CHAPTER VII.PORTENTIOUS DARKNESS.“Ye gods, it doth amaze me!A man of such feeble temper shouldSo get the start of the majestic world.”—Casca.A small, dark man, with a lithe form and sparkling eyes, had been busy preparing Justice Rives’s office for the expected court, as he had been previously directed, and was unaware of the excitement prevailing in other parts of the village. His task completed, he seated himself in an armchair, adjusted his feet high upon the post of the open door, and with his coat off and fan in hand, sat leisurely reading.About half past three o’clock he was startled by an imperative voice, asking, “Where is Rives?”On looking up from his newspaper, he saw Robert Baker and his legal counsel seated in the latter’s carriage, which stood before the door.“Mr. Rives is at his house, I reckon; but he’ll be here directly,” was the reply.“Go and tell him to come here to me,” commanded the General.“I’m not Mr. Rives’s office-boy. I am a constable, and am here attending to my business. He told me he would behere by four o’clock, and he won’t come any quicker by my going after him.”General B.—“Do you know who you are talking to?”Constable Newton.—“I’m talking to General Baker, I believe.”Gen. B.—“Well, you scamp! bring me some paper here.”Newton.—“Here is the office, and here is the chairs, and here is the paper, and pen and ink, sir; and here is the chairs for all the attorneys that wants to do business here to come in and sit down.”Gen. B. (with an oath).—“Bring it to me, sir!”Newton.—“I won’t do it. Come in, sir, and sit at the table.”The irate General sprang from his carriage, and, followed by the ever-ready Gaston, rushed into the court room in a menacing manner. But the imperturbable constable did not move, nor show signs of disturbance.Gen. B. (with a vile epithet and oaths, which the reader should imagine, thickly strewn throughout this colloquy).—“Give me that chair!”Newton.—“There is a chair.”General B. thundered.—“Give me that chair you are sitting on!Get out of that chair, and give it to me! I want this chair and intend to have it!”“All right,” replied Newton, after a pause; “if this chair suits you better than the others, take it.”Gen. B.—“You —— leatherhead radical! You sitting down there fanning yourself!”Newton.—“I am fanning myself, sitting in my own office, and attending to my own business.”Gen. B.—“You vile brute, you! You want to have a bullet-hole put through you before you can move!”At this juncture old man Baker and one of his followers, pistols in hand, reinforced the General, and Tommy rode as close to the door as possible, with his trusty carbine, while others appeared outside.Newton arose, and taking his chair by the back, turned the seat of it toward General Baker, and, still holding the back with both hands, said:“There it is, Gen. Baker, if you want it; and you can shoot me, if you want to. Mr. Robert Baker, you know what sort of a man I am. I have always tried to behave myself when you came in the office.”Robert B.—“Yes, but” (with an oath) “this drilling has got to stop. I want you to go for Rives.”Newton.—“I’ve got no right to go for Rives, and I’m not going.”Robert B.—“Well you’ll be a dead man, and you’ll wish you had gone.”Newton.—“I am but one man.”Gen. B. (with oaths and sneers of contempt).—“Sitting down there with your feet cocked up!”Newton.—“Well, General, I’m not dead; but if you’re going to kill me, why kill me; and that is all you can do.”Gen. B.—“We’ll take our time about that. We’ll show you, you insolent darkie!—you contemptible nigger!”The Bakers returned to their carriages in high dudgeon.“There is Justice Rives’ private secretary,” said the old man, as they were about leaving the premises. “If you will speak to him, I think he will go for Rives.”“No,” replied the incensed General, “I am not going to be insulted again. You can do so if you choose.”Robert Baker did choose, for he preferred to reserve resentment, rather than allow it to thwart or hinder his purposes. Gaston, however, ‘halted’ the secretary, and undertook the mission himself.Can the reader imagine the scene in that upper room in Rives’ house, when a female servant announced that Gaston was at the door below, urging the presence of Judge Rives at the court-room, as Gen. Baker and his clients were waiting there; though the hour had not yet arrived?Noiselessly the entire group descended to the ground floor, and, screened from view, listened breathlessly to the collocution which, however, was brief and courteous, as the young man naturally wished to conciliate the favor of the Judge. He was dismissed with the assurance that the court should be opened promptly.Prince Rives (the Judge’s baptismal name was Prince—it might seem sacrilege to designate a name given in slavery as “Christian”) stepped quietly into his sitting-room—a perfect bower of flowers, ferns growing under glass, and singing-birds, where his wife and eldestdaughter were anxiously watching the crowd gathering in the streets.“I’m going down to the office now,” said he, “and if any trouble should occur, stay right here in the house, and keep the children in, and you will all be safe.”Alas! these were assurances false even to the heart of him who made them.Has the reader ever laid a kiss upon a loved one’s brow, and then watched the dear form passing beyond recall, perhaps, (oh, that terribleperhaps!) if returning at all, to come a lifeless thing—an uninhabited tenement—or in agony and blood; while the ever active imagination chafed and chid the hands and feet that fain would do its bidding and follow that loved form, though duty fettered them to inactivity?Or has he gone out under the benediction of love, to meet a hate that might hold him in its deadly grasp, forbidding his return?To such we need not describe the adieus exchanged in that little sitting-room; for the sweet influences of love take no cognizance of complexion.Trial Justice Prince Rives soon issued from the front door of his house, book in hand, erect and commanding, looking the true ideal African General as he was, and walked leisurely up the street, unattended, and apparently unarmed; as if to show the mob that at least one negro was not afraid.Tall, straight, powerful, his black and shining visageperfectly calm, he strode through the throng of armed and angry men that surrounded the door of his office, and crowded the court-room.Kanrasp and Springer followed at some distance to witness should any disturbance arise; and while attention was thus attracted towards the court-room, the officers all made their way to the armory, whither many other members of the Company and other citizens had already hastened for safety behind its strong walls, doors and window-shutters. Women and children fled across the long bridge to the city, or to the surrounding country; though many remained to guard their small possessions, and share the fate of husbands and fathers, should the worst come.Armed men were still coming in, and yet more rapidly, and the sinking sun heralded a brief, southern twilight and a moonless night; while a great terror took possession of the inhabitants of the doomed village.A few straggling members of the Company appearing with their guns, which they had formerly taken to their homes for cleaning, became the unfortunate subjects of a hue and cry as they hurried along towards the rendezvous, and were marked for the night’s barbarities.No small exhibition of nerve was now required of that African Major-General of the obnoxious “National Guards,”—one of the very men whose high military position was so offensive to the white men now surrounding him, and thronging his court-room, that, though notably fond of the practice of arms, they utterly disregarded thelaw requiring their enrollment as State Militia-men, lest they might be subordinated to him.Yet with measured step and dignified mien he passed the carriage where the Bakers still sat, greeting them with easy politeness.“I should like to know whether you are sitting in the capacity of Major-General of State Militia, or as a Trial Justice?” said Gen. Baker, when all was in readiness.“That will depend upon the nature of the testimony. I am sitting as a peace officer; and if the facts are such as to justify my sitting as a Trial Justice, I will do so; if not, it will be otherwise.”“It is immaterial to me; I merely wanted to know. I want to investigate the facts of this matter, and either capacity will be agreeable to me,” replied the General.At this juncture the Intendant (Mayor), approached, and whispered to the General, “I think if you would suspend this trial for awhile, we could settle it.”“Just ask the Judge. If he suspends I am willing.”A brief conference ensued, after which the Judge announced a suspension for ten minutes.This caused dissatisfaction among the spectators, as a peaceful adjustment would be but a tame issue of all their military preparations.Intendant Garndon then conducted the plaintiffs and their attorney to the council chamber, which was separated from Dunn’s shop on the corner or Main Street by only one half the width of a narrow street.At this time the largest and most unruly part of the cavalry was gathered about this corner groggery, and a less suitable place for the conference could not have been selected; but each would-be peacemaker seemed to think peace most attainable on his own premises.Though the distance was less than four squares, as they could proceed but slowly through the throng, it sufficed Gen. Baker to administer a lecture to the dusky official upon his personal culpability in having allowed “this so-called militia company,” to train “upon Mr. Robert Baker’s road,” and with arms in their hands—though, doubtless the poor, berated mayor found difficulty in understanding how a public highway could be “Mr. Robert Baker’s road,” or how he could have disarmed the State’s militia.As has already been stated, quite a number of colored citizens, and of the rank and file of the militia men, had gathered in and about the armory, hoping to find protection there.Among them was Dan Pipsie, who was quite sober, and his own plucky self.“Well, if I war Captain Doc, I’d do anyt’ing on earth to settle dis myself,” said Dan. “I wouldn’t have de blood of all dese collo’d families onmyhead. When I die, I don’t want no man’s wife cussin’ me, noh blamin’ me fo’ his death.”“Capt. Doc a’n’t a bit to blame now,” replied Mann Harris. “I was ’bout two hundred yards from ’em at the time of the fuss. I saw Gaston and Tom Baker drivedown, and get out and go into Nunberger’s store. I saw the company coming back, an’ they was a gwoine up then, and they met and talked awhile, an’ the company divided an’ let them go through. Let’s go down, an’ see Rives about this, Ned O’Bran, an’ git him to send a dispatch to the Governor to help us.”“Well, come on,” replied Ned.They entered the quiet office of the Justice, and found him sitting there alone, and looking over books and papers.“General, whatisyou doing?” asked Harris, with emphasis.“I am waiting for people to come into court again.”“If you wait here awhile longer, they’ll make you jump out o’ here entirely!”“What is the matter?”“Well, there’s about four hundred men out there with guns and pistols.”“Ah! I’ll go out and see—Well, really, this is surprising! What is all this about?”“I don’t know,” said the excited Harris. “They’re gwoine to take the guns away from the armory.”The three men walked up the street conversing. Meanwhile Captain Doc entered his own apartments, which it will be remembered, were in the same building as the armory or drill room.“I’ve been in my shirt sleeves,” said he to his wife, “ever since I left my bench at noon; but, (with a grim smile,) ifI’m gwoine to see such big men as General Baker or the Laud, I reckon I’d best put my coat on.”“Oh, Doc, don’t talk so ’bout de Laud! I’m awful scarred to have yo’ go.”“I’ve got a right to go. They say General Baker’s gone up to the Council Chamber, and he and Garndon’ll be expecting us.”“I’m awful scarred fo’ yo’, an’ I’m a mind to go ’way myself. ’Spex they’ll be shootin’ ’round yere so the baby couldn’t sleep no how. Mann Harris, he’s taken his wife off, ’bout an hour by sun, or so, poor soul! sick as she’s been, now mighty nigh on to a year. Mann tole me he’d positive his word thar’ would be no fuss nor killin’; but I’d positive my word he war’ ’feared, else he wouldn’t come totin’ Dinah down all dem stairs, an hauled ’er off up to Miss Pipton’s; fo’ it’s mighty nigh on to fo’ mile ovah da; and Dinah has determined to me that it hurt her tolerable bad to stir at all.”The Captain had been looking out of the window while she spoke, towards Dunn’s store and the Council Chambers, Turning abruptly, he asked—“Where is the baby?”“I done toted ’er ovah to Elder Jackson’s but I can’t let ’er stay dar. I’ll jes lock up de house, an’ git de baby, an’ clar out ovah de rivah, fo’ de scar o’ stayin’ in dis yere house’ll perish me out, if I’m de onus one fo’ a quarter hour mo’.”“Now, Debby, yo’ get the baby, and take ’er over toRives’s, and stay thar, he’s been so conciliating to ’em, and they think a heap o’ him. Blamed but I wish the baby was here a minute till I kiss ’er ’fo’ I go up to see General Baker. Don’t get scared now. They won’t hurt the women, I reckon. It’s only them as votes an’ can manage a gun they’re after. Take care yo’rself,” and he kissed her.“Oh, ain’t yo’ scarred to go, Doc?” sobbed she, clinging to him. “I spex yo’re forced to by persuasion; but I’m feared they’ll put a bullet into yo’, and maybe fifty.” Here she broke down entirely, and wept aloud, sobbing, “Oh, don’t go, Doc! don’t go!”“But I’ve got a right to, to save the town. He’ll lay it in ashes. I wouldn’t like to tell yo, all the way they’re talking, and making big threats, and abusing us to everything yo’ can think.”“To my knowance they’re mighty bad; and I’m mighty glad Mann Harris sent his wife off.”“Well, Debby, yo’ go and get the baby, and take good care of her. I reckon you’d best tote her ovah to your mother’s ’cross the river. Some on ’em might hurt her if they knowed she was mine.”They left the house together, and Doc locked the door, and put the key in his pocket.“Oh, my lawses!” exclaimed Mrs. Doc. “Don’t yo’ go up thar, Doc! Jes see such heaps o’ men! Jes lots and piles of ’em!Now yo’ sha’n’t go!”“No mo’ I won’t! They picks out all the hardest placesfor a man to go to; but his soldiers ’d follow the General anywhere. There he is now.Heain’t gwoine to meetme. See! He knows I’m here well enough, but he won’t look at me. Ah! He’s gwoine over to the city. P’raps he’ll just clar out, now he’s got the rest agoing. There’s Kanrasp, and Rives too.”General Rives and his two neighbors met General Baker at the next corner. The latter was on horseback and rode up to General Rives and demanded the name of the Colonel of the Eighteenth Regiment.“Colonel Williams,” was the reply.“Where is he?”“At his house, I reckon.”“I want him. I want those guns, and by——I’ve got to have them.”“General Baker, I don’t know what to do about them. I’ll go up and see the Captain, and consult with him, and see if he says to give them up.”A moment later and he met Judge Kanrasp, who was earnestly urging the colored men, women, and children who were huddled in knots upon the street, to go home and remain quietly in their houses.“Kanrasp,” said Judge Rives, “It is no use for you to stay here and get killed; and you will be killed if you stay,—a ‘carpet-bagger and a radical,’ like you.”“That’s so,” added Marmor, and Doc, and Watta, who now joined the group; and they hastily accompanied him down to the Rail Road platform nearly opposite the armory, andurged him to flee, as one who would be first attacked. Rapidly crossing the river, upon the Rail Road bridge, the train, which arrived, in ten minutes took him homewards; too soon for the accomplishment of his purpose to learn Gen. Baker’s mission to the city.Never were the combative characteristics of the whites and colored races in the Southern States more clearly exhibited than in the scenes at Baconsville that day, though leading colored men, whose exceptional energy, and perhaps assertion, had made them such, were necessarily prominent. Not bravery, so much as skill in its exercise, constitutes the white man a leader among his fellows.In general terms it may be said that timidity, with extremely rare acts of rashness, characterizes the colored race, bravado and arbitrary assumption, of the white and both are the victims of mutual suspicion and distrust, which oftencausethe dreaded ill.Gen. Baker was absent half an hour, and on his return a general remounting took place, while over the hill at the back of the village, came a large company of horsemen, all well armed.Down Main street they rode, two abreast, and were at once distributed throughout the town; a squad upon each street corner, attended by an equal number of infantry; all with weapons in hand ready for immediate action.Look which way they would, the distracted freedmen saw armed men, and re-enforcements constantly arriving from all directions.Darkness was approaching, and though the hills around were still touched by the glow of the setting sun, its refracted rays seemed to exaggerate the squalor, and magnify the deformities of the little town in the valley; and, exalting the warlike preparations, to clothe them with every imaginable horror; while the humidity of the evening air intensified the sounds of blood-thirsty riot.Justice Marmor now closed and locked his office door, and began at this tardy moment, to think of adopting Mrs. M’s advice.Stepping out of his own back door, he leaped the fence into his neighbor’s yard, and, mounting his doorsteps, stood in a closely latticed corner of a porch, and took observations.The square was surrounded by the Rifle-clubs,—the remnants and second-growth of the cropped, but not uprooted Confederate cavalry,—standing thick, two abreast, with guns resting upon each left arm.In the vernacular of the South, Marmor was “ascallawag,” for, though once a brave Confederate soldier, he had become a consistent advocate of the idea that the “all men” who are “created free and equal” includes the colored race; and probably no man in the devoted town stood in greater danger than he.“Co im ’s house, Meester Marmor:——i’m ’s house quick!” said Dan Lemfield, opening the back-door of his dwelling. You be mine neighbor, and shall not be shot on mine dreshold. Co hide self! Co!”Marmor did not decline the invitation, but stepped quickly in, and passing to the parlor in front, peeped from behind the window shades, which Mrs. Lemfield had drawn closely down.At the opposite corner of the street, his most implacable enemy, the eldest son of Col. Baker, sat upon his horse, with self-complacent manner waiting the appearance of his prey, or the word of command from the great General. He was supported by eight or ten other men, not less vigilant.“Oh, Mr. Marmor!” besought Mrs. Lemfield, “do go up stairs, and keep out of sight. They have threatened about you so much that some of them will surely come in here, and kill you! Do go up, quick! quick!”Marmor obeyed, and immediately the host, who had been out, re-entered with wild eyes and white lips.“Vo ish dat mon, Sarah?”She signed with her hand, in reply; at the same time saying, in an indifferent tone, “Oh, he’s gone up, he is not here,” for their little child had entered, and she feared it might betray their guest.The excited Jew (for Lemfield was a Jew) leaped up the stairs, calling out as he ran, “Don’t shoot! It’s me—jist me. Oh, moine goot freund! Vat vill dese men to? Shenneral Paker say he vill hab de guns, oder he vill pekin to fire in von half hour. Colonel A. P., dat ole man you seen sthrapping on dem pig bistols by’me Post Office, he tole me close up mine par in’ leetle sthore. Vell, dey ishhab too much visky now; so I mind quick, I tell you! He tole same ting yo’ mudda, an’ she pe shut up.”“Where is she?” asked Marmor.“My golly! Se ist plucky ole voman. Se im leetle sthore—all ’lone by self. She not come avay.”“Where are my wife and children?”“Im house—your house. Dat ish pest blace. Nicht wahr? Pest not pe mit you.”“I don’t know,” replied Marmor, absently.“Oh, ya! Mon come here, mon sag, ‘Meester dare sure.’ Now co dis vay,” and he led the way to a loft; “Here co om roof van dey get you. Hark! Vat dat noise down stair ish?”The next instant Mrs. Marmor rushed into the chamber and threw her arms about her husband’s neck in a paroxysm of weeping.He folded her to his breast, and commanding a calm and cheerful tone, said, “Jane, Jane, don’t give way so. Why, I’m not afraid; I shall come off all right, and nobody will hurt you or the children. Our people are chivalrous, and won’t hurt a woman.”“Oh, you don’t know! you don’t know!” she sobbed. “Capt. Baker just now told me, as I was coming to bid you good-bye,” (here her sobs interrupted her speech) “he told me,” she resumed, “if I wanted to save my children from getting killed, to go into the house and lock the doors. And so I must go and save my poor babies. Duck got scared and ran off and left me all alone,” and she placedher cold trembling hands on either side of her husband’s face, and kissed him. Then pressing them upon her heart, she descended the stairs, moaning aloud.“Great heavens! Am I aman?” exclaimed Marmor, “to let my wife go like that, and I hiding to save my own life!” and he sprang to the stairs to follow her.Quick as thought, the Jew placed himself before him, and held him back.“She be not cry for self; just foryou. You co da, she cry more. Man not touch her, noh leetle kinder. Yo’ co hide now, quick!”Five minutes later, the same Col. Baker, her husband’s enemy, rapped loudly upon Mrs. Marmor’s door, with the loaded handle of his riding-whip.Almost too much frightened to stand, she opened the door, and peeped out.“You must take your children, and leave this house if you do not want to be killed,” said the gallant Colonel.“Oh, where shall I go? What shall I do?” cried the distracted mother.“You must get out of here, and that is all I can tell you,” said he, with an oath. “No use to lock your door—leave it open, I tell you, and go!”Nearly all the colored people had, by this time, taken the advice of Judge Kanrasp, or of their fears, and fled the streets. Like timid conies, some sought the vain shelter of their homes, others that of the neighboring cornfields or river-banks and bridges, and still others fled to the surrounding country.Doc, Watta and Sems went across the street after Kanrasp left, taking about thirty or forty men with them to the drill-room on the second floor.About this time four colored men were seen to issue from an humble dwelling, and, with heroic purpose as their only visible weapon, they quietly made their way along the fortified streets. They were frequently halted and their business demanded, when their uniform reply was “To see Gen. Baker;” and the moral sublimity of their position seemed to impress even the conscienceless rioters, for only verbal abuse was hurled at them.Arm-in-arm walked Gen. Justice Rives and the Methodist preacher—Elder Jackson—(visibly quaking within his spotless linen, and coat of snowy whiteness). Behind this worthy pair came Springer, the chief man of money and of business in the town, with Lem Picksley, a well-known, peaceable, and long-time resident; the best educated and best-liked citizen.At length they found the man they sought—armed, mounted and surrounded by cavalry arranged in warlike attitude, who appeared to reverence him as their chief.“Gen. Baker,” said Rives, “we have come to ask if there isanythingwe can do to make peace.”“Nothing will satisfy me but the surrender of the men and their guns.”“We have no authority to surrender them, as you very well know. The men are not criminals convicted, and you have no warrant or authority of law; and the men saytheir oaths to the State forbid their surrendering the arms to you. If you can show any authority for receiving them, that you have more than any other private citizen, they will give them up at once; but they say they cannot otherwise, because, if they should voluntarily yield them up to you or any other private citizen, especially surrounded by such an armed body as this, without authority of law—well, General, you’re a lawyer, and you know what the law calls it. The law and their oath of office will not allow them.”“Rives,” replied this great chieftain, “you are the Major General of the State Militia in this district, and can demand them.”“Not without cause, or order from my superior!”“By ——!” said the negro-catcher, Baker, who stood near, “you had better do something, for there’s going to be —— to pay here, if those officers and guns are not delivered up.”“I want to see the Colonel of this regiment. I want these officers and these guns,” said Gen. Baker with great vehemence.Ned O’Bran, who had joined the four peace-makers, now slipped through the crowd and back to the armory.“How does it look, Ned?” asked Lieut. Watta from a window above his head.“It looks squally. Now, Watta, you men just bar the windows and doors, and let nothing nor nobody in the world in there; and by this means they will have nothingnor nobody in the world to fight, if they want to fight, but themselves. There’s bound to be a fuss; for I heard Gen. Baker say myself, that what he intended to do this evening won’t stop till after the seventh of next November, and that is election day, you know. So shut yourselves up, and keep still.”Watta closed the window, and Ned returned to the place of conference.A horse pushed against Springer’s companion, and he mildly laid his hand upon the animal’s shoulder and said, addressing it, “Take care, sir!”Quick as thought the rider’s whip cut a smart gash upon the dusky cheek.The chivalrous Gen. Baker, looking on, took out his own pocket handkerchief, and wiped the perspiration from his own face, while the unoffending mulatto wiped the blood from his; and Springer’s unflinching eye arrested the hand of another of the General’s aids, as he was about to send a bullet through his (Springer’s) brain.Neither the attack nor menace elicited rebuke nor notice from the “high-toned” General, who disdainfully turned and rode away.“If we will box the guns up,” said Rives, following him, “and return them to the Governor, willthatbe satisfactory?”“—— the Governor! I am not here as the Governor of South Carolina, nor his agent, but as General Baker!”“Well, we are sorry if there is nothing we can do tomake peace, General, but (turning to his companions) we must return without it, and each do the best he can for himself.”“Here’s Ned O’Bran,” said Springer in an undertone, “Brother Jackson, you had better go with him, for his house is outside of the picket lines; and as you’re a member of the Legislature, you must look out—they’ll be after you shor.”“I was just going down to the drill room to be safe myself,” said O’Bran. “My family went on so that I am on my way back to the armory.”“You can’t get through this way. The pickets are everywhere. You had best go home. It’s every man for himself, and the Lord for us all,” said Springer, and the men separated.
CHAPTER VII.PORTENTIOUS DARKNESS.“Ye gods, it doth amaze me!A man of such feeble temper shouldSo get the start of the majestic world.”—Casca.A small, dark man, with a lithe form and sparkling eyes, had been busy preparing Justice Rives’s office for the expected court, as he had been previously directed, and was unaware of the excitement prevailing in other parts of the village. His task completed, he seated himself in an armchair, adjusted his feet high upon the post of the open door, and with his coat off and fan in hand, sat leisurely reading.About half past three o’clock he was startled by an imperative voice, asking, “Where is Rives?”On looking up from his newspaper, he saw Robert Baker and his legal counsel seated in the latter’s carriage, which stood before the door.“Mr. Rives is at his house, I reckon; but he’ll be here directly,” was the reply.“Go and tell him to come here to me,” commanded the General.“I’m not Mr. Rives’s office-boy. I am a constable, and am here attending to my business. He told me he would behere by four o’clock, and he won’t come any quicker by my going after him.”General B.—“Do you know who you are talking to?”Constable Newton.—“I’m talking to General Baker, I believe.”Gen. B.—“Well, you scamp! bring me some paper here.”Newton.—“Here is the office, and here is the chairs, and here is the paper, and pen and ink, sir; and here is the chairs for all the attorneys that wants to do business here to come in and sit down.”Gen. B. (with an oath).—“Bring it to me, sir!”Newton.—“I won’t do it. Come in, sir, and sit at the table.”The irate General sprang from his carriage, and, followed by the ever-ready Gaston, rushed into the court room in a menacing manner. But the imperturbable constable did not move, nor show signs of disturbance.Gen. B. (with a vile epithet and oaths, which the reader should imagine, thickly strewn throughout this colloquy).—“Give me that chair!”Newton.—“There is a chair.”General B. thundered.—“Give me that chair you are sitting on!Get out of that chair, and give it to me! I want this chair and intend to have it!”“All right,” replied Newton, after a pause; “if this chair suits you better than the others, take it.”Gen. B.—“You —— leatherhead radical! You sitting down there fanning yourself!”Newton.—“I am fanning myself, sitting in my own office, and attending to my own business.”Gen. B.—“You vile brute, you! You want to have a bullet-hole put through you before you can move!”At this juncture old man Baker and one of his followers, pistols in hand, reinforced the General, and Tommy rode as close to the door as possible, with his trusty carbine, while others appeared outside.Newton arose, and taking his chair by the back, turned the seat of it toward General Baker, and, still holding the back with both hands, said:“There it is, Gen. Baker, if you want it; and you can shoot me, if you want to. Mr. Robert Baker, you know what sort of a man I am. I have always tried to behave myself when you came in the office.”Robert B.—“Yes, but” (with an oath) “this drilling has got to stop. I want you to go for Rives.”Newton.—“I’ve got no right to go for Rives, and I’m not going.”Robert B.—“Well you’ll be a dead man, and you’ll wish you had gone.”Newton.—“I am but one man.”Gen. B. (with oaths and sneers of contempt).—“Sitting down there with your feet cocked up!”Newton.—“Well, General, I’m not dead; but if you’re going to kill me, why kill me; and that is all you can do.”Gen. B.—“We’ll take our time about that. We’ll show you, you insolent darkie!—you contemptible nigger!”The Bakers returned to their carriages in high dudgeon.“There is Justice Rives’ private secretary,” said the old man, as they were about leaving the premises. “If you will speak to him, I think he will go for Rives.”“No,” replied the incensed General, “I am not going to be insulted again. You can do so if you choose.”Robert Baker did choose, for he preferred to reserve resentment, rather than allow it to thwart or hinder his purposes. Gaston, however, ‘halted’ the secretary, and undertook the mission himself.Can the reader imagine the scene in that upper room in Rives’ house, when a female servant announced that Gaston was at the door below, urging the presence of Judge Rives at the court-room, as Gen. Baker and his clients were waiting there; though the hour had not yet arrived?Noiselessly the entire group descended to the ground floor, and, screened from view, listened breathlessly to the collocution which, however, was brief and courteous, as the young man naturally wished to conciliate the favor of the Judge. He was dismissed with the assurance that the court should be opened promptly.Prince Rives (the Judge’s baptismal name was Prince—it might seem sacrilege to designate a name given in slavery as “Christian”) stepped quietly into his sitting-room—a perfect bower of flowers, ferns growing under glass, and singing-birds, where his wife and eldestdaughter were anxiously watching the crowd gathering in the streets.“I’m going down to the office now,” said he, “and if any trouble should occur, stay right here in the house, and keep the children in, and you will all be safe.”Alas! these were assurances false even to the heart of him who made them.Has the reader ever laid a kiss upon a loved one’s brow, and then watched the dear form passing beyond recall, perhaps, (oh, that terribleperhaps!) if returning at all, to come a lifeless thing—an uninhabited tenement—or in agony and blood; while the ever active imagination chafed and chid the hands and feet that fain would do its bidding and follow that loved form, though duty fettered them to inactivity?Or has he gone out under the benediction of love, to meet a hate that might hold him in its deadly grasp, forbidding his return?To such we need not describe the adieus exchanged in that little sitting-room; for the sweet influences of love take no cognizance of complexion.Trial Justice Prince Rives soon issued from the front door of his house, book in hand, erect and commanding, looking the true ideal African General as he was, and walked leisurely up the street, unattended, and apparently unarmed; as if to show the mob that at least one negro was not afraid.Tall, straight, powerful, his black and shining visageperfectly calm, he strode through the throng of armed and angry men that surrounded the door of his office, and crowded the court-room.Kanrasp and Springer followed at some distance to witness should any disturbance arise; and while attention was thus attracted towards the court-room, the officers all made their way to the armory, whither many other members of the Company and other citizens had already hastened for safety behind its strong walls, doors and window-shutters. Women and children fled across the long bridge to the city, or to the surrounding country; though many remained to guard their small possessions, and share the fate of husbands and fathers, should the worst come.Armed men were still coming in, and yet more rapidly, and the sinking sun heralded a brief, southern twilight and a moonless night; while a great terror took possession of the inhabitants of the doomed village.A few straggling members of the Company appearing with their guns, which they had formerly taken to their homes for cleaning, became the unfortunate subjects of a hue and cry as they hurried along towards the rendezvous, and were marked for the night’s barbarities.No small exhibition of nerve was now required of that African Major-General of the obnoxious “National Guards,”—one of the very men whose high military position was so offensive to the white men now surrounding him, and thronging his court-room, that, though notably fond of the practice of arms, they utterly disregarded thelaw requiring their enrollment as State Militia-men, lest they might be subordinated to him.Yet with measured step and dignified mien he passed the carriage where the Bakers still sat, greeting them with easy politeness.“I should like to know whether you are sitting in the capacity of Major-General of State Militia, or as a Trial Justice?” said Gen. Baker, when all was in readiness.“That will depend upon the nature of the testimony. I am sitting as a peace officer; and if the facts are such as to justify my sitting as a Trial Justice, I will do so; if not, it will be otherwise.”“It is immaterial to me; I merely wanted to know. I want to investigate the facts of this matter, and either capacity will be agreeable to me,” replied the General.At this juncture the Intendant (Mayor), approached, and whispered to the General, “I think if you would suspend this trial for awhile, we could settle it.”“Just ask the Judge. If he suspends I am willing.”A brief conference ensued, after which the Judge announced a suspension for ten minutes.This caused dissatisfaction among the spectators, as a peaceful adjustment would be but a tame issue of all their military preparations.Intendant Garndon then conducted the plaintiffs and their attorney to the council chamber, which was separated from Dunn’s shop on the corner or Main Street by only one half the width of a narrow street.At this time the largest and most unruly part of the cavalry was gathered about this corner groggery, and a less suitable place for the conference could not have been selected; but each would-be peacemaker seemed to think peace most attainable on his own premises.Though the distance was less than four squares, as they could proceed but slowly through the throng, it sufficed Gen. Baker to administer a lecture to the dusky official upon his personal culpability in having allowed “this so-called militia company,” to train “upon Mr. Robert Baker’s road,” and with arms in their hands—though, doubtless the poor, berated mayor found difficulty in understanding how a public highway could be “Mr. Robert Baker’s road,” or how he could have disarmed the State’s militia.As has already been stated, quite a number of colored citizens, and of the rank and file of the militia men, had gathered in and about the armory, hoping to find protection there.Among them was Dan Pipsie, who was quite sober, and his own plucky self.“Well, if I war Captain Doc, I’d do anyt’ing on earth to settle dis myself,” said Dan. “I wouldn’t have de blood of all dese collo’d families onmyhead. When I die, I don’t want no man’s wife cussin’ me, noh blamin’ me fo’ his death.”“Capt. Doc a’n’t a bit to blame now,” replied Mann Harris. “I was ’bout two hundred yards from ’em at the time of the fuss. I saw Gaston and Tom Baker drivedown, and get out and go into Nunberger’s store. I saw the company coming back, an’ they was a gwoine up then, and they met and talked awhile, an’ the company divided an’ let them go through. Let’s go down, an’ see Rives about this, Ned O’Bran, an’ git him to send a dispatch to the Governor to help us.”“Well, come on,” replied Ned.They entered the quiet office of the Justice, and found him sitting there alone, and looking over books and papers.“General, whatisyou doing?” asked Harris, with emphasis.“I am waiting for people to come into court again.”“If you wait here awhile longer, they’ll make you jump out o’ here entirely!”“What is the matter?”“Well, there’s about four hundred men out there with guns and pistols.”“Ah! I’ll go out and see—Well, really, this is surprising! What is all this about?”“I don’t know,” said the excited Harris. “They’re gwoine to take the guns away from the armory.”The three men walked up the street conversing. Meanwhile Captain Doc entered his own apartments, which it will be remembered, were in the same building as the armory or drill room.“I’ve been in my shirt sleeves,” said he to his wife, “ever since I left my bench at noon; but, (with a grim smile,) ifI’m gwoine to see such big men as General Baker or the Laud, I reckon I’d best put my coat on.”“Oh, Doc, don’t talk so ’bout de Laud! I’m awful scarred to have yo’ go.”“I’ve got a right to go. They say General Baker’s gone up to the Council Chamber, and he and Garndon’ll be expecting us.”“I’m awful scarred fo’ yo’, an’ I’m a mind to go ’way myself. ’Spex they’ll be shootin’ ’round yere so the baby couldn’t sleep no how. Mann Harris, he’s taken his wife off, ’bout an hour by sun, or so, poor soul! sick as she’s been, now mighty nigh on to a year. Mann tole me he’d positive his word thar’ would be no fuss nor killin’; but I’d positive my word he war’ ’feared, else he wouldn’t come totin’ Dinah down all dem stairs, an hauled ’er off up to Miss Pipton’s; fo’ it’s mighty nigh on to fo’ mile ovah da; and Dinah has determined to me that it hurt her tolerable bad to stir at all.”The Captain had been looking out of the window while she spoke, towards Dunn’s store and the Council Chambers, Turning abruptly, he asked—“Where is the baby?”“I done toted ’er ovah to Elder Jackson’s but I can’t let ’er stay dar. I’ll jes lock up de house, an’ git de baby, an’ clar out ovah de rivah, fo’ de scar o’ stayin’ in dis yere house’ll perish me out, if I’m de onus one fo’ a quarter hour mo’.”“Now, Debby, yo’ get the baby, and take ’er over toRives’s, and stay thar, he’s been so conciliating to ’em, and they think a heap o’ him. Blamed but I wish the baby was here a minute till I kiss ’er ’fo’ I go up to see General Baker. Don’t get scared now. They won’t hurt the women, I reckon. It’s only them as votes an’ can manage a gun they’re after. Take care yo’rself,” and he kissed her.“Oh, ain’t yo’ scarred to go, Doc?” sobbed she, clinging to him. “I spex yo’re forced to by persuasion; but I’m feared they’ll put a bullet into yo’, and maybe fifty.” Here she broke down entirely, and wept aloud, sobbing, “Oh, don’t go, Doc! don’t go!”“But I’ve got a right to, to save the town. He’ll lay it in ashes. I wouldn’t like to tell yo, all the way they’re talking, and making big threats, and abusing us to everything yo’ can think.”“To my knowance they’re mighty bad; and I’m mighty glad Mann Harris sent his wife off.”“Well, Debby, yo’ go and get the baby, and take good care of her. I reckon you’d best tote her ovah to your mother’s ’cross the river. Some on ’em might hurt her if they knowed she was mine.”They left the house together, and Doc locked the door, and put the key in his pocket.“Oh, my lawses!” exclaimed Mrs. Doc. “Don’t yo’ go up thar, Doc! Jes see such heaps o’ men! Jes lots and piles of ’em!Now yo’ sha’n’t go!”“No mo’ I won’t! They picks out all the hardest placesfor a man to go to; but his soldiers ’d follow the General anywhere. There he is now.Heain’t gwoine to meetme. See! He knows I’m here well enough, but he won’t look at me. Ah! He’s gwoine over to the city. P’raps he’ll just clar out, now he’s got the rest agoing. There’s Kanrasp, and Rives too.”General Rives and his two neighbors met General Baker at the next corner. The latter was on horseback and rode up to General Rives and demanded the name of the Colonel of the Eighteenth Regiment.“Colonel Williams,” was the reply.“Where is he?”“At his house, I reckon.”“I want him. I want those guns, and by——I’ve got to have them.”“General Baker, I don’t know what to do about them. I’ll go up and see the Captain, and consult with him, and see if he says to give them up.”A moment later and he met Judge Kanrasp, who was earnestly urging the colored men, women, and children who were huddled in knots upon the street, to go home and remain quietly in their houses.“Kanrasp,” said Judge Rives, “It is no use for you to stay here and get killed; and you will be killed if you stay,—a ‘carpet-bagger and a radical,’ like you.”“That’s so,” added Marmor, and Doc, and Watta, who now joined the group; and they hastily accompanied him down to the Rail Road platform nearly opposite the armory, andurged him to flee, as one who would be first attacked. Rapidly crossing the river, upon the Rail Road bridge, the train, which arrived, in ten minutes took him homewards; too soon for the accomplishment of his purpose to learn Gen. Baker’s mission to the city.Never were the combative characteristics of the whites and colored races in the Southern States more clearly exhibited than in the scenes at Baconsville that day, though leading colored men, whose exceptional energy, and perhaps assertion, had made them such, were necessarily prominent. Not bravery, so much as skill in its exercise, constitutes the white man a leader among his fellows.In general terms it may be said that timidity, with extremely rare acts of rashness, characterizes the colored race, bravado and arbitrary assumption, of the white and both are the victims of mutual suspicion and distrust, which oftencausethe dreaded ill.Gen. Baker was absent half an hour, and on his return a general remounting took place, while over the hill at the back of the village, came a large company of horsemen, all well armed.Down Main street they rode, two abreast, and were at once distributed throughout the town; a squad upon each street corner, attended by an equal number of infantry; all with weapons in hand ready for immediate action.Look which way they would, the distracted freedmen saw armed men, and re-enforcements constantly arriving from all directions.Darkness was approaching, and though the hills around were still touched by the glow of the setting sun, its refracted rays seemed to exaggerate the squalor, and magnify the deformities of the little town in the valley; and, exalting the warlike preparations, to clothe them with every imaginable horror; while the humidity of the evening air intensified the sounds of blood-thirsty riot.Justice Marmor now closed and locked his office door, and began at this tardy moment, to think of adopting Mrs. M’s advice.Stepping out of his own back door, he leaped the fence into his neighbor’s yard, and, mounting his doorsteps, stood in a closely latticed corner of a porch, and took observations.The square was surrounded by the Rifle-clubs,—the remnants and second-growth of the cropped, but not uprooted Confederate cavalry,—standing thick, two abreast, with guns resting upon each left arm.In the vernacular of the South, Marmor was “ascallawag,” for, though once a brave Confederate soldier, he had become a consistent advocate of the idea that the “all men” who are “created free and equal” includes the colored race; and probably no man in the devoted town stood in greater danger than he.“Co im ’s house, Meester Marmor:——i’m ’s house quick!” said Dan Lemfield, opening the back-door of his dwelling. You be mine neighbor, and shall not be shot on mine dreshold. Co hide self! Co!”Marmor did not decline the invitation, but stepped quickly in, and passing to the parlor in front, peeped from behind the window shades, which Mrs. Lemfield had drawn closely down.At the opposite corner of the street, his most implacable enemy, the eldest son of Col. Baker, sat upon his horse, with self-complacent manner waiting the appearance of his prey, or the word of command from the great General. He was supported by eight or ten other men, not less vigilant.“Oh, Mr. Marmor!” besought Mrs. Lemfield, “do go up stairs, and keep out of sight. They have threatened about you so much that some of them will surely come in here, and kill you! Do go up, quick! quick!”Marmor obeyed, and immediately the host, who had been out, re-entered with wild eyes and white lips.“Vo ish dat mon, Sarah?”She signed with her hand, in reply; at the same time saying, in an indifferent tone, “Oh, he’s gone up, he is not here,” for their little child had entered, and she feared it might betray their guest.The excited Jew (for Lemfield was a Jew) leaped up the stairs, calling out as he ran, “Don’t shoot! It’s me—jist me. Oh, moine goot freund! Vat vill dese men to? Shenneral Paker say he vill hab de guns, oder he vill pekin to fire in von half hour. Colonel A. P., dat ole man you seen sthrapping on dem pig bistols by’me Post Office, he tole me close up mine par in’ leetle sthore. Vell, dey ishhab too much visky now; so I mind quick, I tell you! He tole same ting yo’ mudda, an’ she pe shut up.”“Where is she?” asked Marmor.“My golly! Se ist plucky ole voman. Se im leetle sthore—all ’lone by self. She not come avay.”“Where are my wife and children?”“Im house—your house. Dat ish pest blace. Nicht wahr? Pest not pe mit you.”“I don’t know,” replied Marmor, absently.“Oh, ya! Mon come here, mon sag, ‘Meester dare sure.’ Now co dis vay,” and he led the way to a loft; “Here co om roof van dey get you. Hark! Vat dat noise down stair ish?”The next instant Mrs. Marmor rushed into the chamber and threw her arms about her husband’s neck in a paroxysm of weeping.He folded her to his breast, and commanding a calm and cheerful tone, said, “Jane, Jane, don’t give way so. Why, I’m not afraid; I shall come off all right, and nobody will hurt you or the children. Our people are chivalrous, and won’t hurt a woman.”“Oh, you don’t know! you don’t know!” she sobbed. “Capt. Baker just now told me, as I was coming to bid you good-bye,” (here her sobs interrupted her speech) “he told me,” she resumed, “if I wanted to save my children from getting killed, to go into the house and lock the doors. And so I must go and save my poor babies. Duck got scared and ran off and left me all alone,” and she placedher cold trembling hands on either side of her husband’s face, and kissed him. Then pressing them upon her heart, she descended the stairs, moaning aloud.“Great heavens! Am I aman?” exclaimed Marmor, “to let my wife go like that, and I hiding to save my own life!” and he sprang to the stairs to follow her.Quick as thought, the Jew placed himself before him, and held him back.“She be not cry for self; just foryou. You co da, she cry more. Man not touch her, noh leetle kinder. Yo’ co hide now, quick!”Five minutes later, the same Col. Baker, her husband’s enemy, rapped loudly upon Mrs. Marmor’s door, with the loaded handle of his riding-whip.Almost too much frightened to stand, she opened the door, and peeped out.“You must take your children, and leave this house if you do not want to be killed,” said the gallant Colonel.“Oh, where shall I go? What shall I do?” cried the distracted mother.“You must get out of here, and that is all I can tell you,” said he, with an oath. “No use to lock your door—leave it open, I tell you, and go!”Nearly all the colored people had, by this time, taken the advice of Judge Kanrasp, or of their fears, and fled the streets. Like timid conies, some sought the vain shelter of their homes, others that of the neighboring cornfields or river-banks and bridges, and still others fled to the surrounding country.Doc, Watta and Sems went across the street after Kanrasp left, taking about thirty or forty men with them to the drill-room on the second floor.About this time four colored men were seen to issue from an humble dwelling, and, with heroic purpose as their only visible weapon, they quietly made their way along the fortified streets. They were frequently halted and their business demanded, when their uniform reply was “To see Gen. Baker;” and the moral sublimity of their position seemed to impress even the conscienceless rioters, for only verbal abuse was hurled at them.Arm-in-arm walked Gen. Justice Rives and the Methodist preacher—Elder Jackson—(visibly quaking within his spotless linen, and coat of snowy whiteness). Behind this worthy pair came Springer, the chief man of money and of business in the town, with Lem Picksley, a well-known, peaceable, and long-time resident; the best educated and best-liked citizen.At length they found the man they sought—armed, mounted and surrounded by cavalry arranged in warlike attitude, who appeared to reverence him as their chief.“Gen. Baker,” said Rives, “we have come to ask if there isanythingwe can do to make peace.”“Nothing will satisfy me but the surrender of the men and their guns.”“We have no authority to surrender them, as you very well know. The men are not criminals convicted, and you have no warrant or authority of law; and the men saytheir oaths to the State forbid their surrendering the arms to you. If you can show any authority for receiving them, that you have more than any other private citizen, they will give them up at once; but they say they cannot otherwise, because, if they should voluntarily yield them up to you or any other private citizen, especially surrounded by such an armed body as this, without authority of law—well, General, you’re a lawyer, and you know what the law calls it. The law and their oath of office will not allow them.”“Rives,” replied this great chieftain, “you are the Major General of the State Militia in this district, and can demand them.”“Not without cause, or order from my superior!”“By ——!” said the negro-catcher, Baker, who stood near, “you had better do something, for there’s going to be —— to pay here, if those officers and guns are not delivered up.”“I want to see the Colonel of this regiment. I want these officers and these guns,” said Gen. Baker with great vehemence.Ned O’Bran, who had joined the four peace-makers, now slipped through the crowd and back to the armory.“How does it look, Ned?” asked Lieut. Watta from a window above his head.“It looks squally. Now, Watta, you men just bar the windows and doors, and let nothing nor nobody in the world in there; and by this means they will have nothingnor nobody in the world to fight, if they want to fight, but themselves. There’s bound to be a fuss; for I heard Gen. Baker say myself, that what he intended to do this evening won’t stop till after the seventh of next November, and that is election day, you know. So shut yourselves up, and keep still.”Watta closed the window, and Ned returned to the place of conference.A horse pushed against Springer’s companion, and he mildly laid his hand upon the animal’s shoulder and said, addressing it, “Take care, sir!”Quick as thought the rider’s whip cut a smart gash upon the dusky cheek.The chivalrous Gen. Baker, looking on, took out his own pocket handkerchief, and wiped the perspiration from his own face, while the unoffending mulatto wiped the blood from his; and Springer’s unflinching eye arrested the hand of another of the General’s aids, as he was about to send a bullet through his (Springer’s) brain.Neither the attack nor menace elicited rebuke nor notice from the “high-toned” General, who disdainfully turned and rode away.“If we will box the guns up,” said Rives, following him, “and return them to the Governor, willthatbe satisfactory?”“—— the Governor! I am not here as the Governor of South Carolina, nor his agent, but as General Baker!”“Well, we are sorry if there is nothing we can do tomake peace, General, but (turning to his companions) we must return without it, and each do the best he can for himself.”“Here’s Ned O’Bran,” said Springer in an undertone, “Brother Jackson, you had better go with him, for his house is outside of the picket lines; and as you’re a member of the Legislature, you must look out—they’ll be after you shor.”“I was just going down to the drill room to be safe myself,” said O’Bran. “My family went on so that I am on my way back to the armory.”“You can’t get through this way. The pickets are everywhere. You had best go home. It’s every man for himself, and the Lord for us all,” said Springer, and the men separated.
“Ye gods, it doth amaze me!
A man of such feeble temper shouldSo get the start of the majestic world.”
—Casca.
A small, dark man, with a lithe form and sparkling eyes, had been busy preparing Justice Rives’s office for the expected court, as he had been previously directed, and was unaware of the excitement prevailing in other parts of the village. His task completed, he seated himself in an armchair, adjusted his feet high upon the post of the open door, and with his coat off and fan in hand, sat leisurely reading.
About half past three o’clock he was startled by an imperative voice, asking, “Where is Rives?”
On looking up from his newspaper, he saw Robert Baker and his legal counsel seated in the latter’s carriage, which stood before the door.
“Mr. Rives is at his house, I reckon; but he’ll be here directly,” was the reply.
“Go and tell him to come here to me,” commanded the General.
“I’m not Mr. Rives’s office-boy. I am a constable, and am here attending to my business. He told me he would behere by four o’clock, and he won’t come any quicker by my going after him.”
General B.—“Do you know who you are talking to?”
Constable Newton.—“I’m talking to General Baker, I believe.”
Gen. B.—“Well, you scamp! bring me some paper here.”
Newton.—“Here is the office, and here is the chairs, and here is the paper, and pen and ink, sir; and here is the chairs for all the attorneys that wants to do business here to come in and sit down.”
Gen. B. (with an oath).—“Bring it to me, sir!”
Newton.—“I won’t do it. Come in, sir, and sit at the table.”
The irate General sprang from his carriage, and, followed by the ever-ready Gaston, rushed into the court room in a menacing manner. But the imperturbable constable did not move, nor show signs of disturbance.
Gen. B. (with a vile epithet and oaths, which the reader should imagine, thickly strewn throughout this colloquy).—“Give me that chair!”
Newton.—“There is a chair.”
General B. thundered.—“Give me that chair you are sitting on!Get out of that chair, and give it to me! I want this chair and intend to have it!”
“All right,” replied Newton, after a pause; “if this chair suits you better than the others, take it.”
Gen. B.—“You —— leatherhead radical! You sitting down there fanning yourself!”
Newton.—“I am fanning myself, sitting in my own office, and attending to my own business.”
Gen. B.—“You vile brute, you! You want to have a bullet-hole put through you before you can move!”
At this juncture old man Baker and one of his followers, pistols in hand, reinforced the General, and Tommy rode as close to the door as possible, with his trusty carbine, while others appeared outside.
Newton arose, and taking his chair by the back, turned the seat of it toward General Baker, and, still holding the back with both hands, said:
“There it is, Gen. Baker, if you want it; and you can shoot me, if you want to. Mr. Robert Baker, you know what sort of a man I am. I have always tried to behave myself when you came in the office.”
Robert B.—“Yes, but” (with an oath) “this drilling has got to stop. I want you to go for Rives.”
Newton.—“I’ve got no right to go for Rives, and I’m not going.”
Robert B.—“Well you’ll be a dead man, and you’ll wish you had gone.”
Newton.—“I am but one man.”
Gen. B. (with oaths and sneers of contempt).—“Sitting down there with your feet cocked up!”
Newton.—“Well, General, I’m not dead; but if you’re going to kill me, why kill me; and that is all you can do.”
Gen. B.—“We’ll take our time about that. We’ll show you, you insolent darkie!—you contemptible nigger!”
The Bakers returned to their carriages in high dudgeon.
“There is Justice Rives’ private secretary,” said the old man, as they were about leaving the premises. “If you will speak to him, I think he will go for Rives.”
“No,” replied the incensed General, “I am not going to be insulted again. You can do so if you choose.”
Robert Baker did choose, for he preferred to reserve resentment, rather than allow it to thwart or hinder his purposes. Gaston, however, ‘halted’ the secretary, and undertook the mission himself.
Can the reader imagine the scene in that upper room in Rives’ house, when a female servant announced that Gaston was at the door below, urging the presence of Judge Rives at the court-room, as Gen. Baker and his clients were waiting there; though the hour had not yet arrived?
Noiselessly the entire group descended to the ground floor, and, screened from view, listened breathlessly to the collocution which, however, was brief and courteous, as the young man naturally wished to conciliate the favor of the Judge. He was dismissed with the assurance that the court should be opened promptly.
Prince Rives (the Judge’s baptismal name was Prince—it might seem sacrilege to designate a name given in slavery as “Christian”) stepped quietly into his sitting-room—a perfect bower of flowers, ferns growing under glass, and singing-birds, where his wife and eldestdaughter were anxiously watching the crowd gathering in the streets.
“I’m going down to the office now,” said he, “and if any trouble should occur, stay right here in the house, and keep the children in, and you will all be safe.”
Alas! these were assurances false even to the heart of him who made them.
Has the reader ever laid a kiss upon a loved one’s brow, and then watched the dear form passing beyond recall, perhaps, (oh, that terribleperhaps!) if returning at all, to come a lifeless thing—an uninhabited tenement—or in agony and blood; while the ever active imagination chafed and chid the hands and feet that fain would do its bidding and follow that loved form, though duty fettered them to inactivity?
Or has he gone out under the benediction of love, to meet a hate that might hold him in its deadly grasp, forbidding his return?
To such we need not describe the adieus exchanged in that little sitting-room; for the sweet influences of love take no cognizance of complexion.
Trial Justice Prince Rives soon issued from the front door of his house, book in hand, erect and commanding, looking the true ideal African General as he was, and walked leisurely up the street, unattended, and apparently unarmed; as if to show the mob that at least one negro was not afraid.
Tall, straight, powerful, his black and shining visageperfectly calm, he strode through the throng of armed and angry men that surrounded the door of his office, and crowded the court-room.
Kanrasp and Springer followed at some distance to witness should any disturbance arise; and while attention was thus attracted towards the court-room, the officers all made their way to the armory, whither many other members of the Company and other citizens had already hastened for safety behind its strong walls, doors and window-shutters. Women and children fled across the long bridge to the city, or to the surrounding country; though many remained to guard their small possessions, and share the fate of husbands and fathers, should the worst come.
Armed men were still coming in, and yet more rapidly, and the sinking sun heralded a brief, southern twilight and a moonless night; while a great terror took possession of the inhabitants of the doomed village.
A few straggling members of the Company appearing with their guns, which they had formerly taken to their homes for cleaning, became the unfortunate subjects of a hue and cry as they hurried along towards the rendezvous, and were marked for the night’s barbarities.
No small exhibition of nerve was now required of that African Major-General of the obnoxious “National Guards,”—one of the very men whose high military position was so offensive to the white men now surrounding him, and thronging his court-room, that, though notably fond of the practice of arms, they utterly disregarded thelaw requiring their enrollment as State Militia-men, lest they might be subordinated to him.
Yet with measured step and dignified mien he passed the carriage where the Bakers still sat, greeting them with easy politeness.
“I should like to know whether you are sitting in the capacity of Major-General of State Militia, or as a Trial Justice?” said Gen. Baker, when all was in readiness.
“That will depend upon the nature of the testimony. I am sitting as a peace officer; and if the facts are such as to justify my sitting as a Trial Justice, I will do so; if not, it will be otherwise.”
“It is immaterial to me; I merely wanted to know. I want to investigate the facts of this matter, and either capacity will be agreeable to me,” replied the General.
At this juncture the Intendant (Mayor), approached, and whispered to the General, “I think if you would suspend this trial for awhile, we could settle it.”
“Just ask the Judge. If he suspends I am willing.”
A brief conference ensued, after which the Judge announced a suspension for ten minutes.
This caused dissatisfaction among the spectators, as a peaceful adjustment would be but a tame issue of all their military preparations.
Intendant Garndon then conducted the plaintiffs and their attorney to the council chamber, which was separated from Dunn’s shop on the corner or Main Street by only one half the width of a narrow street.
At this time the largest and most unruly part of the cavalry was gathered about this corner groggery, and a less suitable place for the conference could not have been selected; but each would-be peacemaker seemed to think peace most attainable on his own premises.
Though the distance was less than four squares, as they could proceed but slowly through the throng, it sufficed Gen. Baker to administer a lecture to the dusky official upon his personal culpability in having allowed “this so-called militia company,” to train “upon Mr. Robert Baker’s road,” and with arms in their hands—though, doubtless the poor, berated mayor found difficulty in understanding how a public highway could be “Mr. Robert Baker’s road,” or how he could have disarmed the State’s militia.
As has already been stated, quite a number of colored citizens, and of the rank and file of the militia men, had gathered in and about the armory, hoping to find protection there.
Among them was Dan Pipsie, who was quite sober, and his own plucky self.
“Well, if I war Captain Doc, I’d do anyt’ing on earth to settle dis myself,” said Dan. “I wouldn’t have de blood of all dese collo’d families onmyhead. When I die, I don’t want no man’s wife cussin’ me, noh blamin’ me fo’ his death.”
“Capt. Doc a’n’t a bit to blame now,” replied Mann Harris. “I was ’bout two hundred yards from ’em at the time of the fuss. I saw Gaston and Tom Baker drivedown, and get out and go into Nunberger’s store. I saw the company coming back, an’ they was a gwoine up then, and they met and talked awhile, an’ the company divided an’ let them go through. Let’s go down, an’ see Rives about this, Ned O’Bran, an’ git him to send a dispatch to the Governor to help us.”
“Well, come on,” replied Ned.
They entered the quiet office of the Justice, and found him sitting there alone, and looking over books and papers.
“General, whatisyou doing?” asked Harris, with emphasis.
“I am waiting for people to come into court again.”
“If you wait here awhile longer, they’ll make you jump out o’ here entirely!”
“What is the matter?”
“Well, there’s about four hundred men out there with guns and pistols.”
“Ah! I’ll go out and see—Well, really, this is surprising! What is all this about?”
“I don’t know,” said the excited Harris. “They’re gwoine to take the guns away from the armory.”
The three men walked up the street conversing. Meanwhile Captain Doc entered his own apartments, which it will be remembered, were in the same building as the armory or drill room.
“I’ve been in my shirt sleeves,” said he to his wife, “ever since I left my bench at noon; but, (with a grim smile,) ifI’m gwoine to see such big men as General Baker or the Laud, I reckon I’d best put my coat on.”
“Oh, Doc, don’t talk so ’bout de Laud! I’m awful scarred to have yo’ go.”
“I’ve got a right to go. They say General Baker’s gone up to the Council Chamber, and he and Garndon’ll be expecting us.”
“I’m awful scarred fo’ yo’, an’ I’m a mind to go ’way myself. ’Spex they’ll be shootin’ ’round yere so the baby couldn’t sleep no how. Mann Harris, he’s taken his wife off, ’bout an hour by sun, or so, poor soul! sick as she’s been, now mighty nigh on to a year. Mann tole me he’d positive his word thar’ would be no fuss nor killin’; but I’d positive my word he war’ ’feared, else he wouldn’t come totin’ Dinah down all dem stairs, an hauled ’er off up to Miss Pipton’s; fo’ it’s mighty nigh on to fo’ mile ovah da; and Dinah has determined to me that it hurt her tolerable bad to stir at all.”
The Captain had been looking out of the window while she spoke, towards Dunn’s store and the Council Chambers, Turning abruptly, he asked—
“Where is the baby?”
“I done toted ’er ovah to Elder Jackson’s but I can’t let ’er stay dar. I’ll jes lock up de house, an’ git de baby, an’ clar out ovah de rivah, fo’ de scar o’ stayin’ in dis yere house’ll perish me out, if I’m de onus one fo’ a quarter hour mo’.”
“Now, Debby, yo’ get the baby, and take ’er over toRives’s, and stay thar, he’s been so conciliating to ’em, and they think a heap o’ him. Blamed but I wish the baby was here a minute till I kiss ’er ’fo’ I go up to see General Baker. Don’t get scared now. They won’t hurt the women, I reckon. It’s only them as votes an’ can manage a gun they’re after. Take care yo’rself,” and he kissed her.
“Oh, ain’t yo’ scarred to go, Doc?” sobbed she, clinging to him. “I spex yo’re forced to by persuasion; but I’m feared they’ll put a bullet into yo’, and maybe fifty.” Here she broke down entirely, and wept aloud, sobbing, “Oh, don’t go, Doc! don’t go!”
“But I’ve got a right to, to save the town. He’ll lay it in ashes. I wouldn’t like to tell yo, all the way they’re talking, and making big threats, and abusing us to everything yo’ can think.”
“To my knowance they’re mighty bad; and I’m mighty glad Mann Harris sent his wife off.”
“Well, Debby, yo’ go and get the baby, and take good care of her. I reckon you’d best tote her ovah to your mother’s ’cross the river. Some on ’em might hurt her if they knowed she was mine.”
They left the house together, and Doc locked the door, and put the key in his pocket.
“Oh, my lawses!” exclaimed Mrs. Doc. “Don’t yo’ go up thar, Doc! Jes see such heaps o’ men! Jes lots and piles of ’em!Now yo’ sha’n’t go!”
“No mo’ I won’t! They picks out all the hardest placesfor a man to go to; but his soldiers ’d follow the General anywhere. There he is now.Heain’t gwoine to meetme. See! He knows I’m here well enough, but he won’t look at me. Ah! He’s gwoine over to the city. P’raps he’ll just clar out, now he’s got the rest agoing. There’s Kanrasp, and Rives too.”
General Rives and his two neighbors met General Baker at the next corner. The latter was on horseback and rode up to General Rives and demanded the name of the Colonel of the Eighteenth Regiment.
“Colonel Williams,” was the reply.
“Where is he?”
“At his house, I reckon.”
“I want him. I want those guns, and by——I’ve got to have them.”
“General Baker, I don’t know what to do about them. I’ll go up and see the Captain, and consult with him, and see if he says to give them up.”
A moment later and he met Judge Kanrasp, who was earnestly urging the colored men, women, and children who were huddled in knots upon the street, to go home and remain quietly in their houses.
“Kanrasp,” said Judge Rives, “It is no use for you to stay here and get killed; and you will be killed if you stay,—a ‘carpet-bagger and a radical,’ like you.”
“That’s so,” added Marmor, and Doc, and Watta, who now joined the group; and they hastily accompanied him down to the Rail Road platform nearly opposite the armory, andurged him to flee, as one who would be first attacked. Rapidly crossing the river, upon the Rail Road bridge, the train, which arrived, in ten minutes took him homewards; too soon for the accomplishment of his purpose to learn Gen. Baker’s mission to the city.
Never were the combative characteristics of the whites and colored races in the Southern States more clearly exhibited than in the scenes at Baconsville that day, though leading colored men, whose exceptional energy, and perhaps assertion, had made them such, were necessarily prominent. Not bravery, so much as skill in its exercise, constitutes the white man a leader among his fellows.
In general terms it may be said that timidity, with extremely rare acts of rashness, characterizes the colored race, bravado and arbitrary assumption, of the white and both are the victims of mutual suspicion and distrust, which oftencausethe dreaded ill.
Gen. Baker was absent half an hour, and on his return a general remounting took place, while over the hill at the back of the village, came a large company of horsemen, all well armed.
Down Main street they rode, two abreast, and were at once distributed throughout the town; a squad upon each street corner, attended by an equal number of infantry; all with weapons in hand ready for immediate action.
Look which way they would, the distracted freedmen saw armed men, and re-enforcements constantly arriving from all directions.
Darkness was approaching, and though the hills around were still touched by the glow of the setting sun, its refracted rays seemed to exaggerate the squalor, and magnify the deformities of the little town in the valley; and, exalting the warlike preparations, to clothe them with every imaginable horror; while the humidity of the evening air intensified the sounds of blood-thirsty riot.
Justice Marmor now closed and locked his office door, and began at this tardy moment, to think of adopting Mrs. M’s advice.
Stepping out of his own back door, he leaped the fence into his neighbor’s yard, and, mounting his doorsteps, stood in a closely latticed corner of a porch, and took observations.
The square was surrounded by the Rifle-clubs,—the remnants and second-growth of the cropped, but not uprooted Confederate cavalry,—standing thick, two abreast, with guns resting upon each left arm.
In the vernacular of the South, Marmor was “ascallawag,” for, though once a brave Confederate soldier, he had become a consistent advocate of the idea that the “all men” who are “created free and equal” includes the colored race; and probably no man in the devoted town stood in greater danger than he.
“Co im ’s house, Meester Marmor:——i’m ’s house quick!” said Dan Lemfield, opening the back-door of his dwelling. You be mine neighbor, and shall not be shot on mine dreshold. Co hide self! Co!”
Marmor did not decline the invitation, but stepped quickly in, and passing to the parlor in front, peeped from behind the window shades, which Mrs. Lemfield had drawn closely down.
At the opposite corner of the street, his most implacable enemy, the eldest son of Col. Baker, sat upon his horse, with self-complacent manner waiting the appearance of his prey, or the word of command from the great General. He was supported by eight or ten other men, not less vigilant.
“Oh, Mr. Marmor!” besought Mrs. Lemfield, “do go up stairs, and keep out of sight. They have threatened about you so much that some of them will surely come in here, and kill you! Do go up, quick! quick!”
Marmor obeyed, and immediately the host, who had been out, re-entered with wild eyes and white lips.
“Vo ish dat mon, Sarah?”
She signed with her hand, in reply; at the same time saying, in an indifferent tone, “Oh, he’s gone up, he is not here,” for their little child had entered, and she feared it might betray their guest.
The excited Jew (for Lemfield was a Jew) leaped up the stairs, calling out as he ran, “Don’t shoot! It’s me—jist me. Oh, moine goot freund! Vat vill dese men to? Shenneral Paker say he vill hab de guns, oder he vill pekin to fire in von half hour. Colonel A. P., dat ole man you seen sthrapping on dem pig bistols by’me Post Office, he tole me close up mine par in’ leetle sthore. Vell, dey ishhab too much visky now; so I mind quick, I tell you! He tole same ting yo’ mudda, an’ she pe shut up.”
“Where is she?” asked Marmor.
“My golly! Se ist plucky ole voman. Se im leetle sthore—all ’lone by self. She not come avay.”
“Where are my wife and children?”
“Im house—your house. Dat ish pest blace. Nicht wahr? Pest not pe mit you.”
“I don’t know,” replied Marmor, absently.
“Oh, ya! Mon come here, mon sag, ‘Meester dare sure.’ Now co dis vay,” and he led the way to a loft; “Here co om roof van dey get you. Hark! Vat dat noise down stair ish?”
The next instant Mrs. Marmor rushed into the chamber and threw her arms about her husband’s neck in a paroxysm of weeping.
He folded her to his breast, and commanding a calm and cheerful tone, said, “Jane, Jane, don’t give way so. Why, I’m not afraid; I shall come off all right, and nobody will hurt you or the children. Our people are chivalrous, and won’t hurt a woman.”
“Oh, you don’t know! you don’t know!” she sobbed. “Capt. Baker just now told me, as I was coming to bid you good-bye,” (here her sobs interrupted her speech) “he told me,” she resumed, “if I wanted to save my children from getting killed, to go into the house and lock the doors. And so I must go and save my poor babies. Duck got scared and ran off and left me all alone,” and she placedher cold trembling hands on either side of her husband’s face, and kissed him. Then pressing them upon her heart, she descended the stairs, moaning aloud.
“Great heavens! Am I aman?” exclaimed Marmor, “to let my wife go like that, and I hiding to save my own life!” and he sprang to the stairs to follow her.
Quick as thought, the Jew placed himself before him, and held him back.
“She be not cry for self; just foryou. You co da, she cry more. Man not touch her, noh leetle kinder. Yo’ co hide now, quick!”
Five minutes later, the same Col. Baker, her husband’s enemy, rapped loudly upon Mrs. Marmor’s door, with the loaded handle of his riding-whip.
Almost too much frightened to stand, she opened the door, and peeped out.
“You must take your children, and leave this house if you do not want to be killed,” said the gallant Colonel.
“Oh, where shall I go? What shall I do?” cried the distracted mother.
“You must get out of here, and that is all I can tell you,” said he, with an oath. “No use to lock your door—leave it open, I tell you, and go!”
Nearly all the colored people had, by this time, taken the advice of Judge Kanrasp, or of their fears, and fled the streets. Like timid conies, some sought the vain shelter of their homes, others that of the neighboring cornfields or river-banks and bridges, and still others fled to the surrounding country.
Doc, Watta and Sems went across the street after Kanrasp left, taking about thirty or forty men with them to the drill-room on the second floor.
About this time four colored men were seen to issue from an humble dwelling, and, with heroic purpose as their only visible weapon, they quietly made their way along the fortified streets. They were frequently halted and their business demanded, when their uniform reply was “To see Gen. Baker;” and the moral sublimity of their position seemed to impress even the conscienceless rioters, for only verbal abuse was hurled at them.
Arm-in-arm walked Gen. Justice Rives and the Methodist preacher—Elder Jackson—(visibly quaking within his spotless linen, and coat of snowy whiteness). Behind this worthy pair came Springer, the chief man of money and of business in the town, with Lem Picksley, a well-known, peaceable, and long-time resident; the best educated and best-liked citizen.
At length they found the man they sought—armed, mounted and surrounded by cavalry arranged in warlike attitude, who appeared to reverence him as their chief.
“Gen. Baker,” said Rives, “we have come to ask if there isanythingwe can do to make peace.”
“Nothing will satisfy me but the surrender of the men and their guns.”
“We have no authority to surrender them, as you very well know. The men are not criminals convicted, and you have no warrant or authority of law; and the men saytheir oaths to the State forbid their surrendering the arms to you. If you can show any authority for receiving them, that you have more than any other private citizen, they will give them up at once; but they say they cannot otherwise, because, if they should voluntarily yield them up to you or any other private citizen, especially surrounded by such an armed body as this, without authority of law—well, General, you’re a lawyer, and you know what the law calls it. The law and their oath of office will not allow them.”
“Rives,” replied this great chieftain, “you are the Major General of the State Militia in this district, and can demand them.”
“Not without cause, or order from my superior!”
“By ——!” said the negro-catcher, Baker, who stood near, “you had better do something, for there’s going to be —— to pay here, if those officers and guns are not delivered up.”
“I want to see the Colonel of this regiment. I want these officers and these guns,” said Gen. Baker with great vehemence.
Ned O’Bran, who had joined the four peace-makers, now slipped through the crowd and back to the armory.
“How does it look, Ned?” asked Lieut. Watta from a window above his head.
“It looks squally. Now, Watta, you men just bar the windows and doors, and let nothing nor nobody in the world in there; and by this means they will have nothingnor nobody in the world to fight, if they want to fight, but themselves. There’s bound to be a fuss; for I heard Gen. Baker say myself, that what he intended to do this evening won’t stop till after the seventh of next November, and that is election day, you know. So shut yourselves up, and keep still.”
Watta closed the window, and Ned returned to the place of conference.
A horse pushed against Springer’s companion, and he mildly laid his hand upon the animal’s shoulder and said, addressing it, “Take care, sir!”
Quick as thought the rider’s whip cut a smart gash upon the dusky cheek.
The chivalrous Gen. Baker, looking on, took out his own pocket handkerchief, and wiped the perspiration from his own face, while the unoffending mulatto wiped the blood from his; and Springer’s unflinching eye arrested the hand of another of the General’s aids, as he was about to send a bullet through his (Springer’s) brain.
Neither the attack nor menace elicited rebuke nor notice from the “high-toned” General, who disdainfully turned and rode away.
“If we will box the guns up,” said Rives, following him, “and return them to the Governor, willthatbe satisfactory?”
“—— the Governor! I am not here as the Governor of South Carolina, nor his agent, but as General Baker!”
“Well, we are sorry if there is nothing we can do tomake peace, General, but (turning to his companions) we must return without it, and each do the best he can for himself.”
“Here’s Ned O’Bran,” said Springer in an undertone, “Brother Jackson, you had better go with him, for his house is outside of the picket lines; and as you’re a member of the Legislature, you must look out—they’ll be after you shor.”
“I was just going down to the drill room to be safe myself,” said O’Bran. “My family went on so that I am on my way back to the armory.”
“You can’t get through this way. The pickets are everywhere. You had best go home. It’s every man for himself, and the Lord for us all,” said Springer, and the men separated.