_The Blaze._
Little Melville Brant stamped his foot on the floor, looked defiantly at
his mother, and said, in the whining tone of a nine-year old child,
"Mother, I want to go."
"Melville, I have told you this dozen times that you cannot go,"
responded the mother with a positiveness that caused the boy to feel
that his chances were slim.
"You are always telling me to keep ahead of the other boys, and I can't
even get up to some of them," whined Melville plaintively.
"What do you mean?" asked the mother.
"Ben Stringer is always a crowing over me. Every time I tell anything
big he jumps in and tells what he's seen, and that knocks me out. He has
seen a whole lots of lynchings. His papa takes him. I bet if my papa was
living he would take me," said Melville.
"My boy, listen to your mother," said Mrs. Brant. "Nothing but bad
people take part in or go to see those things. I want mother's boy to
scorn such things, to be way above them."
"Well, I ain't. I want to see it. Ben Stringer ain't got no business
being ahead of me," Melville said with vigor.
The shrieking of the train whistle caused the fever of interest to rise
in the little boy.
"There's the train now, mother. Do let me go. I ain't never seen a darky
burned."
"Burned!" exclaimed Mrs. Brant in horror.
Melville looked up at his mother as if pitying her ignorance.
"They are going to burn them. Sed Lonly heard his papa and Mr. Corkle
talking about it, and it's all fixed up."
"My Heavenly Father!" murmured Mrs. Brant, horror struck.
The cheering of the multitude borne upon the air was now heard.
"Mother, I must go. You can beat me as hard as you want to after I do
it. I can't let Ben Stringer be crowing over me. He'll be there."
Looking intently at his mother, Melville backed toward the door. Mrs.
Brant rushed forward and seized him.
"I shall put you in the attic. You shall not see that inhuman affair."
To her surprise Melville did not resist, but meekly submitted to being
taken up stairs and locked in the attic.
Knowing how utterly opposed his mother was to lynchings he had
calculated upon her refusal and had provided for such a contingency. He
fastened the attic door on the inside and took from a corner a stout
stick and a rope which he had secreted there. Fastening the rope to the
stick and placing the stick across the small attic window he succeeded
in lowering himself to the ground. He ran with all the speed at his
command and arrived at the railway station just in time to see the mob
begin its march with Bud and Foresta toward the scene of the killing of
Sidney Fletcher.
Arriving at the spot where Fletcher's body had been found, the mob
halted and the leaders instituted the trial of the accused.
"Did you kill Mr. Sidney Fletcher?" asked the mob's spokesman of Bud.
"Can I explain the matter to you, gentlemen," asked Bud.
"We want you to tell us just one thing; did you kill Mr. Sidney
Fletcher?"
"He tried to kill me," replied Bud.
"And you therefore killed him, did you?"
"Yes, sir. That's how it happened."
"You killed him, then?" asked the spokesman.
"I shot him, and if he died I suppose I must have caused it. But it was
in self-defense."
"You hear that, do you. He has confessed," said the spokesman to his son
who was the reporter of the world-wide news agency that was to give to
the reading public an account of the affair.
"Well, we are ready to act," shouted the spokesman to the crowd.
Two men now stepped forward and reached the spokesman at about the same
time.
"I got a fine place, with everything ready. I knew what you would need
and I arranged for you," said one of the men.
"My place is nearer than his, and everything is as ready as it can be. I
think I am entitled to it," said the other.
"You want the earth, don't you?" indignantly asked the first applicant
of the second.
Ignoring this thrust the second applicant said to the spokesman,
"You know I have done all the dirty work here. If you all wanted anybody
to stuff the ballot box or swear to false returns, I have been your man.
I've put out of the way every biggety nigger that you sent me after. You
know all this."
"You've been paid for it, too. Ain't you been to the legislature? Ain't
you been constable? Haven't you captured prisoners and held 'um in
secret till the governor offered rewards and then you have brung 'em
forward? You have been well paid. But me, I've had none of the good
things. I've done dirty work, too, don't you forget it. And now I want
these niggers hung in my watermelon patch, so as to keep darkies out of
nights, being as they are feart of hants, and you are here to keep me
out of that little favor."
The dispute waxed so hot that it was finally decided that it was best to
accept neither place.
"We want this affair to serve as a warning to darkies to never lift
their hands against a white man, and it won't hurt to perform this noble
deed where they will never forget it. I am commander to-day and I order
the administration of justice to take place near the Negro church."
"Good! Good!" was the universal comment.
The crowd dashed wildly in the direction of the church, all being eager
to get places where they could see best. The smaller boys climbed the
trees so that they might see well the whole transaction. Two of the
trees were decided upon for stakes and the boys who had chosen them had
to come down. Bud was tied to one tree and Foresta to the other in such
a manner that they faced each other. Wood was brought and piled around
them and oil was poured on very profusely.
The mob decided to torture their victims before killing them and began
on Foresta first. A man with a pair of scissors stepped up and cut off
her hair and threw it into the crowd. There was a great scramble for
bits of hair for souvenirs of the occasion. One by one her fingers were
cut off and tossed into the crowd to be scrambled for. A man with a cork
screw came forward, ripped Foresta's clothing to her waist, bored into
her breast with the corkscrew and pulled forth the live quivering flesh.
Poor Bud her helpless husband closed his eyes and turned away his head
to avoid the terrible sight. Men gathered about him and forced his
eyelids open so that he could see all.
When it was thought that Foresta had been tortured sufficiently,
attention was turned to Bud. His fingers were cut off one by one and the
corkscrew was bored into his legs and arms. A man with a club struck him
over the head, crushing his skull and forcing an eyeball to hang down
from the socket by a thread. A rush was made toward Bud and a man who
was a little ahead of his competitors snatched the eyeball as a
souvenir.
After three full hours had been spent in torturing the two, the
spokesman announced that they were now ready for the final act. The
brother of Sidney Fletcher was called for and was given a match. He
stood near his mutilated victims until the photographer present could
take a picture of the scene. This being over the match was applied and
the flames leaped up eagerly and encircled the writhing forms of Bud and
Foresta.
When the flames had done their work and had subsided, a mad rush was
made for the trees which were soon denuded of bark, each member of the
mob being desirous, it seemed, of carrying away something that might
testify to his proximity to so great a happening.
Little Melville Brant found a piece of the charred flesh in the ashes
and bore it home.
[Illustration: "Poor Bud, her helpless husband, closed his eyes and
turned away his head to avoid the terrible sight."
(134-135.)]
"Ben Stringer aint got anything on me now," said he as he trudged along
in triumph.
Entering by the rear he caught hold of the rope which he had left
hanging, ascended to the attic window and crawled in.
The future ruler of the land!
* * * * *
On the afternoon of the lynching Ramon Mansford alighted from the train
at Maulville in search of Bud and Foresta. He noted the holiday
appearance of the crowd as it swarmed around the depot awaiting the
going of the special trains that had brought the people to Maulville to
see the lynching, and, not knowing the occasion that had brought them
together, said within himself:
"This crowd looks happy enough. The South is indeed sunny and sunny are
the hearts of its people."
At length he approached a man, who like himself seemed to be an
onlooker. Using the names under which Mrs. Harper told him that Bud and
Foresta were passing, he made inquiry of them. The man looked at him in
amazement.
"You have just got in, have you?" asked the man of Ramon.
"Yes," he replied.
"Haven't you been reading the papers?" further inquired the man.
"Not lately, I must confess; I have been so absorbed in unraveling a
murder mystery (the victim being one very dear to me) that I have not
read the papers for the last few days."
"We burned the people to-day that you are looking for."
"Burned them?" asked Ramon incredulously.
"Yes, burned them."
"The one crime!" gasped Ramon.
"I understand you," said the man. "You want to know how we square the
burning of a woman with the statement that we lynch for one crime in the
South, heh?"
The shocked Ramon nodded affirmatively.
"That's all rot about one crime. We lynch niggers down here for
anything. We lynch them for being sassy and sometimes lynch them on
general principles. The truth of the matter is the real 'one crime' that
paves the way for a lynching whenever we have the notion, is the crime
of being black."
"Burn them! The one crime!" murmured Ramon, scarcely knowing what he
said. With bowed head and hands clasped behind him he walked away to
meditate.
"After all, do not I see to-day a gleam of light thrown on the taking
away of my Alene? With murder and lawnessness rampant in the Southland,
this section's woes are to be many. Who can say what bloody orgies Alene
has escaped? Who can tell the contents of the storm cloud that hangs low
over this section where the tragedy of the ages is being enacted?
Alene, O Alene, my spirit longs for thee!"
Ramon took the train that night--not for Almaville, for he had not the
heart to bear the terrible tidings to those helpless, waiting, simple
folks, the parents of Bud and Foresta. He went North feeling that some
day somehow he might be called upon to revisit the South as its real
friend, but seeming foe. And he shuddered at the thought.