemned; but I was not
revengeful. I would have spared him the terrible fate he was about to
undergo--at least its tortures.
We arrived upon the ground. Men were already before us, collecting the
logs, and piling them up around the trunk of the tree; others were
striking a fire. Some joked and laughed; a few were heard giving
utterance to expressions of hate for the whole coloured race.
Young Ringgold was especially active. This was a wild youth--on the eve
of manhood, of somewhat fierce, harsh temper--a family characteristic.
I knew that the young fellow affected my sister Virginia; I had often
noticed his partiality for her; and he could scarcely conceal his
jealousy of others who came near her. His father was the richest
planter in the settlement; and the son, proud of this superiority,
believed himself welcome everywhere. I did not think he was very
welcome with Virgine, though I could not tell. It was too delicate a
point upon which to question her, for the little dame already esteemed
herself a woman.
Ringgold was neither handsome nor graceful. He was sufficiently
intelligent, but overbearing to those beneath him in station--not an
uncommon fault among the sons of rich men. He had already gained the
character of being resentful. In addition to all, he was dissipated--
too often found with low company in the forest cock-pit.
For my part, I did not like him. I never cared to be with him as a
companion; he was older than myself, but it was not that--I did not like
his disposition. Not so my father and mother. By both was he
encouraged to frequent our house. Both probably desired him for a
future son-in-law. They saw no faults in him. The glitter of gold has
a blinding influence upon the moral eye.
This young man, then, was one of the most eager for the punishment of
the mulatto, and active in the preparations. His activity arose partly
from a natural disposition to be cruel. Both he and his father were
noted as hard task-masters, and to be "sold to Mass' Ringgold" was a
fate dreaded by every slave in the settlement.
But young Ringgold had another motive for his conspicuous behaviour: he
fancied he was playing the knight-errant, by this show of friendship for
our family--for Virginia. He was mistaken. Such unnecessary cruelty to
the criminal met the approbation of none of us. It was not likely to
purchase a smile from my good sister.
The young half-blood, Powell, was also present. On hearing the hue and
cry, he had returned, and now stood in the crowd looking on, but taking
no part in the proceedings.
Just then the eye of Ringgold rested upon the Indian boy, and I could
perceive that it was instantly lit up by a strange expression. He was
already in possession of all the details. He saw in the dark-skinned
youth, the gallant preserver of Virginia's life, but it was not with
gratitude that he viewed him. Another feeling was working in his
breast, as could plainly be perceived by the scornful curl that played
upon his lips.
More plainly still by the rude speech that followed:
"Hilloa! redskin!" he cried out, addressing himself to the young Indian,
"you're sure _you_ had no hand in this business? eh, redskin?"
"Redskin!" exclaimed the half-blood in a tone of indignation, at the
same time fronting proudly to his insulter--"Redskin you call me? My
skin is of better colour than yours, you white-livered lout!"
Ringgold was rather of a sallow complexion. The blow hit home. Not
quicker is the flash of powder than was its effect; but his astonishment
at being thus accosted by an Indian, combined with his rage, hindered
him for some moments from making reply.
Others were before him and cried out:
"O Lordy! such talk from an Injun!"
"Say that again!" cried Ringgold, as soon as he had recovered himself.
"Again if you wish--white-livered lout!" cried the half-blood, giving
full emphasis to the phrase.
The words were scarcely out before Ringgold's pistol cracked; but the
bullet missed its aim; and next moment the two clinched, seizing each
other by the throats.
Both came to the ground, but the half-blood had the advantage. He was
uppermost, and no doubt would quickly have despatched his white
antagonist--for the ready blade was gleaming in his grasp--but the knife
was struck out of his hand; and a crowd of men rushing to the spot,
pulled the combatants apart.
Some were loud against the Indian lad, and called for his life; but
there were others with finer ideas of fair play, who had witnessed the
provocation, and despite the power of the Ringgolds, would not suffer
him to be sacrificed. I had resolved to protect him as far as I was
able.
What would have been the result, it is difficult to guess; but, at that
crisis, a sudden diversion was produced by the cry--that _Yellow Jake
had escaped_!