One had hardly time to think, before the massive structure of dried pitch-pine which northern charity had erected in the foolish hope of benefiting the freedmen, where the young teachers had labored with such devotion, and where so many of the despised race had laid the foundation of a knowledge that they vainly hoped might lift them up into the perfect light of freedom, was a solid spire of sheeted flame.
By its ghastly glare, in various parts of the village were to be seen groups and single armed sentries, clad in black gowns which fell to their very feet, spire-pointed caps, grotesquely marked and reaching far above the head, while from the base a flowing masque depended over the face and fell down upon the shoulders, hiding all the outlines of the figure.
The little village was taken completely by surprise. It had been agreed that the ringing of the church bell should be the signal for assembling at the church with such arms as they had to resist the Ku Klux. It had not been thought that the danger would be imminent until about the expiration of the time named in the notice; so that the watch which had been determined upon had not been strictly kept, and on this night had been especially lax on one of the roads leading into the little hamlet.
At the first stroke of the bell all the villagers were awake, and from half-opened doors and windows they took in the scene which the light of the moon and the glare of the crackling fire revealed. Then dusky-skinned forms stole hastily away into the shadows of the houses and fences, and through the rank-growing corn of the little truck-patches, to the woods and fields in the rear. There were some who since the warning had not slept at home at all, but had occupied little leafy shelters in the bush and half-hid burrows on the hillside. On the eyes of all these gleamed the blaze of the burning church, and each one felt, as he had never realized before, the strength of that mysterious band which was just putting forth its power to overturn and nullify a system of laws that sought to clothe an inferior and servile race with the rights and privileges theretofore exercised solely by the dominant one.
Among those who looked upon this scene was Eliab Hill. Sitting upon his bench he gazed through the low window of his little cottage, the flame lighting up his pale face and his eyes distended with terror. His clasped hands rested on the window-sill and his upturned eyes evidently sought for strength from heaven to enable him manfully to perform the part he had declared his determination to enact. What he saw was this:
A company of masked men seemed to spring out of the ground around the house of Nimbus, and, at a whistle from one of their number, began swiftly to close in upon it. There was a quick rush and the door was burst open. There were screams and blows, angry words, and protestations within. After a moment a light shot up and died quickly out again — one of the party had struck a match. Eliab heard the men cursing Lugena, and ordering her to make up a light on the hearth. Then there were more blows, and the light shone upon the window. There were rough inquiries for the owner, and Eliab thanked God that his faithful friend was far away from the danger and devastation of that night. He wondered, dully, what would be his thought when he should return on the morrow, and mark the destruction wrought in his absence, and tried to paint his rage.
While he thought of these things the neighboring house was ransacked from top to bottom. He heard the men cursing because their search was fruitless. They brought out the wife, Lugena, and two of her children, and coaxed and threatened them without avail. A few blows were struck, but the wife and children stoutly maintained that the husband and father was absent, attending his old master's funeral, at Louisburg. The yellow light of the blazing church shone on the house, and made fantastic shadows all around. The lurid glare lighted up their faces and pictured their terror. They were almost without clothing. Eliab noticed that the hand that clasped Lugena's black arm below the band of the chemise was white and delicate.
The wife and children were crying and moaning in terror and pain. Oaths and blows were intermingled with questions in disguised voices, and gasping broken answers. Blood was running down the face of the wife. The younger children were screaming in the house. Children and women were shrieking in every direction as they fled to the shelter of the surrounding woods. The flame roared and crackled as it licked the resin from the pine logs of the church and leaped aloft. It shone upon the glittering needles of the surrounding pines, lighted up the ripening tobacco on the hillside, sparkled in the dewy leaves of the honeysuckle which clambered over the freedman's house and hid the staring moon with its columns of black smoke.
The search for Nimbus proving unavailing — they scarcely seemed to expect to find him — they began to inquire of the terror-stricken woman the whereabouts of his friend.
"Where is 'Liab Hill?" asked the man who held her arm.
"What have you done with that snivelling hop-toad minister?" queried another.
"Speak, damn you! and see that you tell the truth," said a third, as he struck her over the bare shoulders with a stick.
"Oh! don't! don't!" shrieked the poor woman as she writhed in agony. "I'll tell! I will, gentlemens — I will — I will! Oh, my God! don't! don't!" she cried, as she leaped wildly about, tearing the one garment away in her efforts to avoid the blows which fell thick and fast on every part of her person, now fully exposed in the bright light.
"Speak, then!" said the man who held the goad. "Out with it! Tell where you've hid him!"
"He ain't — here, gentlemen! He — he — don't — stay here no mo'."
Again the blows came thick and fast. She fell upon the ground and rolled in the dust to avoid them. Her round black limbs glistened in the yellow light as she writhed from side to side.
"Here I am — here!" came a wild, shrill shriek from Eliab's cabin.
Casting a glance towards it, one of the men saw a blanched and pallid face pressed against the window and lighted by the blazing church — the face of him who was wont to minister there to the people who did not know their own "best friends!"
"There he is!" — "Bring the damn rascal out!" — "He's the one we want, anyhow!"
These and numerous other shouts of similar character, beat upon the ears of the terrified watcher, as the crowd of masked marauders rushed towards the little cabin which had been his home ever since Red Wing had passed into the possession of its present owner. It was the first building erected under the new proprietorship, and was substantially built of pine logs. The one low window and the door in front were the only openings cut through the solidly-framed logs. The door was fastened with a heavy wooden bar which reached across the entire shutter and was held in place by strong iron staples driven into the heavy door-posts. Above, it was strongly ceiled, but under the eaves were large openings made by the thick poles which had been used for rafters. If the owner had been capable of defense he could hardly have had a castle better adapted for a desperate and successful struggle than this.
Eliab Hill knew this, and for a moment his face flushed as he saw the crowd rush towards him, with the vain wish that he might fight for his life and for his race. He had fully made up his mind to die at his post. He was not a brave man in one sense of the word. A cripple never is. Compelled to acknowledge the physical superiority of others, year after year, he comes at length to regard his own inferiority as a matter of course, and never thinks of any movement which partakes of the aggressive. Eliab Hill had procured the strong bar and heavy staples for his door when first warned by the Klan, but he had never concocted any scheme of defense. He thought vaguely, as he saw them coming towards him in the bright moonlight and in the brighter glow of the burning sanctuary, that with a good repeating arm he might not only sell his life dearly, but even repel the attack. It would be a proud thing if he might do so. He was sorry he had not thought of it before. He remembered the Spencer carbine which he had given a few days before to Berry Lawson to clean and repair, and to obtain cartridges of the proper calibre, in order that it might be used by some one in the defense of Red Wing. Berry had not yet returned. He had never thought of using it himself, until th
at moment when he saw his enemies advancing upon him with wild cries, and heard the roar of the flaming church. He was not a hero. On the contrary, he believed himself a coward.
He was brave enough in suffering, but his courage was like that of a woman. He was able and willing to endure the most terrible evils, but he did not think of doing brave things or achieving great acts. His courage was not aggressive. He could be killed, but did not think of killing. Not that he was averse to taking life in self-defense, but he had been so long the creature of another's will in the matter of locomotion that it did not occur to him to do otherwise than say: "Do with me as thou wilt. I am bound hand and foot. I cannot fight, but I can die."
He shrank from acute pain with that peculiar terror which the confirmed invalid always exhibits, perhaps because he realizes its horror more than those who are usually exempt from its pangs.
As he pressed his face close to the flame-lighted pane, and watched the group of grotesquely disguised men rushing toward his door, his eyes were full of wild terror and his face twitched, while his lips trembled and grew pale under the dark mustache. There was a rush against the door, but it did not yield. Another and another; but the heavy bar and strong staples held it fast. Then his name was called, but he did not answer. Drawing his head quickly from the window, he closed the heavy wooden shutter, which fitted closely into the frame on the inside, and fastened it with a bar like that upon the door. Hardly had he done so when a blow shattered the window. Something was thrust in and passed around the opening, trying here and there to force open the shutter, but in vain. Then it was pressed against the bottom, just where the shutter rested on the window-sill. There was an instant's silence save that Eliab Hill heard a click which he thought was caused by the cocking of a revolver, and threw himself quickly down upon his bench. There was a sharp explosion, a jarring crash as the ball tore through the woodwork, and hurtling across the room buried itself in the opposite wall. Then there were several shots fired at the door. One man found a little hole in the chinking, between two of the logs, and putting his revolver through, fired again and again, sending spits of hot flame and sharp spiteful reverberations through the darkness of the cabin.
Eliab Hill watched all this with fixed, staring eyes and teeth set, but did not move or speak. He scrambled off the bench, and crawled, in his queer tri-pedal fashion, to the cot, crept into it, and with hands clasped, sat bolt upright on the pillow. He set his back against the wall, and, facing the door, waited for the end. He wished that some of the bullets that were fired might pierce his heart. He even prayed that his doom might come sharp and swift — that he might be saved from torture — might be spared the lash. He only feared lest his manhood should fail him in the presence of impending suffering.
There came a rush against the door with some heavy timber. He guessed that it was the log from the hitching rack in front of Nimbus' house. But the strong bar did not yield. They called out his name again, and assured him that if he did not undo the door they would fire the house. A strange look of relief, even of joy, passed over his face as he heard this declaration. He clasped his hands across his breast as he sat upon the bed, and his lips moved in prayer. He was not afraid to die, but he was afraid that he might not be strong enough to endure all the pain that might be caused by torture, without betraying his suffering or debasing his manhood. He felt very weak and was glad to know that fire and smoke would hide his groans and tears.
While he waited for the hissing of the flame the blows of an axe resounded on the door. It was wielded by stalwart hands, and ere long the glare from without shone through the double planking.
"Hello, 'Liab — 'Liab Hill!" cried a voice at the opening which seemed to the quiet listener within strangely like that of Sheriff Gleason. "Damn me, boys, if I don't believe you've killed the nigger, shooting in there. Hadn't we better just set the cabin afire and let it burn?"
"Put in your hand and see if you can't lift the bar," said another. "I'd like to know whether the scoundrel is dead or alive. Besides that, I don't fancy this burning houses. I don't object to hanging a sassy nigger, or anything of that kind, but burning a house is a different matter. That's almost too mean for a white man to do. It's kind of a nigger business, to my notion."
"For instance!" said another, with a laugh, pointing to the blazing church.
"Oh, damn it!" said the former, "that's another thing. A damn nigger school-house ain't of no more account than a brush-pile, anyhow."
A hand was thrust through' the opening and the bar lifted from one socket and drawn out of the other. Then the door flew open and a half dozen men rushed into the room. The foremost fell over the rolling chair which had been left near the door, and the others in turn fell over him.
"What the hell!" cried one. "Here, bring the light here. What is this thing anyhow?"
The light was brought, and the voice continued: "Damned if it ain't the critter's go-cart. Here kick the damn thing out — smash it up! Such things ain't made for niggers to ride on, anyhow. He won't need it any more — not after we have got through with him."
"That he won't!" said another, as the invalid's chair which had first given Eliab Hill power to move himself about was kicked out of the door and broken into pieces with blows of the axe.
Eliab Hill felt as if a part of his life was already destroyed. He groaned for the fate of this inseparable companion of all his independent existence. It had grown dearer to him than he knew. It hurt him, even then, to hear the coarse, grim jests which were uttered as its finely-wrought frame cracked beneath the blows of the axe, and its luxurious belongings were rent and torn by the hands that would soon rend and tear its owner. He had come to look upon the insensate machine with a passionate regard. While it seemed like tearing away his limbs to take it from him, yet there was a feeling of separate animate existence about it which one never feels towards his own members. He had petted and polished and cared for this strong, pretty, and easily worked combination of levers and springs and wheels that had served him so faithfully, until it seemed to his fancy like an old and valued friend.
CHAPTER XXXVII
THE "BEST FRIENDS" REVEAL THEMSELVES
Table of Contents
"Bring alight!" shouted the leader. One of the men rushed into the house of Nimbus, and snatched a flaming brand from the hearth. As he ran with it out of the front door, he did not see a giant form which leaped from the waving corn and sprang into the back door. The black foot was bare and made no sound as it fell upon the threshold. He did not see the black, furious face or the right arm, bared above the elbow, which snatched a saber from the top of a cupboard. He did not see the glaring, murderous eyes that peered through the vine-leaves as he rushed, with his flaming brand aloft, out of the house to the hut of Eliab. As he readied the door the light fell upon the preacher, who sat upon the bed. The fear of death had passed away — even the fear of suffering was gone. His lips moved in prayer, the forgiving words mingling with the curses of his assailants: "O God, my help and my shield!" ("Here he is, God damn him.") "Forgive them, Father — " ("I've got him.") "They know not — -a — h!"
A long, shrill shriek — the voice of a man overborne by mortal agony — sounded above the clamor of curses, and above the roar of the blazing church. There was a fall upon the cabin floor — the grating sound of a body swiftly drawn along its surface — and one of the masked marauders rushed out dragging by the foot the preacher of the Gospel of Peace. The withered leg was straightened. The weakened sinews were torn asunder, and as his captor dragged him out into the light and flung the burden away, the limb dropped, lax and nerveless, to the ground. Then there were blows and kicks and curses from the crowd, which rushed upon him. In the midst, one held aloft a blazing brand. Groans and fragments of prayer came up through the din. [Footnote: Those who are interested in such matters may find some curiously exact parallels of the characters and incidents of this chapter testified to under oath in the "Report of the Committee on Ku-Klux Outrages in the Southern States." The
facts are of no special interest, however, except as illustrations of the underlying spirit and cause of this strange epidemic of violence.]
All at once there was a roar as of a desert lion bursting from its lair. They looked and saw a huge black form leap from the porch of the other house and bound toward them. He was on them in a minute. There was the swish of a saber swung by a practiced hand, and the high-peaked mask of the leader bent over the hissing blade, and was stripped away, leaving a pale, affrighted face glaring stupidly at the ebon angel of wrath in the luried fire-light. A fearful oath came through the white, strong teeth, which showed hard-set below the moustache. Again the saber whistled round the head of the avenger. There was a shriek of mortal agony, and one of the masqueraders fell. The others shrunk back. One fired a shot. The man with the torch stood for the moment as though transfixed, with the glaring light still held aloft. Then, with his revolver, he aimed a close, sure shot at the dusky giant whom he watched.
Suddenly he saw a woman's naked figure, that seemed to rise from the ground. There was a gleam of steel, and then down through mask and flesh and bone crashed the axe which had fallen by the door step, and the blood spurted upon Lugena's unclothed form and into the face of the prostrate Eliab, as the holder of the torch fell beside him. Then the others gave way, and the two black forms pursued. There were some wild shots fired back, as they fled toward the wood beyond the road.
Then from its depths came a flash and a roar. A ball went shrieking by them and flew away into the darkness beyond. Another, and another and another! It was not the sharp, short crack of the revolver, but the fierce angry challenge of the rifle. They had heard it before upon the battle-field, and terror lent them wings as they fled. The hurtling missiles flew here and there, wherever a masked form could be seen, and pursued their fleeing shadows into the wood, glancing from tree to tree, cutting through spine and branch and splintering bole, until the last echo of their footsteps had died away.
A Fool's Errand & Bricks without Straw Page 64
