CHAPTER XI.A MASSACRE.“Slaying is the word,It is a deed in fashion.”Julius Cæsar.The“dead-ring,” as has been said, was on Market street, and quite near the Post Master’s residence, which occupied the corner and stood flush with both Market and Cook streets. Captain Doc stood in the upper verandah, almost over the heads of the crowd surrounding “the ring,” and looked down upon them.“It is about time we began the killing,” said one of the crowd, “We’ve been hunting and capturing long enough. Now who shall be killed?”“Kill ’em all, of cose,” replied one of his fellows.“We’d better find out what Gen. Baker says,” said a third. “We’ll go round to Dunn’s store, and see what he says. Whatever he says, I say it’ll be right.”“If yo’ saydat, yo’ won’t kill any of us,” said Corporal Free; “fo’ Gen. Baker is too high toned a gem’man to allow a man dat has surrendered, to be killed. He’s a gem’man from one of de first families of de State.”“You shut up your mouth,” said one of the chivalry, as he threw a handful of dirt into Free’s face.“Now, I tell you what,” said another speaker, fingering a huge pistol; “all get on this side of these —— niggers, and we’ll just fire into ’em.”At that moment a cheer arose, and hats of all descriptions were swung wildly in the air.“Hurrah! Here comes our chief!” shouted the mob, and made room for horse and rider to approach the ring, though the single solid circle of armed men remained unbroken. The poor fellows upon the ground raised their heads, and cried out each for his life, “Oh, Gen. Baker!” “Oh, Gen. Baker!” “You will save me!” “You will save my life,” “Gen. Baker, I surrendered right off, I did,” “I han’t done nothing,” “I’m just a honest, hard-working man.” “Don’t let ’em kill me, Gen. Baker!” “Yo’ will setmefree, General Bakah, I’m sho fo’ yo’s a gemman!” and beseeching hands were uplifted, and dark faces upturned in earnest pleading for the protection they felt sure “a high-toned gentleman,” and “chivalrous chieftain” would give.“Is William Daws here in this ring?” asked the General.“Yes sah,” was the prompt and confident reply.“You’re the black rascal that burned my house down,” and with a vile epithet this personification of southern magnanimity rode away.“Ah! Ah!” groaned the crowd, in derision of the misplaced confidence of the negroes.“There’s Alden Watta,” said a mocking voice. “You’re amagistrate, I suppose! You’re a —— nice looking magistrate!” and he scooped up a handful of soil and threw it into the back of Watta’s neck, as his head hung down. “There’s a baptism for you.”Watta did not heed it.“Boys, we’d better go to work, and kill what niggers we’ve got; what’s the use o’ waiting? We shan’t be able to find Capt. Doc,” said a new speaker.“We’ve had our orders from Gen. Baker, so far, and we’d better get orders from him now,” said another, who was possibly more merciful.“If we don’t kill all, they’ll give testimony against us, some day to come,” said the first speaker.“That’s so,” said a third. “Gen. Baker has got us here, and we ketched the men as he told us, and I think we’ve got something to say now.”“No, gentlemen,” said a fourth, “just pick out the Republican leaders and kill them, and let the rest go. They’re all Republicans, I know, but they a’n’t all leaders; and some of these boys didn’t never hurt nobody. Some of ’em is good fellows!”“A—h! that a’n’t worth a cent! We’ve come out here to have some fun, and now let’s have it.”So they contended till the excitement became quite alarming, and pistols were drawn upon each other by the mob.“Well now,” said a new voice, “I’ll tell you how you must do it.”“Listen! Listen! Hear the Judge’s son! Hear the the young Georgia Judge!” shouted several men; and so there came a calm.“This has been a military affair so far,” said the youngman, “and let us carry it through so. We must just have a court-martial. These niggers are prisoners of war. This is a conflict between the South Carolina Rifle Clubs, the natural offspring of our honored Confederate Cavalry, (cheers), and the National Guards, the pets of the Yankees, (groans). The South Carolinians have been victorious, [tremendous cheers], as they always will be, [vehement applause]. And now, as becomes the sons of noble sires, [cheers], sons who are honored [when in uniform], by wearing the gray of our “Lost Cause,” [cheers], and who to-night have done honor to the gray, (cheers), let us not forget to be generous to our prisoners; but choose from our number twenty men, who shall retire and consider the case of each of these we have captured; and as they decide, so the man shall fare.”Applause and assent followed, when another voice added, “And if any of you have old scores you want settled, just bring them before the court-martial.”The men were selected, though not without difficulty and some final dissatisfaction and threats, but as the Captain was acceptable to the most violent, the matter was finally adjusted upon a compromise.Capt. Sweargen, [the same who menaced Mr. Springer during the last conference held with Gen. Baker previous to the commencement of active hostilities], withdrew and organized his court, and soon returned to the “dead ring,” and gave the following elegant military order.“All you black scamps, get up here; we’re going to carry you to the county seat, and put you in jail.”“No; we’ll start for there, but we’ll lose them on the road,” said a bystander.“That’s it,” said another, “we’ll leave them in the swamp.”“Come on, boys, come on this way, we’ll attend to the—s,” said Capt. S—, and the ring and crowd moved down the street about twenty yards.“Halt! Now all you blasted niggers, sit down!”“Capt. Sweargen! Capt. Sweargen!” said Mann Harris, “As yo’ are the Captain of this killin’, I will ask yo’ to save my life.”“You hush; yo’ talk too much, you great big nigger you,” said one of the crowd.“I’m gwoine to talk. It’s life or death for me, an’ I’m gwoine to talk for my life.”“Captain! Captain! Oh, don’t let them kill me!” said Sam Henry. “I’ve allus been a industrious and honest fellow, and ha’n’t never hurt nobody, nor stole, nor nothin’.”“Yes, but you’re a blamed Republican, and so is all the rest of yo’, and that’s enough. We’ll carry South Carolina Democratic now, about the time we kill four or five hundred of yo’ voting niggers. This is only the beginning of it. We’ve got to have South Carolina, and these clubs has got to go through the State.”“Yes,” added another, “the white man has got to rule here. This is a white man’s government.”The excitement was again increasing, and all talked at once on this topic, on which alone all seemed to agree.“Now, men, we’ve got this court-martial, and must proceed according to military law,” shouted Captain S.“There a’n’t no law,” cried a voice. “The law has run out at the end of a hundred years, and there a’n’t no constitution neither.”“There a’n’t no court in South Carolina that can try us anyhow,” said another.“That’s so! That’s so!” resounded through the crowd.“Hello! Hurrah! here comes another nigger! Got Capt. Doc this time? Capt. Doc! Capt. Doc!” (with oaths), rang through the swaying mob which surrounded the dead ring, as a posse from the General’s headquarters advanced with the new victim.Not without difficulty a way was opened for the conveyance of—not Captain Doc (who was watching and listening attentively at the Cook street end of the verandah, and not twenty paces from the spot), but a good faced boy, yet in his teens.His eyes rolled wildly about, he trembled violently, and his breath came quick and short, though without a sound.“Oh, Friend Robbins,” said Watta, “I’m sorry they have got you? Your widowed mother and the children need your support. Where is Joey? (the company’s drummer-boy).”“I don’t know,” whispered Friend.“Ha! This is the boy that wouldn’t sell us ammunitionin Mrs. Bront’s store,” shouted one of the assassins. “I cursed you well then, old chap; but we’ll giveyouall the ammunition you want, and more’n you’ll ask for.”Poor Friend had passed a dreadful night, (for this was now in the small hours of the morning), since he slipped down the ladder from the drill-room.He had taken refuge in Marmor’s office, from thence fled to the street; been driven back through the rear yard, leaped Dan Lemfield’s fence, escaping a shot aimed at him, hid under a pile of railroad cross-ties in Lemfield’s yard during a dreadful hour, only then to be dragged out by three men with pistols and lanterns in their hands, searching every hiding place. They took him out upon the street, and to their commander.“Who is that?” asked the lofty General.“It is Friend Robbins,” answered the boy, looking frankly into the officer’s face.“What are you doing here?”“I have not been doing anything; the men came in there, and brought me out.”“Do you belong to the militia company?”“I do, sir.”“Well, we killed one —— nigger down there to-night, and I want you to go down there and see him, and see if you know him. Two of you men take him down there.”This was done; and there upon the ground lay the dead man, his eyes wide open and staring away through the clear, white moonlight, away from the blood-stained earthtowards that infinite One, before whose face the escaped soul stood, corroborating the testimony of his blood which “cried from the ground.”“Who is that?” asked one of the guards.“That’s John Carr,” replied the boy.“He’s the Town Marshal, a’n’t he?”“Yes sir.”“Well, he’ll be Town Marshal no more!”“I don’t know sir.”Friend was then conducted back to the General.“Are you ready, sir?” asked the men, each presenting his pistol.“No; don’t kill him,” said the General, “but take him yonder, and keep him till I call for him.”They took him down under a rail road trestle, and kept him half an hour surrounded by men, who amused themselves by torturing him with all sorts of alarms, questions and indignities.At the expiration of that time, General Baker rode by, and directed that he be taken to the “dead ring.”“Oh, here you are Tom,” said Gaston, approaching the corner of the Post-Master’s house. “I’ve been looking for you. You know we’ve got Watta down there.”“Yes, that’s a streak of good luck; but I wish we could only get hold of their ringleader, that Doc. I’m mighty glad we’ve got Dan Pipsie, though.”“Yes,” and the young men laughed. “I want Doc mighty bad too, but I’m thinking more about what we’regoing to do with what we have got. I reckon the Court Martial is the best way. Captain Sweargon has got great respect fo’ General Baker. They shan’t let Watta and Pipsie off nohow.”“No,” said the General, who rode up at that moment and caught the last remark. “Watta and Dan Pipsie are two dangerous men, and ought to be taken care of.”“Now, General,” said a stumpy little man, strutting up to that dignitary, “yo’ve brought us all here, all this crowd, and we’ve got the niggers; and now if you won’t kill them, they’ll just go and give testimony agin us, and get us into trouble.”The General stared at the little man with the most serene contempt, and turning his horse’s head, rode away without speaking.But the little man was neither abashed nor silenced. He continued,—“Here General Baker has brought us here, and kept us up all night helping him to capture a lot of niggers, and he ought to kill the last one of ’em; for if he don’t they’ll be up here to vote against us, and they’ll be giving testimony against us.”“That’s true enough, Volier, true enough,” said several of his associates.“I’m sleepy and tired,” continued Volier. “Here, Bub,” addressing a small boy of twelve years, “You ought to be abed and asleep long ago.”“No, sir-ee,” said the boy, ejecting a volume of tobacco-juice from his mouth. “Ia’n’t sleepy.”“Let’s go up into this piazza, and go to sleep,” urged the little man, “Come, come on!”“No, Isha’n’t,” replied the boy. “I want to go and spit on them niggers some more.”So the little man yielded, and accompanied the lad in quest of his rare sport; much to the relief of Captain Doc’s mind.At the same time Gaston and Tom Baker approached the “dead ring” also, and the name of Alden Watta was immediately called, as that of the first victim to be sacrificed.“We’ll fix you! we’r’e going to kill you now, without a doubt,” cried the mob.“Gentlemen,” said Watta, standing up in a calm manner, “I am not ready to die, and haven’t done anything to be killed for. Will you allow me to prepare to meet my God? Please let me pray.”“You ought to have been praying before now; you have talked enough without praying, and we’re going to kill you now. I don’t care,” said young Tom Baker, with numerous oaths. “But we’re going to kill you.”“Oh, gentlemen, do spare my life! I will not interfere with you. I will only take care of my family as an honest man should. I will go clear away out of the State, if you will only spare me to take care of my wife and my little children!”“Watta, old chap, is that you?” cried Gaston, crowding nearer, (with an oath). “We’ll fix you directly.”“Oh, Gaston! Gaston! What do you want with me? Please do, do all you can for me, and I will be your friend as long as I live, and leave the legacy of gratitude to my children!”“Yes, Iwilldo all I can for you; I’ll do it in a short while. He’s had time enough, boys.”As many as could lay hands upon him did so, and they carried this Second-lieutenant of the National Guards, this County Commissioner, this graduate of a Freedman’s High School, this teacher of a colored school, this correspondent of the —— ——Times, this influential Republican, this husband and father, this young man who bore the general reputation of being a straightforward and truthful man, a man that could be depended on, and had a great deal of resolution; not a violent man, not given to insolence nor trouble of any kind, a pleasant and affable man though one of spirit, this American citizen, and they bore him away to be sacrificed.By main force they took him several rods down the street and into the edge of a field.Each individual of the crowd panted for a share in so great a service to southern Democracy.When he was allowed to stand upon his feet again, he looked around upon a wall of circular steel mouths, each ready to belch forth hot, blazing, sulpherous, leaden death; for every man presented the muzzle of his gun or pistol at the hapless victim.Falling upon his knees he cried out, with clasped handsand upturned face, “Oh, God! there is neither justice nor mercy upon the earth! I cast my naked soul and all I have upon Thy mercy!”He paused and pressed his hands over his face. A tremendous volley, followed, and Alden Watta’s soul leaped into the presence of that Judge whom no Ku Klux Klans can corrupt or intimidate; and the murderous throng hastened back to procure another victim.“Oh, Free, and all of yo’, what is yo’ gwoine on so a beggin’ fo’?” said Dan Pipsie. “If dey is gwoine to kill us all anyhow, what is de use o’ beggin’ so? I only wish I had some o’ my wife’s ’ligion now; and I’d like fo’ her to pray fo’ me.”The committee soon returned from the court, and announced the Armorer of the militia company, Dan Pipsie, as the next condemned.With an air of perfect indifference he arose and accompanied the murderers to the field of blood.A volley was heard, and the committee returned, but Dan did not.Ham Sterns was the next called. He was a large mulatto, and was sick.“O. Gentlemen!” he pleaded, “I haven’t done anything. What do you want to kill me fo’? I a’n’t a member of the militia company, and I was just peaceable at home when some of you just come and dragged me out here; and now you’re going to kill me. I a’n’t even a ’publican leader. Please let me go!”“Ham Sterns, I reckon yo’ knowme,” hissed an evil-eyed, sallow-faced man, stepping before him, and shaking his fist in his face. “Now I’ll be quits with you on that sale affair; you and Alf Minton. I’ll learn yo’ to outbid me!”“Come out here! come out here?” shouted the mob, and Ham Sterns was led away. The guns fired, and the committee returned, but Ham Sterns never did.“Oh them tremendously firings!” said Sam Henry, with a shudder of horror, as he buried his face in his palms and began earnestly to pray for divine deliverance.“Is this you, Sam,” asked a kindly voice at his ear. “Get up, Sam,” and a white man who stood behind him took hold of his arm and said, “Gentlemen, this is a boy that I know, (they were all “boys,” even if grey-headed) and he is a harmless boy. He don’t belong to the militia nohow. I’ll be responsible for him,” and he led him away.Alfred Minton was now called for, but no response came.“Alf Minton! Alf Minton!” was repeated with oaths and imprecations, and still no response.The committee entered the ring, and touched each man upon his head, asking, “Who’s this?”At last a small, sick, weakly-looking young man acknowledged the name.For the credit of human nature be it recorded that one of the mob begged that the poor, sick boy be let alone; and others were evidently tiring of bloodshed.But the majority were not yet satiated, and with profanity, they shouted, “O, we’ll fix him! We’llcure him!” and they led him also away. The guns fired; the crowd returned; but Alfred did not.During this execution another white man conveyed Friend Robbins away; learning which, when too late to interfere, some of the more sanguinolent ran up to headquarters with complaints; but the moving spirits there having had their own desires for revenge measurably satisfied, and despairing of the arrest of Captain Doc; and perhaps, the inflaming effects of their potations beginning to wane, they began to think of possible court scenes in the future. So they were but indifferent listeners, and even suggested the possibility of some other method of disposing of the remaining captives.Pompey Conner, a noted thief and gambler, whose skill at cards had often taxed the purses of some of this fastidious throng of captors was the next called at the “dead ring.”“Pompey yourun,” whispered Mann Harris, who sat beside him.Pompey was a powerful man, when he chose to exert his strength, and he darted through the crowd like an arrow; stooping a little, and with his brawny shoulder cleaving his way.When he reached a clear track, numerous shots followed, and the mob thinking him severely wounded jeered and shouted triumphantly; while he crouched behind a tree,rolled his great eyes, nodded his woolly head, and muttered audibly as he turned up the leg of his trousers, “It only just scalped my leg, af’er all.”“What better fun do you want than that, boys? Thisisfun! ha! ha! ha! Let’s let ’em all go, and shoot after ’em like rabbits,” cried a mere boy.“Oh, no! you’ve done enough for to-night. Now let these prisoners go.”“Yes, let these prisoners go,” chimed in another.“Let’s pile ’em up like frogs and shoot into ’em,” said another, with an oath that should make the blood curdle; while still another said, “No don’t do that, but let ’em go and don’t shoot after ’em.”“Oh, no, we ought not to leave none to tell the tale. Let’s kill ’em all!”“We came out forfun; now let’s have it, and not give up so,” said a very young man, a minor.“If we kill them all, there’ll be nobody left to tell the tale; and if we leave anybody, they’ll go and testify against us; and I tell you we might as well make a sure thing of this,” was repeatedly reiterated.“Oh, let them go,” said a new speaker. “Let us swear them before they go, not to tell anybody, nor anything about it.”After much discussion, this counsel prevailed.“Now all you —— black rascals you, get up here,” said Captain Sweargen.The prisoners quickly obeyed.“Now, you all get down again, on your knees, and hold up your right hands.”All obeyed. “I solemnly swear,” said the Captain, “I solemnly swear,” repeated the prisoners, “that I will never go into any court to testify, [repeated] nor to know anything about this affair, nor what has been done in Baconsville this evening, nor to-night, nor that I know any of the men who was in the party.”The prisoners all took the oath.“Now, you —— rascals, get away from here!”Each sprung to his feet, and all but two ran for life. Corporal Free dodged behind a tree, and Mann Harris, who was on the edge of the dusky group, stood still.Fifteen or twenty of the irrepressible “chivalry” leveled their guns upon the liberated prisoners whom the South Carolina rifle clubs had captured from the National Guards, and fired; “just like they was shooting at birds.”As evidence of the skill of these riflemen it may be mentioned that but one of those colored men was wounded, and he but slightly, though the firing was at fifteen paces.“Mann Harris, where do you live?” asked a maimed relic of the confederate service.“I live right on the corner opposite Dan Lemfield’s.”“Well, you go on home.”“I can’t do it.”“Why can’t you?”“I’m afeard to go through them men by myself.”“Come on, I’ll go with you.” So that one-armed whiteman sat upon his horse, and the great muscular negro walked beside it, holding upon the saddle for protection. They passed from Market into Cook street, and wended their way among the slowly dissolving crowd.Nearing Mercer street, the escort began to converse. “Well, Mann, now you see what the result is when niggers vote against the white people.”“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” replied the colored man.“Have you always voted?”“Yes, I has; I voted the ’publican ticket all the time.”“Well, you don’t intend to say you want to vote it?”“If this fuss is about, I sha’n’t vote no kind of a ticket.”Another horseman on the opposite side of the narrow street overheard the last remark, and approached.“Harris, I know you,” said he. “We was boys at the same time, and have known each other all the while along; and I know that you are a nigger that has got good sense, good common sense. You see where this nigger is lying, here?” [They had just come upon the body of John Carr.] “Yes, sir; I see him.”“Well, just so will we lay you, if you ever vote the Republican ticket again.”“Well, sir, I will not vote no kind of a ticket.”“No, —— that’s the plan,” said the proud Southern, “and we intend to carry it out; and the only way for you to save yourself is to come over and vote with us; becausewe know that you know mighty well, when you vote against us you are voting against your interest.”“I didn’t know it was so much against your interest as to kill a man,” replied Harris. “I had no idea that it was any such thing as that.”“Well, you see what the consequence is, and we’re going to carry this State, and we intend to do it if we have to kill every nigger, and this rascally Governor too; he is the head of all the thieves in the State, and the white people don’t intend to stand it no longer; they intend to break it up.”Harris and his protector then moved on, and soon reached their place of destination.“Mann,” said Mr. W——, “I’ve got a little talk for you. I, to-night, by your being recommended to me, saved your life; and now you can do me a favor, and I will tell you what it is.”“All right, Captain. There a’n’t nothing that I could do that I wouldn’t do for yo’, for yo’ saved my life.”“Yes; what I want to say to you is, that you don’t know anything about the affair at all; that they had you around there, but you knowed nobody; that these are unknown parties; and if any one comes to get you to go into court to testify, or say anything about calling anybody’s name,you don’t know. This time we will let you off; but next time we get at this thing, we’llgityou. Now I will tell you as you do me a favor, and don’t you call anybody’s name; don’t you own to them that you do know; and tell them,the rest of them, not to say anything about it; that you seen the boys, but you didn’t know who it was. If any one asks you, tell ’em you don’t know; it was unknown parties. Good-night;” and his magnanimous benefactor rode away, and left Mann Harris upon his door-step.
CHAPTER XI.A MASSACRE.“Slaying is the word,It is a deed in fashion.”Julius Cæsar.The“dead-ring,” as has been said, was on Market street, and quite near the Post Master’s residence, which occupied the corner and stood flush with both Market and Cook streets. Captain Doc stood in the upper verandah, almost over the heads of the crowd surrounding “the ring,” and looked down upon them.“It is about time we began the killing,” said one of the crowd, “We’ve been hunting and capturing long enough. Now who shall be killed?”“Kill ’em all, of cose,” replied one of his fellows.“We’d better find out what Gen. Baker says,” said a third. “We’ll go round to Dunn’s store, and see what he says. Whatever he says, I say it’ll be right.”“If yo’ saydat, yo’ won’t kill any of us,” said Corporal Free; “fo’ Gen. Baker is too high toned a gem’man to allow a man dat has surrendered, to be killed. He’s a gem’man from one of de first families of de State.”“You shut up your mouth,” said one of the chivalry, as he threw a handful of dirt into Free’s face.“Now, I tell you what,” said another speaker, fingering a huge pistol; “all get on this side of these —— niggers, and we’ll just fire into ’em.”At that moment a cheer arose, and hats of all descriptions were swung wildly in the air.“Hurrah! Here comes our chief!” shouted the mob, and made room for horse and rider to approach the ring, though the single solid circle of armed men remained unbroken. The poor fellows upon the ground raised their heads, and cried out each for his life, “Oh, Gen. Baker!” “Oh, Gen. Baker!” “You will save me!” “You will save my life,” “Gen. Baker, I surrendered right off, I did,” “I han’t done nothing,” “I’m just a honest, hard-working man.” “Don’t let ’em kill me, Gen. Baker!” “Yo’ will setmefree, General Bakah, I’m sho fo’ yo’s a gemman!” and beseeching hands were uplifted, and dark faces upturned in earnest pleading for the protection they felt sure “a high-toned gentleman,” and “chivalrous chieftain” would give.“Is William Daws here in this ring?” asked the General.“Yes sah,” was the prompt and confident reply.“You’re the black rascal that burned my house down,” and with a vile epithet this personification of southern magnanimity rode away.“Ah! Ah!” groaned the crowd, in derision of the misplaced confidence of the negroes.“There’s Alden Watta,” said a mocking voice. “You’re amagistrate, I suppose! You’re a —— nice looking magistrate!” and he scooped up a handful of soil and threw it into the back of Watta’s neck, as his head hung down. “There’s a baptism for you.”Watta did not heed it.“Boys, we’d better go to work, and kill what niggers we’ve got; what’s the use o’ waiting? We shan’t be able to find Capt. Doc,” said a new speaker.“We’ve had our orders from Gen. Baker, so far, and we’d better get orders from him now,” said another, who was possibly more merciful.“If we don’t kill all, they’ll give testimony against us, some day to come,” said the first speaker.“That’s so,” said a third. “Gen. Baker has got us here, and we ketched the men as he told us, and I think we’ve got something to say now.”“No, gentlemen,” said a fourth, “just pick out the Republican leaders and kill them, and let the rest go. They’re all Republicans, I know, but they a’n’t all leaders; and some of these boys didn’t never hurt nobody. Some of ’em is good fellows!”“A—h! that a’n’t worth a cent! We’ve come out here to have some fun, and now let’s have it.”So they contended till the excitement became quite alarming, and pistols were drawn upon each other by the mob.“Well now,” said a new voice, “I’ll tell you how you must do it.”“Listen! Listen! Hear the Judge’s son! Hear the the young Georgia Judge!” shouted several men; and so there came a calm.“This has been a military affair so far,” said the youngman, “and let us carry it through so. We must just have a court-martial. These niggers are prisoners of war. This is a conflict between the South Carolina Rifle Clubs, the natural offspring of our honored Confederate Cavalry, (cheers), and the National Guards, the pets of the Yankees, (groans). The South Carolinians have been victorious, [tremendous cheers], as they always will be, [vehement applause]. And now, as becomes the sons of noble sires, [cheers], sons who are honored [when in uniform], by wearing the gray of our “Lost Cause,” [cheers], and who to-night have done honor to the gray, (cheers), let us not forget to be generous to our prisoners; but choose from our number twenty men, who shall retire and consider the case of each of these we have captured; and as they decide, so the man shall fare.”Applause and assent followed, when another voice added, “And if any of you have old scores you want settled, just bring them before the court-martial.”The men were selected, though not without difficulty and some final dissatisfaction and threats, but as the Captain was acceptable to the most violent, the matter was finally adjusted upon a compromise.Capt. Sweargen, [the same who menaced Mr. Springer during the last conference held with Gen. Baker previous to the commencement of active hostilities], withdrew and organized his court, and soon returned to the “dead ring,” and gave the following elegant military order.“All you black scamps, get up here; we’re going to carry you to the county seat, and put you in jail.”“No; we’ll start for there, but we’ll lose them on the road,” said a bystander.“That’s it,” said another, “we’ll leave them in the swamp.”“Come on, boys, come on this way, we’ll attend to the—s,” said Capt. S—, and the ring and crowd moved down the street about twenty yards.“Halt! Now all you blasted niggers, sit down!”“Capt. Sweargen! Capt. Sweargen!” said Mann Harris, “As yo’ are the Captain of this killin’, I will ask yo’ to save my life.”“You hush; yo’ talk too much, you great big nigger you,” said one of the crowd.“I’m gwoine to talk. It’s life or death for me, an’ I’m gwoine to talk for my life.”“Captain! Captain! Oh, don’t let them kill me!” said Sam Henry. “I’ve allus been a industrious and honest fellow, and ha’n’t never hurt nobody, nor stole, nor nothin’.”“Yes, but you’re a blamed Republican, and so is all the rest of yo’, and that’s enough. We’ll carry South Carolina Democratic now, about the time we kill four or five hundred of yo’ voting niggers. This is only the beginning of it. We’ve got to have South Carolina, and these clubs has got to go through the State.”“Yes,” added another, “the white man has got to rule here. This is a white man’s government.”The excitement was again increasing, and all talked at once on this topic, on which alone all seemed to agree.“Now, men, we’ve got this court-martial, and must proceed according to military law,” shouted Captain S.“There a’n’t no law,” cried a voice. “The law has run out at the end of a hundred years, and there a’n’t no constitution neither.”“There a’n’t no court in South Carolina that can try us anyhow,” said another.“That’s so! That’s so!” resounded through the crowd.“Hello! Hurrah! here comes another nigger! Got Capt. Doc this time? Capt. Doc! Capt. Doc!” (with oaths), rang through the swaying mob which surrounded the dead ring, as a posse from the General’s headquarters advanced with the new victim.Not without difficulty a way was opened for the conveyance of—not Captain Doc (who was watching and listening attentively at the Cook street end of the verandah, and not twenty paces from the spot), but a good faced boy, yet in his teens.His eyes rolled wildly about, he trembled violently, and his breath came quick and short, though without a sound.“Oh, Friend Robbins,” said Watta, “I’m sorry they have got you? Your widowed mother and the children need your support. Where is Joey? (the company’s drummer-boy).”“I don’t know,” whispered Friend.“Ha! This is the boy that wouldn’t sell us ammunitionin Mrs. Bront’s store,” shouted one of the assassins. “I cursed you well then, old chap; but we’ll giveyouall the ammunition you want, and more’n you’ll ask for.”Poor Friend had passed a dreadful night, (for this was now in the small hours of the morning), since he slipped down the ladder from the drill-room.He had taken refuge in Marmor’s office, from thence fled to the street; been driven back through the rear yard, leaped Dan Lemfield’s fence, escaping a shot aimed at him, hid under a pile of railroad cross-ties in Lemfield’s yard during a dreadful hour, only then to be dragged out by three men with pistols and lanterns in their hands, searching every hiding place. They took him out upon the street, and to their commander.“Who is that?” asked the lofty General.“It is Friend Robbins,” answered the boy, looking frankly into the officer’s face.“What are you doing here?”“I have not been doing anything; the men came in there, and brought me out.”“Do you belong to the militia company?”“I do, sir.”“Well, we killed one —— nigger down there to-night, and I want you to go down there and see him, and see if you know him. Two of you men take him down there.”This was done; and there upon the ground lay the dead man, his eyes wide open and staring away through the clear, white moonlight, away from the blood-stained earthtowards that infinite One, before whose face the escaped soul stood, corroborating the testimony of his blood which “cried from the ground.”“Who is that?” asked one of the guards.“That’s John Carr,” replied the boy.“He’s the Town Marshal, a’n’t he?”“Yes sir.”“Well, he’ll be Town Marshal no more!”“I don’t know sir.”Friend was then conducted back to the General.“Are you ready, sir?” asked the men, each presenting his pistol.“No; don’t kill him,” said the General, “but take him yonder, and keep him till I call for him.”They took him down under a rail road trestle, and kept him half an hour surrounded by men, who amused themselves by torturing him with all sorts of alarms, questions and indignities.At the expiration of that time, General Baker rode by, and directed that he be taken to the “dead ring.”“Oh, here you are Tom,” said Gaston, approaching the corner of the Post-Master’s house. “I’ve been looking for you. You know we’ve got Watta down there.”“Yes, that’s a streak of good luck; but I wish we could only get hold of their ringleader, that Doc. I’m mighty glad we’ve got Dan Pipsie, though.”“Yes,” and the young men laughed. “I want Doc mighty bad too, but I’m thinking more about what we’regoing to do with what we have got. I reckon the Court Martial is the best way. Captain Sweargon has got great respect fo’ General Baker. They shan’t let Watta and Pipsie off nohow.”“No,” said the General, who rode up at that moment and caught the last remark. “Watta and Dan Pipsie are two dangerous men, and ought to be taken care of.”“Now, General,” said a stumpy little man, strutting up to that dignitary, “yo’ve brought us all here, all this crowd, and we’ve got the niggers; and now if you won’t kill them, they’ll just go and give testimony agin us, and get us into trouble.”The General stared at the little man with the most serene contempt, and turning his horse’s head, rode away without speaking.But the little man was neither abashed nor silenced. He continued,—“Here General Baker has brought us here, and kept us up all night helping him to capture a lot of niggers, and he ought to kill the last one of ’em; for if he don’t they’ll be up here to vote against us, and they’ll be giving testimony against us.”“That’s true enough, Volier, true enough,” said several of his associates.“I’m sleepy and tired,” continued Volier. “Here, Bub,” addressing a small boy of twelve years, “You ought to be abed and asleep long ago.”“No, sir-ee,” said the boy, ejecting a volume of tobacco-juice from his mouth. “Ia’n’t sleepy.”“Let’s go up into this piazza, and go to sleep,” urged the little man, “Come, come on!”“No, Isha’n’t,” replied the boy. “I want to go and spit on them niggers some more.”So the little man yielded, and accompanied the lad in quest of his rare sport; much to the relief of Captain Doc’s mind.At the same time Gaston and Tom Baker approached the “dead ring” also, and the name of Alden Watta was immediately called, as that of the first victim to be sacrificed.“We’ll fix you! we’r’e going to kill you now, without a doubt,” cried the mob.“Gentlemen,” said Watta, standing up in a calm manner, “I am not ready to die, and haven’t done anything to be killed for. Will you allow me to prepare to meet my God? Please let me pray.”“You ought to have been praying before now; you have talked enough without praying, and we’re going to kill you now. I don’t care,” said young Tom Baker, with numerous oaths. “But we’re going to kill you.”“Oh, gentlemen, do spare my life! I will not interfere with you. I will only take care of my family as an honest man should. I will go clear away out of the State, if you will only spare me to take care of my wife and my little children!”“Watta, old chap, is that you?” cried Gaston, crowding nearer, (with an oath). “We’ll fix you directly.”“Oh, Gaston! Gaston! What do you want with me? Please do, do all you can for me, and I will be your friend as long as I live, and leave the legacy of gratitude to my children!”“Yes, Iwilldo all I can for you; I’ll do it in a short while. He’s had time enough, boys.”As many as could lay hands upon him did so, and they carried this Second-lieutenant of the National Guards, this County Commissioner, this graduate of a Freedman’s High School, this teacher of a colored school, this correspondent of the —— ——Times, this influential Republican, this husband and father, this young man who bore the general reputation of being a straightforward and truthful man, a man that could be depended on, and had a great deal of resolution; not a violent man, not given to insolence nor trouble of any kind, a pleasant and affable man though one of spirit, this American citizen, and they bore him away to be sacrificed.By main force they took him several rods down the street and into the edge of a field.Each individual of the crowd panted for a share in so great a service to southern Democracy.When he was allowed to stand upon his feet again, he looked around upon a wall of circular steel mouths, each ready to belch forth hot, blazing, sulpherous, leaden death; for every man presented the muzzle of his gun or pistol at the hapless victim.Falling upon his knees he cried out, with clasped handsand upturned face, “Oh, God! there is neither justice nor mercy upon the earth! I cast my naked soul and all I have upon Thy mercy!”He paused and pressed his hands over his face. A tremendous volley, followed, and Alden Watta’s soul leaped into the presence of that Judge whom no Ku Klux Klans can corrupt or intimidate; and the murderous throng hastened back to procure another victim.“Oh, Free, and all of yo’, what is yo’ gwoine on so a beggin’ fo’?” said Dan Pipsie. “If dey is gwoine to kill us all anyhow, what is de use o’ beggin’ so? I only wish I had some o’ my wife’s ’ligion now; and I’d like fo’ her to pray fo’ me.”The committee soon returned from the court, and announced the Armorer of the militia company, Dan Pipsie, as the next condemned.With an air of perfect indifference he arose and accompanied the murderers to the field of blood.A volley was heard, and the committee returned, but Dan did not.Ham Sterns was the next called. He was a large mulatto, and was sick.“O. Gentlemen!” he pleaded, “I haven’t done anything. What do you want to kill me fo’? I a’n’t a member of the militia company, and I was just peaceable at home when some of you just come and dragged me out here; and now you’re going to kill me. I a’n’t even a ’publican leader. Please let me go!”“Ham Sterns, I reckon yo’ knowme,” hissed an evil-eyed, sallow-faced man, stepping before him, and shaking his fist in his face. “Now I’ll be quits with you on that sale affair; you and Alf Minton. I’ll learn yo’ to outbid me!”“Come out here! come out here?” shouted the mob, and Ham Sterns was led away. The guns fired, and the committee returned, but Ham Sterns never did.“Oh them tremendously firings!” said Sam Henry, with a shudder of horror, as he buried his face in his palms and began earnestly to pray for divine deliverance.“Is this you, Sam,” asked a kindly voice at his ear. “Get up, Sam,” and a white man who stood behind him took hold of his arm and said, “Gentlemen, this is a boy that I know, (they were all “boys,” even if grey-headed) and he is a harmless boy. He don’t belong to the militia nohow. I’ll be responsible for him,” and he led him away.Alfred Minton was now called for, but no response came.“Alf Minton! Alf Minton!” was repeated with oaths and imprecations, and still no response.The committee entered the ring, and touched each man upon his head, asking, “Who’s this?”At last a small, sick, weakly-looking young man acknowledged the name.For the credit of human nature be it recorded that one of the mob begged that the poor, sick boy be let alone; and others were evidently tiring of bloodshed.But the majority were not yet satiated, and with profanity, they shouted, “O, we’ll fix him! We’llcure him!” and they led him also away. The guns fired; the crowd returned; but Alfred did not.During this execution another white man conveyed Friend Robbins away; learning which, when too late to interfere, some of the more sanguinolent ran up to headquarters with complaints; but the moving spirits there having had their own desires for revenge measurably satisfied, and despairing of the arrest of Captain Doc; and perhaps, the inflaming effects of their potations beginning to wane, they began to think of possible court scenes in the future. So they were but indifferent listeners, and even suggested the possibility of some other method of disposing of the remaining captives.Pompey Conner, a noted thief and gambler, whose skill at cards had often taxed the purses of some of this fastidious throng of captors was the next called at the “dead ring.”“Pompey yourun,” whispered Mann Harris, who sat beside him.Pompey was a powerful man, when he chose to exert his strength, and he darted through the crowd like an arrow; stooping a little, and with his brawny shoulder cleaving his way.When he reached a clear track, numerous shots followed, and the mob thinking him severely wounded jeered and shouted triumphantly; while he crouched behind a tree,rolled his great eyes, nodded his woolly head, and muttered audibly as he turned up the leg of his trousers, “It only just scalped my leg, af’er all.”“What better fun do you want than that, boys? Thisisfun! ha! ha! ha! Let’s let ’em all go, and shoot after ’em like rabbits,” cried a mere boy.“Oh, no! you’ve done enough for to-night. Now let these prisoners go.”“Yes, let these prisoners go,” chimed in another.“Let’s pile ’em up like frogs and shoot into ’em,” said another, with an oath that should make the blood curdle; while still another said, “No don’t do that, but let ’em go and don’t shoot after ’em.”“Oh, no, we ought not to leave none to tell the tale. Let’s kill ’em all!”“We came out forfun; now let’s have it, and not give up so,” said a very young man, a minor.“If we kill them all, there’ll be nobody left to tell the tale; and if we leave anybody, they’ll go and testify against us; and I tell you we might as well make a sure thing of this,” was repeatedly reiterated.“Oh, let them go,” said a new speaker. “Let us swear them before they go, not to tell anybody, nor anything about it.”After much discussion, this counsel prevailed.“Now all you —— black rascals you, get up here,” said Captain Sweargen.The prisoners quickly obeyed.“Now, you all get down again, on your knees, and hold up your right hands.”All obeyed. “I solemnly swear,” said the Captain, “I solemnly swear,” repeated the prisoners, “that I will never go into any court to testify, [repeated] nor to know anything about this affair, nor what has been done in Baconsville this evening, nor to-night, nor that I know any of the men who was in the party.”The prisoners all took the oath.“Now, you —— rascals, get away from here!”Each sprung to his feet, and all but two ran for life. Corporal Free dodged behind a tree, and Mann Harris, who was on the edge of the dusky group, stood still.Fifteen or twenty of the irrepressible “chivalry” leveled their guns upon the liberated prisoners whom the South Carolina rifle clubs had captured from the National Guards, and fired; “just like they was shooting at birds.”As evidence of the skill of these riflemen it may be mentioned that but one of those colored men was wounded, and he but slightly, though the firing was at fifteen paces.“Mann Harris, where do you live?” asked a maimed relic of the confederate service.“I live right on the corner opposite Dan Lemfield’s.”“Well, you go on home.”“I can’t do it.”“Why can’t you?”“I’m afeard to go through them men by myself.”“Come on, I’ll go with you.” So that one-armed whiteman sat upon his horse, and the great muscular negro walked beside it, holding upon the saddle for protection. They passed from Market into Cook street, and wended their way among the slowly dissolving crowd.Nearing Mercer street, the escort began to converse. “Well, Mann, now you see what the result is when niggers vote against the white people.”“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” replied the colored man.“Have you always voted?”“Yes, I has; I voted the ’publican ticket all the time.”“Well, you don’t intend to say you want to vote it?”“If this fuss is about, I sha’n’t vote no kind of a ticket.”Another horseman on the opposite side of the narrow street overheard the last remark, and approached.“Harris, I know you,” said he. “We was boys at the same time, and have known each other all the while along; and I know that you are a nigger that has got good sense, good common sense. You see where this nigger is lying, here?” [They had just come upon the body of John Carr.] “Yes, sir; I see him.”“Well, just so will we lay you, if you ever vote the Republican ticket again.”“Well, sir, I will not vote no kind of a ticket.”“No, —— that’s the plan,” said the proud Southern, “and we intend to carry it out; and the only way for you to save yourself is to come over and vote with us; becausewe know that you know mighty well, when you vote against us you are voting against your interest.”“I didn’t know it was so much against your interest as to kill a man,” replied Harris. “I had no idea that it was any such thing as that.”“Well, you see what the consequence is, and we’re going to carry this State, and we intend to do it if we have to kill every nigger, and this rascally Governor too; he is the head of all the thieves in the State, and the white people don’t intend to stand it no longer; they intend to break it up.”Harris and his protector then moved on, and soon reached their place of destination.“Mann,” said Mr. W——, “I’ve got a little talk for you. I, to-night, by your being recommended to me, saved your life; and now you can do me a favor, and I will tell you what it is.”“All right, Captain. There a’n’t nothing that I could do that I wouldn’t do for yo’, for yo’ saved my life.”“Yes; what I want to say to you is, that you don’t know anything about the affair at all; that they had you around there, but you knowed nobody; that these are unknown parties; and if any one comes to get you to go into court to testify, or say anything about calling anybody’s name,you don’t know. This time we will let you off; but next time we get at this thing, we’llgityou. Now I will tell you as you do me a favor, and don’t you call anybody’s name; don’t you own to them that you do know; and tell them,the rest of them, not to say anything about it; that you seen the boys, but you didn’t know who it was. If any one asks you, tell ’em you don’t know; it was unknown parties. Good-night;” and his magnanimous benefactor rode away, and left Mann Harris upon his door-step.
“Slaying is the word,It is a deed in fashion.”
Julius Cæsar.
The“dead-ring,” as has been said, was on Market street, and quite near the Post Master’s residence, which occupied the corner and stood flush with both Market and Cook streets. Captain Doc stood in the upper verandah, almost over the heads of the crowd surrounding “the ring,” and looked down upon them.
“It is about time we began the killing,” said one of the crowd, “We’ve been hunting and capturing long enough. Now who shall be killed?”
“Kill ’em all, of cose,” replied one of his fellows.
“We’d better find out what Gen. Baker says,” said a third. “We’ll go round to Dunn’s store, and see what he says. Whatever he says, I say it’ll be right.”
“If yo’ saydat, yo’ won’t kill any of us,” said Corporal Free; “fo’ Gen. Baker is too high toned a gem’man to allow a man dat has surrendered, to be killed. He’s a gem’man from one of de first families of de State.”
“You shut up your mouth,” said one of the chivalry, as he threw a handful of dirt into Free’s face.
“Now, I tell you what,” said another speaker, fingering a huge pistol; “all get on this side of these —— niggers, and we’ll just fire into ’em.”
At that moment a cheer arose, and hats of all descriptions were swung wildly in the air.
“Hurrah! Here comes our chief!” shouted the mob, and made room for horse and rider to approach the ring, though the single solid circle of armed men remained unbroken. The poor fellows upon the ground raised their heads, and cried out each for his life, “Oh, Gen. Baker!” “Oh, Gen. Baker!” “You will save me!” “You will save my life,” “Gen. Baker, I surrendered right off, I did,” “I han’t done nothing,” “I’m just a honest, hard-working man.” “Don’t let ’em kill me, Gen. Baker!” “Yo’ will setmefree, General Bakah, I’m sho fo’ yo’s a gemman!” and beseeching hands were uplifted, and dark faces upturned in earnest pleading for the protection they felt sure “a high-toned gentleman,” and “chivalrous chieftain” would give.
“Is William Daws here in this ring?” asked the General.
“Yes sah,” was the prompt and confident reply.
“You’re the black rascal that burned my house down,” and with a vile epithet this personification of southern magnanimity rode away.
“Ah! Ah!” groaned the crowd, in derision of the misplaced confidence of the negroes.
“There’s Alden Watta,” said a mocking voice. “You’re amagistrate, I suppose! You’re a —— nice looking magistrate!” and he scooped up a handful of soil and threw it into the back of Watta’s neck, as his head hung down. “There’s a baptism for you.”
Watta did not heed it.
“Boys, we’d better go to work, and kill what niggers we’ve got; what’s the use o’ waiting? We shan’t be able to find Capt. Doc,” said a new speaker.
“We’ve had our orders from Gen. Baker, so far, and we’d better get orders from him now,” said another, who was possibly more merciful.
“If we don’t kill all, they’ll give testimony against us, some day to come,” said the first speaker.
“That’s so,” said a third. “Gen. Baker has got us here, and we ketched the men as he told us, and I think we’ve got something to say now.”
“No, gentlemen,” said a fourth, “just pick out the Republican leaders and kill them, and let the rest go. They’re all Republicans, I know, but they a’n’t all leaders; and some of these boys didn’t never hurt nobody. Some of ’em is good fellows!”
“A—h! that a’n’t worth a cent! We’ve come out here to have some fun, and now let’s have it.”
So they contended till the excitement became quite alarming, and pistols were drawn upon each other by the mob.
“Well now,” said a new voice, “I’ll tell you how you must do it.”
“Listen! Listen! Hear the Judge’s son! Hear the the young Georgia Judge!” shouted several men; and so there came a calm.
“This has been a military affair so far,” said the youngman, “and let us carry it through so. We must just have a court-martial. These niggers are prisoners of war. This is a conflict between the South Carolina Rifle Clubs, the natural offspring of our honored Confederate Cavalry, (cheers), and the National Guards, the pets of the Yankees, (groans). The South Carolinians have been victorious, [tremendous cheers], as they always will be, [vehement applause]. And now, as becomes the sons of noble sires, [cheers], sons who are honored [when in uniform], by wearing the gray of our “Lost Cause,” [cheers], and who to-night have done honor to the gray, (cheers), let us not forget to be generous to our prisoners; but choose from our number twenty men, who shall retire and consider the case of each of these we have captured; and as they decide, so the man shall fare.”
Applause and assent followed, when another voice added, “And if any of you have old scores you want settled, just bring them before the court-martial.”
The men were selected, though not without difficulty and some final dissatisfaction and threats, but as the Captain was acceptable to the most violent, the matter was finally adjusted upon a compromise.
Capt. Sweargen, [the same who menaced Mr. Springer during the last conference held with Gen. Baker previous to the commencement of active hostilities], withdrew and organized his court, and soon returned to the “dead ring,” and gave the following elegant military order.
“All you black scamps, get up here; we’re going to carry you to the county seat, and put you in jail.”
“No; we’ll start for there, but we’ll lose them on the road,” said a bystander.
“That’s it,” said another, “we’ll leave them in the swamp.”
“Come on, boys, come on this way, we’ll attend to the—s,” said Capt. S—, and the ring and crowd moved down the street about twenty yards.
“Halt! Now all you blasted niggers, sit down!”
“Capt. Sweargen! Capt. Sweargen!” said Mann Harris, “As yo’ are the Captain of this killin’, I will ask yo’ to save my life.”
“You hush; yo’ talk too much, you great big nigger you,” said one of the crowd.
“I’m gwoine to talk. It’s life or death for me, an’ I’m gwoine to talk for my life.”
“Captain! Captain! Oh, don’t let them kill me!” said Sam Henry. “I’ve allus been a industrious and honest fellow, and ha’n’t never hurt nobody, nor stole, nor nothin’.”
“Yes, but you’re a blamed Republican, and so is all the rest of yo’, and that’s enough. We’ll carry South Carolina Democratic now, about the time we kill four or five hundred of yo’ voting niggers. This is only the beginning of it. We’ve got to have South Carolina, and these clubs has got to go through the State.”
“Yes,” added another, “the white man has got to rule here. This is a white man’s government.”
The excitement was again increasing, and all talked at once on this topic, on which alone all seemed to agree.
“Now, men, we’ve got this court-martial, and must proceed according to military law,” shouted Captain S.
“There a’n’t no law,” cried a voice. “The law has run out at the end of a hundred years, and there a’n’t no constitution neither.”
“There a’n’t no court in South Carolina that can try us anyhow,” said another.
“That’s so! That’s so!” resounded through the crowd.
“Hello! Hurrah! here comes another nigger! Got Capt. Doc this time? Capt. Doc! Capt. Doc!” (with oaths), rang through the swaying mob which surrounded the dead ring, as a posse from the General’s headquarters advanced with the new victim.
Not without difficulty a way was opened for the conveyance of—not Captain Doc (who was watching and listening attentively at the Cook street end of the verandah, and not twenty paces from the spot), but a good faced boy, yet in his teens.
His eyes rolled wildly about, he trembled violently, and his breath came quick and short, though without a sound.
“Oh, Friend Robbins,” said Watta, “I’m sorry they have got you? Your widowed mother and the children need your support. Where is Joey? (the company’s drummer-boy).”
“I don’t know,” whispered Friend.
“Ha! This is the boy that wouldn’t sell us ammunitionin Mrs. Bront’s store,” shouted one of the assassins. “I cursed you well then, old chap; but we’ll giveyouall the ammunition you want, and more’n you’ll ask for.”
Poor Friend had passed a dreadful night, (for this was now in the small hours of the morning), since he slipped down the ladder from the drill-room.
He had taken refuge in Marmor’s office, from thence fled to the street; been driven back through the rear yard, leaped Dan Lemfield’s fence, escaping a shot aimed at him, hid under a pile of railroad cross-ties in Lemfield’s yard during a dreadful hour, only then to be dragged out by three men with pistols and lanterns in their hands, searching every hiding place. They took him out upon the street, and to their commander.
“Who is that?” asked the lofty General.
“It is Friend Robbins,” answered the boy, looking frankly into the officer’s face.
“What are you doing here?”
“I have not been doing anything; the men came in there, and brought me out.”
“Do you belong to the militia company?”
“I do, sir.”
“Well, we killed one —— nigger down there to-night, and I want you to go down there and see him, and see if you know him. Two of you men take him down there.”
This was done; and there upon the ground lay the dead man, his eyes wide open and staring away through the clear, white moonlight, away from the blood-stained earthtowards that infinite One, before whose face the escaped soul stood, corroborating the testimony of his blood which “cried from the ground.”
“Who is that?” asked one of the guards.
“That’s John Carr,” replied the boy.
“He’s the Town Marshal, a’n’t he?”
“Yes sir.”
“Well, he’ll be Town Marshal no more!”
“I don’t know sir.”
Friend was then conducted back to the General.
“Are you ready, sir?” asked the men, each presenting his pistol.
“No; don’t kill him,” said the General, “but take him yonder, and keep him till I call for him.”
They took him down under a rail road trestle, and kept him half an hour surrounded by men, who amused themselves by torturing him with all sorts of alarms, questions and indignities.
At the expiration of that time, General Baker rode by, and directed that he be taken to the “dead ring.”
“Oh, here you are Tom,” said Gaston, approaching the corner of the Post-Master’s house. “I’ve been looking for you. You know we’ve got Watta down there.”
“Yes, that’s a streak of good luck; but I wish we could only get hold of their ringleader, that Doc. I’m mighty glad we’ve got Dan Pipsie, though.”
“Yes,” and the young men laughed. “I want Doc mighty bad too, but I’m thinking more about what we’regoing to do with what we have got. I reckon the Court Martial is the best way. Captain Sweargon has got great respect fo’ General Baker. They shan’t let Watta and Pipsie off nohow.”
“No,” said the General, who rode up at that moment and caught the last remark. “Watta and Dan Pipsie are two dangerous men, and ought to be taken care of.”
“Now, General,” said a stumpy little man, strutting up to that dignitary, “yo’ve brought us all here, all this crowd, and we’ve got the niggers; and now if you won’t kill them, they’ll just go and give testimony agin us, and get us into trouble.”
The General stared at the little man with the most serene contempt, and turning his horse’s head, rode away without speaking.
But the little man was neither abashed nor silenced. He continued,—“Here General Baker has brought us here, and kept us up all night helping him to capture a lot of niggers, and he ought to kill the last one of ’em; for if he don’t they’ll be up here to vote against us, and they’ll be giving testimony against us.”
“That’s true enough, Volier, true enough,” said several of his associates.
“I’m sleepy and tired,” continued Volier. “Here, Bub,” addressing a small boy of twelve years, “You ought to be abed and asleep long ago.”
“No, sir-ee,” said the boy, ejecting a volume of tobacco-juice from his mouth. “Ia’n’t sleepy.”
“Let’s go up into this piazza, and go to sleep,” urged the little man, “Come, come on!”
“No, Isha’n’t,” replied the boy. “I want to go and spit on them niggers some more.”
So the little man yielded, and accompanied the lad in quest of his rare sport; much to the relief of Captain Doc’s mind.
At the same time Gaston and Tom Baker approached the “dead ring” also, and the name of Alden Watta was immediately called, as that of the first victim to be sacrificed.
“We’ll fix you! we’r’e going to kill you now, without a doubt,” cried the mob.
“Gentlemen,” said Watta, standing up in a calm manner, “I am not ready to die, and haven’t done anything to be killed for. Will you allow me to prepare to meet my God? Please let me pray.”
“You ought to have been praying before now; you have talked enough without praying, and we’re going to kill you now. I don’t care,” said young Tom Baker, with numerous oaths. “But we’re going to kill you.”
“Oh, gentlemen, do spare my life! I will not interfere with you. I will only take care of my family as an honest man should. I will go clear away out of the State, if you will only spare me to take care of my wife and my little children!”
“Watta, old chap, is that you?” cried Gaston, crowding nearer, (with an oath). “We’ll fix you directly.”
“Oh, Gaston! Gaston! What do you want with me? Please do, do all you can for me, and I will be your friend as long as I live, and leave the legacy of gratitude to my children!”
“Yes, Iwilldo all I can for you; I’ll do it in a short while. He’s had time enough, boys.”
As many as could lay hands upon him did so, and they carried this Second-lieutenant of the National Guards, this County Commissioner, this graduate of a Freedman’s High School, this teacher of a colored school, this correspondent of the —— ——Times, this influential Republican, this husband and father, this young man who bore the general reputation of being a straightforward and truthful man, a man that could be depended on, and had a great deal of resolution; not a violent man, not given to insolence nor trouble of any kind, a pleasant and affable man though one of spirit, this American citizen, and they bore him away to be sacrificed.
By main force they took him several rods down the street and into the edge of a field.
Each individual of the crowd panted for a share in so great a service to southern Democracy.
When he was allowed to stand upon his feet again, he looked around upon a wall of circular steel mouths, each ready to belch forth hot, blazing, sulpherous, leaden death; for every man presented the muzzle of his gun or pistol at the hapless victim.
Falling upon his knees he cried out, with clasped handsand upturned face, “Oh, God! there is neither justice nor mercy upon the earth! I cast my naked soul and all I have upon Thy mercy!”
He paused and pressed his hands over his face. A tremendous volley, followed, and Alden Watta’s soul leaped into the presence of that Judge whom no Ku Klux Klans can corrupt or intimidate; and the murderous throng hastened back to procure another victim.
“Oh, Free, and all of yo’, what is yo’ gwoine on so a beggin’ fo’?” said Dan Pipsie. “If dey is gwoine to kill us all anyhow, what is de use o’ beggin’ so? I only wish I had some o’ my wife’s ’ligion now; and I’d like fo’ her to pray fo’ me.”
The committee soon returned from the court, and announced the Armorer of the militia company, Dan Pipsie, as the next condemned.
With an air of perfect indifference he arose and accompanied the murderers to the field of blood.
A volley was heard, and the committee returned, but Dan did not.
Ham Sterns was the next called. He was a large mulatto, and was sick.
“O. Gentlemen!” he pleaded, “I haven’t done anything. What do you want to kill me fo’? I a’n’t a member of the militia company, and I was just peaceable at home when some of you just come and dragged me out here; and now you’re going to kill me. I a’n’t even a ’publican leader. Please let me go!”
“Ham Sterns, I reckon yo’ knowme,” hissed an evil-eyed, sallow-faced man, stepping before him, and shaking his fist in his face. “Now I’ll be quits with you on that sale affair; you and Alf Minton. I’ll learn yo’ to outbid me!”
“Come out here! come out here?” shouted the mob, and Ham Sterns was led away. The guns fired, and the committee returned, but Ham Sterns never did.
“Oh them tremendously firings!” said Sam Henry, with a shudder of horror, as he buried his face in his palms and began earnestly to pray for divine deliverance.
“Is this you, Sam,” asked a kindly voice at his ear. “Get up, Sam,” and a white man who stood behind him took hold of his arm and said, “Gentlemen, this is a boy that I know, (they were all “boys,” even if grey-headed) and he is a harmless boy. He don’t belong to the militia nohow. I’ll be responsible for him,” and he led him away.
Alfred Minton was now called for, but no response came.
“Alf Minton! Alf Minton!” was repeated with oaths and imprecations, and still no response.
The committee entered the ring, and touched each man upon his head, asking, “Who’s this?”
At last a small, sick, weakly-looking young man acknowledged the name.
For the credit of human nature be it recorded that one of the mob begged that the poor, sick boy be let alone; and others were evidently tiring of bloodshed.
But the majority were not yet satiated, and with profanity, they shouted, “O, we’ll fix him! We’llcure him!” and they led him also away. The guns fired; the crowd returned; but Alfred did not.
During this execution another white man conveyed Friend Robbins away; learning which, when too late to interfere, some of the more sanguinolent ran up to headquarters with complaints; but the moving spirits there having had their own desires for revenge measurably satisfied, and despairing of the arrest of Captain Doc; and perhaps, the inflaming effects of their potations beginning to wane, they began to think of possible court scenes in the future. So they were but indifferent listeners, and even suggested the possibility of some other method of disposing of the remaining captives.
Pompey Conner, a noted thief and gambler, whose skill at cards had often taxed the purses of some of this fastidious throng of captors was the next called at the “dead ring.”
“Pompey yourun,” whispered Mann Harris, who sat beside him.
Pompey was a powerful man, when he chose to exert his strength, and he darted through the crowd like an arrow; stooping a little, and with his brawny shoulder cleaving his way.
When he reached a clear track, numerous shots followed, and the mob thinking him severely wounded jeered and shouted triumphantly; while he crouched behind a tree,rolled his great eyes, nodded his woolly head, and muttered audibly as he turned up the leg of his trousers, “It only just scalped my leg, af’er all.”
“What better fun do you want than that, boys? Thisisfun! ha! ha! ha! Let’s let ’em all go, and shoot after ’em like rabbits,” cried a mere boy.
“Oh, no! you’ve done enough for to-night. Now let these prisoners go.”
“Yes, let these prisoners go,” chimed in another.
“Let’s pile ’em up like frogs and shoot into ’em,” said another, with an oath that should make the blood curdle; while still another said, “No don’t do that, but let ’em go and don’t shoot after ’em.”
“Oh, no, we ought not to leave none to tell the tale. Let’s kill ’em all!”
“We came out forfun; now let’s have it, and not give up so,” said a very young man, a minor.
“If we kill them all, there’ll be nobody left to tell the tale; and if we leave anybody, they’ll go and testify against us; and I tell you we might as well make a sure thing of this,” was repeatedly reiterated.
“Oh, let them go,” said a new speaker. “Let us swear them before they go, not to tell anybody, nor anything about it.”
After much discussion, this counsel prevailed.
“Now all you —— black rascals you, get up here,” said Captain Sweargen.
The prisoners quickly obeyed.
“Now, you all get down again, on your knees, and hold up your right hands.”
All obeyed. “I solemnly swear,” said the Captain, “I solemnly swear,” repeated the prisoners, “that I will never go into any court to testify, [repeated] nor to know anything about this affair, nor what has been done in Baconsville this evening, nor to-night, nor that I know any of the men who was in the party.”
The prisoners all took the oath.
“Now, you —— rascals, get away from here!”
Each sprung to his feet, and all but two ran for life. Corporal Free dodged behind a tree, and Mann Harris, who was on the edge of the dusky group, stood still.
Fifteen or twenty of the irrepressible “chivalry” leveled their guns upon the liberated prisoners whom the South Carolina rifle clubs had captured from the National Guards, and fired; “just like they was shooting at birds.”
As evidence of the skill of these riflemen it may be mentioned that but one of those colored men was wounded, and he but slightly, though the firing was at fifteen paces.
“Mann Harris, where do you live?” asked a maimed relic of the confederate service.
“I live right on the corner opposite Dan Lemfield’s.”
“Well, you go on home.”
“I can’t do it.”
“Why can’t you?”
“I’m afeard to go through them men by myself.”
“Come on, I’ll go with you.” So that one-armed whiteman sat upon his horse, and the great muscular negro walked beside it, holding upon the saddle for protection. They passed from Market into Cook street, and wended their way among the slowly dissolving crowd.
Nearing Mercer street, the escort began to converse. “Well, Mann, now you see what the result is when niggers vote against the white people.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” replied the colored man.
“Have you always voted?”
“Yes, I has; I voted the ’publican ticket all the time.”
“Well, you don’t intend to say you want to vote it?”
“If this fuss is about, I sha’n’t vote no kind of a ticket.”
Another horseman on the opposite side of the narrow street overheard the last remark, and approached.
“Harris, I know you,” said he. “We was boys at the same time, and have known each other all the while along; and I know that you are a nigger that has got good sense, good common sense. You see where this nigger is lying, here?” [They had just come upon the body of John Carr.] “Yes, sir; I see him.”
“Well, just so will we lay you, if you ever vote the Republican ticket again.”
“Well, sir, I will not vote no kind of a ticket.”
“No, —— that’s the plan,” said the proud Southern, “and we intend to carry it out; and the only way for you to save yourself is to come over and vote with us; becausewe know that you know mighty well, when you vote against us you are voting against your interest.”
“I didn’t know it was so much against your interest as to kill a man,” replied Harris. “I had no idea that it was any such thing as that.”
“Well, you see what the consequence is, and we’re going to carry this State, and we intend to do it if we have to kill every nigger, and this rascally Governor too; he is the head of all the thieves in the State, and the white people don’t intend to stand it no longer; they intend to break it up.”
Harris and his protector then moved on, and soon reached their place of destination.
“Mann,” said Mr. W——, “I’ve got a little talk for you. I, to-night, by your being recommended to me, saved your life; and now you can do me a favor, and I will tell you what it is.”
“All right, Captain. There a’n’t nothing that I could do that I wouldn’t do for yo’, for yo’ saved my life.”
“Yes; what I want to say to you is, that you don’t know anything about the affair at all; that they had you around there, but you knowed nobody; that these are unknown parties; and if any one comes to get you to go into court to testify, or say anything about calling anybody’s name,you don’t know. This time we will let you off; but next time we get at this thing, we’llgityou. Now I will tell you as you do me a favor, and don’t you call anybody’s name; don’t you own to them that you do know; and tell them,the rest of them, not to say anything about it; that you seen the boys, but you didn’t know who it was. If any one asks you, tell ’em you don’t know; it was unknown parties. Good-night;” and his magnanimous benefactor rode away, and left Mann Harris upon his door-step.