Decorative Chapter End.
AAlene Daleman and Ramon Mansford stood within the vestibule of the former's home. Ramon's arm was around Alene's waist and her beautiful black eyes were upturned to his, as if to say, "Fathom the love we tell of, if you can." Down stoops Ramon and plants a fervent, lingering kiss upon the lips of the girl he loves, saying, as he stroked her hair,
"The last token of love until the minister has his say."
"Let me have a last, too," said Alene, tiptoeing to plant a kiss upon Ramon's lips, and thus the two parted.
Light of heart, Alene went tripping to Foresta's room and said:
"Foresta, as you know, the house is full of people who have come from a distance to attend my wedding. You need not stay here to-night. I will occupy your room."
Foresta was very glad indeed, as an early release enabled her to carry out some plans of her own.
"Mama," said Foresta, her face buried in her mother's lap, "I have something which I wish to tell you."
Her mother stroked her hair, and said, "Tell me, dear."
"You know Mr. Arthur Daleman, Jr., threatened you with the penitentiary, but compromised the matter on the condition that I should work for him."
"Yes, dear," said Mrs. Crump, beginning to breathe fast through the force of increased excitement.
"He pretended that he would not cancel the matter, in order that he might be sure to hold me as a servant," said the girl.
Foresta paused and her mother said, "Go on; I am listening."
"He had dark purposes, mama," said Foresta.
"Yes," said Mrs. Crump, rather feebly, fearful of what was to come.
Foresta, detecting considerable anxiety in her mother's voice, looked up quickly.
"Now, mama, don't look so scared and troubled; it isn't anything awful, now." So saying, she buried her face again and continued her recital. "He pretends to love me, mama. He has tried many times to kiss me. I knew what kind of a sword he held over you, and while I resented his advances, I sought not to enrage him for your sake."
"Well!" said Mrs. Crump, thoroughly alarmed.
"I kept him in his place by threatening to tell Miss Alene. He thinks lots of her and that scared him. He wouldn't care about anybody else."
Foresta took another look into her mother's face, then resumed her former attitude. Continuing, she said:
"Miss Alene leaves to-morrow, and I am afraid to stay there with him. You know a colored girl has no protection. If a white girl is insulted her insulter is shot down and the one who kills him is highly honored. If a colored girl is insulted by a white man and a colored man resents it, the colored man is lynched."
Mrs. Crump let a tear drop and it fell on Foresta's cheek. Foresta felt the tear and raised herself and said.
"Now, you bad mama, you! What's the use crying? I'll take care of myself," a fierce gleam coming into her pretty eyes.
Having wiped her mother's cheeks free from tears, Foresta buried her face again.
"I am not going back any more. I am going to get married to-night. Bud and I are going to get married. And Bud has saved up enough money to pay us out of debt."
Mrs. Crump now understood why Foresta was hiding her face. She remembered her own feelings when the question of marriage had to be broached to her mother. She bent over and kissed Foresta.
"Bud and I are going to run away and getmarried. Run away from you," said Foresta laughingly. "And you must be awfully surprised when we come back. We are going to do this to avoid a lot of useless expense in getting up a big wedding. That money can go to help us get rid of those eating cancers, those old loan men."
Mrs. Crump knew how much Foresta's heart had always been set on a fine wedding, and she knew that Foresta was making that sacrifice for her sake.
"My sweet Foresta, you have been such a dear child—God will reward you," said Mrs. Crump, burying her head on Foresta's shoulder. "This is not what I had planned for my darling; but God knows what's best. His will be done."
At the appointed hour Bud Harper was standing at Foresta's gate. Foresta soon joined him and they took a train for a nearby town where they were made man and wife.
In the meantime some awful things were happening at the Daleman residence. Leroy Crutcher, of whom we caught a glimpse or so in an earlier chapter, happened to be passing along the sidewalk that ran parallel with the side of the Daleman residence. As he reached the alley at the rear of the yard, he saw a man standing on a rock looking over the back fence. The two men glared at each other. The moon was shining brightly and they could see each other well.
Leroy turned away and walked along the street, saying to himself, "I ought to have shot thatscoundrel, Bud Harper, then and there." Reflecting a little he said, "No, I must get him without hurting myself."
The man about whom Leroy had thus spoken climbed over the fence and crouched in the shadow of the coalhouse. His eyes were fixed on Foresta's room and his vigil was ceaseless. At about eleven o'clock Arthur Daleman, Jr., emerged from the hallway of the second story, paused a few moments and crept toward Foresta's room.
"Yes, its true," muttered the Negro, between gritted teeth, the look of a savage overspreading his face. He clambered over the fence saying, "Wait a few minutes, happy couple."
In the meantime Arthur Daleman, Jr., had unlocked the door to Foresta's room and stood as if rooted to the spot. There upon the bed lay Alene instead of Foresta, as he could plainly see by the dimly burning light. Fearing that Alene might awaken and see him, he quickly turned out the light and stepped from the room. In his haste he left the door slightly ajar. What took place thereafter the morning revealed.
Decorative Chapter End.
AAccording to previous engagement, Mr. Arthur Daleman, Sr., Alene's father, and Ramon Mansford, her affianced, went forth together for an early morning walk. Arm in arm the somewhat aged Southerner and the young Northerner sauntered forth.
"My boy," said Mr. Daleman, "I have thought to have a talk with you concerning the dark shadow that projects itself over our section, the Negro problem. Not that I would infect you with my peculiar views, but that those of us and our descendants who abide here may have your sympathy."
"My love for Alene invests all that is near to her with my abiding sympathy," said Ramon with quiet fervor.
"Yes, but the mind must be informed if sympathy is to be intelligently directed. To begin with, men of my class, families like mine have no prejudice against Negroes nor they against us. We know them thoroughly and they know us. There is never the slightest trespass on forbiddenground by us or by them. It is a boast of many Negroes that they can tell a 'quality' white person on sight, and practically all Negroes ascribe their troubles to a certain class of whites."
"I have noticed the kindly relations between your people and all the Negroes that have had dealings with them," interposed Ramon.
"My class was humane to the Negro in the days of slavery and under our kindly care developed him from a savage into a thoroughly civilized man. But I am glad slavery is gone. Under the system bad white men could own slaves and their doings were sometimes terrible. They were the ones who made Uncle Tom's Cabin possible and brought down upon us all the maledictions of the world, Like 'poor dog Tray,' the humane class were caught in bad company and we have paid for it. But all of that is in the past. A word about the present and the future," said Mr. Daleman.
The two men were now in a grove of trees in the suburbs of the city. Mr. Daleman took a seat on a stump and Ramon, unmindful of the dew, threw himself at full length on the grass, and looked up intently into the face of his prospective father-in-law.
Mr. Daleman now resumed: "The radical element at the South has always given us trouble. The radicals hate the Negro and nothing is too bad for them to do to him. We liberals like him and want to see him prosper. Such of us liberalsas labor to keep the Negro out of politics do so, not out of hatred of him, but for his own good, as we see it. We hate to see him the victim of the spleen of the radicals and they do grow furious at the sight of the Negro in exalted station. In your Northern home bear in mind these two classes of Southerners and remember that some of us at least are anxious for the highest good to all."
Mr. Daleman now paused and a sad look came over his face.
He resumed: "One of the hardest tasks among us is the suppression of lynching. In the very nature of things, as conditions now exist, there cannot be such a thing as a trial of a charge of outrage by a Negro man upon a white woman. Often in cases of that nature the crime charged is disproved, by proving another offense involving collusion. Well, no lawyer can be found who would set up such a defense for a Negro client if the white woman in the case objected, for he would be killed, perhaps, and, furthermore, collusion is punished in the same way as outrage. So lynching is here fortified. Tolerated and condoned for one thing it spreads to other things and men are lynched for trivial offenses.
"If a departure could be made from the custom of public trials and jury trials in such cases, relief might be found. The trials could be secret and before a bench of judges. Care for the feelings of the woman and her guardians, and thingswill be better. There is no pronounced sentiment among the better classes in favor of lynching for other causes and it can be put down. There is marked improvement in this matter, and it may be that lynching may be stopped without the changes in jurisprudence which I suggest."
Mr. Daleman now arose from his seat, saying, "Come, my son. They will be awaiting breakfast for us, I fear. Tell the North that down in this Southland there is an element of as noble men as the world affords; men with a keen sense of justice and an unfaltering purpose to lift our section to a position of high esteem in the estimation of the world. We may seem to work at cross purposes with you of the North; we may be overwhelmed by waves of race prejudice from time to time, but we are here, and I claim to be one of them. I challenge the man, white or black, rich or poor, to say that I ever mistreated him by word or deed."
"You need no vindication. Time was when practically all Southerners were classed together by the outside, but that day has passed."
The two men walked back home in silence, Mr. Daleman thinking about the future of his home without Alene, and Ramon thinking of his own future home with her. When they got back to the house breakfast was ready and they were soon seated at the table.
"Tell Alene to come down. I know the child is a little shy this morning, but I must have herby my side this once more. Go for her, Arthur," said Mr. Daleman, Sr., to his son.
Arthur involuntarily drew back slightly at the request and his father cast an inquiring look at him.
"I hate to disturb the child's slumbers. I doubt whether she slept much last night," said Arthur, in somewhat husky tones.
"He hates to see Alene leave him," thought Mr. Daleman.
Arthur ascended the stairs and, coming to Alene's door found it slightly ajar. He knocked, but received no response. He knocked harder, then again and again. He knew that he had knocked hard enough to awaken one from sleep, so he concluded that Alene must be up and in some other part of the house. As she had left the door open, Arthur decided that the room was prepared for entering. He had a secret desire to step in and glance around the room in which, on the previous night, he stood in such imminent danger of exposure. Pushing the door open, he stepped in quickly, but far more quickly stepped out, terror stricken. Upon Foresta's bed lay the beautiful Alene, her face covered with blood and her hair falling over her face, dyeing itself a crimson red.
Arthur was speechless with horror. He ran his fingers through his hair, brought his hand down over his face as if seeking by that means to clear his brain so that he could answer thequestion as to whether he himself had not committed the murder. Recovering his self-possession in a measure, he dragged himself down stairs to where Mr. Daleman was. There was such an awful look upon his face that Mr. Daleman was thoroughly aroused.
"What is the trouble, Arthur?" asked Mr. Daleman.
Arthur said nothing, but made a motion in the direction of the room that looked to be as much a sign of despair as of direction.
Mr. Daleman rushed up the stairway and into the room. A glance told him the awful story. The kindly light that always lingered in his eyes died out and a cold, keen glitter appeared. His form showing the slight curvature of age, now stiffened under the iron influence of his will and he stood erect. The tears tried to come, but he tossed the first away and others feared to come. No more bitter cup was ever handed man to drink; but he quaffed it, dregs and all. One awful unnamable fear, involving the motive of the crime, haunted his soul. The family physician was sent for and said tenderly, as he came from the room of the murdered girl, "It might have been worse." Through the dark sorrow of Mr. Daleman's soul there shot a gleam of joy. The two men clasped hands in silence. The horror was less.
The whole city was soon in a furor of excitement. Bloodhounds were put on the trail andabout noon a Negro who had been tracked was apprehended, sitting quietly on a bridge a few miles out from the city. He made no effort to escape, and manifested no surprise when caught.
"Have they killed anybody else?" was his first and only utterance to the officers who took him in charge. His captors did not deign to make reply. The Negro was handcuffed and led back until the party arrived at the outskirts of the city. The patrol wagon was telephoned for and the Negro was soon safe in the station house. News spread like wildfire that the criminal was in the prison and soon the street was full of thousands. A mob was formed and an assault was planned upon the prison. The chief of police came out on the steps of the building and, with drawn pistol, declared that the majesty of the law would be maintained at all hazards. He then retired within.
Nothing daunted the mob surged forward. The chief of police came forth again and in a manner that left no room for mistake, declared that only over his dead body could they take the prisoner. His long record as a daring and faithful officer was well known and the mob now hesitated.
The sheriff of the county was out of the city at the time and one of his deputies was in charge of affairs. This deputy had been laying plans with a view to being the candidate of his party for the office of sheriff at the next election, and he fancied that he now saw an opportunity tocurry favor with the masses. He elbowed his way through the crowd and held a whispered conference with the leader of the mob. Thereupon the leader took his place on the steps and harangued the mob as follows:
"Fellow citizens, do not despair. The voice of the people is the voice of God, and your voice shall be heard this day. I assure you of this fact. I beg of you, however, that you now disperse. You shall meet again under circumstances more favorable to your wishes."
The persons in front passed the word along, and knowing that some better plan of action had been agreed upon, the crowd dispersed into neighboring streets.
The deputy sheriff, armed with the proper papers, appeared at the station house and demanded and secured the prisoner, as the city had no jurisdiction over murder cases. When he had proceeded about a block with his prisoner, a group of men who understood the matter raised a mighty yell. The mob which had dispersed now reformed.
The prisoner was taken from the deputy sheriff, and was hurried to the bridge connecting the two parts of the city. A rope was secured and the Negro was dropped over the side of the bridge. As his form dangled therefrom, every man in the crowd who could, and who had a pistol, leaned over the railing and fired at the Negro. The rain of bullets made the Negro's form swingto and fro. The crowd finally dispersed, leaving the body suspended from the bridge.
Gus Martin had kept up with the mob from the beginning, walking about with folded arms, betraying no trace of excitement save, perhaps, the rapid chewing of the tobacco which was in his mouth. His blood was stirred, but its Indian infusion contributed stoicism to him on this occasion.
When the whites were through with the body, Gus went to the side of the bridge and drew it up. Calling to his aid another Negro, he procured a stretcher and bore the body to Bud Harper's home.
Decorative Chapter End.
UUp and down the street on which he lived, Ramon Mansford, the affianced of Alene Daleman, walked as one in a trance. Night was coming and as the shadows deepened the bitterness deepened in his soul.
"Think of it! my father sleeps in an unmarked grave somewhere in the South, and I know that the hope of freeing the slave actuated him to enlist in the army. For the Negro, my father buried his sword to the hilt in the blood of his Southern brother and in turn received a thrust, all for a race from which this vile miscreant has crept to murder Alene, my Alene."
In the darkness of his own calamity distinctions between right and wrong began to fade away, and he found his hatred of the Negro race assuming a more violent form than that manifested by the native Southerner. In his heart there was the harking back to times more than a thousand years ago—to times when his race was arace of exterminators. At this particular time it seemed to him that nothing would have suited him better than to have taken the lead of forces bent on driving every black face from the land. Now and then he would pause and ask himself:
"Is all this horror true? Is the sweet Alene gone? Was the dear one foully murdered while I slept? Great God of heaven, can all this be true? Must I go through life unsupported by the brave heart of Alene on which I was depending for strength to conquer worlds?"
He sat down upon the curbstone and buried his face in his hands.
About twelve o'clock that night a Negro woman came rushing along at full speed. Ramon seized her and she uttered a loud scream, falling in a helpless heap at his feet. With a tight grip on her arm he said,
"Have you, too, blighted somebody's happiness? Have you murdered some one?"
With terror stricken eyes the woman looked up into his face and said, "Mistah, please lemme go, please sah!"
"What have you done?" sternly asked Ramon.
"Nothin' sah," said she. "I'se been roun' ter Dilsy Harper's, settin' up ovah Bud Harper's daid body, whut wuz sent home frum de bridge. Wal, sah, ez shuah ez dis here chile is bawn ter die, while we wuz settin' up ovah Bud's body, Bud hisself walked in. We looked at Bud, den at de body, en we wuz skeert ter death. Den delivin' Bud, went up an looked down on de daid Bud, and de daid Bud skeert de livin' Bud, and de livin' Bud fairly flew outen dat house. Den, bless yer soul, honey, dat ole house wuz soon empty."
This weird tale furnished the needed diversion to Ramon's overburdened mind. His thoughts began to run in another direction.
"Was the mob mistaken? Is the man thought to have been killed yet alive? If one mistake has been made, who can say that two haven't been made? Is her real murderer yet alive?"
Such were the thoughts that went crashing through Ramon's mind and his grip on the woman's arm slackened. The woman wrenched herself loose and continued her journey with increased speed.
As late as it was Ramon hurried to the Harpers' home and found the Negroes standing about at a distance from the house, discussing the sudden reappearance and disappearance of Bud Harper, when there, all agreed, lay Bud before their very eyes.
Ramon returned to his home strangely becalmed, and though late in the night he sat down and wrote the following letter to his home in the North.
"My Dear Norfleet:I am in the throes of an overwhelming sorrow. My Alene has been foully murdered. A mystery surrounds the case. We cannot fathom the motive of the crime. To-day(rather yesterday now, for it is two o'clock in the morning) a man accused of murdering her was lynched. To-night the man who was supposed to have been lynched made his appearance at his home. But the mother sticks to it that the real murderer, her son, is the corpse, and appearances seem to bear out the contention. Now it may be that Alene's murderer is yet alive and that an injustice has been wrought upon somebody. My heart is more firmly knit to my Southern white brethren than ever before. I fling ambition to the winds. Tell my friends that I shall not make the race for Congress, and thank them for me for the way in which they have always seconded my aspirations. It pains me much to not be in a position to attempt to scale the heights which their loving hearts fancied I could make with ease. I shall walk with my kith and kin of the South in the shadow, for in the furnace of a common sorrow, my heart has been melted into one with theirs. We of the South (you see I call myself one of them), know not what the future has in store for our beloved section, but we face the ordeal with the grim determination of our race. If you believe in prayer, pray that I may be just and may even in darkness do the right."Ramon, 'The Mad.'"
"My Dear Norfleet:I am in the throes of an overwhelming sorrow. My Alene has been foully murdered. A mystery surrounds the case. We cannot fathom the motive of the crime. To-day(rather yesterday now, for it is two o'clock in the morning) a man accused of murdering her was lynched. To-night the man who was supposed to have been lynched made his appearance at his home. But the mother sticks to it that the real murderer, her son, is the corpse, and appearances seem to bear out the contention. Now it may be that Alene's murderer is yet alive and that an injustice has been wrought upon somebody. My heart is more firmly knit to my Southern white brethren than ever before. I fling ambition to the winds. Tell my friends that I shall not make the race for Congress, and thank them for me for the way in which they have always seconded my aspirations. It pains me much to not be in a position to attempt to scale the heights which their loving hearts fancied I could make with ease. I shall walk with my kith and kin of the South in the shadow, for in the furnace of a common sorrow, my heart has been melted into one with theirs. We of the South (you see I call myself one of them), know not what the future has in store for our beloved section, but we face the ordeal with the grim determination of our race. If you believe in prayer, pray that I may be just and may even in darkness do the right.
"Ramon, 'The Mad.'"
When Alene had been laid to rest, Ramon, after lingering in Almaville for a few weeks, disappeared completely, leaving behind no trace of himself. He had previously given Mr. Daleman and friends assurances that he would do no violence to himself. So while they knew not where he was nor what was his mission, they were not unduly apprehensive as to his welfare.
Ramon Mansford had simply stained himself a chocolate brown and had thus passed from the Anglo-Saxon to the Negro race. He had gone to fathom the mystery of Alene's murder.
Decorative Chapter End.
D"Dilsy Brooks, would you 'low me er few wurds wid you?"
Dilsy Harper, Bud's mother, paused in her knitting, pulled her spectacles a little further down on her nose, and peered over them at Silas Harper, her husband, who had just entered her room and stood with his hat in his hand. He was low of stature, small and very bow-legged. A short white beard graced his chin, while his upper lip was kept clean shaven. His head was covered with the proverbial knotty, wool-like hair, which was now the scene of a struggle for the mastery between the black and gray. Since the moment that the news was brought to him that Bud was accused of Alene's murder he had been acting rather queerly, even after all things were taken into consideration, thought Mrs. Harper.
The tone of Mr. Harper's voice and his sober face led his wife to believe that he was now about to unbosom himself. As he had seen fit to call her by her maiden name, Mrs. Harper did not deign to reply.
"I is willin' ter 'cept yer silunce fer cunsent, as I feel I mus' say whut air in me," Mr. Harper resumed. Continuing, he said: "Yer been 'ceivin' me, Dilsy; yer been 'ceivin' me."
Mrs. Harper could not stand that impeachment of her honor and she quickly hissed,
"Yer air jes' a plain, orternary liah, Silas. I is er hones' 'oman myself. But out wid yer pizen. I been knowin' 'twuz in yer."
"I 'peats ergin whut I dun sed. Yer hez been 'ceivin' me, Dilsy; yer been 'ceivin' me, an I ken prove it."
Mrs. Harper cast a withering look of contempt at her husband, folded her arms and leaned back in her chair, more puzzled than ever at his queer course.
"Now, Dilsy, let me ax yer some queshuns. W'en I wuz a lad in slabery time, didunt I dribe my young missus 'bout whar' eber she went? An' she wuz safe. Didunt dis heah same Silas do dat?" said he, his voice rising to a high pitch in his earnestness. "W'en de yankees wuz fightin' our folks and our mens wuz ter de front in battul, didunt dese hans er mine hole de plow dat brung de corn ter feed my missus? At night did I sleep er wink wen dare wuz eny t'ing lackly ter pester de wimmins?" said he in the same high tones.
Yer air jes a plain, orternary liah, Silas. I is er hones oman myself. But out wid yer pizen. I been knowin t wuz in yer." (114-115.)"Yer air jes a plain, orternary liah, Silas. I is er hones oman myself. But out wid yer pizen. I been knowin t wuz in yer." (114-115.)
"De wimmins befoh de wah an' since de wah an' in de wah hez allus hed a pertectur in old Uncle Silas, an' yer knows it!" said he, pointing his index finger at his wife. "Wal, I'm comin' ter de p'int. Bud's done kilt er 'oman. He ain't no blood uv min'. You ain't been er true wife ter me. He's sumbody else's boy. He aint mine. My blood don't run dat'er way."
Not a muscle in Mrs. Harper's face moved as she listened to this indictment on the part of her husband.
"An', now," he continued, "you needunt min' 'bout sayin' eny ting 'bout dis. I aint gwine ter say nothin' 'bout yer ter skanderlize yer. I am gwine ter nail up de doh 'twixt you an' me. You aint no wife er min' fur Bud an me aint got de same blood. He kilt er 'oman."
Mrs. Harper looked steadily at her husband, her anger gone, now that she understood all. She leaned forward and parted her lips as if to speak. She seemed to take a second thought and slowly leaned back in her chair. It was evident that a debate was going on in her mind.
"No, he talks too much," said she to herself. She adjusted her spectacles, picked up her knitting and resumed work, a gentle look of forgiveness upon her face.
Silas Harper with bowed head, and shoulders more stooped than common, walked from the room. Procuring a hammer and nails he soon had the entrance from his room to that of his wife securely barred. And every lick that he struck was like unto driving a nail into his own heart, for he loved Dilsy, the love of his youth,the companion of his earlier struggles after slavery, the joint purchaser of their four-room cottage, and the mother of the two boys whom he had hitherto regarded as his sons.
Decorative Chapter End.
IIn his far away peaceful Northern home, Norfleet, friend of Ramon Mansford, received the following letter:
"My Dear Norfleet:I am about at the end of one of the most shocking and most mystifying affairs known to the human race. In keeping with my resolve I disappeared into the Negro race for the purpose of fathoming the mystery of the murder of my beloved Alene. The fact that I could so disappear is one of far-reaching significance. It shows what an awful predicament the Negroes are in. Any white criminal has the race at his mercy. By dropping into the Negro race to commit a crime and immediately thereafter rejoining the white race, he has a most splendid opportunity to escape. And men who commit the darker crimes are not failing to take advantage of the open door; but I picked up my pen to tell you my weird story."Well, I actually became a boarder in the home of Aunt Dilsy, the mother of the man accused of murdering my Alene. By mingling with the Negroes I came in contact with three persistent beliefs which I investigated."First of all, the Negroes were practically a unit in holdingthat Bud Harper had not committed the crime."On the next point to be mentioned the popular belief was divided. The more intelligent class held that the Negro lynched was not Bud Harper, but some strange Negro resembling him. When confronted with the fact that Dilsy Harper accepted it as the body of her son Bud, they shrugged their shoulders and said that that report came from the white officers who would pretend that a Negro had said just anything and that Aunt Dilsy would hardly know Bud after the mob got through mutilating him. They believed that Bud was living and that he had come home while the body supposed to be his was lying there. The more superstitious among them held that Bud was unjustly killed and his ghost had come to the wake, and that it could be seen almost any night on the bridge."I found whispered around in a rather select circle the belief that Arthur Daleman, Jr., had killed Alene. It was thought thatArthurwas secretly in love with his foster sister and in a fit of uncontrollable jealousy had murdered her. A Negro woman, who went to the Daleman's to care for the house, was reputed to have found in Arthur's room appliances for making one assume the appearance of a Negro."Now all of these rumors I investigated and I came to the conclusion that the truth of the matter was as follows:"1. Bud Harper did not kill Alene."2. Bud Harper was not hanged."3. Bud Harper and not his ghost appeared at his home."4. Dilsy Harper accepted the body as that of Bud to prevent afurther quest of Bud."5. Arthur Daleman, Jr., bore some relation to Alene's murder."The fifth conclusion was forced upon me by the guilty hangdog appearance of Arthur Daleman, Jr., which some people mistook for sorrow over Alene's death."Now let me tell you the strange manner in which I received confirmation of these things. On taking up my abode at Dilsy Harper's I noticed that she and her husband had no dealings with each other, though they lived in the same house. To-day I came home and found the door unbarred and Silas Harper sitting in his wife's room, his face all wreathed in smiles. Mrs. Harper had been called away and he proceeded to unfold the cause of his previous strained relations with his wife and his present happy state. He had separated himself from her by the process of the barred door, because she had borne him a son that stood unpurged of a charge of having murdered a woman. While thus separated from his wife, brooding over the disgrace brought upon his name by his reputed son, he became very sick. His wife offered to nurse him, but he refused her services."In order that Mrs. Harper might be near her husband in his affliction, she gave him information that actually cured him—lifted him from his bed. She explained to him that she would have told him before, but feared that he would tell abroad what she confided to him, and thereby occasion more trouble. He promised to never divulge what she had said and kept his promise by telling me, the first man that he had seen since he was told. And here is the strange story that disentangles a deep mystery and solves a question which I wasdetermined to probe to the bottom. I give in my own words the story told me by Silas Harper."This couple, Silas and Dilsy Harper, had had two sons so very much alike that hardly anyone save Mrs. Harper could readily distinguish them when they were attired alike."Dave was one day walking along the street with a young lady when a policeman collided with them. Words passed between them and in the fight that ensued Dave wounded the policeman and was sentenced to prison for twenty years. Another lad, a consumptive was sentenced the same day for two years. The guard that took them to the prison did not know one from the other, and at the suggestion of the consumptive the two exchanged names and sentences. When Dave Harper's name was called the consumptive stepped forward and registered, and when the latter's name was called Dave stepped forward. The prison officials, not dreaming that a man with a two years' sentence would exchange with one having twenty years' sentence, the matter was arranged without difficulty. In less than a year's time the consumptive, regarded as Dave Harper, died and was buried as such."The real Dave Harper served the consumptive's two years' sentence and was duly released from prison. He was so chagrined over the disgrace that his incarceration in prison had brought upon his family, he did not make himself known at home when released. Desiring to live in Almaville and yet be free from the danger of being identified as Dave Harper, he found employment in a saloon patronized only by whites. It was here that he overheard Arthur Daleman, Jr., telling his companions of a pretty 'coon,' Foresta Crump, whom he had slated for hisnext victim. Knowing that Foresta was Bud's fiancee he determined to look into the matter. As he watched the Daleman residence he saw Arthur Daleman, Jr., enter the servant girl's room. Judging that Foresta was favorably receiving his attentions Dave determined upon the killing of them both. Thus it was that my dear Alene lost her life. She received a blow that was drawn to her by the wicked plannings of her foster brother."Dave Harper supposing that he killed Foresta and Arthur Daleman, Jr., ran by home, made himself known to his mother and confessed all to her. He told his mother that Leroy Crutcher had seen him and no doubt mistook him for Bud and that he would therefore be compelled to hover near the city so that he might return and confess to the committing of the crime in case Bud was about to be made to suffer for his deed."Such are the facts as they came to me from Aunt Dilsy's husband. I have confronted Arthur Daleman, Jr., with the matter and he has confessed to his part of the awful tragedy."I have now changed back to the white race. In my capacity of a white man I have assured Aunt Dilsy that Bud Harper shall not be molested and have assured Mrs. Crump that it is safe for Foresta to return. The two women are happy souls. I have succeeded in locating Bud and Foresta and shall leave at once for the purpose of restoring them to their families and their friends."My dear Norfleet, in view of the terrible way things get twisted down here, don't you think it is an awful shame that this weak and often hated race is denied the right of trial by jury?
"My Dear Norfleet:I am about at the end of one of the most shocking and most mystifying affairs known to the human race. In keeping with my resolve I disappeared into the Negro race for the purpose of fathoming the mystery of the murder of my beloved Alene. The fact that I could so disappear is one of far-reaching significance. It shows what an awful predicament the Negroes are in. Any white criminal has the race at his mercy. By dropping into the Negro race to commit a crime and immediately thereafter rejoining the white race, he has a most splendid opportunity to escape. And men who commit the darker crimes are not failing to take advantage of the open door; but I picked up my pen to tell you my weird story.
"Well, I actually became a boarder in the home of Aunt Dilsy, the mother of the man accused of murdering my Alene. By mingling with the Negroes I came in contact with three persistent beliefs which I investigated.
"First of all, the Negroes were practically a unit in holdingthat Bud Harper had not committed the crime.
"On the next point to be mentioned the popular belief was divided. The more intelligent class held that the Negro lynched was not Bud Harper, but some strange Negro resembling him. When confronted with the fact that Dilsy Harper accepted it as the body of her son Bud, they shrugged their shoulders and said that that report came from the white officers who would pretend that a Negro had said just anything and that Aunt Dilsy would hardly know Bud after the mob got through mutilating him. They believed that Bud was living and that he had come home while the body supposed to be his was lying there. The more superstitious among them held that Bud was unjustly killed and his ghost had come to the wake, and that it could be seen almost any night on the bridge.
"I found whispered around in a rather select circle the belief that Arthur Daleman, Jr., had killed Alene. It was thought thatArthurwas secretly in love with his foster sister and in a fit of uncontrollable jealousy had murdered her. A Negro woman, who went to the Daleman's to care for the house, was reputed to have found in Arthur's room appliances for making one assume the appearance of a Negro.
"Now all of these rumors I investigated and I came to the conclusion that the truth of the matter was as follows:
"1. Bud Harper did not kill Alene.
"2. Bud Harper was not hanged.
"3. Bud Harper and not his ghost appeared at his home.
"4. Dilsy Harper accepted the body as that of Bud to prevent afurther quest of Bud.
"5. Arthur Daleman, Jr., bore some relation to Alene's murder.
"The fifth conclusion was forced upon me by the guilty hangdog appearance of Arthur Daleman, Jr., which some people mistook for sorrow over Alene's death.
"Now let me tell you the strange manner in which I received confirmation of these things. On taking up my abode at Dilsy Harper's I noticed that she and her husband had no dealings with each other, though they lived in the same house. To-day I came home and found the door unbarred and Silas Harper sitting in his wife's room, his face all wreathed in smiles. Mrs. Harper had been called away and he proceeded to unfold the cause of his previous strained relations with his wife and his present happy state. He had separated himself from her by the process of the barred door, because she had borne him a son that stood unpurged of a charge of having murdered a woman. While thus separated from his wife, brooding over the disgrace brought upon his name by his reputed son, he became very sick. His wife offered to nurse him, but he refused her services.
"In order that Mrs. Harper might be near her husband in his affliction, she gave him information that actually cured him—lifted him from his bed. She explained to him that she would have told him before, but feared that he would tell abroad what she confided to him, and thereby occasion more trouble. He promised to never divulge what she had said and kept his promise by telling me, the first man that he had seen since he was told. And here is the strange story that disentangles a deep mystery and solves a question which I wasdetermined to probe to the bottom. I give in my own words the story told me by Silas Harper.
"This couple, Silas and Dilsy Harper, had had two sons so very much alike that hardly anyone save Mrs. Harper could readily distinguish them when they were attired alike.
"Dave was one day walking along the street with a young lady when a policeman collided with them. Words passed between them and in the fight that ensued Dave wounded the policeman and was sentenced to prison for twenty years. Another lad, a consumptive was sentenced the same day for two years. The guard that took them to the prison did not know one from the other, and at the suggestion of the consumptive the two exchanged names and sentences. When Dave Harper's name was called the consumptive stepped forward and registered, and when the latter's name was called Dave stepped forward. The prison officials, not dreaming that a man with a two years' sentence would exchange with one having twenty years' sentence, the matter was arranged without difficulty. In less than a year's time the consumptive, regarded as Dave Harper, died and was buried as such.
"The real Dave Harper served the consumptive's two years' sentence and was duly released from prison. He was so chagrined over the disgrace that his incarceration in prison had brought upon his family, he did not make himself known at home when released. Desiring to live in Almaville and yet be free from the danger of being identified as Dave Harper, he found employment in a saloon patronized only by whites. It was here that he overheard Arthur Daleman, Jr., telling his companions of a pretty 'coon,' Foresta Crump, whom he had slated for hisnext victim. Knowing that Foresta was Bud's fiancee he determined to look into the matter. As he watched the Daleman residence he saw Arthur Daleman, Jr., enter the servant girl's room. Judging that Foresta was favorably receiving his attentions Dave determined upon the killing of them both. Thus it was that my dear Alene lost her life. She received a blow that was drawn to her by the wicked plannings of her foster brother.
"Dave Harper supposing that he killed Foresta and Arthur Daleman, Jr., ran by home, made himself known to his mother and confessed all to her. He told his mother that Leroy Crutcher had seen him and no doubt mistook him for Bud and that he would therefore be compelled to hover near the city so that he might return and confess to the committing of the crime in case Bud was about to be made to suffer for his deed.
"Such are the facts as they came to me from Aunt Dilsy's husband. I have confronted Arthur Daleman, Jr., with the matter and he has confessed to his part of the awful tragedy.
"I have now changed back to the white race. In my capacity of a white man I have assured Aunt Dilsy that Bud Harper shall not be molested and have assured Mrs. Crump that it is safe for Foresta to return. The two women are happy souls. I have succeeded in locating Bud and Foresta and shall leave at once for the purpose of restoring them to their families and their friends.
"My dear Norfleet, in view of the terrible way things get twisted down here, don't you think it is an awful shame that this weak and often hated race is denied the right of trial by jury?
Ramon."
Decorative Chapter End.
WWhen Bud Harper and Foresta, on the night following their elopement, returned to Almaville, Bud took Foresta by her home to break the news to her mother, leaving her at the gate, while he went to his home to tell his mother. Finding a corpse in his house and noting the terror that his appearance seemed to inspire, Bud left and ran back to Foresta's home. In the meantime Mrs. Crump had explained the situation to Foresta, who now told Bud. With bowed heads and troubled hearts the three sat in deep study as to what to do.
The white people were under the impression that Bud had committed the murder. They had killed another man thinking that it was he. In case they now apprehended him, would the popular feeling be that there was a mistake in the lynching or a mistake as to Bud's having committed the murder?
Bud felt fully able to demonstrate his innocence, but the ruthless mob would hardly give him time to collect his evidence, he feared. Thus, though innocent, he decided that it was best forhim to leave Almaville and remain in hiding for a time at least. Foresta asserted her determination to go with him it mattered not where he went.
Bud gave to Foresta the privilege of choosing their exile. For a number of years the condition of the Negroes in the cotton states farther South had been weighing heavily on her mind. She had read how that under the credit system, the country merchant, charging exorbitant prices for merchandise for which the crops stood as security, was causing the Negro farmer to work from year to year only to sink deeper and deeper into debt. She had read of the contract system under which ignorant Negroes, not knowing the contents of the papers signed, practically sold themselves into slavery, agreeing to work for a number of years for a mere pittance and further agreeing to be locked up in a stockade at night and to pay for the expense of a recapture in case they attempted to escape. She had heard much of the practice of peonage, how that planters and contractors would enter into collusion with magistrates and convict innocent Negroes of crimes in order that they might get Negro laborers by the paying of fines assessed on these trumped up charges. She had read accounts of investigations of the prison system of the South, showing that the various states made the earning of money by the prisoners a prime consideration, and detailing how brutal overseers were wont to maltreatconvicts leased to them by the state. These things coupled with the absence of reformatories for youths were destined, Foresta felt assured, to produce a harvest of criminals. What to her mind added to the hopelessness of the plight of the Negroes was the fact that an emigration agent was required to pay such a heavy tax and stood in such a danger of bodily harm from the planters that nothing was being done toward pointing the inhabitants of the blighted regions to better lands.
Foresta concluded to choose Mississippi, a state in which conditions were in some respects so thoroughly forbidding, as their future home. Two things influenced her in making a choice, a desire to use her education for the amelioration of the ills of which she had heard so much and the thought that a land reputed to be so destitute of hope for the Negro would be searched last of all for Negro refugees. So the two had gone forth in the darkness and journeyed southward.
With money that Bud had saved they bought a small farm near Maulville, Mississippi. It was not long before Foresta's quiet influence was felt throughout that region. The whites who had been preying upon the more ignorant of the Negroes were not long in tracing this new influence to its source. It was agreed among them that the Fultons (for such was the name assumed by Bud and Foresta) were rather undesirable neighbors and a decision was reached to put them outof the way. The thousands of individual murders, and lynching by mobs, had so blunted the sensibility of these whites that they reached this decision without any qualms of conscience. Sidney Fletcher was agreed upon as the man to rid the settlement of Bud and Foresta.
On this particular afternoon, Foresta's hair was hanging down her back in girlish fashion. A small cap sat upon the top of her head, while a blue gingham apron protected her dress. She had finished the milking and was walking toward the house when Sidney Fletcher, the owner of a neighboring farm, approached her.
"Where has Tobe Stewart gone?" asked Fletcher, in a very gruff manner, inquiring about a Negro lad who had run away from him.
Foresta looked at him steadily without replying.
"You —— wench, you, you can't speak can you? You and that dad blasted man of yours have got the big head, anyway," said Fletcher, drawing his pistol and starting toward Foresta.
Foresta dropped her milk pail and ran into the house.
Fletcher took a seat on a bench in the yard and awaited the coming of Bud Harper, Foresta's husband, who was out hunting and was not due for some time yet.
Foresta stole out of the door on the other side of the house and reached a patch of woods without being observed by Sidney Fletcher. By a circuitous route she was able to place herself in Bud's pathway so as to intercept him before he reached home.
"Oh, Bud," said Foresta, greeting her husband, "Old Sid Fletcher is at our house waiting for you with a drawn revolver."
A frown came over Bud's face. "The jealous knave," said he. "Ever since we bought this farm he has had a dislike for me and I have been expecting trouble from him."
"Yes, Bud; but we must stay out of trouble. A colored man hasn't a dog's show in this part of the world."
Bud sat down on a stump and Foresta dropped at his feet.
"Let's stay away from home to-night. We have had trouble enough, Bud," said Foresta pleadingly.
Bud looked down on her tenderly, and said, "It is a shame for a peaceful, industrious man to have a home and not be able to go to it."
Just then Sidney Fletcher was seen coming in their direction.
"Get behind a tree; nobody knows what will take place," said Bud to Foresta. She obeyed and Bud now calmly awaited the approach of Sidney Fletcher.
When Fletcher got in shooting distance he deliberately opened fire on Bud. After the third shot Bud raised his gun to his shoulder and fired and Fletcher fell backward a corpse. Bud andForesta now looked at each other aghast. They knew the penalty attached to the raising of a black hand against a white man, even when that man unjustly sought the life of the black.
Rushing to their humble little home, Bud and Foresta hastily gathered a few things into a bundle, seized whatever food there was in the house, armed themselves and went forth as fugitives, Foresta attiring herself in man's clothing. By day and by night, through fields and forest, swamp and morass, avoiding the sight of man the unhappy couple fled.
The news of the killing of Fletcher was not long in getting abroad and a mob of several hundred whites was soon organized to give chase. The news agencies acquainted the whole nation with the situation and day by day the millions of America scanned with eagerness and with sad forebodings the progress of the chase. Several Negroes who happened to be found in the pathway of the mob that was sweeping the country were shot down or hung according to the whim of the pursuers.
The two in turn relieved each other at watching, whenever the exhausted condition of one or the other imperatively demanded sleep. It became Foresta's time to sleep and the two took a position behind a huge fallen tree, Foresta reclining her head upon Bud's lap. Soon she was asleep, with Bud looking down in tenderness on her pretty face, now showing signs of theterrible strain that they were undergoing. Bud thought of his position as her protector and gnashed his teeth in the bitterness of his soul as he contemplated his utter helplessness. Hot tears coursed down his cheeks and, dropping on Foresta's face, awakened her.
Foresta, who had been having troubled dreams, quickly lifted her head from Bud's lap and looked about in terror. Turning toward him she saw his eyes reddened from weeping. She threw herself on his shoulder and the two now gave way to their feelings for the first time.
"We have one consolation, Bud. They can't destroy our love for one another, can they?" said Foresta.
Bud was too full of sorrow at the plight of the wife of his bosom to reply. A deep groan of anguish escaped his lips. He leaned back against the log, Foresta still clinging to his neck. After a while both of them from sheer exhaustion fell asleep.