Mr. Delamere's coachman, who, in accordance with instructions left by
Miller, had brought the carriage around to the jail and was waiting
anxiously at the nearest corner, drove up with some trepidation as he
saw his master emerge from the prison. The old gentleman entered the
carriage and gave the order to be driven to the office of the Morning
Chronicle. According to Jerry, the porter, whom he encountered at the
door, Carteret was in his office, and Mr. Delamere, with the aid of his
servant, climbed the stairs painfully and found the editor at his desk.
"Carteret," exclaimed Mr. Delamere, "what is all this talk about
lynching my man for murder and robbery and criminal assault? It's
perfectly absurd! The man was raised by me; he has lived in my house
forty years. He has been honest, faithful, and trustworthy. He would no
more be capable of this crime than you would, or my grandson Tom. Sandy
has too much respect for the family to do anything that would reflect
disgrace upon it."
"My dear Mr. Delamere," asked Carteret, with an indulgent smile, "how
could a negro possibly reflect discredit upon a white family? I should
really like to know."
"How, sir? A white family raised him. Like all the negroes, he has been
clay in the hands of the white people. They are what we have made them,
or permitted them to become."
"We are not God, Mr. Delamere! We do not claim to have created
these--masterpieces."
"No; but we thought to overrule God's laws, and we enslaved these people
for our greed, and sought to escape the manstealer's curse by laying to
our souls the flattering unction that we were making of barbarous
negroes civilized and Christian men. If we did not, if instead of making
them Christians we have made some of them brutes, we have only ourselves
to blame, and if these prey upon society, it is our just punishment! But
my negroes, Carteret, were well raised and well behaved. This man is
innocent of this offense, I solemnly affirm, and I want your aid to
secure his safety until a fair trial can be had."
"On your bare word, sir?" asked Carteret, not at all moved by this
outburst.
Old Mr. Delamere trembled with anger, and his withered cheek flushed
darkly, but he restrained his feelings, and answered with an attempt at
calmness:--
"Time was, sir, when the word of a Delamere was held as good as his
bond, and those who questioned it were forced to maintain their
skepticism upon the field of honor. Time was, sir, when the law was
enforced in this state in a manner to command the respect of the world!
Our lawyers, our judges, our courts, were a credit to humanity and
civilization. I fear I have outlasted my epoch,--I have lived to hear of
white men, the most favored of races, the heirs of civilization, the
conservators of liberty, howling like red Indians around a human being
slowly roasting at the stake."
"My dear sir," said Carteret soothingly, "you should undeceive yourself.
This man is no longer your property. The negroes are no longer under our
control, and with their emancipation ceased our responsibility. Their
insolence and disregard for law have reached a point where they must be
sternly rebuked."
"The law," retorted Mr. Delamere, "furnishes a sufficient penalty for
any crime, however heinous, and our code is by no means lenient. To my
old-fashioned notions, death would seem an adequate punishment for any
crime, and torture has been abolished in civilized countries for a
hundred years. It would be better to let a crime go entirely unpunished,
than to use it as a pretext for turning the whole white population into
a mob of primitive savages, dancing in hellish glee around the mangled
body of a man who has never been tried for a crime. All this, however,
is apart from my errand, which is to secure your assistance in heading
off this mob until Sandy can have a fair hearing and an opportunity to
prove his innocence."
"How can I do that, Mr. Delamere?"
"You are editor of the Morning Chronicle. The Chronicle is the leading
newspaper of the city. This morning's issue practically suggested the
mob; the same means will stop it. I will pay the expense of an extra
edition, calling off the mob, on the ground that newly discovered
evidence has shown the prisoner's innocence."
"But where is the evidence?" asked Carteret.
Again Mr. Delamere flushed and trembled. "My evidence, sir! I say the
negro was morally incapable of the crime. A man of forty-five does not
change his nature over-night. He is no more capable of a disgraceful
deed than my grandson would be!"
Carteret smiled sadly.
"I am sorry, Mr. Delamere," he said, "that you should permit yourself to
be so exercised about a worthless scoundrel who has forfeited his right
to live. The proof against him is overwhelming. As to his capability of
crime, we will apply your own test. You have been kept in the dark too
long, Mr. Delamere,--indeed, we all have,--about others as well as this
negro. Listen, sir: last night, at the Clarendon Club, Tom Delamere was
caught cheating outrageously at cards. He had been suspected for some
time; a trap was laid for him, and be fell into it. Out of regard for
you and for my family, he has been permitted to resign quietly, with the
understanding that he first pay off his debts, which are considerable."
Mr. Delamere's face, which had taken on some color in the excitement of
the interview, had gradually paled to a chalky white while Carteret was
speaking. His head sunk forward; already an old man, he seemed to have
aged ten years in but little more than as many seconds.
"Can this be true?" he demanded in a hoarse whisper. "Is it--entirely
authentic?"
"True as gospel; true as it is that Mrs. Ochiltree has been murdered,
and that this negro killed her. Ellis was at the club a few minutes
after the affair happened, and learned the facts from one of the
participants. Tom made no attempt at denial. We have kept the matter out
of the other papers, and I would have spared your feelings,--I surely
would not wish to wound them,--but the temptation proved too strong for
me, and it seemed the only way to convince you: it was your own test. If
a gentleman of a distinguished name and an honorable ancestry, with all
the restraining forces of social position surrounding him, to hold him
in check, can stoop to dishonor, what is the improbability of an
illiterate negro's being at least capable of crime?"
"Enough, sir," said the old gentleman. "You have proved enough. My
grandson may be a scoundrel,--I can see, in the light of this
revelation, how he might be; and he seems not to have denied it. I
maintain, nevertheless, that my man Sandy is innocent of the charge
against him. He has denied it, and it has not been proved. Carteret, I
owe that negro my life; he, and his father before him, have served me
and mine faithfully and well. I cannot see him killed like a dog,
without judge or jury,--no, not even if he were guilty, which I do not
believe!"
Carteret felt a twinge of remorse for the pain he had inflicted upon
this fine old man, this ideal gentleman of the ideal past,--the past
which he himself so much admired and regretted. He would like to spare
his old friend any further agitation; he was in a state of health where
too great excitement might prove fatal. But how could he? The negro was
guilty, and sure to die sooner or later. He had not meant to interfere,
and his intervention might be fruitless.
"Mr. Delamere," he said gently, "there is but one way to gain time. You
say the negro is innocent. Appearances are against him. The only way to
clear him is to produce the real criminal, or prove an alibi. If you, or
some other white man of equal standing, could swear that the negro was
in your presence last night at any hour when this crime could have taken
place, it might be barely possible to prevent the lynching for the
present; and when he is tried, which will probably be not later than
next week, he will have every opportunity to defend himself, with you
to see that he gets no less than justice. I think it can be managed,
though there is still a doubt. I will do my best, for your sake, Mr.
Delamere,--solely for your sake, be it understood, and not for that of
the negro, in whom you are entirely deceived."
"I shall not examine your motives, Carteret," replied the other, "if you
can bring about what I desire."
"Whatever is done," added Carteret, "must be done quickly. It is now
four o'clock; no one can answer for what may happen after seven. If he
can prove an alibi, there may yet be time to save him. White men might
lynch a negro on suspicion; they would not kill a man who was proven, by
the word of white men, to be entirely innocent."
"I do not know," returned Mr. Delamere, shaking his head sadly. "After
what you have told me, it is no longer safe to assume what white men
will or will not do;--what I have learned here has shaken my faith in
humanity. I am going away, but shall return in a short time. Shall I
find you here?"
"I will await your return," said Carteret.
He watched Mr. Delamere pityingly as the old man moved away on the arm
of the coachman waiting in the hall. He did not believe that Mr.
Delamere could prove an alibi for his servant, and without some positive
proof the negro would surely die,--as he well deserved to die.