MARTHA They said it would go better if he’d not testify.
MRS GREGG We have to put ourselves in the hands of those who know best.
MARTHA I felt like he wanted to do the right thing.
MRS GREGG Yes.
MARTHA I know that he felt worst of all about you . . .
MRS GREGG I cant hate him. We must have failed him somewhere. But I’ve had to put my feelings aside.
MARTHA Yes mam. I caint help but think it was just a mistake of some kind. If they’d of got me up there I thought about it and I wonder what I would of said. I mean if they ast me. I’d of maybe had to tell em about that gold piece and it would of sounded worse than what it was. I mean, he never meant nothin by it. He done that with . . . I mean he would do stuff like that, you know, just in fun?
Mrs Gregg’s face darkens and she draws slightly back from Martha.
MRS GREGG Do what?
MARTHA Well, you know. Like offer ye money. It didnt mean nothin. Bobby could not have knowed nothin about it. You know I wouldnt of told him hotheaded as he was.
MRS GREGG (softly, cynically, with surprise) Oh you are a little darling, arent you?
Martha leans toward her.
MARTHA Mam, it will just kill Daddy. I know I dont have no right to ast nothin of you. But Daddy just swore by Mr Gregg. Your husband . . .
Mrs Gregg rises from her chair.
MRS GREGG My son was right about you people. I wouldnt listen to him. He used to make fun of my husband’s idealism and I wouldnt listen to it. I wouldnt hear it.
Martha rises from her chair. She is not listening. Her face is anguished and she is prepared now to launch a plea for clemency.
MARTHA I wouldnt ast nothin for myself. Not for him even. Mrs Gregg. Much as he loved his boy I believe your husband would of wanted you to do somethin . . .
MRS GREGG The poor and the downtrodden. He was so cynical.
MARTHA They’d just as well put that rope around Daddy’s neck when they get done. Mrs. Gregg.
Mrs Gregg has turned and taken up the bell. She rings it vigorously as if to drown out the pleas of the supplicant. Her eyes are almost shut.
MARTHA I meant not to ast nothin of ye. But afore God . . .
Mrs Gregg rings the bell again. The maid appears in the doorway, eyes wide at the urgency of the bell.
MRS GREGG Daphne, the young lady will be leaving now. Will you show her out?
MAID Yes Mam.
The maid comes forward and takes Martha by the elbow.
MARTHA I dont blame you Mam.
MRS GREGG Please leave.
Martha turns to the door. She stops and looks back a final time at Mrs Gregg.
MARTHA God bless you Mam.
Mrs Gregg turns from her and puts her hands over her ears.
Interior. The photographer’s shop. Day. A flash of powder from the photographer’s lights and then McEvoy’s portrait staring straight ahead. Then the photographer moving behind his shroud, coming out and attending to his camera. McEvoy sitting in front of a painted backdrop of the period perhaps with Greek columns. He wears a stiff new suit and his hair is cut. In the corner of the shop sits a guard with a rifle across his knees. The photographer comes forward.
PHOTOGRAPHER Now, Mr McEvoy just turn slightly sideways here. Yes. That’s it. No, look toward the camera. That’s the way. We’ll take a three-quarter view. Sit up straight now.
The photographer takes his camera back several paces.
MCEVOY Will my leg show?
PHOTOGRAPHER No no. Not at all. This will just be from about the waist up.
The photographer ducks under his shroud again and the flashpowder explodes. McEvoy sits stiffly even after the picture is taken. The photographer comes forward.
PHOTOGRAPHER I think that should do it now, Mr McEvoy.
McEvoy rises and takes up his crutch and the guard rises with his rifle.
PHOTOGRAPHER Will you, eh . . . Will you be wanting to see these? I mean, should I just have them sent directly to the family?
MCEVOY Yeah. Sure. I dont need to see em.
PHOTOGRAPHER Well fine. I would like to ask you . . . Well I’d like to ask if you had any objection to me makin some copies. Like maybe make some copies of one of the pictures . . .
McEvoy has taken a step toward the door, the guard behind him. He turns and squints at the photographer.
MCEVOY What for?
PHOTOGRAPHER Well, to have them. I thought maybe to print some, you know . . .
MCEVOY To sell.
PHOTOGRAPHER Well I thought perhaps your family might could use the money.
McEvoy turns to the guard.
MCEVOY What do you think, Virgil?
GUARD Well, I dont know Bob. Just whatever you think.
The guard has looked down. McEvoy turns back to the photographer.
PHOTOGRAPHER I would be willing to share any . . . anything realized—on, say, a fifty fifty basis . . .
MCEVOY I’ll tell ye what I think. Virgil. I think we better go.
GUARD Sure Bob.
The guard glances at the photographer and comes past McEvoy and holds the door for him. McEvoy goes out. At the door he stops and looks back in at the photographer.
MCEVOY I dont give a big rat’s ass. If people are dumb enough to buy em. Dont you let my family know where the money come from. Virgil, you see about it for me, will ye?
GUARD Sure will, Bob.
Exterior. Main street. Day. McEvoy and the guard go up the street together. People watch covertly from doors or windows. McEvoy blinks in the sunlight and looks about. He sees a man he knows crossing to a store building. The man glances his way and looks away again as if he hadnt seen him. McEvoy calls to him.
MCEVOY Mornin, Louis.
The man goes on into the store.
MCEVOY Go on then, you son of a bitch. If you dont know me.
McEvoy turns to look at the guard walking beside him but his eye goes past him to see Martha coming up the street. She is hurrying and when she sees him look at her she slows but she comes toward them. He turns and goes on but she falls in behind them and follows and he looks over his shoulder at her and finally he looks at the guard and the guard looks at her following them and nods to McEvoy and he turns in the street and Martha comes up to him while the guard stands off a few paces and cuts himself a chew of twist. Martha stands in front of McEvoy with a face almost in tears.
MARTHA Bobby.
McEvoy stands somewhat stiffly. She makes little plucking motions in the air at his chest as if she would touch him.
MARTHA Bobby . . .
MCEVOY Go home little sister.
MARTHA Tell me what to do, Bobby.
MCEVOY Go home.
MARTHA I keep havin this dream and I dream that you got let off and I was so happy and then I wake up and it aint so. I caint quit cryin all the time.
MCEVOY They lied to me. They all said I’d . . . I was never born to be hung. I could of been somebody.
MARTHA Bobby . . .
MCEVOY Other men has prospered by their mistakes.
MARTHA Bobby.
MCEVOY I know he insulted you. The people in this town know what he was. They didnt want to hear it. They was not soul one would stand up and . . .
MARTHA Bobby.
MCEVOY I’d of gone to the penitentiary.
MARTHA Bobby.
MCEVOY I caint stop thinking about it is all. I just caint seem to quit thinkin about it all the time. Like you wake up sometimes of the mornin and for a minute you feel good and then you see where you are.
MARTHA I’d of told em anything, Bobby. I swear it. They wouldnt let me. I’d of told em any kind of lie. I wouldnt care. I’d of swore it on ten Bibles if it sent my soul to hell forever and ever I wouldnt care.
MCEVOY It’s all right.
MARTHA I swear it, Bobby. Bobby.
MCEVOY Dont talk like that. It’s all right. I want you to forget all this. Find the best man . . . you find the best man in the world. Dont take
no culls. And you make him be good to you. If he dont . . . And you have a good life. Little sister. The best that anybody ever had in this damned world. Now go on home.
He turns and goes on. He is almost crying. She is slumped and sobbing brokenly, standing there in the street.
Interior. McEvoy’s cell. He is dressed in his suit and he is sitting on a box holding a bouquet of flowers. In the corner of the cell the priest Father Heidenkamp is standing in his robe reading silently to himself.
Exterior. Jail. Mr McEvoy arrives and bangs at the door. He is half addled with grief. He is admitted but the jailer shakes his head no. Another jailer is brought into the room.
FIRST JAILER I done told him. You tell him. Look at him.
SECOND JAILER Mr McEvoy, you better just go on home. You’re not in no condition to help your son.
Mr McEvoy looks from one to the other of them in disbelief.
MR MCEVOY You got to let me see him.
FIRST JAILER You’re drunk.
MR MCEVOY I’m not.
FIRST JAILER You caint see him.
MR MCEVOY Why not?
FIRST JAILER You’re drunk.
SECOND JAILER You’d better go along now. Dont let your son see you like this.
MR MCEVOY I swear to God. I’ve not had a drink . . .
SECOND JAILER Tommy, if he wont go peaceably you’ll have to take him out. We caint have this here. This is a sacred time.
FIRST JAILER Let’s go.
He takes Mr McEvoy by the arm and escorts him to the door.
MR MCEVOY Please . . .
Jailer opens the door and eases Mr McEvoy outside and shuts the door. Mr McEvoy raises his hand as if he’d bang on the door but then he merely touches the door and lets his forehead fall against it.
Exterior. Jail. Two men arrive on a wagon in front of the doors and one climbs down and taps at the door with the butt of his whip. The door opens and the jailer looks out. The teamster nods toward the wagon and they talk and the jailer nods and the teamster goes back to the wagon and the two teamsters slide a black wooden coffin off the tailboard and carry it in.
Interior. McEvoy’s cell. The cell door opens and the sheriff and a deputy enter.
SHERIFF Bob.
McEvoy raises his head and stares at the sheriff without expression.
SHERIFF Are you ready, son?
McEvoy stands, rather quickly, taking up his crutch. He is still holding the flowers.
MCEVOY Yes. I’m ready.
The jailer comes forward and removes the irons from his wrists.
Exterior. Jail. A crowd of some thirty people at the door. The church bell clock strikes twelve. The door opens and the people enter.
Interior. The jail corridor. McEvoy supported by the priest and by his crutch. They enter the execution chamber, a small room with one window. The rope hangs from an overhead beam which has been bored to receive it. There is a trapdoor cut in the floor. McEvoy looks about at the faces of the spectators. They watch him with interest. He steps onto the platform and turns. The deputy is standing by respectfully with a long white robe over one arm. Now he comes forward and he and the priest help McEvoy into the robe, McEvoy cooperating and serious, like a priest being dressed for a sacrament. The hangman, Mr Clements, stands by. He is dressed neatly in a suit. The robe is fitted and smoothed and McEvoy hands by his crutch to the priest who steps from the platform.
SHERIFF Bob, did you want to say anything?
McEvoy quickly shakes his head no. The deputy steps forward and binds his hands behind him and Mr Clements comes forward and adjusts the noose about his neck and steps back again and stands with his hands folded in front of him. The sheriff steps forward and pulls a black hood over his head and steps back. McEvoy is standing on one leg. The sheriff looks at the spectators, then he looks to Mr Clements and nods. McEvoy, under the hood, clears his throat. Mr Clements pulls the rope and the trap opens and McEvoy starts down through the floor.
Interior. The room below. The trap doors slam open with a crash, the blocks crash to the floor and the body of McEvoy hurtles down into the room. Dr Perceval and his black attendant watch by lamplight the figure dangling above them. The doctor consults his watch. They wait for a few moments and the doctor steps forward and reaches up to take the dangling figure’s pulse. Behind them is the black wooden coffin. He checks his watch. There is a sound of feet on wooden stairs outside and a sharp rap at the door. The doctor nods to the black, who opens the door. The sheriff and Mr Clements enter. Outside in the hallway is an old man leaning back in a chair. The camera holds on this man in the hallway throughout the scene. He watches in through the door, which remains open. Beyond him in the hallway is a window with light coming in. In the foreground are stairs coming down from the floor above. The old man watches in the door and when all is clear he takes from the bib of his overalls a piece of wood he is carving together with his jack-knife and falls to carving very methodically, letting the chips fall into the upturned cuff of his overalls.
DOCTOR (os) You dont have to fill that in. It’s down here. Violent or accidental death.
SHERIFF (os) Does Mr Clements have to sign this?
DOCTOR (os) Mr Clements has to sign the release. No. It just says that the state relinquishes all claims.
VOICE (os) Give us some more slack.
VOICE 2 (os) Get his foot there.
DOCTOR (os) Yes. Time of death is 1:13 p.m.
SHERIFF (os) What about this ‘how did injury occur’?
Sounds of the body being lowered, grunts.
VOICE (os) Easy.
VOICE (os) You’ll have to cut it.
The old man in the hallway raises the carving and blows on it and looks at it and continues whittling.
SHERIFF (os) Thank you Mr Clements. Yes.
Sounds of feet on the wooden stairs. The old man looks up and carefully tucks the carving and the knife into the bib of his overalls. The sheriff and another man come down the steps and come past the old man and enter the room. The door remains open. The old man stares straight ahead. After a moment he turns and looks into the room, then carefully takes out his carving and his knife again. Sounds of hammering the coffinlid nails.
Interior. Narrow hallway. Six men struggling along the passage with the coffin.
Exterior. Long shot of jail and an empty wagon standing in the front with Patrick McEvoy waiting. The doors open and the men come out with the coffin and load it into the back of the wagon. The sheriff approaches Mr McEvoy with a paper and gets him to sign it. The other men stand around somewhat uneasily. Mr McEvoy looks at them and then turns and takes up the reins and chucks up the mule and they start off.
Exterior. Day. The Graniteville cemetery. A scaffolding of poles is erected over the monument of William Gregg and the monument is being hoisted with a block and tackle. A heavy freight wagon with an six-mule team is waiting to be backed under and receive the monument. A crew of gravediggers wait on with shovels. Teamsters back the mules and the stone is lowered into the bed of the wagon and the diggers come forth with their picks and shovels and proceed to exhume the bodies of the Gregg family. Mrs Gregg in her carriage waits on in the distance. It is a quiet and sunny scene. She gives the word to her man and he chucks up the team and they go on out the road among the stones.
Interior. Late afternoon. The state hospital at Columbia. The young man from the opening of the film approaches the desk. He and the young woman at the desk converse briefly and he signs his name on the visitor’s roster and she motions to an orderly who comes over. They converse and the orderly beckons the young man to follow him. The young man is carrying a bouquet of flowers. There is a muted sound of voices beyond the walls. A hall in the hospital. The orderly coming along. The young man following behind. An old man is mopping the floor and he stands at a sort of attention with his mop while they pass and then turns and makes a strange mudra after them with his hands before taking up his mop again.
The orderly and the young man pause in front of a small cu
bicle and the orderly nods to the young man and he enters. A white light comes in at the window. Old sheets for curtains. An old woman in an institutional robe is sleeping in a chair by the window. The young man comes in and takes a seat carefully on the bed. He puts his hat down and looks at the old woman. He folds his hands together, holding the flowers, and sits looking down at his feet like one holding a vigil. Shot reminiscent of Bobby in his cell before execution. After a while he looks up. He might almost have been praying at a wake. When he looks up he sees with a start that her eyes are on him, awake and intense.
MARTHA Do I know you?
YOUNG MAN No Mam.
MARTHA Are you a doctor?
YOUNG MAN No Mam. My name is William Chaffee. I’m from Charleston.
MARTHA Well you look like you’re somebody.
He realizes that he is holding the flowers and he extends them toward her. She looks at them for a moment and then she reaches out and takes them.
YOUNG MAN I was at Graniteville this morning, Miss McEvoy. I came up on the train.
MARTHA I lived there as a young girl.
YOUNG MAN Yes Mam.
MARTHA These are just the prettiest flowers. Are these for me?
YOUNG MAN Yes.
MARTHA Well I declare.
YOUNG MAN I guess most ladies like flowers.
MARTHA I was always a fool about flowers. I guess I take after my daddy thataway. He was a nurseryman. He had peach orchards . . . You never seen the like of peaches. They used to ship em out by train. Just carloads of em. He had a touch with anything growin. Just had a sleight for it.
YOUNG MAN I talked to a Mr Bolinger down at Graniteville. He asked to be remembered to you.
MARTHA Well I dont know. They was several of them. They was some of em got high up in the mill.
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