Gabriel Tolliver: A Story of Reconstruction

by Joel Chandler Harris

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  _Mr. Sanders Searches for Evidence_

  The news of the shooting of Hotchkiss spread like wildfire, and startledthe community, giving rise to various emotions. It created consternationamong the negroes, who ran to and fro, and hither and yonder, like wildcreatures. Many of the whites, especially the thoughtless and theirresponsible, contemplated the tragedy with a certain degree ofsatisfaction, feeling that a very dangerous man had been providentiallyremoved. On the other hand, the older and more conservative citizensdeplored it, knowing well that it would involve the whole community introuble, and give it a conspicuous place in the annals which radicalrage was daily preparing, in order still further to inflame the publicmind of the North.

  Bridalbin promptly disappeared from Shady Dale, but returned in a fewdays, accompanied by a squad of soldiers. It was the opinion of thecommunity, when these fresh troops made their appearance, that they wereto be added to the detachment stationed in the town; but this proved tobe a mistake. Two nights after their arrival, when the officer incharge, who was a member of the military commander's staff, hadinvestigated the killing, he gave orders for the arrest of GabrielTolliver, Francis Bethune, Paul Tomlin, and Jesse Tidwell. The arrestswere made at night, and so quietly that when the town awoke to thefacts, and was ready to display its rage at such a high-handedproceeding, the soldiers and their prisoners were well on their way toMalvern.

  The people felt that something must be done, but what? One by one thecitizens instinctively assembled at the court-house. No call was issued;the meeting was not preconcerted; there was no common understanding; butall felt that there must be a conference, a consultation, and there wasno place more convenient than the old court-house, where for long yearsjustice had been simply and honestly administered.

  It was, indeed, a trying hour. Meriwether Clopton and his daughter Sarahwere the first to make their appearance at the court-house, and it wasperhaps owing to their initiative that a large part of the communityshortly assembled there. At first, there was some talk of a rescue, andthis would have been feasible, no doubt; but while Lawyer Tidwell wasviolently advocating this course, Mr. Sanders mounted the judge's bench,and rapped loudly for order. When this had been secured, he moved thatMeriwether Clopton be called to the chair. The motion had as manyseconds as there were men in the room, for the son of the First Settlerwas as well-beloved and as influential as his father had been.

  "My friends," he said, after thanking the meeting for the honourconferred upon him, "I feel as if we were all in the midst of a dream,and therefore I am at a loss what to say to you. As it is all veryreal, and far removed from the regions of dreams, the best that I can dois to counsel moderation and calmness. The blow that has fallen on a fewof us strikes at all, for what has happened to some of our young men mayeasily happen to the rest, especially if we meet this usurpation ofcivil justice with measures that are violent and retaliatory. We canonly hope that the Hand that has led us into the sea of troubles bywhich we have been overwhelmed of late will lead us safely out again.For myself, I am fully persuaded that what now seems to be a calamitywill, in some shape or other, make us all stronger and better. I am anold man, and this has been my experience. You need have no fears for thewelfare of the young men. They may be deprived for a time of thecomforts to which they are accustomed, but their safety is assured. Theywill probably be tried before a military court, but if there is a sparkof justice in such a tribunal, our young men will shortly be restored tous. We all know that these lads never dreamed of assassination, and thisis what the killing of this unfortunate man amounts to. We have met hereto-day, not to discuss measures of vengeance and retaliation, but toconsult together as to the best means of securing evidence of theinnocence of the young men. Speaking for myself, I think it would bewell to place the whole matter in the hands of Mr. Sanders, leaving himto act as he thinks best."

  This was agreed to by the meeting, more than one of the audiencedeclaring loudly that Mr. Sanders was the very man for the occasion. Byunanimous agreement it was decided that one of the most distinguishedlawyers in the State should be retained to defend the young men and thathe should be authorised to employ such assistant counsel as he mightdeem necessary.

  It was the personality of Meriwether Clopton, rather than his remarks,that soothed and subdued the crowd which had assembled at thecourt-house. He was serenity itself; his attitude breathed hope andcourage; and in the tones of his voice, in his very gestures, there wasa certainty that the young men would not be made the victims ofpolitical necessity. In his own mind, however, he was not at all surethat the radical leaders at Washington would not be driven by theiroutrageous rancour to do the worst that could be done.

  As may be supposed, Mr. Sanders did not allow the grass to grow underhis feet. He was the first to leave the court-room, but he was followedand overtaken by Silas Tomlin.

  "Be jigged, Silas, ef you don't look like you've seed a ghost!"exclaimed Mr. Sanders, whose good-humour had been restored by theprospect of prompt action.

  "Worse than that, Sanders; Paul has been carried off. If you'll fetchhim back, you may show me an army of ghosts. But I wanted to see you,Sanders, about this business. You'll need money, and if you can't get itanywhere else, come to me; I'll take it as a favour."

  Mr. Sanders frowned and pursed his lips as if he were about to whistle."You mean, Silas, that if I need money, and can't beg, nor borry, norsteal it, maybe you'll loan me a handful of shinplasters. Why, man, Iwouldn't give you the wroppin's of my little finger for all the moneyyou eber seed or saved. Do you think that I'm tryin' to make money?"

  "But there'll be expenses, William, and money's none too plentiful amongour people." Silas spoke in a pleading tone, and his lips were tremblingfrom grief or excitement.

  Noticing this, Mr. Sanders relented a little in his attitude toward theman. "Well, Silas, when I reely need money, I'll call on you. But don'tlose any sleep on account of that promise, for it'll be many a long daybefore I call on you."

  With that, Mr. Sanders mounted his horse--known far and wide as theRacking Roan--and was soon out of sight. His destination was theresidence of Mahlon Butts, and in no long time his horse had covered thedistance.

  Although the murder of Hotchkiss was more than a week old, aconsiderable number of negroes were lounging about the premises of JudgeButts--he had once been a Justice of the Peace--and in the road near by,drawn to the spot by that curious fascination which murder or deathexerts on the ignorant. They moved about with something like awe,talking in low tones or in whispers. Mr. Sanders tied his horse to aswinging limb and went in. He was met at the door by Mahlon himself.

  "Why, come in, William; come in an' make yourself welcome. You uv heardof the trouble, I make no doubt, or you wouldn't be here. It's turrible,William, turrible, for a man to be overcome in this off-hand way, wi' notime for to say his pra's or even so much as to be sorry for hismisdeeds."

  Judge Butts's dignity was of the heavy and oppressive kind. Hisenunciation was slow and deliberate, and he had a way of looking overhis spectacles, and nodding his head to give emphasis to his words. Thisdignity, which was fortified in ignorance, had received a considerablereinforcement from the fact that he was a candidate for a county officeon the Republican ticket.

  Before Mr. Sanders could make any reply to Mahlon's opening remark, Mrs.Becky Butts came into the room. She was not in a very good humour, and,at first, she failed to see Mr. Sanders.

  "Mahlon, if you don't go and run that gang of niggers off, I'll take theshot-gun to 'em. They've been hanging around--why, howdye, Mr. Sanders?I certainly am glad to see you. I hope you'll stay to dinner; it lookslike old times to see you in the house."

  There was something about Mrs. Becky Butts that was eminently satisfyingto the eye. She was younger than her husband, who, at fifty, appeared tobe an old man. Her sympathies were so keen and persistent that theyplayed boldly in her face, running about over her features as thesunshine ripples on a pond of clear water.

 
; "Set down, Becky," said Mr. Sanders, after he had responded to hersalutation. "I've come to find out about the killing of that fellerHotchkiss."

  "You may well call it killin', William, bekaze Friend Hotchkiss wasstone dead a few hours arter the fatal shot was fired," declared JudgeButts.

  "Where was the killin' done?" inquired Mr. Sanders. He addressed himselfto Mrs. Butts, but Mahlon made reply.

  "We found him, William, right spang in front of Ike Varner'scabin--right thar, an' nowhar else. He war doin' his level best for togit on his feet, an' he tried to talk, but not more than two or threewords did he say."

  "Well, what did he say?" inquired Mr. Sanders.

  "It was the same thing ever' time--'Why, Tolliver, Tolliver'--them washis very words."

  "Are you right certain about that, Mahlon?" asked Mr. Sanders.

  "As certain an' shore, William, as I am that I'm settin' here. Ef hesaid it once, he said it a dozen times."

  "I reckon maybe he had been talking with young Tolliver before he camefrom town," remarked Mrs. Butts, noting Mr. Sanders's seriouscountenance.

  "Whar was he wounded, Becky?" asked Mr. Sanders.

  "Between the left ear and the temple."

  "Becky's right, William," was the solemn comment of Mahlon. "Yes, sir,he was hit betwixt the year an' the temple."

  "Did you have a doctor?"

  "We sent for one, but if he come, we never saw him," Mrs. Butts replied.

  "Would you uv believed it, William? An' yit it's the plain truth," saidMahlon.

  "What time was Hotchkiss killed?"

  "'Bout half-past ten; maybe a little sooner."

  This was all the information Mr. Sanders could get, and it was a greatdeal more than he wanted in one particular. He knew that GabrielTolliver was innocent of the killing; but the fact that his name wascalled by the dying man was almost as damaging as an ante-mortemaccusation would have been.

  Mr. Sanders rode to Ike Varner's cabin, a few hundred yards away. Tyinghis horse to the fence on the opposite side of the road, he entered thehouse without ceremony.

  "Who is that? La! Mr. Sanders, you sho did skeer me," exclaimed Edie."Why, when did you come? I would as soon have spected to see a ghost!"

  "You'll see 'em here before you're much older," replied Mr. Sanders,grimly. "They ain't fur off. Wher's Ike?"

  "La! ef you know anything about Ike you know more than I does. I ain'tlaid eyes on that nigger man, not sence----" She paused, and looked atMr. Sanders with a smile.

  "Not sence the night Hotchkiss was killed," said Mr. Sanders, completingher sentence for her.

  "La, Mr. Sanders! how'd you know that? But it's the truth: I ain't neverseen Ike sence that night."

  "I know a heap more'n you think I do," Mr. Sanders remarked. "Hotchkisswas talkin' to you at the gate thar when he was shot. What was hesayin'?"

  The woman was a bright mulatto, and, remembering her own designs anddesires so far as Hotchkiss was concerned, her face flushed and sheturned her eyes away. "Why, he wan't sayin' a word, hardly; I was doin'all the talkin'. I was settin' on the step there, an' I seen himpassin', an' hollad at him. I ast him if he wouldn't have a drink ofcold water, an' he said he would, an' I took it out to the gate, an'while I was talkin', they shot him. They certainly did."

  "Did you ask Ike about it?" Mr. Sanders inquired.

  "La! I ain't seen Ike sence that night," exclaimed Edie, flirting herapron with a coquettish air that was by no means unbecoming.

  "Now, Edie," said Mr. Sanders, with a frown to match the severity of hisvoice, "you know as well as I do, that when you heard the pistol go off,and saw what had happened, you run in the house an' flung your apernover your head." It was a wild guess, but it was close to the truth.

  "La, Mr. Sanders! you talk like you was watchin' me. 'Twa'n't my apern,'twas my han's. I didn't have on no apern that night; I had on my Sundayfrock."

  "An' you know jest as well as I do that Ike come in here an' stood overyou, an' said somethin' to you."

  "No, sir; he didn't stand over me; I was here"--she illustrated hisposition by her movements--"an' when Ike come in, he stood over there."

  "What did he say?"

  "He said," replied Edie, smiling to show her pretty teeth, "'If you wanthim, go out there an' git him.' Yes, sir, he said that. La! I neverheard of a nigger killin' a white man on _that_ account; did you, Mr.Sanders?"

  "I don't know as I ever did," replied Mr. Sanders, regarding her with anexpression akin to pity. "But times has changed."

  "They certainly has," said Edie. "I tell you what, Mr. Sanders, I don'tb'live Mr. Hotchkiss was a man." She looked up at Mr. Sanders, as shemade the remark. Catching his eye, she exclaimed--"I don't; I declare Idon't! I never will believe it." She gave a chirruping laugh, as shemade the remark.

  It is to be doubted if, in the history of the world, a man ever had ahigher compliment paid to his devotion and his singleness of purpose.

  As Mr. Sanders mounted his horse, Edie watched him, and, as she stoodwith her arms extended, each hand grasping a side of the doorway,smiling and showing her white teeth, she presented a picture of wild andirresponsible beauty that an artist would have admired. Finally, sheturned away with a laugh, saying, "I declare that Mr. Sanders is asight!"

  In due time the Racking Roan carried Mr. Sanders across Murder Creek tothe plantation of Felix Samples, where the news of the arrest of theyoung men occasioned both grief and indignation. They had arrived at thedance about nine o'clock, and had started home between eleven andtwelve. Gabriel, Mr. Samples said, was not one of the party. Indeed, heremembered very well that when some of the young people asked forGabriel, Francis Bethune had said that the town had been searched forGabriel, and he was not to be found.

  Evidently, there was no case against the three young men who had gone tothe dance. They could prove an alibi by fifty persons. "Be jigged ef Idon't b'lieve Gabriel is in for it," said Mr. Sanders to himself as hewas going back to Shady Dale. "An' that's what comes of moonin' aroun'an' loafin' about in the woods wi' the wild creeturs."

  Mr. Sanders went straight to the Lumsden Place to consult with Gabriel'sgrandmother. Meriwether Clopton and Miss Fanny Tomlin were alreadythere, each having called for the purpose of offering her such comfortand consolation as they could. This fine old gentlewoman had had thecare of Gabriel almost from the time he was born, for his birth left hismother an invalid, the victim of one of those mysterious complaints thatsometimes seize on motherhood. It was well known in that community,whose members knew whatever was to be known about one another, that LucyLumsden's mind and heart were wholly centred on Gabriel and his affairs.She was a frail, delicate woman, gentle in all her ways, and ever readyto efface herself, as it were, and give precedence to others. Hermanners were so fine that they seemed to cling to her as the perfumeclings to the rose.

  So these old friends--Meriwether Clopton, and Miss FannyTomlin--considered it to be their duty, as it was their pleasure, tocall on Lucy Lumsden in her trouble. They expected to find her in astate of collapse, but they found her walking about the house,apparently as calm as a June morning.

  "Good-morning, Meriwether," she said pleasantly; "it is a treat indeed,and a rare one, to see you in this house. And here is Fanny! I am gladto see you, my dear. It is very good of you to come to an old woman whois in trouble. I think we are all in trouble together. No, don't sithere, my dear; the library is cooler, and you must be warm. Come intothe library, Meriwether."

  "Upon my word, you look twenty years younger," said Miss Fanny Tomlin.

  "Do I, indeed? Then trouble must be good for me. Still, I don'tappreciate it. I am an old woman, my dear, and all the years of my lifeI have had a contempt for those who fly into a rage, or lose theirtempers. And now, look at me! Never in all your days have you seen awoman in such a rage as I have felt all day and still feel!"

  "The idea!" exclaimed Miss Fanny. "Why, you look as cool as a cucumber."

  "Yes, the idea!" echoed Mrs. Lumsden. "If I had those miserablecreatures
in my power, do you know what I would do? Do you know,Meriwether?"

  "I can't imagine, Lucy," he replied gently. He saw that the apparentcalmness of Gabriel's grandmother was simply the result of suppressedexcitement.

  "Well, I'll not tell you if you don't know." She seated herself, butrose immediately, and went to the window, where she stood looking out,and tapping gently on the pane with her fingers. She stood there only ashort time. "You may imagine that I am nervous," she said, turning awayfrom the window, "but I am not." She held out her hand to illustrate. Itwas frail, but firm. "No," she went on, "I am not nervous; I am simplyfurious. I know what you came for, my friends, and it is very kind ofyou; but it is useless. I love you both well, and I know what you wouldsay. I have said such things to my friends, and thought I was performinga duty."

  "Well, you know the old saying, Lucy," said Meriwether Clopton. "Miseryloves company. We are all in the same boat, and it seems to be a leakyone. I have heard it said that a woman's wit is sometimes better than aman's wisdom, and, for my part, I have not come to see if you needed tobe consoled, but to find out your views."

  "I have none," she said somewhat curtly. "Show me a piece of blue cloth,and I'll tear it to pieces. That is the only thought or idea I have."

  "Well, that doesn't help us much," Meriwether Clopton remarked.

  At that moment, Mr. Sanders was announced, and word was sent to him tocome right in. "Howdy, everybody," he said in his informal way, as heentered the room. He was warm, and instead of leaving his hat on thehall-rack, he had kept it in his hand, and was using it as a fan. "MissLucy," he said, "I won't take up two minutes of your time----"

  "Mr. Sanders, you may take up two hours of my time. Time!" Mrs. Lumsdenexclaimed bitterly--"why, time is about all I have left."

  "Oh, it ain't nigh as bad as you think," remarked Mr. Sanders, ascheerfully as he could. "But I want to settle a p'int or two. Do youremember what time it was when Gabriel come home the night Hotchkiss waskilled?"

  Mrs. Lumsden reflected a moment. "Why, he went out directly aftersupper, and came in--well, I don't remember when he came in. I must havebeen asleep."

  "Um-m," grunted Mr. Sanders.

  "Is it important?" Mrs. Lumsden asked.

  "It may turn out to be right down important," replied Mr. Sanders, andthen he said no more, but sat looking at the floor, and wondering howGabriel could be released from the tangled web that the spider,Circumstance, had woven about him.

  As Mr. Sanders went out, he met Nan at the door, and he was amazed atthe change that had come over her. Perplexity and trouble looked forthfrom her eyes, and there was that in her face that Mr. Sanders had neverseen there before. "Why, honey!" he exclaimed, "you look like you'velost your best friend."

  "Well, perhaps I have. Who is in there?" And when Mr. Sanders told her,she cried out, "Oh, why don't they leave her alone?"

  "Well, they ain't pesterin' her much, honey. Go right in. Lucy Lumsdenhas got as much grit as a major gener'l, an' she'll be glad to seeyou."

  But Nan stood staring at Mr. Sanders, as if she wanted to ask him aquestion, and couldn't find words for it. Her face was pale, and she hadthe appearance of one who is utterly forspent.

  "Why, honey, what ails you? I never seed you lookin' like this before."

  "You've never seen me ill before," answered Nan. "I thought the walkwould do me good, but the sun--oh, Mr. Sanders! please don't ask meanything else."

  With that, she ran up the steps very rapidly for an ill person, andstood a moment in the hallway.

  "Be jigged ef she ain't wuss hit than any on us!" declared Mr. Sanders,to himself, as he turned away. "What a pity that she had to go an' gitgrown!"

  Following the sound of voices, Nan went into the library. Mrs. Lumsden,who was still walking about restlessly, paused and tried to smile whenshe saw Nan; but it was only a make-believe smile. Nan went directly toher, and stood looking in the old gentlewoman's eyes. Then she kissedher quite suddenly and impulsively.

  "Nan, you must be ill," Miss Fanny Tomlin declared.

  "I am, Aunt Fanny; I am not feeling well at all."

  "Lie there on the sofa, child," Mrs. Lumsden insisted. Taking Nan by thearm, she almost forced her to lie down.

  "If you-all are talking secrets, I'll go away," said Nan.

  "No, child," remarked Mrs. Lumsden; "we are talking about trouble, andtrouble is too common to be much of a secret in this world." She seatedherself on the edge of the sofa, and held Nan's hand, caressing itsoftly.

  "This is the way I used to cure Gabriel, when he was ill or weary," shesaid in a tone too low for the others to hear.

  "Did you?" whispered Nan, closing her eyes with a sigh of satisfaction.

  "This is the second time I have been able to sit down since breakfast,"remarked Mrs. Lumsden.

  "I have walked miles and miles," replied Nan, wearily.

  There was a noise in the hall, and presently Tasma Tid peeped cautiouslyinto the room. "Wey you done wit Honey Nan?" she asked. "She in dishouse; you ain' kin fool we."

  "Come in, and behave yourself if you know how," said Mrs. Lumsden. "Comein, Tid."

  "How come we name Tid? How come we ain't name Tasma Tid?"

  No one thought it worth while to make any reply to this, and the Africancame into the room, acting as if she were afraid some one would jump ather. "Sit in the corner there at the foot of the sofa," said Mrs.Lumsden. Tasma Tid complied very readily with this command, since itenabled her to be near Nan. The African squatted on the floor, and satthere motionless.

  Meriwether Clopton and Miss Fanny went away after awhile, but Mrs.Lumsden continued to sit by Nan, caressing her hand. Not a word was saidfor a long time, but the silence was finally broken by Nan, who spoke tothe African.

  "Tasma Tid, I want you to go home and tell Miss Johnny that I will spendthe rest of the day and the night with Grandmother Lumsden."

  "Don't keer; we comin' back," said Tasma Tid.

  "Yes, come back," said Mrs. Lumsden; whereupon, the African whisked outof the room as quick as a flash.

  After Tasma Tid had gone, a silence fell on the house--a silence soprofound that Nan could hear the great clock ticking in the front hall,and the bookshelves cracked just as they do in the middle of the night.

  "If I had known what was going to happen when Gabriel came and kissed megood-bye," said Mrs. Lumsden, after awhile, "I would have gone out therewhere those men were, and--well, I don't know what I wouldn't havedone!"

  "Didn't Gabriel tell you? Why----" Nan paused.

  "Not he! Not Gabriel!" cried Mrs. Lumsden in a voice full of pride. "Hewanted to spare his grandmother one night's worry, and he did."

  "Didn't you know when he kissed you good-night that something waswrong?" Nan inquired.

  "How should I? Why, he sometimes comes and kisses me in the middle ofthe night, even after he has gone to bed. He says he sleeps betterafterwards."

  What was there in this simple statement to cause Nan to catch herbreath, and seize the hand that was caressing her. For one thing, itpresented the tender side of Gabriel's nature in a new light; and forthe rest--well, who shall pretend to fathom a young woman's heart?

  "Yes, he was always doing something of that kind," remarked thegrandmother proudly; "and I have often thought that he should have beena girl."

  "A girl!" cried Nan.

  "Yes; he will marry some woman who doesn't appreciate his finerqualities--the tenderness and affection that he tries to hide fromeverybody but his grandmother; and he will go about with a hungry heart,and his wife will never suspect it. I am afraid I dislike her already."

  "Oh, don't say that!" Nan implored.

  "But if he was a girl," the grandmother went on, "he would be betterprepared to endure coldness and neglect. This is partly what we wereborn for, my dear, as you will find out one day for yourself."