_Unexpected Developments._
According to previous engagement, Mr. Arthur Daleman, Sr., Alene's
father, and Ramon Mansford, her affianced, went forth together for an
early morning walk. Arm in arm the somewhat aged Southerner and the
young Northerner sauntered forth.
"My boy," said Mr. Daleman, "I have thought to have a talk with you
concerning the dark shadow that projects itself over our section, the
Negro problem. Not that I would infect you with my peculiar views, but
that those of us and our descendants who abide here may have your
sympathy."
"My love for Alene invests all that is near to her with my abiding
sympathy," said Ramon with quiet fervor.
"Yes, but the mind must be informed if sympathy is to be intelligently
directed. To begin with, men of my class, families like mine have no
prejudice against Negroes nor they against us. We know them thoroughly
and they know us. There is never the slightest trespass on forbidden
ground by us or by them. It is a boast of many Negroes that they can
tell a 'quality' white person on sight, and practically all Negroes
ascribe their troubles to a certain class of whites."
"I have noticed the kindly relations between your people and all the
Negroes that have had dealings with them," interposed Ramon.
"My class was humane to the Negro in the days of slavery and under our
kindly care developed him from a savage into a thoroughly civilized man.
But I am glad slavery is gone. Under the system bad white men could own
slaves and their doings were sometimes terrible. They were the ones who
made Uncle Tom's Cabin possible and brought down upon us all the
maledictions of the world, Like 'poor dog Tray,' the humane class were
caught in bad company and we have paid for it. But all of that is in the
past. A word about the present and the future," said Mr. Daleman.
The two men were now in a grove of trees in the suburbs of the city. Mr.
Daleman took a seat on a stump and Ramon, unmindful of the dew, threw
himself at full length on the grass, and looked up intently into the
face of his prospective father-in-law.
Mr. Daleman now resumed: "The radical element at the South has always
given us trouble. The radicals hate the Negro and nothing is too bad for
them to do to him. We liberals like him and want to see him prosper.
Such of us liberals as labor to keep the Negro out of politics do so,
not out of hatred of him, but for his own good, as we see it. We hate to
see him the victim of the spleen of the radicals and they do grow
furious at the sight of the Negro in exalted station. In your Northern
home bear in mind these two classes of Southerners and remember that
some of us at least are anxious for the highest good to all."
Mr. Daleman now paused and a sad look came over his face.
He resumed: "One of the hardest tasks among us is the suppression of
lynching. In the very nature of things, as conditions now exist, there
cannot be such a thing as a trial of a charge of outrage by a Negro man
upon a white woman. Often in cases of that nature the crime charged is
disproved, by proving another offense involving collusion. Well, no
lawyer can be found who would set up such a defense for a Negro client
if the white woman in the case objected, for he would be killed,
perhaps, and, furthermore, collusion is punished in the same way as
outrage. So lynching is here fortified. Tolerated and condoned for one
thing it spreads to other things and men are lynched for trivial
offenses.
"If a departure could be made from the custom of public trials and jury
trials in such cases, relief might be found. The trials could be secret
and before a bench of judges. Care for the feelings of the woman and her
guardians, and things will be better. There is no pronounced sentiment
among the better classes in favor of lynching for other causes and it
can be put down. There is marked improvement in this matter, and it may
be that lynching may be stopped without the changes in jurisprudence
which I suggest."
Mr. Daleman now arose from his seat, saying, "Come, my son. They will be
awaiting breakfast for us, I fear. Tell the North that down in this
Southland there is an element of as noble men as the world affords; men
with a keen sense of justice and an unfaltering purpose to lift our
section to a position of high esteem in the estimation of the world. We
may seem to work at cross purposes with you of the North; we may be
overwhelmed by waves of race prejudice from time to time, but we are
here, and I claim to be one of them. I challenge the man, white or
black, rich or poor, to say that I ever mistreated him by word or deed."
"You need no vindication. Time was when practically all Southerners were
classed together by the outside, but that day has passed."
The two men walked back home in silence, Mr. Daleman thinking about the
future of his home without Alene, and Ramon thinking of his own future
home with her. When they got back to the house breakfast was ready and
they were soon seated at the table.
"Tell Alene to come down. I know the child is a little shy this morning,
but I must have her by my side this once more. Go for her, Arthur,"
said Mr. Daleman, Sr., to his son.
Arthur involuntarily drew back slightly at the request and his father
cast an inquiring look at him.
"I hate to disturb the child's slumbers. I doubt whether she slept much
last night," said Arthur, in somewhat husky tones.
"He hates to see Alene leave him," thought Mr. Daleman.
Arthur ascended the stairs and, coming to Alene's door found it slightly
ajar. He knocked, but received no response. He knocked harder, then
again and again. He knew that he had knocked hard enough to awaken one
from sleep, so he concluded that Alene must be up and in some other part
of the house. As she had left the door open, Arthur decided that the
room was prepared for entering. He had a secret desire to step in and
glance around the room in which, on the previous night, he stood in such
imminent danger of exposure. Pushing the door open, he stepped in
quickly, but far more quickly stepped out, terror stricken. Upon
Foresta's bed lay the beautiful Alene, her face covered with blood and
her hair falling over her face, dyeing itself a crimson red.
Arthur was speechless with horror. He ran his fingers through his hair,
brought his hand down over his face as if seeking by that means to clear
his brain so that he could answer the question as to whether he himself
had not committed the murder. Recovering his self-possession in a
measure, he dragged himself down stairs to where Mr. Daleman was. There
was such an awful look upon his face that Mr. Daleman was thoroughly
aroused.
"What is the trouble, Arthur?" asked Mr. Daleman.
Arthur said nothing, but made a motion in the direction of the room that
looked to be as much a sign of despair as of direction.
Mr. Daleman rushed up the stairway and into the room. A glance told him
the awful story. The kindly light that always lingered in his eyes died
out and a cold, keen glitter appeared. His form showing the slight
curvature of age, now stiffened under the iron influence of his will and
he stood erect. The tears tried to come, but he tossed the first away
and others feared to come. No more bitter cup was ever handed man to
drink; but he quaffed it, dregs and all. One awful unnamable fear,
involving the motive of the crime, haunted his soul. The family
physician was sent for and said tenderly, as he came from the room of
the murdered girl, "It might have been worse." Through the dark sorrow
of Mr. Daleman's soul there shot a gleam of joy. The two men clasped
hands in silence. The horror was less.
The whole city was soon in a furor of excitement. Bloodhounds were put
on the trail and about noon a Negro who had been tracked was
apprehended, sitting quietly on a bridge a few miles out from the city.
He made no effort to escape, and manifested no surprise when caught.
"Have they killed anybody else?" was his first and only utterance to the
officers who took him in charge. His captors did not deign to make
reply. The Negro was handcuffed and led back until the party arrived at
the outskirts of the city. The patrol wagon was telephoned for and the
Negro was soon safe in the station house. News spread like wildfire that
the criminal was in the prison and soon the street was full of
thousands. A mob was formed and an assault was planned upon the prison.
The chief of police came out on the steps of the building and, with
drawn pistol, declared that the majesty of the law would be maintained
at all hazards. He then retired within.
Nothing daunted the mob surged forward. The chief of police came forth
again and in a manner that left no room for mistake, declared that only
over his dead body could they take the prisoner. His long record as a
daring and faithful officer was well known and the mob now hesitated.
The sheriff of the county was out of the city at the time and one of his
deputies was in charge of affairs. This deputy had been laying plans
with a view to being the candidate of his party for the office of
sheriff at the next election, and he fancied that he now saw an
opportunity to curry favor with the masses. He elbowed his way through
the crowd and held a whispered conference with the leader of the mob.
Thereupon the leader took his place on the steps and harangued the mob
as follows:
"Fellow citizens, do not despair. The voice of the people is the voice
of God, and your voice shall be heard this day. I assure you of this
fact. I beg of you, however, that you now disperse. You shall meet again
under circumstances more favorable to your wishes."
The persons in front passed the word along, and knowing that some better
plan of action had been agreed upon, the crowd dispersed into
neighboring streets.
The deputy sheriff, armed with the proper papers, appeared at the
station house and demanded and secured the prisoner, as the city had no
jurisdiction over murder cases. When he had proceeded about a block with
his prisoner, a group of men who understood the matter raised a mighty
yell. The mob which had dispersed now reformed.
The prisoner was taken from the deputy sheriff, and was hurried to the
bridge connecting the two parts of the city. A rope was secured and the
Negro was dropped over the side of the bridge. As his form dangled
therefrom, every man in the crowd who could, and who had a pistol,
leaned over the railing and fired at the Negro. The rain of bullets made
the Negro's form swing to and fro. The crowd finally dispersed, leaving
the body suspended from the bridge.
Gus Martin had kept up with the mob from the beginning, walking about
with folded arms, betraying no trace of excitement save, perhaps, the
rapid chewing of the tobacco which was in his mouth. His blood was
stirred, but its Indian infusion contributed stoicism to him on this
occasion.
When the whites were through with the body, Gus went to the side of the
bridge and drew it up. Calling to his aid another Negro, he procured a
stretcher and bore the body to Bud Harper's home.