_Thirty-seven_
THE MOB
When Emma, Bertie's child, came home after a two years' course of study,she had passed from girlhood to young womanhood. She was white, andsandy-haired. She was not beautiful, and she appeared to be fragile; butshe also looked sweet and good, with that peculiar innocence which peersout upon the world with calm, round eyes and sees no evil, but doesmethodically its simple, everyday work. Zora mothered her, Miss Smithfound her plenty to do, and Bles thought her a good girl. But Mrs.Cresswell found her perfect, and began to scheme to marry her off. ForMary Cresswell, with the restlessness and unhappiness of an unemployedwoman, was trying to atone for her former blunders.
Her humiliation after the episode at Cresswell Oaks had been complete.It seemed to her that the original cause of her whole life punishmentlay in her persistent misunderstanding of the black people and theirproblem. Zora appeared to her in a new and glorified light--a vigorous,self-sacrificing woman. She knew that Zora had refused to marry Bles,and this again seemed fitting. Zora was not meant for marrying; she wasa born leader, wedded to a great cause; she had long outgrown the boyand girl affection. She was the sort of woman she herself might havebeen if she had not married.
Alwyn, on the other hand, needed a wife; he was a great, virile boy,requiring a simple, affectionate mate. No sooner did she see Emma thanshe was sure that this was the ideal wife. She compared herself withHelen Cresswell. Helen was a contented wife and mother because she wasfitted for the position, and happy in it; while she who had aimed sohigh had fallen piteously. From such a fate she would save Zora andBles.
Emma's course in nurse-training had been simple and short and there wasno resident physician; but Emma, in her unemotional way, was a bornnurse and did much good among the sick in the neighborhood. Zora had asmall log hospital erected with four white beds, a private room, and anoffice which was also Emma's bedroom. The new white physician in town,just fresh from school in Atlanta, became interested and helped withadvice and suggestions.
Meantime John Taylor's troubles began to increase. Under the oldpolitical regime it had been an easy matter to avoid seriousdamage-suits for the accidents in the mill. Much child labor and thelack of protective devices made accidents painfully frequent. Taylorinsisted that the chief cause was carelessness, while the mill handsalleged criminal neglect on his part. When the new labor officials tookcharge of the court and the break occurred between Colonel Cresswell andhis son-in-law, Taylor found that several damage-suits were likely tocost him a considerable sum.
He determined not to let the bad feelings go too far, and when aparticularly distressing accident to a little girl took place, he showedmore than his usual interest and offered to care for her. The new youngphysician recommended Zora's infirmary as the only near place thatoffered a chance for the child's recovery.
"Take her out," Taylor promptly directed.
Zora was troubled when the child came. She knew the suspicious temper ofthe town whites. The very next day Taylor sent out a second case, achild who had been hurt some time before and was not recovering as sheshould. Under the care of the little hospital and the gentle nurse thechildren improved rapidly, and in two weeks were outdoors, playing withthe little black children and even creeping into classrooms andlistening. The grateful mothers came out twice a week at least; at firstwith suspicious aloofness, but gradually melting under Zora's tact untilthey sat and talked with her and told their troubles and struggles. Zorarealized how human they were, and how like their problems were to hers.They and their children grew to love this busy, thoughtful woman, andZora's fears were quieted.
The catastrophe came suddenly. The sheriff rode by, scowling and huntingfor some poor black runaway, when he saw white children in the Negroschool and white women, whom he knew were mill-hands, looking on. He wasblack with anger; turning he galloped back to town. A few hours laterthe young physician arrived hastily in a cab to take the women andchildren to town. He said something in a low tone to Zora and droveaway, frowning.
Zora came quickly to the school and asked for Alwyn. He was in the barnand she hurried there.
"Bles," she said quietly, "it is reported that a Toomsville mob willburn the school tonight."
Bles stood motionless.
"I've been fearing it. The sheriff has been stirring up the worstelements in the town lately and the mills pay off tonight."
"Well," she said quietly, "we must prepare."
He looked at her, his face aglow with admiration.
"You wonder-woman!" he exclaimed softly.
A moment they regarded each other. She saw the love in his eyes, and hesaw rising in hers something that made his heart bound. But she turnedquickly away.
"You must hurry, Bles; lives are at stake." And in another moment hethundered out of the barn on the black mare.
Along the pike he flew and up the plantation roads. Across broad fieldsand back again, over to the Barton pike and along the swamp. At everycabin he whispered a word, and left behind him grey faces and whisperingchildren.
His horse was reeking with sweat as he staggered again into theschool-yard; but already the people were gathering, with frightened,anxious, desperate faces. Women with bundles and children, men withguns, tottering old folks, wide-eyed boys and girls. Up from the swampland came the children crying and moaning. The sun was setting. Thewomen and children hurried into the school building, closing the doorsand windows. A moment Alwyn stood without and looked back. The world waspeaceful. He could hear the whistle of birds and the sobbing of thebreeze in the shadowing oaks. The sky was flashing to dull and purplishblue, and over all lay the twilight hush as though God did not care.
He threw back his head and clenched his hands. His soul groaned withinhim. "Heavenly Father, was man ever before set to such a task?" Fight?God! if he could but fight! If he could but let go the elementalpassions that were leaping and gathering and burning in the eyes ofyonder caged and desperate black men. But his hands were tied--manacled.One desperate struggle, a whirl of blood, and the whole world would riseto crush him and his people. The white operatore in yonder town had butto flash the news, "Negroes killing whites," to bring all the country,all the State, all the nation, to red vengeance. It mattered not whatthe provocation, what the desperate cause.
The door suddenly opened behind him and he wheeled around.
"Zora!" he whispered.
"Bles," she answered softly, and they went silently in to their people.
All at once, from floor to roof, the whole school-house was lighted up,save a dark window here and there. Then some one slipped out into thedarkness and soon watch-fire after watch-fire flickered and flamed inthe night, and then burned vividly, sending up sparks and black smoke.Thus ringed with flaming silence, the school lay at the edge of thegreat, black swamp and waited. Owls hooted in the forest. Afar theshriek of the Montgomery train was heard across the night, mingling withthe wail of a wakeful babe; and then redoubled silence. The men becamerestless, and Johnson began to edge away toward the lower hall. Alwynwas watching him when a faint noise came to him on the eastern breeze--alow, rumbling murmur. It died away, and rose again; then a distantgun-shot woke the echoes.
"They're coming!" he cried. Standing back in the shadow of a frontwindow, he waited. Slowly, intermittently, the murmuring swelled, tillit grew distinguishable as yelling, cursing, and singing, intermingledwith the crash of pistol-shots. Far away a flame, as of a burning cabin,arose, and a wilder, louder yell greeted it. Now the tramp of footstepscould be heard, and clearer and thicker the grating and booming ofvoices, until suddenly, far up the pike, a black moving mass, withglitter and shout, swept into view. They came headlong, guided bypine-torches, which threw their white and haggard faces into wilddistortion. Then as bonfire after bonfire met their gaze, they movedslowly and more slowly, and at last sent a volley of bullets at thefires. One bullet flew high and sang through a lighted window. Without aword, Uncle Isaac sank upon the floor and lay still. Silence and renewedmurmuring ensued, and the so
und of high voices in dispute. Then the massdivided into two wings and slowly encircled the fence of fire; startingnoisily and confidently, and then going more slowly, quietly, warily, asthe silence of the flame began to tell on their heated nerves.
Strained whispers arose.
"Careful there!"
"Go on, damn ye!"
"There's some one by yon fire."
"No, there ain't."
"See the bushes move."
_Bang! bang! bang!_
"Who's that?"
"It's me."
"Let's rush through and fire the house."
"And leave a pa'cel of niggers behind to shoot your lights out? Not me."
"What the hell are you going to do?"
"I don't know yet."
"I wish I could see a nigger."
_"Hark!"_
Stealthy steps were approaching, a glint of steel flashed behind thefire lights. Each band mistook the other for the armed Negroes, and theleaders yelled in vain; human power can not stay the dashing torrent offear-inspired human panic. Whirling, the mob fled till it struck theroad in two confused, surging masses. Then in quick frenzy, shots flew;three men threw up their hands and tumbled limply in the dust, while themain body rushed pellmell toward town.
At early dawn, when the men relaxed from the strain of the night'svigil, Alwyn briefly counselled them: "Hide your guns."
"Why?" blustered Rob. "Haven't I a right to have a gun?"
"Yes, you have, Rob; but don't be foolish--hide it. We've not heard thelast of this."
But Rob tossed his head belligerently.
In town, rumor spread like wildfire. A body of peaceful whites passingthrough the black settlement had been fired on from ambush, and sixkilled--no, three killed--no, one killed and two severely wounded.
"The thing mustn't stop here," shouted Sheriff Colton; "these niggersmust have a lesson." And before nine next morning fully half the grownmembers of the same mob, now sworn in as deputies, rode with him tosearch the settlement. They tramped insolently through the schoolgrounds, but there was no shred of evidence until they came to Rob'scabin and found his gun. They tied his hands behind him and marched himtoward town.
But before the mob arrived the night before, Johnson feeling that hissafety lay in informing the white folks, had crawled with his gun intothe swamp. In the morning he peered out as the cavalcade approached, andnot knowing what had happened, he recognized Colton, the sheriff, andsignalled to him cautiously. In a moment a dozen men were on him, and heappealed and explained in vain--the gun was damning evidence. The voicesof Rob's wife and children could be heard behind the two men as theywere hurried along at a dog trot.
The town poured out to greet them--"The murderers! the murderers! Killthe niggers!" and they came on with a rush. The sheriff turned anddisappeared in the rear. There was a great cloud of dust, a cry and awild scramble, as the white and angry faces of men and boys gleamed amoment and faded.
A hundred or more shots rang out; then slowly and silently, the mass ofwomen and men were sucked into the streets of the town, leaving butblack eddies on the corners to throw backward glances toward the bare,towering pine where swung two red and awful things. The pale boy-face ofone, with soft brown eyes glared up sightless to the sun; the dead,leathered bronze of the other was carved in piteous terror.