A Fool's Errand & Bricks without Straw

by Albion Winegar Tourgée

  The coroner's jury, after a tedious examination of every person that could be found who would be likely, on ordinary principles, to know nothing whatever of the matter, returned that the death was "caused by some person or persons unknown;" which verdict was, no doubt, in strict conformity with the evidence taken.

  III

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  "Kunnel, dar's a man h'yer dat wants ter tell you sumfin'. He says he won't tell nobody else but you, widout your positive orders."

  The speaker was old Jerry. He stood at the door of the Fool's library or office, and had with him a colored man, whom he introduced as Nat Haskell. This man had one of those expressionless faces, which, however, bear a look of furtive observation, so characteristic of the colored man who has been reared under the influences of slavery.

  "We'll," said Comfort, "what is it?"

  "Didn't you know Mars' John Walter?" asked the colored man cautiously.

  "Yes, certainly!" answered Comfort.

  "An' ain't you de gemman as come an' tried ter find out who 'twas dat killed him?"

  "Yes."

  "Wal, den, you's de one I want ter see, an dat's what I want ter see ye about."

  "Why, what do you know about that?"

  "I don't know nothin'; but I done heard somefin' that may lead you to fine out who 'tis. Dat's what I come fer."

  "Where do you live?"

  "I lives wid ole man Billy Barksdill, 'bout five miles below Rockford Court-House; that is, I did live dar. I hain't no notion o' goin' back dar any mo'."

  "Were you in Rockford that day?"

  "No, sah!"

  "Then how do you come to know any thing about the matter?"

  "Wal, yer see, Kunnel, I was wukkin' fer Mr. Barksdill, ez I tole ye; an' dat night, jest arter I come in from de fiel', he called me ter come an' take care of a hoss. I know'd dat hoss right well. 'Twas a gray filly dat Mars' Marcus Thompson hed rid by our place dat mornin'. Arter I'd put the critter away, an' fed it, I went inter de kitchen ter git my supper. I sot down ter de table; an' de cook — dat's Mariar, my ole 'ooman — she brings me my supper, an' den goes back inter de dinin'-room ter wash up de dishes de white folks hed been usin'. Presen'ly she come back mighty still like, an' says, 'Nat, come h'yer, quick!' An' wid dat she starts back agin.

  "'Sh — ! take off yer shoes,' she says, half whisperin', ez we git ter de dinin'-room do'.

  "I slips outer my shoes, an' we goes in. Der wa'n't no light in de room; but she led me a-till we come nigh de do' a-twixt de dinin'-room an' de settin'-room. Dar we stopped an' listened, an' I could hear Mr. Barksdill an' Mr. Marcus Thompson talkin' togeder mighty plain. Cynthy Rouse — dat's anudder servant-gal — she was dar too, a-crouchin' down by de do', dat wasn't shet close; but dar wa'n't no light in de settin'-room, but de fire. When I come, Cynthy puts her hand on her lips, shakes her head, an' says, 'H'sh!' an' put her head down to listen agin. The fust words I heard was ole Mr. Barksdill, — he's sorter half-def, yer knows, — a-sayin', right peart, —

  "'It must a' been a good day's work, in fact, if we've got rid o' John Walters finally. How was it done? I did hear der was some notion o' sendin' a committee from de meetin' ter tell him he must leave; but I hadn't no notion he'd du it. He's pluck to de back-bone, John Walters is. Whatever else he may be, we must allow, Thompson, dat he ain't nobody's fool nor coward; an' I 'llowed, dat, ef de meetin' should do dat, jest ez likely's not some o' dat committee mout git hurt. Ye didn't try dat, I reckon?'

  "'No,' answered Mars' Thompson, 'we didn't hev no need ter du dat. De brazen-faced cuss hed the impudence ter come ter the meetin' hisself!'

  "'Dar now, you don't tell me!' sed old man Barksdill. 'Wal, now, what was I sayin'? — he's pluck.'

  "'Yes; and he sot dar as cool as a cucumber, a-takin' notes ob all dat went on,' says Mr. Thompson.

  "'You don't! Wal, I declar!' sez the ole man.

  "'Yes: de damned fool hadn't a bit more sense dan to show his head dar, when we'd met most a-purpose to fine a way to get rid of him. He mout 'a' knowed what would come on't.'

  "'Wal, what did? I s'pose de people was pretty hot, an' perhaps dar was smart of a row.'

  "'Not a bit, Mr. Barksdill! Jest de quietest affair you ever heard on. De fac' is, some one on us hed made an appintment wid Walters, ter see him' bout what we called a fusion ticket we purtended ez we wanted ter git up. So some on' em signified to him dat we wanted ter see him, an' we got him down inter the old County Clerk's office, an' shet de do'. Dar was ten on us, an' he seed de game we was up to in a second; but he didn't even wince.

  "'"Well, gentlemen," sez he, ez cool ez if he'd been settin' over on his own porch, which we could see ez plain ez day from de winder, "what d'ye want o' me? Der seems tu be enough on ye ter du ez you've a mine ter: so I mout ez well ask yer will an' pleasure."'

  "'Law sakes!' sez de ole man; 'but dat wuz monstrous cool.'

  "'Cool? I should tink it was, ez cool es hell,' sez t'oder one. 'Den some on 'em took out a paper dat hed been drawed up aforehand fer him ter sign, an' handed it over tu him. He read it over kinder slow like, an', when he got frough, handed it back, an' sed, "I can't sign dat paper, gentlemen."'

  "'What was de paper?'

  "'Noffin, only jest a statement dat he, as leader ob de Radical party in dis county, hed been de gitter-up ob all de devilment done here in de last two or free years, includin' de burnin' o' Hunt's barn; an' dat he done dese tings under de direction ob de Radical leaders at de capital. We tole him, ef he'd sign dis, an' agree tu leab de State in ten days, we'd let him off safe an' sound.'

  "'An' he wouldn't do it?' bust in de ole man.

  "'Do it? Hell! He sed we mout kill him, but we couldn't make him sign no sech paper ez dat. Dat made de boys mad. You know, we didn't want ter kill him, dough we hed no notion ob backin' out after goin' dat far: in fac', we couldn't.'

  "'No mo' you couldn't, I should say,' put in Mars' Barksdill.

  "'Ob course not! an' I fought fer a minit de boys would jest hack an' tear him to pieces, dey was so mad. I tried ter pacify 'em, an' persuade him to sign de paper, an' not force us to sech extremes; but he wouldn't hear tu me, an' fust I know'd, he hed jumped back an' pulled out a pistol. De low-down, ornary cuss! Ef it hadn't been fer Buck Hoyt, who caught his arm, an' Jim Bradshaw, dat whipped a slip-noose over his neck, an' pulled him back, der's no knowin' what he might 'a' done wid dat ten-shooter o' his.'

  "'He's a nasty hand wid shootin'-irons,' sed the ole man.

  "'Wal,' says Thompson, 'dey got him down, an' frottled him, an' tuk de pistol away from him, an' every ting he had in the weepon line. Den dey let him up, an' all agreed dat sech a pestiferous, lyin', deceitful cuss ought ter be killed. We told him so, an' dat he could hev jest five minutes ter git ready in. He didn't never flinch, but jest sed, "I s'pose I ken be allowed ter pray." An', widout waitin' fer an answer, he jes' kneeled down, an' prayed fer all his frien's an' neighbors, an' fer each one ob us too. Dis prayin' fer us wuz gittin' a little tu damn pussonal: so Jim Bradshaw, dat held de cord, gin it a jerk, an' tole him we didn't want no more o' dat. Den he got up, an' I axed him ef der wuz any ting else he wanted ter do or say afore he died. You see, I fought he might like ter make some 'rangement 'bout his property or his family, an' I wanted to gib him a white man's chance.'

  "'Ob co'se, ob co'se,' said Mars' Barksdill, 'an' very proper an' considerate of ye, tu.'

  "'I fought so, certain,' said Thompson. 'Wal, he axed us to let him look out o' de winder, at his childern playin' on de slope o' de hill over by his house. Dar was some o' de boys didn't want to do dat, but I persuaded 'em to let him. His hands was tied, an' de cord was 'roun' his neck, so't he couldn't git away nohow. De lower sash hed been raised; but we had some two or three fellows standin' outside anyhow. So we led him to de winder, an' he looked at his two gals a smart while. I declar' it come hard to see de tears a-standin' in his eyes, an' know what was waitin' fer him; but it couldn't be helped den. An', jest while I was tinkin' ub dis, he ma
de a spring, and, wid all dat agin him, managed to git his left leg ober de winder-sill, an' I'm not at all sure't he wouldn't 'a' wriggled hisself out entirely, ef Jack Cannon hadn't 'a' gathered a stick of wood, an' dropped it over his leg till it straightened out ez limp ez a rag. We pulled him back in, an' frew him on de long table dat's in de room. He jest give one groan when he seed all was over. It was de fust an' last. Der wasn't no use tryin' ter hold de boys back no longer. Jim Brad he drew de cord till it fairly cut inter de flesh. Den dey turned him half over, all on us holdin' his arms an' legs, an' Jack Cannon stuck a knife inter his throat.1 He bled like a hog; but we caught de blood in a bucket, an' afterwards let it down out o' de winder in a bag to de fellers outside; so't der wa'n't a drop o' blood, nor any mark ub the squabble, in de room. We stowed him away in de wood-box, an', arter it comes on good an' dark, de boys are goin' to take him ober, an' stow him away under dat damned nigger schoolhouse o' his; an' den you see we'll claim de niggers done it, an' perhaps hev some on 'em up, an' try 'em for it.'

  "'Good Lord!' sed ole man Barksdill arter a minit. 'So he's dead!'

  "'Dead!' said Thompson wid a queer laugh. 'You may count on dat, — ez dead ez Julius Caesar! De county's well rid o' de wust man dat was ebber in it.'

  "'Yes, yes!' said de ole man, 'a bad fellow, no doubt, mighty bad; dough I dunno ez he ever done any ting so very bad, except hold political meetin's wid de niggers, an' put all sorts o' crazy notions in der heads, makin' 'em lazy, an' no 'count, an' impudent to white folks.'

  "'An' ain't dat 'nough?' said Thompson.

  "'Oh, ob co'se!' Mars' Barksdill said: 'dat's mighty bad, — but arter all' —

  "'Well, what?' said Mars' Thompson, kinder hot like.

  "'Oh, well, noffin'! — dat is, noffin' to speak of. I was no friend o' John Walters; but I would 'a' felt better ef he'd been killed in a fa'r fight, an' not shut up like a wolf in a trap, an' killed in — in' —

  "'In cold blood, I s'pose you mean,' put in Thompson quick and husky; fer he was a-gittin' mad.

  "'Wal, yes, it does look so,' said ole Mars,' kinder 'pologizin' like.

  "'Ob co'se,' said Thompson, 'it'll do fer you ter set dar an' fine fault wid what's done. Here de whole county's been wishin' somebody would rid 'em ub John Walters fer two years an' mo'. Everybody's been a-cussin' an' bilin', an' tellin' what ought ter be done; an', now dat some on us hez hed the pluck ter go in an' du the very ting ye've all been talkin' on, ye stan' back, an' draw on an affidavy face, an' say yer sorry it's done. It's damned encouragin' to dem dat takes de risk! Perhaps de next fing you do'll be tu go an' tell on us.'

  "De ole man wouldn't stan' dat. We heard him rise up, an' say, mighty grand like, —

  "'Mr. Thompson!'

  "Jest then, Cynthy, who's a mighty excitable gal, an', besides dat, used ter live with Mrs. Walters, an' so knew de one dey'd been talkin' on right well, bust out a-sobbin' an' a-moanin', an' we hed to hold a hand over her mouf, an' half tote her out ob de room ez fast ez we could. I heard Mars' Thompson say, 'Who's in dar?' An' den Mars' Barksdill he lights de can'le, an' comes an' opens de dinin'-room do'; but, Lor' bress ye! der wan't nobody in dar — nobody at all."

  "What did you do then?"

  "Nuffin' at all. Jest waited, an' kep' still. Cynthy an' 'Riar an' me we talks it over a little, an' concluded ez we'd better not let on dat we knowed any fing about it. So when Bob Watson come over some time 'fore mornin', an' whistled me out, an' tole me dat Mars' Walters was a-missin', an' dat eberybody ob de colored folks was a-huntin' for him, an' de whole town jest alive an' a-light all night, I didn't say noffin', only, arter a while I turns to Bob an' I says, says I, —

  "'Bob, dey won't never fine him.' An' he sez, sez he, 'Dat's my notion too.' So we passed de time o' day, an' he went home, an' I turned in ter sleep agin."

  "Have you ever told any one else of this?" asked the Fool.

  "Nary one," was the reply. "A few days arterwards, ole man Barksdill he questioned me some, an' arter dat de gals telled me dat he axed dem some questions 'bout what we know'd or hed heard 'bout Mr. Walters. But he didn't git no satisfaction outer me, dat's shore, an' I don't reckon he did out ob de gals. Howsomever, 'twan't long afore he an' his boys begun ter talk right smart 'bout what would happen ter any nigger ez should testify agin any white man ez havin' any fing to do along o' Mr. Walters. An' finally Mr. Barksdill he tole me — an' I found dat he tole de wimmen too — dat any nigger dat knowed any fing 'bout dat matter would be a heap more likely to die ob ole age ef he lived in anudder State. Dis scart de gals nigh about to deaff, an' I 'llowed dar was a heap o' sense in it myself. So we lit out; an' I never hinted a word about it afore, only to Uncle Jerry h'yer, an' he brought me to you, sah."

  Upon further investigation, Servosse learned several facts strongly confirmatory of this strange story, the details of which harmonized with wonderful accuracy with all the known facts of the bloody deed. The men named as the associates of Thompson, it appeared, were all present at the meeting. Some of them had before been suspected of complicity in the act; while others had not been thought of in connection with it. They were all of good families, and of undoubted respectability. The two women, being separately examined, confirmed, with only such variation as rendered their accounts still more convincing, the story which has been given.

  11 This account of an incredible barbarity is based on the sworn statement of a colored person who overheard just such an account, given of just such a performance, by one of the actors in it. It is too horrid to print, but too true to omit.

  CHAPTER XXXI

  THE FOLLY OF WISDOM

  Table of Contents

  UNCLE JERRY was much excited by the narrative which he had heard. For a long time the outrages which had been perpetrated upon his race and their friends, the daily tale of suffering and horror which came to his ears, had been working on his excitable temperament, until it needed only the horrible recital which Nat had given, to destroy entirely his self-control. During its repetition he had uttered numerous ejaculations expressive of his excitement; and, when he went away with his friend, he was in a sort of semi-unconscious state, his wide-open eyes full of a strange light, and muttering brokenly as he went along the road to his own house, short ejaculatory remarks. Lod God ob Isr'el Lor', Lor', whar is yer gone?

  "Lor' God ob Isr'el!" "Lor', Lor', whar is yer gone?" "Don't ye h'yer de cry ob de pore no mo'?" Whar is de 'venger ob blood?"

  These and many similar expressions fell from his lips as he wandered about his garden and lot that evening. To Nat, who had returned with him, and was his guest, he said but little: he seemed absorbed in dreamy thought. Even before this time, Uncle Jerry had been noted for his openly-expressed defiance of the Ku-Klux, his boldness in denouncing them, and the persistency with which he urged the colored men of his vicinity to organize, and resist the aggressions of that body. In this he had been partially successful. A considerable number of the inhabitants of the colored suburb had armed themselves, had appointed a leader and lieutenants, and agreed upon signals, on hearing which all were to rally for defense at certain designated points. He had infused into his duller-minded associates the firm conviction which possessed himself, — that it was better to die in resisting such oppression than to live under it. He had an idea that his race must, in a sense, achieve its own liberty, establish its own manhood, by a stubborn resistance to aggression, — an idea which it is altogether probable would have been the correct and proper one, had not the odds of ignorance and prejudice been so decidedly against them.

  As matters stood, however, it was the sheerest folly. When experience, wealth, and intelligence combine against ignorance, poverty, and inexperience, resistance is useless. Then the appeal to arms may be heroic; but it is the heroism of folly, the faith — or hope, rather — of the fool.

  Nevertheless, chiefly through Uncle Jerry's persuasions, and because of his prominence and acknowledged leadership, this spirit had gone out among the colored men of the county; and a determi
nation to resist and retaliate such outrages had become general among them. The first effect of this determined stand upon their part seemed to have been to prevent the repetition of these offenses. For several weeks no one had been beaten or scourged in that county, and the impression seemed to gain ground that there would be no more. This was especially strong after two full moons had passed without disturbance, since it was at those seasons that the disguised horsemen were particularly active. This fact had tended strongly to confirm old Jerry in his theory of resistance, and at the same time had relaxed the vigilance of himself and his neighbors. The night of the day on which he had listened to the recital given by Nat was the time for the regular weekly prayer meeting at the schoolhouse. Of course he attended; and, as it chanced, there were several white men also in attendance, — strangers, it seemed, — who sat in the back part of the audience, and seemed to be making light of the exercises. This was an indignity which always aroused the strongest feeling on the part of Uncle Jerry. To such he was accustomed to say, with a sweet-voiced boldness, —

  "We's allers glad ter hab de white folks come to our meetin's, an' allers tinks it may do us good, an' dem tu. It sartin can't hurt nobody tu be prayed fer; an' we prays for 'em, an' hopes dey prays for us, an' hopes de good Lord'll bress us all. But when white folks comes an' laughs at our weak praars, — dat hurts. We knows we ain't larned, nor great, nor perfic; but we tries to do our best. An' when you all laughs at us, we can't help tinkin' dat we mout 'a' done better ef we hadn't been kep' slaves all our lives by you uns."