Dr. Miller, who had sat up late the night before with a difficult case
at the hospital, was roused, about eleven o'clock, from a deep and
dreamless sleep. Struggling back into consciousness, he was informed by
his wife, who stood by his bedside, that Mr. Watson, the colored lawyer,
wished to see him upon a matter of great importance.
"Nothing but a matter of life and death would make me get up just now,"
he said with a portentous yawn.
"This is a matter of life and death," replied Janet. "Old Mrs. Polly
Ochiltree was robbed and murdered last night, and Sandy Campbell has
been arrested for the crime,--and they are going to lynch him!"
"Tell Watson to come right up," exclaimed Miller, springing out of bed.
"We can talk while I'm dressing."
While Miller made a hasty toilet Watson explained the situation.
Campbell had been arrested on the charge of murder. He had been seen,
during the night, in the neighborhood of the scene of the crime, by two
different persons, a negro and a white man, and had been identified
later while entering Mr. Delamere's house, where he lived, and where
damning proofs of his guilt had been discovered; the most important item
of which was an old-fashioned knit silk purse, recognized as Mrs.
Ochiltree's, and several gold pieces of early coinage, of which the
murdered woman was known to have a number. Watson brought with him one
of the first copies procurable of the extra edition of the Chronicle,
which contained these facts and further information.
They were still talking when Mrs. Miller, knocking at the door,
announced that big Josh Green wished to see the doctor about Sandy
Campbell. Miller took his collar and necktie in his hand and went
downstairs, where Josh sat waiting.
"Doctuh," said Green, "de w'ite folks is talkin' 'bout lynchin' Sandy
Campbell fer killin' ole Mis' Ochiltree. He never done it, an' dey oughtn'
ter be 'lowed ter lynch 'im."
"They ought not to lynch him, even if he committed the crime," returned
Miller, "but still less if he didn't. What do you know about it?"
"I know he was wid me, suh, las' night, at de time when dey say ole Mis'
Ochiltree wuz killed. We wuz down ter Sam Taylor's place, havin' a
little game of kyards an' a little liquor. Den we lef dere an' went up
ez fur ez de corner er Main an' Vine Streets, where we pa'ted, an' Sandy
went 'long to'ds home. Mo'over, dey say he had on check' britches an' a
blue coat. When Sandy wuz wid me he had on gray clo's, an' when we
sep'rated he wa'n't in no shape ter be changin' his clo's, let 'lone
robbin' er killin' anybody."
"Your testimony ought to prove an alibi for him," declared Miller.
"Dere ain' gwine ter be no chance ter prove nothin', 'less'n we kin do
it mighty quick! Dey say dey're gwine ter lynch 'im ter-night,--some on
'em is talkin' 'bout burnin' 'im. My idee is ter hunt up de niggers an'
git 'em ter stan' tergether an' gyard de jail."
"Why shouldn't we go to the principal white people of the town and tell
them Josh's story, and appeal to them to stop this thing until Campbell
can have a hearing?"
"It wouldn't do any good," said Watson despondently; "their blood is
up. It seems that some colored man attacked Mrs. Ochiltree,--and he was
a murderous villain, whoever he may be. To quote Josh would destroy the
effect of his story,--we know he never harmed any one but himself"--
"An' a few keerliss people w'at got in my way," corrected Josh.
"He has been in court several times for fighting,--and that's against
him. To have been at Sam Taylor's place is against Sandy, too, rather
than in his favor. No, Josh, the white people would believe that you
were trying to shield Sandy, and you would probably be arrested as an
accomplice."
"But look a-here, Mr. Watson,--Dr. Miller, is we-all jes' got ter set
down here, widout openin' ou' mouths, an' let dese w'ite folks hang er
bu'n a man w'at we _know_ ain' guilty? Dat ain't no law, ner jestice,
ner nothin'! Ef you-all won't he'p, I'll do somethin' myse'f! Dere's
two niggers ter one white man in dis town, an' I'm sho' I kin fin' fifty
of 'em w'at 'll fight, ef dey kin fin' anybody ter lead 'em."
"Now hold on, Josh," argued Miller; "what is to be gained by fighting?
Suppose you got your crowd together and surrounded the jail,--what
then?"
"There'd be a clash," declared Watson, "and instead of one dead negro
there'd be fifty. The white people are claiming now that Campbell didn't
stop with robbery and murder. A special edition of the Morning
Chronicle, just out, suggests a further purpose, and has all the old
shopworn cant about race purity and supremacy and imperative necessity,
which always comes to the front whenever it is sought to justify some
outrage on the colored folks. The blood of the whites is up, I tell
you!"
"Is there anything to that suggestion?" asked Miller incredulously.
"It doesn't matter whether there is or not," returned Watson. "Merely
to suggest it proves it.
"Nothing was said about this feature until the paper came out,--and even
its statement is vague and indefinite,--but now the claim is in every
mouth. I met only black looks as I came down the street. White men with
whom I have long been on friendly terms passed me without a word. A
negro has been arrested on suspicion,--the entire race is condemned on
general principles."
"The whole thing is profoundly discouraging," said Miller sadly. "Try as
we may to build up the race in the essentials of good citizenship and
win the good opinion of the best people, some black scoundrel comes
along, and by a single criminal act, committed in the twinkling of an
eye, neutralizes the effect of a whole year's work."
"It's mighty easy neut'alize', er whatever you call it," said Josh
sullenly. "De w'ite folks don' want too good an opinion er de
niggers,--ef dey had a good opinion of 'em, dey wouldn' have no excuse
f er 'busin' an' hangin' an' burnin' 'em. But ef dey can't keep from
doin' it, let 'em git de right man! Dis way er pickin' up de fus' nigger
dey comes across, an' stringin' 'im up rega'dliss, ought ter be stop',
an' stop' right now!"
"Yes, that's the worst of lynch law," said Watson; "but we are wasting
valuable time,--it's hardly worth while for us to discuss a subject we
are all agreed upon. One of our race, accused of certain acts, is about
to be put to death without judge or jury, ostensibly because he committed
a crime,--really because he is a negro, for if he were white he would not
be lynched. It is thus made a race issue, on the one side as well as on
the other. What can we do to protect him?"
"We kin fight, ef we haf ter," replied Josh resolutely.
"Well, now, let us see. Suppose the colored people armed themselves?
Messages would at once be sent to every town and county in the
neighborhood. White men from all over the state, armed to the teeth,
would at the slightest word pour into town on every railroad train, and
extras would be run for their benefit."
"They're already coming in," said Watson.
"We might go to the sheriff," suggested Miller, "and demand that he
telegraph the governor to call out the militia."
"I spoke to the sheriff an hour ago," replied Watson. "He has a white
face and a whiter liver. He does not dare call out the militia to
protect a negro charged with such a brutal crime;--and if he did, the
militia are white men, and who can say that their efforts would not be
directed to keeping the negroes out of the way, in order that the white
devils might do their worst? The whole machinery of the state is in the
hands of white men, elected partly by our votes. When the color line is
drawn, if they choose to stand together with the rest of their race
against us, or to remain passive and let the others work their will, we
are helpless,--our cause is hopeless."
"We might call on the general government," said Miller. "Surely the
President would intervene."
"Such a demand would be of no avail," returned Watson. "The government
can only intervene under certain conditions, of which it must be
informed through designated channels. It never sees anything that is not
officially called to its attention. The whole negro population of the
South might be slaughtered before the necessary red tape could be spun
out to inform the President that a state of anarchy prevailed. There's
no hope there."
"Den w'at we gwine ter do?" demanded Josh indignantly; "jes' set here
an' let 'em hang Sandy, er bu'n 'im?"
"God knows!" exclaimed Miller. "The outlook is dark, but we should at
least try to do something. There must be some white men in the town who
would stand for law and order,--there's no possible chance for Sandy to
escape hanging by due process of law, if he is guilty. We might at least
try half a dozen gentlemen."
"We'd better leave Josh here," said Watson. "He's too truculent. If he
went on the street he'd make trouble, and if he accompanied us he'd do
more harm than good. Wait for us here, Josh, until we 'we seen what we
can do. We'll be back in half an hour."
In half an hour they had both returned.
"It's no use," reported Watson gloomily. "I called at the mayor's office
and found it locked. He is doubtless afraid on his own account, and
would not dream of asserting his authority. I then looked up Judge
Everton, who has always seemed to be fair. My reception was cold. He
admitted that lynching was, as a rule, unjustifiable, but maintained
that there were exceptions to all rules,--that laws were made, after
all, to express the will of the people in regard to the ordinary
administration of justice, but that in an emergency the sovereign people
might assert itself and take the law into its own hands,--the creature
was not greater than the creator. He laughed at my suggestion that Sandy
was innocent. 'If he is innocent,' he said, 'then produce the real
criminal. You negroes are standing in your own light when you try to
protect such dastardly scoundrels as this Campbell, who is an enemy of
society and not fit to live. I shall not move in the matter. If a negro
wants the protection of the law, let him obey the law.' A wise judge,--a
second Daniel come to judgment! If this were the law, there would be no
need of judges or juries."
"I called on Dr. Price," said Miller, "my good friend Dr. Price, who
would rather lie than hurt my feelings. 'Miller,' he declared, 'this is
no affair of mine, or yours. I have too much respect for myself and my
profession to interfere in such a matter, and you will accomplish
nothing, and only lessen your own influence, by having anything to say.'
'But the man may be innocent,' I replied; 'there is every reason to
believe that he is.' He shook his head pityingly. 'You are
self-deceived, Miller; your prejudice has warped your judgment. The
proof is overwhelming that he robbed this old lady, laid violent hands
upon her, and left her dead. If he did no more, he has violated the
written and unwritten law of the Southern States. I could not save him
if I would, Miller, and frankly, I would not if I could. If he is
innocent, his people can console themselves with the reflection that
Mrs. Ochiltree was also innocent, and balance one crime against the
other, the white against the black. Of course I shall take no part in
whatever may be done,--but it is not my affair, nor yours. Take my
advice, Miller, and keep out of it.'
"That is the situation," added Miller, summing up. "Their friendship for
us, a slender stream at the best, dries up entirely when it strikes
their prejudices. There is seemingly not one white man in Wellington who
will speak a word for law, order, decency, or humanity. Those who do not
participate will stand idly by and see an untried man deliberately and
brutally murdered. Race prejudice is the devil unchained."
"Well, den, suh," said Josh, "where does we stan' now? W'at is we gwine
ter do? I wouldn' min' fightin', fer my time ain't come yit,--I feels
dat in my bones. W'at we gwine ter do, dat's w'at I wanter know."
"What does old Mr. Delamere have to say about the matter?" asked Miller
suddenly. "Why haven't we thought of him before? Has he been seen?"
"No," replied Watson gloomily, "and for a good reason,--he is not in
town. I came by the house just now, and learned that he went out to his
country place yesterday afternoon, to remain a week. Sandy was to have
followed him out there this morning,--it's a pity he didn't go
yesterday. The old gentleman has probably heard nothing about the
matter."
"How about young Delamere?"
"He went away early this morning, down the river, to fish. He'll
probably not hear of it before night, and he's only a boy anyway, and
could very likely do nothing," said Watson.
Miller looked at his watch.
"Belleview is ten miles away," he said. "It is now eleven o'clock. I can
drive out there in an hour and a half at the farthest. I'll go and see
Mr. Delamere,--he can do more than any living man, if he is able to do
anything at all. There's never been a lynching here, and one good white
man, if he choose, may stem the flood long enough to give justice a
chance. Keep track of the white people while I'm gone, Watson; and you,
Josh, learn what the colored folks are saying, and do nothing rash until
I return. In the meantime, do all that you can to find out who did
commit this most atrocious murder."