Danny's Own Story

by Don Marquis

  CHAPTER XIX

  _Thirty_ men with guns would be considerable of a proposition to buckagainst, so we didn't try it. They took us out of the wagon, and theypinted us down the road, steering us fur a country schoolhouse whichwas, I judged from their talk, about a quarter of a mile away. They tookus silent, fur after we found they didn't answer no questions we quitasking any. We jest walked along, and guessed what we was up against,and why. Daddy Withers, he trailed along behind. They had tried to sendhim along home, but he wouldn't go. So they let him foller and paid nomore heed to him.

  Sam, he kept a-talking and a-begging, and several men a-telling of himto shut up. And him not a-doing it. Till finally one feller says verydisgusted-like:

  "Boys, I'm going to turn this nigger loose."

  "We'll want his evidence," says another one.

  "Evidence!" says the first one. "What's the evidence of a scared niggerworth?"

  "I reckon that one this afternoon was considerable scared, when he giveus that evidence against himself--that is, if you call it evidence."

  "A nigger can give evidence against a nigger, and it's all right," saysanother voice--which it come from a feller that had a-holt of my wriston the left-hand side of me--"but these are white men we are going totry to-night. The case is too serious to take nigger evidence. Besides,I reckon we got all the evidence any one could need. This nigger ain'tcharged with any crime himself, and my idea is that he ain't to beallowed to figure one way or the other in this thing."

  So they turned Sam loose. I never seen nor hearn tell of Sam since then.They fired a couple of guns into the air as he started down the road,jest fur fun, and mebby he is running yet.

  The feller had been talking like he was a lawyer, so I asts him whatcrime we was charged with. But he didn't answer me. And jest then wegets in sight of that schoolhouse.

  It set on top of a little hill, partially in the moonlight, with a fewsad-looking pine trees scattered around it, and the fence in frontbroke down. Even after night you could see it was a shabby-looking littleplace.

  Old Daddy Withers tied his mule to the broken down fence. Somebodybusted the front door down. Somebody else lighted matches. The firstthing I knowed, we was all inside, and four or five dirty little coaloil lamps, with tin reflectors to 'em, which I s'pose was used ordinaryfur school exhibitions, was being lighted.

  We was waltzed up onto the teacher's platform, Doctor Kirby and me, andset down in chairs there, with two men to each of us, and then a tall,rawboned feller stalks up to the teacher's desk, and raps on it with thebutt end of a pistol, and says:

  "Gentlemen, this meeting will come to order."

  Which they was orderly enough before that, but they all took off theirhats when he rapped, like in a court room or a church, and most of 'emset down.

  They set down in the school kids' seats, or on top of the desks, andtheir legs stuck out into the aisles, and they looked uncomfortable andawkward. But they looked earnest and they looked sollum, too, and theywasn't no joking nor skylarking going on, nor no kind of rowdyness,neither. These here men wasn't toughs, by any manner of means, butthe most part of 'em respectable farmers. They had a look of meaningbusiness.

  "Gentlemen," says the feller who had rapped, "who will you have for yourchairman?"

  "I reckon you'll do, Will," says another feller to the raw-boned man,which seemed to satisfy him. But he made 'em vote on it before he tookoffice.

  "Now then," says Will, "the accused must have counsel."

  "Will," says another feller, very hasty, "what's the use of all thisfuss an' feathers? You know as well as I do there's nothing legal aboutthis. It's only necessary. For my part--"

  "Buck Hightower," says Will, pounding on the desk, "you will please cometo order." Which Buck done it.

  "Now," says the chairman, turning toward Doctor Kirby, who had beensetting there looking thoughtful from one man to another, like he wassizing each one up, "now I must explain to the chief defendant that wedon't intend to lynch him."

  He stopped a second on that word LYNCH as if to let it soak in. Thedoctor, he bowed toward him very cool and ceremonious, and says, mockingof him:

  "You reassure me, Mister--Mister--What is your name?" He said it in away that would of made a saint mad.

  "My name ain't any difference," says Will, trying not to show he wasnettled.

  "You are quite right," says the doctor, looking Will up and down fromhead to foot, very slow and insulting, "it's of no consequence in theworld."

  Will, he flushed up, but he makes himself steady and cool, and he goeson with his little speech: "There is to be no lynching here to-night.There is to be a trial, and, if necessary, an execution."

  "Would it be asking too much," says the doctor very polite, "if I wereto inquire who is to be tried, and before what court, and upon whatcharge?"

  There was a clearing of throats and a shuffling of feet fur a minute.One old deaf feller, with a red nose, who had his hand behind his earand was leaning forward so as not to miss a breath of what any one said,ast his neighbour in a loud whisper, "How?" Then an undersized littlefeller, who wasn't a farmer by his clothes, got up and moved toward theplatform. He had a bulging-out forehead, and thin lips, and a quick,nervous way about him:

  "You are to be tried," he says to the doctor, speaking in a kind ofshrill sing-song that cut your nerves in that room full of bottled-upexcitement like a locust on a hot day. "You are to be tried before thisself-constituted court of Caucasian citizens--Anglo-Saxons, sir, everyman of them, whose forbears were at Runnymede! The charge against youis stirring up the negroes of this community to the point of revolt.You are accused, sir, of representing yourself to them as some kind ofa Moses. You are arraigned here for endangering the peace of the countyand the supremacy of the Caucasian race by inspiring in the negroes thehope of equality."

  Old Daddy Withers had been setting back by the door. I seen him getup and slip out. It didn't look to me to be any place fur a gentle oldpoet. While that little feller was making that charge you could feel theair getting tingly, like it does before a rain storm.

  Some fellers started to clap their hands like at a political rally andto say, "Go it, Billy!" "That's right, Harden!" Which I found out laterBilly Harden was in the state legislature, and quite a speaker, andknowed it. Will, the chairman, he pounded down the applause, and then hesays to the doctor, pointing to Billy Harden:

  "No man shall say of us that we did not give you a fair trial and asquare deal. I'm goin' to appoint this gentleman as your counsel, andI'm goin' to give you a reasonable time to talk with him in private andprepare your case. He is the ablest lawyer in southwest Georgia and thebrightest son of Watson County."

  The doctor looks kind of lazy and Bill Harden, and back agin at Will,the chairman, and smiles out of the corner of his mouth. Then he says,sort of taking in the rest of the crowd with his remark, like them twostanding there paying each other compliments wasn't nothing but a joke:

  "I hope neither of you will take it too much to heart if I'm notimpressed by your sense of justice--or your friend's ability."

  "Then," said Will, "I take it that you intend to act as your owncounsel?"

  "You may take it," says the doctor, rousing of himself up, "you may takeit--from me--that I refuse to recognize you and your crowd as a court ofany kind; that I know nothing of the silly accusations against me;that I find no reason at all why I should take the trouble of making adefence before an armed mob that can only mean one of two things."

  "One of two things?" says Will.

  "Yes," says the doctor, very quiet, but raising his voice a little andlooking him hard in the eyes. "You and your gang can mean only one oftwo things. Either a bad joke, or else--"

  And he stopped a second, leaning forward in his chair, with the look ofhalf raising out of it, so as to bring out the word very decided--

  "MURDER!"

  The way he done it left that there word hanging in the room, so youcould almost see it and almost feel it there, like it was a thin
g thathad to be faced and looked at and took into account. They all felt itthat-a-way, too; fur they wasn't a sound fur a minute. Then Will says:

  "We don't plan murder, and you'll find this ain't a joke. And since yourefuse to accept counsel--"

  Jest then Buck Hightower interrupts him by yelling out, "I make a motionBilly Harden be prosecuting attorney, then. Let's hurry this thingalong!" And several started to applaud, and call fur Billy Harden toprosecute. But Will, he pounded down the applause agin, and says:

  "I was about to suggest that Mr. Harden might be prevailed upon toaccept that task."

  "Yes," says the doctor, very gentle and easy. "Quite so! I fanciedmyself that Mr. Harden came along with the idea of making a speecheither for or against." And he grinned at Billy Harden in a way thatseemed to make him wild, though he tried not to show it. Somehow thedoctor seemed to be all keyed up, instead of scared, like a fellerthat's had jest enough to drink to give him a fighting edge.

  "Mr. Chairman," says Billy Harden, flushing up and stuttering jest alittle, "I b-beg leave to d-d-decline."

  "What," says the doctor, sort of playing with Billy with his eyes andgrin, and turning like to let the whole crowd in on the joke, "DECLINE?The eminent gentleman declines! And he is going to sit down, too, withall that speech bottled up in him! O Demosthenes!" he says, "you havelost your pebble in front of all Greece."

  Several grinned at Billy Harden as he set down, and three or fourlaughed outright. I guess about half of them there knowed him fur a windbag, and some wasn't sorry to see him joshed. But I seen what the doctorwas trying to do. He knowed he was in an awful tight place, and he wasfeeling that crowd's pulse, so to speak. He had been talking to crowdsfur twenty years, and he knowed the kind of sudden turns they will take,and how to take advantage of 'em. He was planning and figgering in hismind all the time jest what side to ketch 'em on, and how to split upthe one, solid crowd-mind into different minds. But the little bit ofa laugh he turned against Billy Harden was only on the surface, like astraw floating on a whirlpool. These men was here fur business.

  Buck Hightower jumps up and says:

  "Will, I'm getting tired of this court foolishness. The question is,Does this man come into this county and do what he has done and get outagain? We know all about him. He sneaked in here and gave out he washere to turn the niggers white--that he was some kind of a new-fangledJesus sent especially to niggers, which is blasphemy in itself--andhe's got 'em stirred up. They're boilin' and festerin' with notions ofequality till we're lucky if we don't have to lynch a dozen of 'em,like they did in Atlanta last summer, to get 'em back into their placesagain. Do we save ourselves more trouble by stringing him up as awarning to the negroes? Or do we invite trouble by turning him loose?Which? All it needs is a vote."

  And he set down agin. You could see he had made a hit with the boys.They was a kind of a growl rolled around the room. The feelings in thatplace was getting stronger and stronger. I was scared, but trying not toshow it. My fingers kept feeling around in my pocket fur something thatwasn't there. But my brain couldn't remember what my fingers was feelingfur. Then it come on me sudden it was a buckeye I picked up in thewoods in Indiany one day, and I had lost it. I ain't superstitious aboutbuckeyes or horse-shoes, but remembering I had lost it somehow made mefeel worse. But Doctor Kirby had a good holt on himself; his face wasa bit redder'n usual, and his eyes was sparkling, and he was both eagerand watchful. When Buck Hightower sets down the chairman clears histhroat like he is going to speak. But--

  "Just a moment," says Doctor Kirby, getting on his feet, and takinga step toward the chairman. And the way he stopped and stood madeeverybody look at him. Then he went on:

  "Once more," he says, "I call the attention of every man present to thefact that what the last speaker proposes is--"

  And then he let 'em have that word agin, full in their faces, to thinkabout--

  "MURDER! Merely murder."

  He was bound they shouldn't get away from that word and what it stoodfur. And every man there DID think, too, fur they was another littlepause. And not one of 'em looked at another one fur a minute. DoctorKirby leaned forward from the platform, running his eyes over the crowd,and jest natcherally shoved that word into the room so hard with hismind that every mind there had to take it in.

  But as he held 'em to it they come a bang from one of the windows. Itbroke the charm. Fur everybody jumped. I jumped myself. When the endof the world comes and the earth busts in the middle, it won't sound nolouder than that bang did. It was a wooden shutter. The wind was risingoutside, and it flew open and whacked agin' the building.

  Then a big, heavy-set man that hadn't spoke before riz up from one ofthe hind seats, like he had heard a dare to fight, and walked slowlydown toward the front. He had a red face, which was considerablepock-marked, and very deep-set eyes, and a deep voice.

  "Since when," he says, taking up his stand a dozen feet or so in frontof the doctor, "since when has any civilization refused to commit murderwhen murder was necessary for its protection?"

  One of the top glasses of that window was out, and with the shutter openthey come a breeze through that fluttered some strips of dirty-colouredpapers, fly-specked and dusty and spider-webbed, that hung on stringsacrost the room, jest below the ceiling. I guess they had been left overfrom some Christmas doings.

  "My friend," said the pock-marked man to the doctor--and the funny thingabout it was he didn't talk unfriendly when he said it--"the word youinsist on is just a WORD, like any other word."

  They was a spider rousted out of his web by that disturbance among thestrings and papers. He started down from above on jest one string ofweb, seemingly spinning part of it out of himself as he come, the waythey do. I couldn't keep my eyes off'n him.

  "Murder," says the doctor, "is a thing."

  "It is a WORD," says the other man, "FOR a thing. For a thing whichsometimes seems necessary. Lynching, war, execution, murder--they areall words for different ways of wiping out human life. Killing sometimesseems wrong, and sometimes right. But right or wrong, and with one wordor another tacked to it, it is DONE when a community wants to get rid ofsomething dangerous to it."

  That there spider was a squat, ugly-looking devil, hunched up on hisstring amongst all his crooked legs. The wind would come in littlepuffs, and swing him a little way toward the doctor's head, and thentoward the pock-marked man's head, back and forth and back and forth,between them two as they spoke. It looked to me like he was listening towhat they said and waiting fur something.

  "Murder," says the doctor, "is murder--illegal killing--and you can'tmake anything else out of it, or talk anything else into it."

  It come to me all to oncet that that ugly spider was swinging back andforth like the pendulum on a clock, and marking time. I wondered howmuch time they was left in the world.

  "It would be none the less a murder," said the pock-marked man, "if youwere to be hanged after a trial in some county court. Society had beenobliged to deny the privilege of committing murder to the individual andreserve it for the community. If our communal sense says you should die,the thing is neither better nor worse than if a sheriff hanged you."

  "I am not to be hanged by a sheriff," says the doctor, very cool andsteady, "because I have committed no crime. I am not to be killed by youbecause you dare not, in spite of all you say, outrage the law to thatextent."

  And they looked each other in the eyes so long and hard that every oneelse in the schoolhouse held their breath.

  "DARE not?" says the pock-marked man. And he reached forward slow andtook that spider in his hand, and crushed it there, and wiped his handalong his pants leg. "Dare not? YES, BUT WE DARE. The only question forus men here is whether we dare to let you go free."

  "Your defence of lynching," says Doctor Kirby, "shows that you, atleast, are a man who can think. Tell me what I am accused of?"

  And then the trial begun in earnest.