Few could continue to mock after this reproof. On this occasion, when the meeting had progressed for some time, the conduct of the white visitors became very annoying. Two or three times, it was noticed that Uncle Jerry raised his head, and stretched forward his hands upon his staves, as if he would speak; but each time, upon second thought, it seemed, he abandoned the idea. Finally it could be endured no longer; and he arose, and walked toward them, speaking in an unusually harsh and aggrieved tone as he did so. When he came within two or three steps of them, he took both staves in his left hand, raised the right, with the finger pointing toward them as steady as a rifle barrel, and became at once rigid and silent. At first the mockers attempted ridicule; but the pale, still face, and fixed, staring eyes, as well as the awe stricken hush of the colored portion of the congregation, soon reduced them to silence. When at length his tongue was loosed, and he poured forth one of his wonderful rhapsodies, a mortal terror seemed to take hold upon his hearers, and they sat listening to his burning words, while he told the story of the Ku-Klux, and ended his horrible portraiture with a detailed statement of the manner in which John Walters had been killed, giving the names of those engaged, and the part taken by each in the bloody deed. He painted as by magic the scene of the murder, and gave the very tone and manner of each of those engaged in it, though he had never seen them. Before the recital was ended, there was a shriek from one of the white men, as he rose, and staggered toward the door. Then the others followed after him, and silently left the house.
When the "spell" was over, and Uncle Jerry was lying back, panting and moaning, in his seat, Nat came to him, and broke out, — "Fo' God, Uncle Jerry, what ye mean?'
"What's de matter, Brudder Nat? What I done? Hurt your feelin', Brudder? Bress God, I hope not!"
"Hurt my feelin's? No!" said Nat. "You'se not likely to do dat, Bre'r Jerry. But, Lor' bress us! d'you kno' one o' dem ar men waz nobody else but Jim Bradshaw!"
"De Lord's will be done! He's done use his pore sahvent for his glory, wedder he will or no. Bress de Lor'!" said Uncle Jerry, with a look of resignation.
"Dat's all right, Bre'r Jerry; but I feel jes' ez ef I could trust de Lor' a heap better ef I wuz 'cross de line, an' out o' de State: so I bids you good by, Uncle Jerry! I'se gwine ter cut outen h'yer, shore."
The news of this terrible revelation soon spread far and wide among the colored people, and there was great apprehension on account of it. Uncle Jerry alone did not seem to be disturbed or alarmed. Since this last display of his strange peculiarity, he seemed to have lost all apprehension, and all feeling of annoyance or trouble, as to the future of himself or his race.
"De Lord's will be done," he said, with entire composure, whenever the matter was mentioned to him. "He knows what's best, an' he's made dis pore sahvent see dat he knows. Bress his holy name! He brings de good out ob evil, an' ober-rules de bad. He's been wid de pore culled man in de six troubles, an' he not gwine ter desart him in de sebenth! Uncle Jerry'll jes' try an' wait on de Lor', so dat when he call fer me, I jes' answers, 'H'yer, Lor'!' widdout waitin' ter ax eny questions 'bout his business."
So the days went on until a week from the Saturday night which followed his denunciation of the slayers of Walters at the meeting, and there had been no disturbance. On that night the little suburban village sank to its usual repose, after the labors and cares which Saturday night imposes upon people of low degree. The bacon and meal for the next week had been purchased, the clothes for the morrow put in order, and preparations made for that Sunday dinner which the poorest colored family manages to make a little better than the week day meal. It was nearly twelve o'clock when all became silent; and the weary workers slept all the more soundly for the six days' labor of the week which was past.
It was a chill, dreary night. A dry, harsh wind blew from the north. The moon was at the full, and shone clear and cold in the blue vault.
There was one shrill whistle, some noise of quietly moving horses; and those who looked from their windows saw a black-gowned and grimly-masked horseman sitting upon a draped horse at every corner of the streets, and before each house, — grim, silent, threatening. Those who saw dared not move, or give any alarm. Instinctively they knew that the enemy they had feared had come, had them in his clutches, and would work his will of them, whether they resisted or not. So, with the instinct of self-preservation, all were silent — all simulated sleep.
Five, ten, fifteen minutes the silent watch continued. A half-hour passed, and there had been no sound. Each masked sentry sat his horse as if horse and rider were only some magic statuary with which the bleak night cheated the affrighted eye. Then a whistle sounded on the road toward Verdenton. The masked horsemen turned their horses' heads in that direction, and slowly and silently moved away. Gathering in twos, they fell into ranks with the regularity and ease of a practiced soldiery, and, as they filed on towards Verdenton, showed a cavalcade of several hundred strong; and upon one of the foremost horses rode one with a strange figure lashed securely to him.
When the few who were awake in the little village found courage to inquire as to what the silent enemy had done, they rushed from house to house with chattering teeth and trembling limbs, only to find that all were safe within, until they came to the house where old Uncle Jerry Hunt had been dwelling alone since the death of his wife six months before. The door was open.
The house was empty. The straw mattress had been thrown from the bed, and the hempen cord on which it rested had been removed.
The sabbath morrow was well advanced when the Fool was first apprised of the raid. He at once rode into the town, arriving there just as the morning services closed, and met the people coming along the streets to their homes. Upon the limb of a low-branching oak not more than forty steps from the Temple of Justice, hung the lifeless body of old Jerry. The wind turned it slowly to and fro. The snowy hair and beard contrasted strangely with the dusky pallor of the peaceful face, which seemed even in death to proffer a benison to the people of God who passed to and fro from the house of prayer, unmindful both of the peace which lighted the dead face, and of the rifled temple of the Holy Ghost which appealed to them for sepulture. Over all pulsed the sacred echo of the sabbath bells. The sun shone brightly. The wind rustled the autumn leaves. A few idlers sat upon the steps of the court-house, and gazed carelessly at the ghastly burden on the oak. The brightly-dressed church-goers enlivened the streets. Not a colored man was to be seen. All except the brown cadaver on the tree spoke of peace and prayer — a holy day among a godly people, with whom rested the benison of peace.
The Fool asked of some trusty friends the story of the night before. With trembling lips one told it to him,
"I heard the noise of horses — quiet and orderly, but many. Looking from the window in the clear moonlight, I saw horsemen passing down the street, taking their stations here and there, like guards who have been told off for duty, at specific points. Two stopped before my house, two opposite Mr. Haskin's, and two or three upon the corner below. They seemed to have been sent on before as a sort of picket-guard for the main body, which soon came in. I should say there were from a hundred to a hundred and fifty still in line. They were all masked, and wore black robes. The horses were disguised, too, by drapings. There were only a few mules in the whole company. They were good horses, though: one could tell that by their movements. Oh, it was a respectable crowd! No doubt about that, sir. Beggars don't ride in this country. I don't know when I have seen so many good horses together since the Yankee cavalry left here after the surrender. They were well drilled too. Plenty of old soldiers in that crowd. Why, every thing went just like clock-work. Not a word was said — just a few whistles given. They came like a dream, and went away like a mist. I thought we should have to fight for our lives; but they did not disturb any one here. They gathered down by the court-house. I could not see precisely what they were at, but, from my back upper window, saw them down about the tree. After a while a signal was given, and just at that time a
match was struck, and I saw a dark body swing down under the limb. I knew then they had hung somebody, but had no idea who it was. To tell the truth, I had a notion it was you, Colonel. I saw several citizens go out and speak to these men on the horses. There were lights in some of the offices about the court-house, and in several of the houses about town. Every thing was as still as the grave, — no shouting or loud talking, and no excitement or stir about town. It was evident that a great many of the citizens expected the movement, and were prepared to co-operate with it by manifesting no curiosity, or otherwise endangering its success. I am inclined to think a good many from this town were in it. I never felt so powerless in my life. Here the town was in the hands of two or three hundred armed and disciplined men, hidden from the eye of the law, and having friends and co-workers in almost every house. I knew that resistance was useless."
"But why," asked the Fool, "has not the body been removed?"
"We have been thinking about it," was the reply; "but the truth is, it don't seem like a very safe business. And, after what we saw last night, no one feels like being the first to do what may be held an affront by those men. I tell you, Colonel, I went through the war, and saw as much danger as most men in it; but I would rather charge up the Heights of Gettysburg again than be the object of a raid by that crowd."
After some parley, however, some colored men were found, and a little party made up, who went out and saw the body of Uncle Jerry cut down, and laid upon a box to await the coming of the coroner, who had already been notified. The inquest developed only these facts, and the sworn jurors solemnly and honestly found the cause of death unknown. One of the colored men who had watched the proceedings gave utterance to the prevailing opinion, when he said, —
"It don't do fer niggers to know too much! Dat's what ail Uncle Jerry!"
And indeed it did seem as if his case was one in which ignorance might have been bliss.
CHAPTER XXXII
"OUT OF THE ABUNDANCE OF THE HEART"
Table of Contents
THE events which have been narrated in the preceding chapters, with others of like character, filled the mind of the Fool with a sort of dull horror. Strangely enough, he was not affected with fear. He knew that he was equally in the power of the strange organization, which was as secret and as fatal in its proscription as the Thugs of India. He knew that he was quite as obnoxious to its leaders, and as likely to feel their vengeance, as any of the men who had suffered at its hands; and yet he was far more moved with consideration of the general results which must flow from the evil than at any personal consequences which might befall himself.
So he wrote to one of the Wise Men, and told them all that he knew, all that he feared. He recounted to them what had already been done, and his apprehensions as to what might be done in the future. He called attention to the fact that these acts sprung from a common motive, and all tended to a subversion of liberty, and a prevention of the exercise of those very rights or privileges which it was the spirit and essence of the war, upon the part of the nation, to confirm and secure in their completeness and universality. He pointed out the mockery of that boast which had so many thousand times already been heralded to the world, — that slavery had been abolished, and liberty established without "distinction as to race, color, or previous condition of servitude," while men were submitted to a persecution not less bitter, and hardly less sanguinary, than that which "Bloody Mary" visited upon the heretics of her day. "What they did unto Walters," he wrote, "and unto Uncle Jerry, might as reasonably have been done to me, or to any other man of like political faith." He showed that it was not personal hostility or antipathy which had made them victims, but their public character and affiliations. He declared that these acts of outrage numbered not less than a thousand in the district in which he resided, and that not one had been punished, or could be punished, by the ordinary tribunals, because of the perfection of the disguise which was worn, from the precautions taken to avoid detection, and the fact that so large a proportion of those competent to serve as jurors were quite likely to be particeps criminis.
He asked if there was not some manner in which the government could move for the suppression of this evil. The letter was the spontaneous outpouring of a heart surcharged with the agony of a hopeless conflict with a hidden and unrelenting foe. It was without reservation, being sent to a Wise Man with whom he had maintained such intimacy of relation as folly may be allowed to hold with wisdom.
This letter, for some reason or other, though it was a private one to himself, the Wise Man allowed to be published in the newspapers: so it resulted that the Fool received more than one answer thereto. The answer received from the Wise Man to whom he had addressed it, though somewhat petulant, — as if the glory which he had won by his advocacy of the successful plan of reconstruction had already soured upon his stomach, — was at least frank and honest in its sentiments, and no doubt expressed the writer's views with precision: —
WASHINGTON, D.C., Nov. 10, 18, — .
MY DEAR COLONEL, — Your letter of recent date is received, and I have duly considered its contents. The state of affairs which you picture is undoubtedly most distressing and discouraging; but I can not see how it can be improved by any action of the General Government. The lately rebellious States are now fully restored, and are sovereign republics, of co-ordinate rights and powers with the other States of this Union. The acts of violence described are of course offenses against their laws, and as such are punishable in their courts. It is no doubt a misfortune that those courts are either unable or unwilling to punish such crimes; but it is a misfortune that does not seem to me to be remediable by national legislation.
It must be evident to you that the government can not always interfere in the internal affairs of those States. They must be allowed to control, direct, and order their own affairs, as other States do. It is, no doubt, very unfortunate; but it is far better than to break down or disregard the fundamental principles of our government, — the sacred barriers of the Constitution. Individual discomforts and evils must give way to the public good. The principle of self-government must be recognized and maintained, even at the sacrifice of individual interests and rights. The States must protect the lives, persons, and property of their own citizens from aggression on the part of others. The National Government can not act, so long as its existence or its authority is not assailed or interfered with.
Of course there will always be instances of grievous wrong practiced, both upon individuals and upon classes, in all of the States. I suppose there are classes, in every State, which are liable to injustice and oppression; but the government can not interfere. You say these acts are done to prevent the free exercise of the ballot, and I have no doubt you are right; but I do not see how that affects the question. In fact, my friend [for the Wise Man called all men his friends], it is necessary that the people of the South should learn, what it seems almost impossible that some can apprehend after so many years of military government, — that all these questions of the rights of citizens are relegated, by the fact of reconstruction, to the tribunals of the States, and must be settled and determined there, according to the spirit of the Constitution.
There is one thing, however, that you will allow me to say. If the colored people and the Union men of the South expect to receive the approval, respect, and moral support of the country, they must show themselves capable of self-government, able to take care of themselves. The government has done all it can be expected to do, — all it had power to do, in fact. It has given the colored man the ballot, armed him with the weapon of the freeman, and now he must show himself worthy to use it. We have prepared him for the battle of freedom, and it is for him to furnish the manhood requisite for the struggle. The same is true of the poor white and of the Union man. Instead of whining over the wrongs they suffer at the hands of the rebels, they should assert themselves, and put down such lawless violence. They should combine to enforce the law, or, if the law can not be enforced, then
to protect themselves. The capacity of a people for self-government is proved, first of all, by its inclination and capacity for self-protection. This capacity must exist in order that self-governing communities may exist. The doctrine of government by majorities is based upon the idea that the majority will be sufficiently bold and self-asserting to claim and maintain its rights. It is contemplated, of course, that they will do this in a lawful and peaceable manner; but it is also presumed that they will be capable of such assertion by physical means, should an appeal to force at any time become necessary. If you can not obtain protection through the courts, I do not see why you should not protect yourselves. If people are killed by the Ku-Klux, why do they not kill the Ku-Klux?
These are the questions that arise in my mind. I would not presume to advise, but think they are the questions which all reasonable men must propound to themselves in regard to this matter.
Very respectfully,
— — .
To this letter the Fool answered as follows: —
"MY DEAR SIR, — Your letter in reply to mine of the 5th inst. recalls the recent past very vividly. I am perhaps bound to admit your conclusion that the National Government can not interfere without violating some of the traditions of our Federal Republic, but not its principles, and especially not its spirit.
"It should be remembered that these States as re-created — not re-constructed — are mere creatures of the national power. Our legislators and theorizers have been puttering and quibbling upon the idea, that because there can be no secession, or dissolution of the Union, upon any principle of reserved right, therefore there can be no destruction of the States. By a flimsy fiction it is held that Georgia was a State of the Union at the very time when a hostile government was organized there, dominated every foot of her territory, exacted allegiance and tribute from every inhabitant of her soil, and furnished her contingent for armed resistance to the United States.
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