AT THE DAWN OF DAY
It was three o'clock before Marion regained consciousness, crawled to her
mother, and crouched in dumb convulsions in her arms.
"What can we do, my darling?" the mother asked at last.
"Die--thank God, we have the strength left!"
"Yes, my love," was the faint answer.
"No one must ever know. We will hide quickly every trace of crime. They
will think we strolled to Lover's Leap and fell over the cliff, and my
name will always be sweet and clean--you understand--come, we must
hurry----"
With swift hands, her blue eyes shining with a strange light, the girl
removed the shreds of torn clothes, bathed, and put on the dress of
spotless white she wore the night Ben Cameron kissed her and called her a
heroine.
The mother cleaned and swept the room, piled the torn clothes and cord in
the fireplace and burned them, dressed herself as if for a walk, softly
closed the doors, and hurried with her daughter along the old pathway
through the moonlit woods.
At the edge of the forest she stopped and looked back tenderly at the
little home shining amid the roses, caught their faint perfume and
faltered:
"Let's go back a minute--I want to see his room, and kiss Henry's picture
again."
"No, we are going to him now--I hear him calling us in the mists above the
cliff," said the girl--"come, we must hurry. We might go mad and fail!"
Down the dim cathedral aisles of the woods, hallowed by tender memories,
through which the poet lover and father had taught them to walk with
reverent feet and without fear, they fled to the old meeting-place of
Love.
On the brink of the precipice, the mother trembled, paused, drew back, and
gasped:
"Are you not afraid, my dear?"
"No; death is sweet now," said the girl. "I fear only the pity of those we
love."
"Is there no other way? We might go among strangers," pleaded the mother.
"We could not escape ourselves! The thought of life is torture. Only those
who hate me could wish that I live. The grave will be soft and cool, the
light of day a burning shame."
"Come back to the seat a moment--let me tell you my love again," urged the
mother. "Life still is dear while I hold your hand."
As they sat in brooding anguish, floating up from the river valley came
the music of a banjo in a negro cabin, mingled with vulgar shout and song
and dance. A verse of the ribald senseless lay of the player echoed above
the banjo's pert refrain:
"Chicken in de bread tray, pickin' up dough;
Granny, will your dog bite? No, chile, no!"
The mother shivered and drew Marion closer.
"Oh, dear! oh, dear! has it come to this--all my hopes of your beautiful
life!"
The girl lifted her head and kissed the quivering lips.
"With what loving wonder we saw you grow," she sighed, "from a tottering
babe on to the hour we watched the mystic light of maidenhood dawn in your
blue eyes--and all to end in this hideous, leprous shame. No--No! I will
not have it! It's only a horrible dream! God is not dead!"
The young mother sank to her knees and buried her face in Marion's lap in
a hopeless paroxysm of grief.
The girl bent, kissed the curling hair, and smoothed it with her soft
hand.
A sparrow chirped in the tree above, a wren twittered in a bush, and down
on the river's bank a mocking-bird softly waked his mate with a note of
thrilling sweetness. "The morning is coming, dearest; we must go," said
Marion. "This shame I can never forget, nor will the world forget. Death
is the only way."
They walked to the brink, and the mother's arms stole round the girl.
"Oh, my baby, my beautiful darling, life of my life, heart of my heart,
soul of my soul!"
They stood for a moment, as if listening to the music of the falls,
looking out over the valley faintly outlining itself in the dawn. The
first far-away streaks of blue light on the mountain ranges, defining
distance, slowly appeared. A fresh motionless day brooded over the world
as the amorous stir of the spirit of morning rose from the moist earth of
the fields below.
A bright star still shone in the sky, and the face of the mother gazed on
it intently. Did the Woman-spirit, the burning focus of the fiercest
desire to live and will, catch in this supreme moment the star's Divine
speech before which all human passions sink into silence? Perhaps, for she
smiled. The daughter answered with a smile; and then, hand in hand, they
stepped from the cliff into the mists and on through the opal gates of
death.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Book IV--The Ku Klux Klan
CHAPTER I
THE HUNT FOR THE ANIMAL
Aunt Cindy came at seven o'clock to get breakfast, and finding the house
closed and no one at home, supposed Mrs. Lenoir and Marion had remained at
the Cameron House for the night. She sat down on the steps, waited
grumblingly an hour, and then hurried to the hotel to scold her former
mistress for keeping her out so long.
Accustomed to enter familiarly, she thrust her head into the dining-room,
where the family were at breakfast with a solitary guest, muttering the
speech she had been rehearsing on the way:
"I lak ter know what sort er way dis--whar's Miss Jeannie?"
Ben leaped to his feet.
"Isn't she at home?"
"Been waitin' dar two hours."
"Great God!" he groaned, springing through the door and rushing to saddle
the mare. As he left he called to his father: "Let no one know till I
return."
At the house he could find no trace of the crime he had suspected. Every
room was in perfect order. He searched the yard carefully and under the
cedar by the window he saw the barefoot tracks of a negro. The white man
was never born who could make that track. The enormous heel projected
backward, and in the hollow of the instep where the dirt would scarcely be
touched by an Aryan was the deep wide mark of the African's flat foot. He
carefully measured it, brought from an outhouse a box, and fastened it
over the spot.
It might have been an ordinary chicken thief, of course. He could not
tell, but it was a fact of big import. A sudden hope flashed through his
mind that they might have risen with the sun and strolled to their
favourite haunt at Lover's Leap.
In two minutes he was there, gazing with hard-set eyes at Marion's hat and
handkerchief lying on the shelving rock.
The mare bent her glistening neck, touched the hat with her nose, lifted
her head, dilated her delicate nostrils, looked out over the cliff with
her great soft half-human eyes and whinnied gently.
Ben leaped to the ground, picked up the handkerchief, and looked at the
initials, "M. L.," worked in the corner. He knew what lay on the river's
brink below as well as if he stood over the dead bodies. He kissed the
letters of her name, crushed the handkerchief in his locked hands, and
cried:
"Now, Lord God, give me strength for the service of my people!"
He hurriedly examined the ground, amazed to find no trace of a struggle or
crime. Could it be possible they had ventured too near the brink and
fallen over?
He hurried to report to his father his discoveries, instructed his mother
and Margaret to keep the servants quiet until the truth was known, and the
two men returned along the river's brink to the foot of the cliff.
They found the bodies close to the water's edge, Marion had been killed
instantly. Her fair blonde head lay in a crimson circle sharply defined in
the white sand. But the mother was still warm with life. She had scarcely
ceased to breathe. In one last desperate throb of love the trembling soul
had dragged the dying body to the girl's side, and she had died with her
head resting on the fair round neck as though she had kissed her and
fallen asleep.
Father and son clasped hands and stood for a moment with uncovered heads.
The doctor said at length:
"Go to the coroner at once and see that he summons the jury _you_ select
and hand to him. Bring them immediately. I will examine the bodies before
they arrive."
Ben took the negro coroner into his office alone, turned the key, told him
of the discovery, and handed him the list of the jury.
"I'll hatter see Mr. Lynch fust, sah," he answered.
Ben placed his hand on his hip pocket and said coldly:
"Put your cross-mark on those forms I've made out there for you, go with
me immediately, and summon these men. If you dare put a negro on this
jury, or open your mouth as to what has occurred in this room, I'll kill
you."
The negro tremblingly did as he was commanded.
The coroner's jury reported that the mother and daughter had been killed
by accidentally failing over the cliff.
In all the throng of grief-stricken friends who came to the little cottage
that day, but two men knew the hell-lit secret beneath the tragedy.
When the bodies reached the home, Doctor Cameron placed Mrs. Cameron and
Margaret outside to receive visitors and prevent any one from disturbing
him. He took Ben into the room and locked the doors.
"My boy, I wish you to witness an experiment."
He drew from its case a powerful microscope of French make.
"What on earth are you going to do, sir?"
The doctor's brilliant eyes flashed with a mystic light as he replied:
"Find the fiend who did this crime--and then we will hang him on a gallows
so high that all men from the rivers to ends of the earth shall see and
feel and know the might of an unconquerable race of men."
"But there's no trace of him here."
"We shall see," said the doctor, adjusting his instrument.
"I believe that a microscope of sufficient power will reveal on the retina
of these dead eyes the image of this devil as if etched there by fire. The
experiment has been made successfully in France. No word or deed of man is
lost. A German scholar has a memory so wonderful he can repeat whole
volumes of Latin, German, and French without an error. A Russian officer
has been known to repeat the roll-call of any regiment by reading it
twice. Psychologists hold that nothing is lost from the memory of man.
Impressions remain in the brain like words written on paper in invisible
ink. So I believe of images in the eye if we can trace them early enough.
If no impression were made subsequently on the mother's eye by the light
of day, I believe the fire-etched record of this crime can yet be
traced."
Ben watched him with breathless interest.
He first examined Marion's eyes. But in the cold azure blue of their pure
depths he could find nothing.
"It's as I feared with the child," he said. "I can see nothing. It is on
the mother I rely. In the splendour of life, at thirty-seven she was the
full-blown perfection of womanhood, with every vital force at its highest
tension----"
He looked long and patiently into the dead mother's eye, rose and wiped
the perspiration from his face.
"What is it, sir?" asked Ben.
Without reply, as if in a trance, he returned to the microscope and again
rose with the little, quick, nervous cough he gave only in the greatest
excitement, and whispered:
"Look now and tell me what you see."
Ben looked and said:
"I can see nothing."
"Your powers of vision are not trained as mine," replied the doctor,
resuming his place at the instrument.
"What do you see?" asked the younger man, bending nervously.
"The bestial figure of a negro--his huge black hand plainly defined--the
upper part of the face is dim, as if obscured by a gray mist of dawn--but
the massive jaws and lips are clear--merciful God--yes--it's Gus!"
The doctor leaped to his feet livid with excitement.
Ben bent again, looked long and eagerly, but could see nothing.
"I'm afraid the image is in your eye, sir, not the mother's," said Ben
sadly.
"That's possible, of course," said the doctor, "yet I don't believe it."
"I've thought of the same scoundrel and tried blood hounds on that track,
but for some reason they couldn't follow it. I suspected him from the
first, and especially since learning that he left for Columbia on the
early morning train on pretended official business."
"Then I'm not mistaken," insisted the doctor, trembling with excitement.
"Now do as I tell you. Find when he returns. Capture him, bind, gag, and
carry him to your meeting-place under the cliff, and let me know."
On the afternoon of the funeral, two days later, Ben received a cypher
telegram from the conductor on the train telling him that Gus was on the
evening mail due at Piedmont at nine o'clock.
The papers had been filled with accounts of the accident, and an enormous
crowd from the county and many admirers of the fiery lyrics of the poet
father had come from distant parts to honour his name. All business was
suspended, and the entire white population of the village followed the
bodies to their last resting-place.
As the crowds returned to their homes, no notice was taken of a dozen men
on horseback who rode out of town by different ways about dusk. At eight
o'clock they met in the woods near the first little flag-station located
on McAllister's farm four miles from Piedmont, where a buggy awaited them.
Two men of powerful build, who were strangers in the county, alighted from
the buggy and walked along the track to board the train at the station
three miles beyond and confer with the conductor.
The men, who gathered in the woods, dismounted, removed their saddles, and
from the folds of the blankets took a white disguise for horse and man. In
a moment it was fitted on each horse, with buckles at the throat, breast,
and tail, and the saddles replaced. The white robe for the man was made in
the form of an ulster overcoat with cape, the skirt extending to the top
of the shoes. From the red belt at the waist were swung two revolvers
which had been concealed in their pockets. On each man's breast was a
scarlet circle within which shone a white cross. The same scarlet circle
and cross appeared on the horse's breast, while on his flanks flamed the
three red mystic letters, K. K. K. Each man wore a white cap, from the
edges of which fell a piece of cloth extending to the shoulders. Beneath
the visor was an opening for the eyes and lower down one for the mouth. On
the front of the caps of two of the men appeared the red wings of a hawk
as the ensign of rank. From the top of each cap rose eighteen inches high
a single spike held erect by a twisted wire. The disguises for man and
horse were made of cheap unbleached domestic and weighed less than three
pounds. They were easily folded within a blanket and kept under the saddle
in a crowd without discovery. It required less than two minutes to remove
the saddles, place the disguises, and remount.
At the signal of a whistle, the men and horses arrayed in white and
scarlet swung into double-file cavalry formation and stood awaiting
orders. The moon was now shining brightly, and its light shimmering on the
silent horses and men with their tall spiked caps made a picture such as
the world had not seen since the Knights of the Middle Ages rode on their
Holy Crusades.
As the train neared the flag-station, which was dark and unattended, the
conductor approached Gus, leaned over, and said: "I've just gotten a
message from the sheriff telling me to warn you to get off at this station
and slip into town. There's a crowd at the depot there waiting for you and
they mean trouble."
Gus trembled and whispered:
"Den fur Gawd's sake lemme off here."
The two men who got on at the station below stepped out before the negro,
and as he alighted from the car, seized, tripped, and threw him to the
ground. The engineer blew a sharp signal, and the train pulled on.
In a minute Gus was bound and gagged.
One of the men drew a whistle and blew twice. A single tremulous call like
the cry of an owl answered. The swift beat of horses' feet followed, and
four white-and-scarlet clansmen swept in a circle around the group.
One of the strangers turned to the horseman with red-winged ensign on his
cap, saluted, and said:
"Here's your man, Night Hawk."
"Thanks, gentlemen," was the answer. "Let us know when we can be of
service to your county."
The strangers sprang into their buggy and disappeared toward the North
Carolina line.
The clansmen blindfolded the negro, placed him on a horse, tied his legs
securely, and his arms behind him to the ring in the saddle.
The Night Hawk blew his whistle four sharp blasts, and his pickets
galloped from their positions and joined him.
Again the signal rang, and his men wheeled with the precision of trained
cavalrymen into column formation three abreast, and rode toward Piedmont,
the single black figure tied and gagged in the centre of the
white-and-scarlet squadron.
CHAPTER II
THE FIERY CROSS
The clansmen with their prisoner skirted the village and halted in the
woods on the river bank. The Night Hawk signalled for single file, and in
a few minutes they stood against the cliff under Lover's Leap and saluted
their chief, who sat his horse, awaiting their arrival.
Pickets were placed in each direction on the narrow path by which the spot
was approached, and one was sent to stand guard on the shelving rock
above.
Through the narrow crooked entrance they led Gus into the cave which had
been the rendezvous of the Piedmont Den of the Clan since its formation.
The meeting-place was a grand hall eighty feet deep, fifty feet wide, and
more than forty feet in height, which had been carved out of the stone by
the swift current of the river in ages past when its waters stood at a
higher level.
To-night it was lighted by candles placed on the ledges of the walls. In
the centre, on a fallen boulder, sat the Grand Cyclops of the Den, the
presiding officer of the township, his rank marked by scarlet stripes on
the white-cloth spike of his cap. Around him stood twenty or more clansmen
in their uniform, completely disguised. One among them wore a yellow sash,
trimmed in gold, about his waist, and on his breast two yellow circles
with red crosses interlapping, denoting his rank to be the Grand Dragon of
the Realm, or Commander-in-Chief of the State.
The Cyclops rose from his seat:
"Let the Grand Turk remove his prisoner for a moment and place him in
charge of the Grand Sentinel at the door, until summoned."
The officer disappeared with Gus, and the Cyclops continued:
"The Chaplain will open our Council with prayer."
Solemnly every white-shrouded figure knelt on the ground, and the voice of
the Rev. Hugh McAlpin, trembling with feeling, echoed through the cave:
"Lord God of our Fathers, as in times past thy children, fleeing from the
oppressor, found refuge beneath the earth until once more the sun of
righteousness rose, so are we met to-night. As we wrestle with the powers
of darkness now strangling our life, give to our souls to endure as seeing
the invisible, and to our right arms the strength of the martyred dead of
our people. Have mercy on the poor, the weak, the innocent and
defenceless, and deliver us from the body of the Black Death. In a land of
light and beauty and love our women are prisoners of danger and fear.
While the heathen walks his native heath unharmed and unafraid, in this
fair Christian Southland our sisters, wives, and daughters dare not stroll
at twilight through the streets or step beyond the highway at noon. The
terror of the twilight deepens with the darkness, and the stoutest heart
grows sick with fear for the red message the morning bringeth. Forgive our
sins--they are many--but hide not thy face from us, O God, for thou art
our refuge!"
As the last echoes of the prayer lingered and died in the vaulted roof,
the clansmen rose and stood a moment in silence.
Again the voice of the Cyclops broke the stillness:
"Brethren, we are met to-night at the request of the Grand Dragon of the
Realm, who has honoured us with his presence, to constitute a High Court
for the trial of a case involving life. Are the Night Hawks ready to
submit their evidence?"
"We are ready," came the answer.
"Then let the Grand Scribe read the objects of the Order on which your
authority rests."
The Scribe opened his Book of Record, "_The Prescript of the Order of the
Invisible Empire_," and solemnly read:
"To the lovers of law and order, peace and justice, and to the shades of
the venerated dead, greeting:
"This is an institution of Chivalry, Humanity, Mercy, and Patriotism:
embodying in its genius and principles all that is chivalric in conduct,
noble in sentiment, generous in manhood, and patriotic in purpose: its
particular objects being,
"First: To protect the weak, the innocent, and the defenceless from the
indignities, wrongs, and outrages of the lawless, the violent, and the
brutal; to relieve the injured and the oppressed: to succour the suffering
and unfortunate, and especially the widows and the orphans of Confederate
Soldiers.
"Second: To protect and defend the Constitution of the United States, and
all the laws passed in conformity thereto, and to protect the States and
the people thereof from all invasion from any source whatever.
"Third: To aid and assist in the execution of all Constitutional laws, and
to protect the people from unlawful seizure, and from trial except by
their peers in conformity to the laws of the land."
"The Night Hawks will produce their evidence," said the Cyclops, "and the
Grand Monk will conduct the case of the people against the negro Augustus
Caesar, the former slave of Dr. Richard Cameron."
Dr. Cameron advanced and removed his cap. His snow-white hair and beard,
ruddy face and dark-brown brilliant eyes made a strange picture in its
weird surroundings, like an ancient alchemist ready to conduct some daring
experiment in the problem of life.
"I am here, brethren," he said, "to accuse the black brute about to appear
of the crime of assault on a daughter of the South----"
A murmur of thrilling surprise and horror swept the crowd of
white-and-scarlet figures as with one common impulse they moved closer.
"His feet have been measured and they exactly tally with the negro tracks
found under the window of the Lenoir cottage. His flight to Columbia and
return on the publication of their deaths as an accident is a confirmation
of our case. I will not relate to you the scientific experiment which
first fixed my suspicion of this man's guilt. My witness could not confirm
it, and it might not be to you credible. But this negro is peculiarly
sensitive to hypnotic influence. I propose to put him under this power
to-night before you, and, if he is guilty, I can make him tell his
confederates, describe and rehearse the crime itself."
The Night Hawks led Gus before Doctor Cameron, untied his hands, removed
the gag, and slipped the blindfold from his head.
Under the doctor's rigid gaze the negro's knees struck together, and he
collapsed into complete hypnosis, merely lifting his huge paws lamely as
if to ward a blow.
They seated him on the boulder from which the Cyclops rose, and Gus stared
about the cave and grinned as if in a dream seeing nothing.
The doctor recalled to him the day of the crime, and he began to talk to
his three confederates, describing his plot in detail, now and then
pausing and breaking into a fiendish laugh.
Old McAllister, who had three lovely daughters at home, threw off his cap,
sank to his knees, and buried his face in his hands, while a dozen of the
white figures crowded closer, nervously gripping the revolvers which hung
from their red belts.
Doctor Cameron pushed them back and lifted his hand in warning.
The negro began to live the crime with fearful realism--the journey past
the hotel to make sure the victims had gone to their home; the visit to
Aunt Cindy's cabin to find her there; lying in the field waiting for the
last light of the village to go out; gloating with vulgar exultation over
their plot, and planning other crimes to follow its success--how they
crept along the shadows of the hedgerow of the lawn to avoid the
moonlight, stood under the cedar, and through the open windows watched the
mother and daughter laughing and talking within----
"Min' what I tells you now--Tie de ole one, when I gib you de rope," said
Gus in a whisper.
"My God!" cried the agonized voice of the figure with the double
cross--"that's what the piece of burnt rope in the fireplace meant!"
Doctor Cameron again lifted his hand for silence.
Now they burst into the room, and with the light of hell in his beady,
yellow-splotched eyes, Gus gripped his imaginary revolver and growled:
"Scream, an' I blow yer brains out!"
In spite of Doctor Cameron's warning, the white-robed figures jostled and
pressed closer----
Gus rose to his feet and started across the cave as if to spring on the
shivering figure of the girl, the clansmen with muttered groans, sobs, and
curses falling back as he advanced. He still wore his full Captain's
uniform, its heavy epaulets flashing their gold in the unearthly light,
his beastly jaws half covering the gold braid on the collar. His thick
lips were drawn upward in an ugly leer and his sinister bead eyes gleamed
like a gorilla's. A single fierce leap and the black claws clutched the
air slowly as if sinking into the soft white throat.
Strong men began to cry like children.
"Stop him! Stop him!" screamed a clansman, springing on the negro and
grinding his heel into his big thick neck. A dozen more were on him in a
moment, kicking, stamping, cursing, and crying like madmen.
Doctor Cameron leaped forward and beat them off:
"Men! Men! You must not kill him in this condition!"
Some of the white figures had fallen prostrate on the ground, sobbing in a
frenzy of uncontrollable emotion. Some were leaning against the walls,
their faces buried in their arms.
Again old McAllister was on his knees crying over and over again:
"God have mercy on my people!"
When at length quiet was restored, the negro was revived, and again bound,
blindfolded, gagged, and thrown to the ground before the Grand Cyclops.
A sudden inspiration flashed in Doctor Cameron's eyes. Turning to the
figure with yellow sash and double cross he said:
"Issue your orders and despatch your courier to-night with the old
Scottish rite of the Fiery Cross. It will send a thrill of inspiration to
every clansman in the hills."
"Good--prepare it quickly!" was the answer.
Doctor Cameron opened his medicine case, drew the silver drinking-cover
from a flask, and passed out of the cave to the dark circle of blood still
shining in the sand by the water's edge. He knelt and filled the cup half
full of the crimson grains, and dipped it into the river. From a saddle he
took the lightwood torch, returned within, and placed the cup on the
boulder on which the Grand Cyclops had sat. He loosed the bundle of
lightwood, took two pieces, tied them into the form of a cross, and laid
it beside a lighted candle near the silver cup.
The silent figures watched his every movement. He lifted the cup and
said:
"Brethren, I hold in my hand the water of your river bearing the red stain
of the life of a Southern woman, a priceless sacrifice on the altar of
outraged civilization. Hear the message of your chief."
The tall figure with the yellow sash and double cross stepped before the
strange altar, while the white forms of the clansmen gathered about him in
a circle. He lifted his cap, and laid it on the boulder, and his men gazed
on the flushed face of Ben Cameron, the Grand Dragon of the Realm.
He stood for a moment silent, erect, a smouldering fierceness in his eyes,
something cruel and yet magnetic in his alert bearing.
He looked on the prostrate negro lying in his uniform at his feet, seized
the cross, lighted the three upper ends and held it blazing in his hand,
while, in a voice full of the fires of feeling, he said:
"Men of the South, the time for words has passed, the hour for action has
struck. The Grand Turk will execute this negro to-night and fling his body
on the lawn of the black Lieutenant-Governor of the State."
The Grand Turk bowed.
"I ask for the swiftest messenger of this Den who can ride till dawn."
The man whom Doctor Cameron had already chosen stepped forward:
"Carry my summons to the Grand Titan of the adjoining province in North
Carolina whom you will find at Hambright. Tell him the story of this crime
and what you have seen and heard. Ask him to report to me here the second
night from this, at eleven o'clock, with six Grand Giants from his
adjoining counties, each accompanied by two hundred picked men. In olden
times when the Chieftain of our people summoned the clan on an errand of
life and death, the Fiery Cross, extinguished in sacrificial blood, was
sent by swift courier from village to village. This call was never made in
vain, nor will it be to-night, in the new world. Here, on this spot made
holy ground by the blood of those we hold dearer than life, I raise the
ancient symbol of an unconquered race of men----"
High above his head in the darkness of the cave he lifted the blazing
emblem----
"The Fiery Cross of old Scotland's hills! I quench its flames in the
sweetest blood that ever stained the sands of Time."
He dipped its ends in the silver cup, extinguished the fire, and handed
the charred symbol to the courier, who quickly disappeared.
CHAPTER III
THE PARTING OF THE WAYS
The discovery of the Captain of the African Guards lying in his full
uniform in Lynch's yard send a thrill of terror to the triumphant leagues.
Across the breast of the body was pinned a scrap of paper on which was
written in red ink the letters K. K. K. It was the first actual evidence
of the existence of this dreaded order in Ulster county.
The First Lieutenant of the Guards assumed command and held the full
company in their armoury under arms day and night. Beneath his door he had
found a notice which was also nailed on the courthouse. It appeared in the
Piedmont _Eagle_ and in rapid succession in every newspaper not under
negro influence in the State. It read as follows:
"HEADQUARTERS OF REALM NO 4.
"DREADFUL ERA, BLACK EPOCH,
"HIDEOUS HOUR.
"GENERAL ORDER NO. I.
"The Negro Militia now organized in this State threatens the
extinction of civilization. They have avowed their purpose to make war
upon and exterminate the Ku Klux Klan, an organization which is now
the sole guardian of Society. All negroes are hereby given forty-eight
hours from the publication of this notice in their respective counties
to surrender their arms at the courthouse door. Those who refuse must
take the consequences.
"By order of the G. D. of Realm No. 4.
"By the Grand Scribe."
The white people of Piedmont read this notice with a thrill of exultant
joy. Men walked the streets with an erect bearing which said without
words:
"Stand out of the way."
For the first time since the dawn of Black Rule negroes began to yield to
white men and women the right of way on the streets.
On the day following, the old Commoner sent for Phil.
"What is the latest news?" he asked.
"The town is in a fever of excitement--not over the discovery in Lynch's
yard--but over the blacker rumour that Marion and her mother committed
suicide to conceal an assault by this fiend."
"A trumped-up lie," said the old man emphatically.
"It's true, sir. I'll take Doctor Cameron's word for it."
"You have just come from the Camerons?"
"Yes."
"Let it be your last visit. The Camerons are on the road to the gallows,
father and son. Lynch informs me that the murder committed last night, and
the insolent notice nailed on the courthouse door, could have come only
from their brain. They are the hereditary leaders of these people. They
alone would have the audacity to fling this crime into the teeth of the
world and threaten worse. We are face to face with Southern barbarism.
Every man now to his own standard! The house of Stoneman can have no part
with midnight assassins."
"Nor with black barbarians, father. It is a question of who possesses the
right of life and death over the citizen, the organized virtue of the
community, or its organized crime. You have mistaken for death the
patience of a generous people. We call ourselves the champions of liberty.
Yet for less than they have suffered, kings have lost their heads and
empires perished before the wrath of freemen."
"My boy, this is not a question for argument between us," said the father
with stern emphasis. "This conspiracy of terror and assassination
threatens to shatter my work to atoms. The election on which turns the
destiny of Congress, and the success or failure of my life, is but a few
weeks away. Unless this foul conspiracy is crushed, I am ruined, and the
Nation falls again beneath the heel of a slaveholders' oligarchy."
"Your nightmare of a slaveholders' oligarchy does not disturb me."
"At least you will have the decency to break your affair with Margaret
Cameron pending the issue of my struggle of life and death with her father
and brother?"
"Never."
"Then I will do it for you."
"I warn you, sir," Phil cried, with anger, "that if it comes to an issue
of race against race, I am a white man. The ghastly tragedy of the
condition of society here is something for which the people of the South
are no longer responsible----"
"I'll take the responsibility!" growled the old cynic.
"Don't ask me to share it," said the younger man emphatically.
The father winced, his lips trembled, and he answered brokenly:
"My boy, this is the bitterest hour of my life that has had little to make
it sweet. To hear such words from you is more than I can bear. I am an old
man now--my sands are nearly run. But two human beings love me, and I love
but two. On you and your sister I have lavished all the treasures of a
maimed and strangled soul--and it has come to this! Read the notice which
one of your friends thrust into the window of my bedroom last night."
He handed Phil a piece of paper on which was written:
"The old club-footed beast who has sneaked into our town, pretending
to search for health, in reality the leader of the infernal Union
League, will be given forty-eight hours to vacate the house and rid
this community of his presence.
"K. K. K."
"Are you an officer of the Union League?" Phil asked in surprise.
"I am its soul."
"How could a Southerner discover this, if your own children didn't know
it?"
"By their spies who have joined the League."
"And do the rank and file know the Black Pope at the head of the order?"
"No, but high officials do."
"Does Lynch?"
"Certainly."
"Then he is the scoundrel who placed that note in your room. It is a
clumsy attempt to forge an order of the Klan. The white man does not live
in this town capable of that act. I know these people."
"My boy, you are bewitched by the smiles of a woman to deny your own flesh
and blood."
"Nonsense, father--you are possessed by an idea which has become an insane
mania----"
"Will you respect my wishes?" the old man broke in angrily.
"I will not," was the clear answer. Phil turned and left the room, and the
old man's massive head sank on his breast in helpless baffled rage and
grief.
He was more successful in his appeal to Elsie. He convinced her of the
genuineness of the threat against him. The brutal reference to his
lameness roused the girl's soul. When the old man, crushed by Phil's
desertion, broke down the last reserve of his strange cold nature, tore
his wounded heart open to her, cried in agony over his deformity, his
lameness, and the anguish with which he saw the threatened ruin of his
life-work, she threw her arms around his neck in a flood of tears and
cried:
"Hush, father, I will not desert you. I will never leave you, or wed
without your blessing. If I find that my lover was in any way responsible
for this insult, I'll tear his image out of my heart and never speak his
name again!"
She wrote a note to Ben, asking him to meet her at sundown on horseback at
Lover's Leap.
Ben was elated at the unexpected request. He was hungry for an hour with
his sweetheart, whom he had not seen save for a moment since the storm of
excitement broke following the discovery of the crime.
He hastened through his work of ordering the movement of the Klan for the
night, and determined to surprise Elsie by meeting her in his uniform of a
Grand Dragon.
Secure in her loyalty, he would deliberately thus put his life in her
hands. Using the water of a brook in the woods for a mirror, he adjusted
his yellow sash and pushed the two revolvers back under the cape out of
sight, saying to himself with a laugh:
"Betray me? Well, if she does, life would not be worth the living!"
When Elsie had recovered from the first shock of surprise at the white
horse and rider waiting for her under the shadows of the old beech, her
surprise gave way to grief at the certainty of his guilt, and the
greatness of his love in thus placing his life without a question in her
hands.
He tied the horses in the woods, and they sat down on the rustic.
He removed his helmet cap, threw back the white cape showing the scarlet
lining, and the two golden circles with their flaming crosses on his
breast, with boyish pride. The costume was becoming to his slender
graceful figure, and he knew it.
"You see, sweetheart, I hold high rank in the Empire," he whispered.
From beneath his cape he drew a long bundle which he unrolled. It was a
triangular flag of brilliant yellow edged in scarlet. In the centre of the
yellow ground was the figure of a huge black dragon with fiery red eyes
and tongue. Around it was a Latin motto worked in scarlet: "_quod semper,
quod ubique, quod ab omnibus_"--what always, what everywhere, what by all
has been held to be true. "The battle-flag of the Klan," he said; "the
standard of the Grand Dragon."
Elsie seized his hand and kissed it, unable to speak.
"Why so serious to-night?"
"Do you love me very much?" she answered.
"Greater love hath no man than this, that he lay his life at the feet of
his beloved," he responded tenderly.
"Yes, yes; I know--and that is why you are breaking my heart. When first I
met you--it seems now ages and ages ago--I was a vain, self-willed, pert
little thing----"
"It's not so. I took you for an angel--you were one. You are one
to-night."
"Now," she went on slowly, "in what I have lived through you I have grown
into an impassioned, serious, self-disciplined, bewildered woman. Your
perfect trust to-night is the sweetest revelation that can come to a
woman's soul and yet it brings to me unspeakable pain----"
"For what?"
"You are guilty of murder."
Ben's figure stiffened.
"The judge who pronounces sentence of death on a criminal outlawed by
civilized society is not usually called a murderer, my dear."
"And by whose authority are you a judge?"
"By authority of the sovereign people who created the State of South
Carolina. The criminals who claim to be our officers are usurpers placed
there by the subversion of law."
"Won't you give this all up for my sake?" she pleaded. "Believe me, you
are in great danger."
"Not so great as is the danger of my sister and mother and my
sweetheart--it is a man's place to face danger," he gravely answered.
"This violence can only lead to your ruin and shame----"
"I am fighting the battle of a race on whose fate hangs the future of the
South and the Nation. My ruin and shame will be of small account if they
are saved," was the even answer.
"Come, my dear," she pleaded tenderly, "you know that I have weighed the
treasures of music and art and given them all for one clasp of your hand,
one throb of your heart against mine. I should call you cruel did I not
know you are infinitely tender. This is the only thing I have ever asked
you to do for me----"
"Desert my people! You must not ask of me this infamy, if you love me," he
cried.
"But, listen; this is wrong--this wild vengeance is a crime you are doing,
however great the provocation. We cannot continue to love one another if
you do this. Listen: I love you better than father, mother, life, or
career--all my dreams I've lost in you. I've lived through eternity to-day
with my father----"
"You know me guiltless of the vulgar threat against him----"
"Yes, and yet you are the leader of desperate men who might have done it.
As I fought this battle to-day, I've lost you, lost myself, and sunk down
to the depths of despair, and at the end rang the one weak cry of a
woman's heart for her lover! Your frown can darken the brightest sky. For
your sake I can give up all save the sense of right. I'll walk by your
side in life--lead you gently and tenderly along the way of my dreams if I
can, but if you go your way, it shall be mine; and I shall still be glad
because you are there! See how humble I am--only you must not commit
crime!"
"Come, sweetheart, you must not use that word," he protested, with a touch
of wounded pride.
"You are a conspirator----"
"I am a revolutionist."
"You are committing murder!"
"I am waging war."
Elsie leaped to her feet in a sudden rush of anger and extended her hand:
"Good-bye. I shall not see you again. I do not know you. You are still a
stranger to me."
He held her hand firmly.
"We must not part in anger," he said slowly. "I have grave work to do
before the day dawns. We may not see each other again."
She led her horse to the seat quickly and without waiting for his
assistance sprang into the saddle.
"Do you not fear my betrayal of your secret?" she asked.
He rode to her side, bent close, and whispered:
"It's as safe as if locked in the heart of God."
A little sob caught her voice, yet she said slowly in firm tones:
"If another crime is committed in this county by your Klan, we will never
see each other again."
He escorted her to the edge of the town without a word, pressed her hand
in silence, wheeled his horse, and disappeared on the road to the North
Carolina line.
CHAPTER IV
THE BANNER OF THE DRAGON
Ben Cameron rode rapidly to the rendezvous of the pickets who were to meet
the coming squadrons.
He returned home and ate a hearty meal. As he emerged from the
dining-room, Phil seized him by the arm and led him under the big oak on
the lawn:
"Cameron, old boy, I'm in a lot of trouble. I've had a quarrel with my
father, and your sister has broken me all up by returning my ring. I want
a little excitement to ease my nerves. From Elsie's incoherent talk I
judge you are in danger. If there's going to be a fight, let me in."
Ben took his hand:
"You're the kind of a man I'd like to have for a brother, and I'll help
you in love--but as for war--it's not your fight. We don't need help."
At ten o'clock Ben met the local Den at their rendezvous under the cliff,
to prepare for the events of the night.
The forty members present were drawn up before him in double rank of
twenty each.
"Brethren," he said to them solemnly, "I have called you to-night to take
a step from which there can be no retreat. We are going to make a daring
experiment of the utmost importance. If there is a faint heart among you,
now is the time to retire----"
"We are with you!" cried the men.
"There are laws of our race, old before this Republic was born in the
souls of white freemen. The fiat of fools has repealed on paper these
laws. Your fathers who created this Nation were first Conspirators, then
Revolutionists, now Patriots and Saints. I need to-night ten volunteers to
lead the coming clansmen over this county and disarm every negro in it.
The men from North Carolina cannot be recognized. Each of you must run
this risk. Your absence from home to-night will be doubly dangerous for
what will be done here at this negro armoury under my command. I ask of
these ten men to ride their horses until dawn, even unto death, to ride
for their God, their native land, and the womanhood of the South!
"To each man who accepts this dangerous mission I offer for your bed the
earth, for your canopy the sky, for your bread stones; and when the flash
of bayonets shall fling into your face from the Square the challenge of
martial law, the protection I promise you--is exile, imprisonment, and
death! Let the ten men who accept these terms step forward four paces."
With a single impulse the whole double line of forty white-and-scarlet
figures moved quickly forward four steps!
The leader shook hands with each man, his voice throbbing with emotion as
he said:
"Stand together like this, men, and armies will march and countermarch
over the South in vain! We will save the life of our people."
The ten guides selected by the Grand Dragon rode forward, and each led a
division of one hundred men through the ten townships of the county and
successfully disarmed every negro before day without the loss of a life.
The remaining squadron of two hundred and fifty men from Hambright,
accompanied by the Grand Titan in command of the Province of Western Hill
Counties, were led by Ben Cameron into Piedmont as the waning moon rose
between twelve and one o'clock.
They marched past Stoneman's place on the way to the negro armoury, which
stood on the opposite side of the street a block below.
The wild music of the beat of a thousand hoofs on the cobblestones of the
street waked every sleeper. The old Commoner hobbled to his window and
watched them pass, his big hands fumbling nervously, and his soul stirred
to its depths.
The ghostlike shadowy columns moved slowly with the deliberate
consciousness of power. The scarlet circles on their breasts could be
easily seen when one turned toward the house, as could the big red letters
K. K. K. on each horse's flank.
In the centre of the line waved from a gold-tipped spear the battle-flag
of the Klan. As they passed the bright lights burning at his gate, old
Stoneman could see this standard plainly. The huge black dragon with
flaming eyes and tongue seemed a living thing crawling over a
scarlet-tipped yellow cloud.
At the window above stood a little figure watching that banner of the
Dragon pass with aching heart.
Phil stood at another, smiling with admiration for their daring:
"By George, it stirs the blood to see it! You can't crush men of that
breed!"
The watchers were not long in doubt as to what the raiders meant.
They deployed quickly around the armoury. A whistle rang its shrill cry,
and a volley of two hundred and fifty carbines and revolvers smashed every
glass in the building. The sentinel had already given the alarm, and the
drum was calling the startled negroes to their arms. They returned the
volley twice, and for ten minutes were answered with the steady crack of
two hundred and fifty guns. A white flag appeared at the door, and the
firing ceased. The negroes laid down their arms and surrendered. All save
three were allowed to go to their homes for the night and carry their
wounded with them.
The three confederates in the crime of their captain were bound and led
away. In a few minutes the crash of a volley told their end.
The little white figure rapped at Phil's door and placed a trembling hand
on his arm:
"Phil," she said softly, "please go to the hotel and stay until you know
all that has happened--until you know the full list of those killed and
wounded. I'll wait. You understand?"
As he stooped and kissed her, he felt a hot tear roll down her cheek.
"Yes, little Sis, I understand," he answered.
CHAPTER V
THE REIGN OF THE KLAN
In quick succession every county followed the example of Ulster, and the
arms furnished the negroes by the State and National governments were in
the hands of the Klan. The League began to collapse in a panic of terror.
A gale of chivalrous passion and high action, contagious and intoxicating,
swept the white race. The moral, mental, and physical earthquake which
followed the first assault on one of their daughters revealed the unity of
the racial life of the people. Within the span of a week they had lived a
century.
The spirit of the South "like lightning had at last leaped forth, half
startled at itself, its feet upon the ashes and the rags," its hands
tight-gripped on the throat of tyrant, thug, and thief.
It was the resistless movement of a race, not of any man or leader of men.
The secret weapon with which they struck was the most terrible and
efficient in human history--these pale hosts of white-and-scarlet
horsemen! They struck shrouded in a mantle of darkness and terror. They
struck where the power of resistance was weakest and the blow least
suspected. Discovery or retaliation was impossible. Not a single disguise
was ever penetrated. All was planned and ordered as by destiny. The
accused was tried by secret tribunal, sentenced without a hearing,
executed in the dead of night without warning, mercy, or appeal. The
movements of the Klan were like clockwork, without a word, save the
whistle of the Night Hawk, the crack of his revolver, and the hoofbeat of
swift horses moving like figures in a dream, and vanishing in mists and
shadows.
The old club-footed Puritan, in his mad scheme of vengeance and party
power, had overlooked the Covenanter, the backbone of the South. This man
had just begun to fight! His race had defied the Crown of Great Britain a
hundred years from the caves and wilds of Scotland and Ireland, taught the
English people how to slay a king and build a commonwealth, and, driven
into exile into the wilderness of America, led our Revolution, peopled the
hills of the South, and conquered the West.
As the young German patriots of 1812 had organized the great struggle for
their liberties under the noses of the garrisons of Napoleon, so Ben
Cameron had met the leaders of his race in Nashville, Tennessee, within
the picket lines of thirty-five thousand hostile troops, and in the ruins
of an old homestead discussed and adopted the ritual of the Invisible
Empire.
Within a few months this Empire overspread a territory larger than modern
Europe. In the approaching election it was reaching out its daring white
hands to tear the fruits of victory from twenty million victorious
conquerors.
The triumph at which they aimed was one of incredible grandeur. They had
risen to snatch power out of defeat and death. Under their clan leadership
the Southern people had suddenly developed the courage of the lion, the
cunning of the fox, and the deathless faith of religious enthusiasts.
Society was fused in the white heat of one sublime thought and beat with
the pulse of the single will of the Grand Wizard of the Klan of Memphis.
Women and children had eyes and saw not, ears and heard not. Over four
thousand disguises for men and horses were made by the women of the South,
and not one secret ever passed their lips!
With magnificent audacity, infinite patience, and remorseless zeal, a
conquered people were struggling to turn his own weapon against their
conqueror, and beat his brains out with the bludgeon he had placed in the
hands of their former slaves.
Behind the tragedy of Reconstruction stood the remarkable man whose iron
will alone had driven these terrible measures through the chaos of
passion, corruption, and bewilderment which followed the first
assassination of an American President. As he leaned on his window in this
village of the South and watched in speechless rage the struggle at that
negro armoury, he felt for the first time the foundations sinking beneath
his feet. As he saw the black cowards surrender in terror, noted the
indifference and cool defiance with which those white horsemen rode and
shot, he knew that he had collided with the ultimate force which his whole
scheme had overlooked.
He turned on his big club foot from the window, clinched his fist and
muttered:
"But I'll hang that man for this deed if it's the last act of my life!"
The morning brought dismay to the negro, the carpet-bagger, and the
scallawag of Ulster. A peculiar freak of weather in the early morning
added to their terror. The sun rose clear and bright except for a slight
fog that floated from the river valley, increasing the roar of the falls.
About nine o'clock a huge black shadow suddenly rushed over Piedmont from
the west, and in a moment the town was shrouded in twilight. The cries of
birds were hushed and chickens went to roost as in a total eclipse of the
sun. Knots of people gathered on the streets and gazed uneasily at the
threatening skies. Hundreds of negroes began to sing and shout and pray,
while sensible people feared a cyclone or cloud-burst. A furious downpour
of rain was swiftly followed by sunshine, and the negroes rose from their
knees, shouting with joy to find the end of the world had after all been
postponed.
But that the end of their brief reign in a white man's land had come, but
few of them doubted. The events of the night were sufficiently eloquent.
The movement of the clouds in sympathy was unnecessary.
Old Stoneman sent for Lynch, and found he had fled to Columbia. He sent
for the only lawyer in town whom the Lieutenant-Governor had told him
could be trusted.
The lawyer was polite, but his refusal to undertake the prosecution of any
alleged member of the Klan was emphatic.
"I'm a sinful man, sir," he said with a smile. "Besides, I prefer to live,
on general principles."
"I'll pay you well," urged the old man, "and if you secure the conviction
of Ben Cameron, the man we believe to be the head of this Klan, I'll give
you ten thousand dollars."
The lawyer was whittling on a piece of pine meditatively.
"That's a big lot of money in these hard times. I'd like to own it, but
I'm afraid it wouldn't be good at the bank on the other side. I prefer the
green fields of South Carolina to those of Eden. My harp isn't in tune."
Stoneman snorted in disgust:
"Will you ask the Mayor to call to see me at once?"
"We ain't got none," was the laconic answer.
"What do you mean?"
"Haven't you heard what happened to his Honour last night?"
"No."
"The Klan called to see him," went on the lawyer with a quizzical look "at
3 A. M. Rather early for a visit of state. They gave him forty-nine lashes
on his bare back, and persuaded him that the climate of Piedmont didn't
agree with him. His Honour, Mayor Bizzel, left this morning with his negro
wife and brood of mulatto children for his home, the slums of Cleveland,
Ohio. We are deprived of his illustrious example, and he may not be a
wiser man than when he came, but he's a much sadder one."
Stoneman dismissed the even-tempered member of the bar, and wired Lynch to
return immediately to Piedmont. He determined to conduct the prosecution
of Ben Cameron in person. With the aid of the Lieutenant-Governor he
succeeded in finding a man who would dare to swear out a warrant against
him.
As a preliminary skirmish he was charged with a violation of the statutory
laws of the United States relating to Reconstruction and arraigned before
a Commissioner.
Against Elsie's agonizing protest, old Stoneman appeared at the courthouse
to conduct the prosecution.
In the absence of the United States Marshal, the warrant had been placed
in the hands of the sheriff, returnable at ten o'clock on the morning
fixed for the trial. The new sheriff of Ulster was no less a personage
than Uncle Aleck, who had resigned his seat in the House to accept the
more profitable one of High Sheriff of the County.
There was a long delay in beginning the trial. At 10:30 not a single
witness summoned had appeared, nor had the prisoner seen fit to honour the
court with his presence.
Old Stoneman sat fumbling his hands in nervous, sullen rage, while Phil
looked on with amusement.
"Send for the sheriff," he growled to the Commissioner.
In a moment Aleck appeared bowing humbly and politely to every white man
he passed. He bent halfway to the floor before the Commissioner and said:
"Marse Ben be here in er minute, sah. He's er eatin' his breakfus'. I run
erlong erhead."
Stoneman's face was a thundercloud as he scrambled to his feet and glared
at Aleck:
"_Marse_ Ben? Did you say _Marse_ Ben? Who's he?"
Aleck bowed low again.
"De young Colonel, sah--Marse Ben Cameron."
"And you the sheriff of this county trotted along in front to make the way
smooth for your prisoner?"
"Yessah!"
"Is that the way you escort prisoners before a court?"
"Dem kin' er prisoners--yessah."
"Why didn't you walk beside him?"
Aleck grinned from ear to ear and bowed very low:
"He say sumfin' to me, sah!"
"And what did he say?"
Aleck shook his head and laughed:
"I hates ter insinuate ter de cote, sah!"
"What did he say to you?" thundered Stoneman.
"He say--he say--ef I walk 'longside er him--he knock hell outen me,
sah!"
"Indeed."
"Yessah, en I 'spec' he would," said Aleck insinuatingly. "La, he's a
gemman, sah, he is! He tell me he come right on. He be here sho'."
Stoneman whispered to Lynch, turned with a look of contempt to Aleck, and
said:
"Mr. Sheriff, you interest me. Will you be kind enough to explain to this
court what has happened to you lately to so miraculously change your
manners?"
Aleck glanced around the room nervously.
"I seed sumfin'--a vision, sah!"
"A vision? Are you given to visions?"
"Na-sah. Dis yere wuz er sho' 'nuff vision! I wuz er feelin' bad all day
yistiddy. Soon in de mawnin', ez I wuz gwine 'long de road, I see a big
black bird er settin' on de fence. He flop his wings, look right at me en
say, 'Corpse! Corpse! Corpse!'"--Aleck's voice dropped to a whisper--"'en
las' night de Ku Kluxes come ter see me, sah!"
Stoneman lifted his beetling brows.
"That's interesting. We are searching for information on that subject."
"Yessah! Dey wuz Sperits, ridin' white hosses wid flowin' white robes, en
big blood-red eyes! De hosses wuz twenty feet high, en some er de Sperits
wuz higher dan dis cote-house! Dey wuz all bal' headed, 'cept right on de
top whar dere wuz er straight blaze er fire shot up in de air ten foot
high!"
"What did they say to you?"
"Dey say dat ef I didn't design de sheriff's office, go back ter farmin'
en behave myself, dey had er job waitin' fer me in hell, sah. En shos' you
born dey wuz right from dar!"
"Of course!" sneered the old Commoner.
"Yessah! Hit's des lak I tell yer. One ob 'em makes me fetch 'im er drink
er water. I carry two bucketsful ter 'im 'fo' I git done, en I swar ter
God he drink it all right dar 'fo' my eyes! He say hit wuz pow'ful dry
down below, sah! En den I feel sumfin' bus' loose inside er me, en I
disremember all dat come ter pass! I made er jump fer de ribber bank, en
de next I knowed I wuz er pullin' fur de odder sho'. I'se er pow'ful good
swimmer, sah, but I nebber git ercross er creek befo' ez quick ez I got
ober de ribber las' night."
"And you think of going back to farming?"
"I done begin plowin' dis mornin', marster!"
"_Don't_ you call me marster!" yelled the old man. "Are you the sheriff of
this county?"
Aleck laughed loudly.
"Na-sah! Dat's er joke! I ain't nuttin' but er plain nigger--I wants
peace, judge."
"Evidently we need a new sheriff."
"Dat's what I tell 'em, sah, dis mornin'--en I des flings mysef on de
ignance er de cote!"
Phil laughed aloud, and his father's colourless eyes began to spit cold
poison.
"About what time do you think your master, Colonel Cameron, will honour us
with his presence?" he asked Aleck.
Again the sheriff bowed.
"He's er comin' right now, lak I tole yer--he's er gemman, sah."
Ben walked briskly into the room and confronted the Commissioner.
Without apparently noticing his presence, Stoneman said:
"In the absence of witnesses we accept the discharge of this warrant,
pending developments."
Ben turned on his heel, pressed Phil's hand as he passed through the
crowd, and disappeared.
The old Commoner drove to the telegraph office and sent a message of more
than a thousand words to the White House, a copy of which the operator
delivered to Ben Cameron within an hour.
President Grant next morning issued a proclamation declaring the nine
Scotch-Irish hill counties of South Carolina in a state of insurrection,
ordered an army corps of five thousand men to report there for duty,
pending the further necessity of martial law and the suspension of the
writ of _Habeas Corpus_.
CHAPTER VI
THE COUNTER STROKE
From the hour he had watched the capture of the armoury old Stoneman felt
in the air a current against him which was electric, as if the dead had
heard the cry of the clansmen's greeting, risen and rallied to their pale
ranks.
The daring campaign these men were waging took his breath. They were going
not only to defeat his delegation to Congress, but send their own to take
their seats, reinforced by the enormous power of a suppressed negro vote.
The blow was so sublime in its audacity, he laughed in secret admiration
while he raved and cursed.
The army corps took possession of the hill counties, quartering from five
to six hundred regulars at each courthouse; but the mischief was done. The
State was on fire. The eighty thousand rifles with which the negroes had
been armed were now in the hands of their foes. A white rifle-club was
organized in every town, village, and hamlet. They attended the public
meetings with their guns, drilled in front of the speakers' stands,
yelled, hooted, hissed, cursed, and jeered at the orators who dared to
champion or apologize for negro rule. At night the hoofbeat of squadrons
of pale horsemen and the crack of their revolvers struck terror to the
heart of every negro, carpet-bagger, and scallawag.
There was a momentary lull in the excitement, which Stoneman mistook for
fear, at the appearance of the troops. He had the Governor appoint a white
sheriff, a young scallawag from the mountains who was a noted moonshiner
and desperado. He arrested over a hundred leading men in the county,
charged them with complicity in the killing of the three members of the
African Guard, and instructed the judge and clerk of the court to refuse
bail and commit them to jail under military guard.
To his amazement the prisoners came into Piedmont armed and mounted. They
paid no attention to the deputy sheriffs who were supposed to have them in
charge. They deliberately formed in line under Ben Cameron's direction and
he led them in a parade through the streets.
The five hundred United States regulars who were camped on the river bank
were Westerners. Ben led his squadron of armed prisoners in front of this
camp and took them through the evolutions of cavalry with the precision of
veterans. The soldiers dropped their games and gathered, laughing, to
watch them. The drill ended with a double-rank charge at the river
embankment. When they drew every horse on his haunches on the brink,
firing a volley with a single crash, a wild cheer broke from the soldiers,
and the officers rushed from their tents.
Ben wheeled his men, galloped in front of the camp, drew them up at dress
parade, and saluted. A low word of command from a trooper, and the
Westerners quickly formed in ranks, returned the salute, and cheered. The
officers rushed up, cursing, and drove the men back to their tents.
The horsemen laughed, fired a volley in the air, cheered, and galloped
back to the courthouse. The court was glad to get rid of them. There was
no question raised over technicalities in making out bail-bonds. The clerk
wrote the names of imaginary bondsmen as fast as his pen could fly, while
the perspiration stood in beads on his red forehead.
Another telegram from old Stoneman to the White House, and the Writ of
_Habeas Corpus_ was suspended and Martial Law proclaimed.
Enraged beyond measure at the salute from the troops, he had two companies
of negro regulars sent from Columbia, and they camped in the Courthouse
Square.
He determined to make a desperate effort to crush the fierce spirit before
which his forces were being driven like chaff. He induced Bizzel to return
from Cleveland with his negro wife and children. He was escorted to the
City Hall and reinstalled as Mayor by the full force of seven hundred
troops, and a negro guard placed around his house. Stoneman had Lynch run
an excursion from the Black Belt, and brought a thousand negroes to attend
a final rally at Piedmont. He placarded the town with posters on which
were printed the Civil Rights Bill and the proclamation of the President
declaring Martial Law.
Ben watched this day dawn with nervous dread. He had passed a sleepless
night, riding in person to every Den of the Klan and issuing positive
orders that no white man should come to Piedmont.
A clash with the authority of the United States he had avoided from the
first as a matter of principle. It was essential to his success that his
men should commit no act of desperation which would imperil his plans.
Above all, he wished to avoid a clash with old Stoneman personally.
The arrival of the big excursion was the signal for a revival of negro
insolence which had been planned. The men brought from the Eastern part of
the State were selected for the purpose. They marched over the town
yelling and singing. A crowd of them, half drunk, formed themselves three
abreast and rushed the sidewalks, pushing every white man, woman, and
child into the street.
They met Phil on his way to the hotel and pushed him into the gutter. He
said nothing, crossed the street, bought a revolver, loaded it and put it
in his pocket. He was not popular with the negroes, and he had been shot
at twice on his way from the mills at night. The whole affair of this
rally, over which his father meant to preside, filled him with disgust,
and he was in an ugly mood.
Lynch's speech was bold, bitter, and incendiary, and at its close the
drunken negro troopers from the local garrison began to slouch through the
streets, two and two, looking for trouble.
At the close of the speaking Stoneman called the officer in command of
these troops, and said:
"Major, I wish this rally to-day to be a proclamation of the supremacy of
law, and the enforcement of the equality of every man under law. Your
troops are entitled to the rights of white men. I understand the hotel
table has been free to-day to the soldiers from the camp on the river.
They are returning the courtesy extended to the criminals who drilled
before them. Send two of your black troops down for dinner and see that it
is served. I wish an example for the State."
"It will be a dangerous performance, sir," the major protested.
The old Commoner furrowed his brow.
"Have you been instructed to act under my orders?"
"I have, sir," said the officer, saluting.
"Then do as I tell you," snapped Stoneman.
Ben Cameron had kept indoors all day, and dined with fifty of the Western
troopers whom he had identified as leading in the friendly demonstration
to his men. Margaret, who had been busy with Mrs. Cameron entertaining
these soldiers, was seated in the dining-room alone, eating her dinner,
while Phil waited impatiently in the parlour.
The guests had all gone when two big negro troopers, fighting drunk,
walked into the hotel. They went to the water-cooler and drank
ostentatiously, thrusting their thick lips coated with filth far into the
cocoanut dipper, while a dirty hand grasped its surface.
They pushed the dining-room door open and suddenly flopped down beside
Margaret.
She attempted to rise, and cried in rage:
"How dare you, black brutes?"
One of them threw his arm around her chair, thrust his face into hers, and
said with a laugh:
"Don't hurry, my beauty; stay and take dinner wid us!"
Margaret again attempted to rise, and screamed, as Phil rushed into the
room with drawn revolver. One of the negroes fired at him, missed, and the
next moment dropped dead with a bullet through his heart.
The other leaped across the table and through the open window.
Margaret turned, confronting both Phil and Ben with revolvers in their
hands, and fainted.
Ben hurried Phil out the back door and persuaded him to fly.
"Man, you must go! We must not have a riot here to-day. There's no telling
what will happen. A disturbance now, and my men will swarm into town
to-night. For God's sake go, until things are quiet!"
"But I tell you I'll face it. I'm not afraid," said Phil quietly.
"No, but I am," urged Ben. "These two hundred negroes are armed and drunk.
Their officers may not be able to control them, and they may lay their
hands on you--go--go!--go!--you must go! The train is due in fifteen
minutes."
He half lifted him on a horse tied behind the hotel, leaped on another,
galloped to the flag-station two miles out of town, and put him on the
north-bound train.
"Stay in Charlotte until I wire for you," was Ben's parting injunction.
He turned his horse's head for McAllister's, sent the two boys with all
speed to the Cyclops of each of the ten township Dens with positive orders
to disregard all wild rumours from Piedmont and keep every man out of town
for two days.
As he rode back he met a squad of mounted white regulars, who arrested
him. The trooper's companion had sworn positively that he was the man who
killed the negro.
Within thirty minutes he was tried by drum-head court-martial and
sentenced to be shot.
CHAPTER VII
THE SNARE OF THE FOWLER
Sweet was the secret joy of old Stoneman over the fate of Ben Cameron. His
death sentence would strike terror to his party, and his prompt execution,
on the morning of the election but two days off, would turn the tide, save
the State, and rescue his daughter from a hated alliance.
He determined to bar the last way of escape. He knew the Klan would
attempt a rescue, and stop at no means fair or foul short of civil war.
Afraid of the loyalty of the white battalions quartered in Piedmont, he
determined to leave immediately for Spartanburg, order an exchange of
garrisons, and, when the death warrant was returned from headquarters,
place its execution in the hands of a stranger, to whom appeal would be
vain. He knew such an officer in the Spartanburg post, a man of fierce,
vindictive nature, once court-martialed for cruelty, who hated every
Southern white man with mortal venom. He would put him in command of the
death watch.
He hired a fast team and drove across the county with all speed, doubly
anxious to get out of town before Elsie discovered the tragedy and
appealed to him for mercy. Her tears and agony would be more than he could
endure. She would stay indoors on account of the crowds, and he would not
be missed until evening, when safely beyond her reach.
When Phil arrived at Charlotte he found an immense crowd at the bulletin
board in front of the _Observer_ office reading the account of the
Piedmont tragedy. To his horror he learned of the arrest, trial, and
sentence of Ben for the deed which he had done.
He rushed to the office of the Division Superintendent of the Piedmont Air
Line Railroad, revealed his identity, told him the true story of the
tragedy, and begged for a special to carry him back. The Superintendent,
who was a clansman, not only agreed, but within an hour had the special
ready and two cars filled with stern-looking men to accompany him. Phil
asked no questions. He knew what it meant. The train stopped at Gastonia
and King's Mountain and took on a hundred more men.
The special pulled into Piedmont at dusk. Phil ran to the Commandant and
asked for an interview with Ben alone.
"For what purpose, sir?" the officer asked.
Phil resorted to a ruse, knowing the Commandant to be unaware of any
difference of opinion between him and his father.
"I hold a commission to obtain a confession from the prisoner which may
save his life by destroying the Ku Klux Klan."
He was admitted at once and the guard ordered to withdraw until the
interview ended.
Phil took Ben Cameron's place, exchanging hat and coat, and wrote a note
to his father, telling in detail the truth, and asked for his immediate
interference.
"Deliver that, and I'll be out of here in two hours," he said, as he
placed the note in Ben's hand.
"I'll go straight to the house," was the quick reply.
The exchange of the Southerner's slouch hat and Prince Albert for Phil's
derby and short coat completely fooled the guard in the dim light. The men
were as much alike as twins except the shade of difference in the colour
of their hair. He passed the sentinel without a challenge, and walked
rapidly toward Stoneman's house.
On the way he was astonished to meet five hundred soldiers just arrived on
a special from Spartanburg. Amazed at the unexpected movement, he turned
and followed them back to the jail.
They halted in front of the building he had just vacated, and their
commander handed an official document to the officer in charge. The guard
was changed and a cordon of soldiers encircled the prison.
The Piedmont garrison had received notice by wire to move to Spartanburg,
and Ben heard the beat of their drums already marching to board the
special.
He pressed forward and asked an interview with the Captain in command.
The answer came with a brutal oath:
"I have been warned against all the tricks and lies this town can hatch.
The commander of the death watch will permit no interview, receive no
visitors, hear no appeal, and allow no communication with the prisoner
until after the execution. You can announce this to whom it may concern."
"But you've got the wrong man. You have no right to execute him," said Ben
excitedly.
"I'll risk it," he answered, with a sneer.
"Great God!" Ben cried beneath his breath. "The old fool has entrapped his
son in the net he spread for me!"
CHAPTER VIII
A RIDE FOR A LIFE
When Ben Cameron failed to find either Elsie or her father at home, he
hurried to the hotel, walking under the shadows of the trees to avoid
recognition, though his resemblance to Phil would have enabled him to pass
in his hat and coat unchallenged by any save the keenest observers.
He found his mother's bedroom door ajar and saw Elsie within, sobbing in
her arms. He paused, watched, and listened.
Never had he seen his mother so beautiful--her face calm, intelligent, and
vital, crowned with a halo of gray. She stood, flushed and dignified,
softly smoothing the golden hair of the sobbing girl whom she had learned
to love as her daughter. Her whole being reflected the years of homage she
had inspired in husband, children, and neighbours. What a woman! She had
made war inevitable, fought it to the bitter end; and in the despair of a
negro reign of terror, still the prophetess and high priestess of a
people, serene, undismayed, and defiant, she had fitted the uniform of a
Grand Dragon on her last son, and sewed in secret day and night to equip
his men. And through it all she was without affectation, her sweet
motherly ways, gentle manner and bearing always resistless to those who
came within her influence.
"If he dies," cried the tearful voice, "I shall never forgive myself for
not surrendering without reserve and fighting his battles with him!"
"He is not dead yet," was the mother's firm answer. "Doctor Cameron is on
Queen's back. Your lover's men will be riding to-night--these young
dare-devil Knights of the South, with their life in their hands, a song on
their lips, and the scorn of death in their souls!"
"Then I'll ride with them," cried the girl, suddenly lifting her head.
Ben stepped into the room, and with a cry of joy Elsie sprang into his
arms. The mother stood silent until their lips met in the long tender kiss
of the last surrender of perfect love.
"How did you escape so soon?" she asked quietly, while Elsie's head still
lay on his breast.
"Phil shot the brute, and I rushed him out of town. He heard the news,
returned on the special, took my place, and sent me for his father. The
guard has been changed and it's impossible to see him, or communicate with
the new Commandant----"
Elsie started and turned pale.
"And father has hidden to avoid me--merciful God--if Phil is
executed----"
"He isn't dead yet, either," said Ben, slipping his arm around her. "But
we must save him without a clash or a drop of bloodshed, if possible. The
fate of our people may hang on this. A battle with United States troops
now might mean ruin for the South----"
"But you will save him?" Elsie pleaded, looking into his face.
"Yes--or I'll go down with him," was the steady answer.
"Where is Margaret?" he asked.
"Gone to McAllister's with a message from your father," Mrs. Cameron
replied,
"Tell her when she returns to keep a steady nerve. I'll save Phil. Send
her to find her father. Tell him to hold five hundred men ready for action
in the woods by the river and the rest in reserve two miles out of
town----"
"May I go with her?" Elsie asked eagerly.
"No. I may need you," he said. "I am going to find the old statesman now,
if I have to drag the bottomless pit. Wait here until I return."
Ben reached the telegraph office unobserved, called the operator at
Columbia, and got the Grand Giant of the county into the office. Within an
hour he learned that the death warrant had been received and approved. It
would be returned by a messenger to Piedmont on the morning train. He
learned also that any appeal for a stay must be made through the
Honourable Austin Stoneman, the secret representative of the Government
clothed with this special power. The execution had been ordered the day of
the election, to prevent the concentration of any large force bent on
rescue.
"The old fox!" Ben muttered.
From the Grand Giant at Spartanburg he learned, after a delay of three
hours, that Stoneman had left with a boy in a buggy, which he had hired
for three days, and refused to tell his destination. He promised to follow
and locate him as quickly as possible.
It was the afternoon on the day following, during the progress of the
election, before Ben received the message from Spartanburg that Stoneman
had been found at the Old Red Tavern where the roads crossed from Piedmont
to Hambright. It was only twelve miles away, just over the line on the
North Carolina side.
He walked with Margaret to the block where Queen stood saddled, watching
with pride the quiet air of self-control with which she bore herself.
"Now, my sister, you know the way to the tavern. Ride for your
sweetheart's life. Bring the old man here by five o'clock, and we'll save
Phil without a fight. Keep your nerve. The Commandant knows a regiment of
mine is lying in the woods, and he's trying to slip out of town with his
prisoner. I'll stand by my men ready for a battle at a moment's notice,
but for God's sake get here in time to prevent it."
She stooped from the saddle, pressed her brother's hand, kissed him, and
galloped swiftly over the old Way of Romance she knew so well.
On reaching the tavern, the landlord rudely denied that any such man was
there, and left her standing dazed and struggling to keep back the tears.
A boy of eight, with big wide friendly eyes, slipped into the room, looked
up into her face tenderly, and said:
"He's the biggest liar in North Carolina. The old man's right upstairs in
the room over your head. Come on; I'll show you."
Margaret snatched the child in her arms and kissed him.
She knocked in vain for ten minutes. At last she heard his voice within:
"Go away from that door!"
"I'm from Piedmont, sir," cried Margaret, "with an important message from
the Commandant for you."
"Yes; I saw you come. I will not see you. I know everything, and I will
hear no appeal."
"But you cannot know of the exchange of men," pleaded the girl.
"I tell you I know all about it. I will not interfere----"
"But you could not be so cruel----"
"The majesty of the law must be vindicated. The judge who consents to the
execution of a murderer is not cruel. He is showing mercy to Society. Go,
now; I will not hear you."
In vain Margaret knocked, begged, pleaded, and sobbed.
At last, in a fit of desperation, as she saw the sun sinking lower and the
precious minutes flying, she hurled her magnificent figure against the
door and smashed the cheap lock which held it.
The old man sat at the other side of the room, looking out of the window,
with his massive jaws locked in rage. The girl staggered to his side,
knelt by his chair, placed her trembling hand on his arm, and begged:
"For the love of Jesus, have mercy! Come with me quickly!"
With a growl of anger, he said:
"No!"
[Illustration: MIRIAM COOPER AS MARGARET CAMERON.]
"It was a mad impulse, in my defence as well as his own."
"Impulse, yes! But back of it lay banked the fires of cruelty and race
hatred! The Nation cannot live with such barbarism rotting its heart
out."
"But this is war, sir--a war of races, and this an accident of
war--besides, his life had been attempted by them twice before."
"So I've heard, and yet the negro always happens to be the victim----"
Margaret leaped to her feet and glared at the old man for a moment in
uncontrollable anger.
"Are you a fiend?" she fairly shrieked.
Old Stoneman merely pursed his lips.
The girl came a step closer, and extended her hand again in mute appeal.
"No, I was foolish. You are not cruel. I have heard of a hundred acts of
charity you have done among our poor. Come, this is horrible! It is
impossible! You cannot consent to the death of your son----"
Stoneman looked up sharply:
"Thank God, he hasn't married my daughter yet----"
"Your daughter!" gasped Margaret. "I've told you it was Phil who killed
the negro! He took Ben's place just before the guards were exchanged----"
"Phil!--Phil?" shrieked the old man, staggering to his club foot and
stumbling toward Margaret with dilated eyes and whitening face; "My
boy--Phil?--why--why, are you crazy?--Phil? Did you say--_Phil_?"
"Yes. Ben persuaded him to go to Charlotte until the excitement passed to
avoid trouble. Come, come, sir, we must be quick! We may be too late!"
She seized and pulled him toward the door.
"Yes. Yes, we must hurry," he said in a laboured whisper, looking around
dazed. "You will show me the way, my child--you love him--yes, we will go
quickly--quickly! my boy--my boy!"
Margaret called the landlord, and while they hitched Queen to the buggy,
the old man stood helplessly wringing and fumbling his big ugly hands,
muttering incoherently, and tugging at his collar as though about to
suffocate.
As they dashed away, old Stoneman laid a trembling hand on Margaret's
arm.
"Your horse is a good one, my child?"
"Yes; the one Marion saved--the finest in the county."
"And you know the way?"
"Every foot of it. Phil and I have driven it often."
"Yes, yes--you love him," he sighed, pressing her hand.
Through the long reckless drive, as the mare flew over the rough hills,
every nerve and muscle of her fine body at its utmost tension, the father
sat silent. He braced his club foot against the iron bar of the dashboard
and gripped the sides of the buggy to steady his feeble body. Margaret
leaned forward intently watching the road to avoid an accident. The old
man's strange colourless eyes stared straight in front, wide open, and
seeing nothing, as if the soul had already fled through them into
eternity.
CHAPTER IX
"VENGEANCE IS MINE"
It was dark long before Margaret and Stoneman reached Piedmont. A mile out
of town a horse neighed in the woods, and, tired as she was, Queen threw
her head high and answered the call.
The old man did not notice it, but Margaret knew a squadron of
white-and-scarlet horsemen stood in those woods, and her heart gave a
bound of joy.
As they passed the Presbyterian church, she saw through the open window
her father standing at his Elder's seat leading in prayer. They were
holding a watch service, asking God for victory in the eventful struggle
of the day.
Margaret attempted to drive straight to the jail, and a sentinel stopped
them.
"I am Stoneman, sir--the real commander of these troops," said the old
man, with authority.
"Orders is orders, and I don't take 'em from you," was the answer.
"Then tell your commander that Mr. Stoneman has just arrived from
Spartanburg and asks to see him at the hotel immediately."
He hobbled into the parlour and waited in agony while Margaret tied the
mare. Ben, her mother and father, and every servant were gone.
In a few moments the second officer hurried to Stoneman, saluted, and
said:
"We've pulled it off in good shape, sir. They've tried to fool us with a
dozen tricks, and a whole regiment has been lying in wait for us all day.
But at dark the Captain outwitted them, took his prisoner with a squad of
picked cavalry, and escaped their pickets. They've been gone an hour, and
ought to be back with the body----"
Old Stoneman sprang on him with the sudden fury of a madman, clutching at
his throat.
"If you've killed my son," he gasped--"go--go! Follow them with a swift
messenger and stop them! It's a mistake--you're killing the wrong
man--you're killing my boy--quick--my God, quick--don't stand there
staring at me!"
The officer rushed to obey his order as Margaret entered.
The old man seized her arm, and said with laboured breath:
"Your father, my child, ask him to come to me quickly."
Margaret hurried to the church, and an usher called the doctor to the
door.
He read the question trembling on the girl's lips.
"Nothing has happened yet, my daughter. Your brother has held a regiment
of his men in readiness every moment of the day."
"Mr. Stoneman is at the hotel and asks to see you immediately," she
whispered.
"God grant he may prevent bloodshed," said the father. "Go inside and stay
with your mother."
When Doctor Cameron entered the parlour Stoneman hobbled painfully to meet
him, his face ashen, and his breath rattling in his throat as if his soul
were being strangled.
"You are my enemy, Doctor," he said, taking his hand, "but you are a pious
man. I have been called an infidel--I am only a wilful sinner--I have
slain my own son, unless God Almighty, who can raise the dead, shall save
him! You are the man at whom I aimed the blow that has fallen on my head.
I wish to confess to you and set myself right before God. He may hear my
cry, and have mercy on me."
He gasped for breath, sank into his seat, looked around, and said:
"Will you close the door?"
The doctor complied with his request and returned.
"We all wear masks, Doctor," began the trembling voice. "Beneath lie the
secrets of love and hate from which actions move. My will alone forged the
chains of negro rule. Three forces moved me--party success, a vicious
woman, and the quenchless desire for personal vengeance. When I first fell
a victim to the wiles of the yellow vampire who kept my house, I dreamed
of lifting her to my level. And when I felt myself sinking into the black
abyss of animalism, I, whose soul had learned the pathway of the stars and
held high converse with the great spirits of the ages----"
He paused, looked up in terror, and whispered:
"What's that noise? Isn't it the distant beat of horses' hoofs?"
"No," said the doctor, listening; "it's the roar of the falls we hear,
from a sudden change of the wind."
"I'm done now," Stoneman went on, slowly fumbling his hands. "My life has
been a failure. The dice of God are always loaded."
His great head drooped lower, and he continued:
"Mightiest of all was my motive of revenge. Fierce business and political
feuds wrecked my iron mills. I shouldered their vast debts, and paid the
last mortgage of a hundred thousand dollars the week before Lee invaded my
State. I stood on the hill in the darkness, cried, raved, cursed, while I
watched the troops lay those mills in ashes. Then and there I swore that
I'd live until I ground the South beneath my heel! When I got back to my
house they had buried a Confederate soldier in the field. I dug his body
up, carted it to the woods, and threw it into a ditch----"
The hand of the white-haired Southerner suddenly gripped old Stoneman's
throat--and then relaxed. His head sank on his breast, and he cried in
anguish:
"God be merciful to me a sinner! Would I, too, seek revenge!"
Stoneman looked at the doctor, dazed by his sudden onslaught and
collapse.
"Yes, he was somebody's boy down here," he went on, "who was loved perhaps
even as I love--I don't blame you. See, in the inside pocket next to my
heart I carry the pictures of Phil and Elsie taken from babyhood up, all
set in a little book. They don't know this--nor does the world dream I've
been so soft-hearted----"
He drew a miniature album from his pocket and fumbled it aimlessly:
"You know Phil was my first-born----"
His voice broke, and he looked at the doctor helplessly.
The Southerner slipped his arm around the old man's shoulders and began a
tender and reverent prayer.
The sudden thunder of a squad of cavalry with clanking sabres swept by the
hotel toward the jail.
Stoneman scrambled to his feet, staggered, and caught a chair.
"It's no use," he groaned, "--they've come with his body--I'm slipping
down--the lights are going out--I haven't a friend! It's dark and
cold--I'm alone, and lost--God--has--hidden--His--face--from--me!"
Voices were heard without, and the tramp of heavy feet on the steps.
Stoneman clutched the doctor's arm in agony:
"Stop them!--Stop them! Don't let them bring him in here!"
He sank limp into the chair and stared at the door as it swung open and
Phil walked in, with Ben and Elsie by his side, in full clansman
disguise.
The old man leaped to his feet and gasped:
"The Klan!--The Klan! No? Yes! It's true--glory to God, they've saved my
boy--Phil--Phil!"
"How did you rescue him?" Doctor Cameron asked Ben.
"Had a squadron lying in wait on every road that led from town. The
Captain thought a thousand men were on him, and surrendered without a
shot."
* * * * *
At twelve o'clock Ben stood at the gate with Elsie.
"Your fate hangs in the balance of this election to-night," she said.
"I'll share it with you, success or failure, life or death."
"Success, not failure," he answered firmly. "The Grand Dragons of six
States have already wired victory. Look at our lights on the mountains!
They are ablaze--range on range our signals gleam until the Fiery Cross is
lost among the stars!"
"What does it mean?" she whispered.
"That I am a successful revolutionist--that Civilization has been saved,
and the South redeemed from shame."
THE END