The Clansman

by Thomas Dixon Jr

  But that the end of their brief reign in a white man’s land had come, but few of them doubted. The events of the night were sufficiently eloquent. The movement of the clouds in sympathy was unnecessary.

  Old Stoneman sent for Lynch, and found he had fled to Columbia. He sent for the only lawyer in town whom the Lieutenant-Governor had told him could be trusted.

  The lawyer was polite, but his refusal to undertake the prosecution of any alleged member of the Klan was emphatic.

  “I’m a sinful man, sir,” he said with a smile. “Besides, I prefer to live, on general principles.”

  “I’ll pay you well,” urged the old man, “and if you secure the conviction of Ben Cameron, the man we believe to be the head of this Klan, I’ll give you ten thousand dollars.”

  The lawyer was whittling on a piece of pine meditatively.

  “That’s a big lot of money in these hard times. I’d like to own it, but I’m afraid it wouldn’t be good at the bank on the other side. I prefer the green fields of South Carolina to those of Eden. My harp isn’t in tune.”

  Stoneman snorted in disgust:

  “Will you ask the Mayor to call to see me at once?”

  “We ain’t got none,” was the laconic answer.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Haven’t you heard what happened to his Honour last night?”

  “No.”

  “The Klan called to see him,” went on the lawyer with a quizzical look “at 3 A. M. Rather early for a visit of state. They gave him forty-nine lashes on his bare back, and persuaded him that the climate of Piedmont didn’t agree with him. His Honour, Mayor Bizzel, left this morning with his negro wife and brood of mulatto children for his home, the slums of Cleveland, Ohio. We are deprived of his illustrious example, and he may not be a wiser man than when he came, but he’s a much sadder one.”

  Stoneman dismissed the even-tempered member of the bar, and wired Lynch to return immediately to Piedmont. He determined to conduct the prosecution of Ben Cameron in person. With the aid of the Lieutenant-Governor he succeeded in finding a man who would dare to swear out a warrant against him.

  As a preliminary skirmish he was charged with a violation of the statutory laws of the United States relating to Reconstruction and arraigned before a Commissioner.

  Against Elsie’s agonizing protest, old Stoneman appeared at the courthouse to conduct the prosecution.

  In the absence of the United States Marshal, the warrant had been placed in the hands of the sheriff, returnable at ten o’clock on the morning fixed for the trial. The new sheriff of Ulster was no less a personage than Uncle Aleck, who had resigned his seat in the House to accept the more profitable one of High Sheriff of the County.

  There was a long delay in beginning the trial. At 10:30 not a single witness summoned had appeared, nor had the prisoner seen fit to honour the court with his presence.

  Old Stoneman sat fumbling his hands in nervous, sullen rage, while Phil looked on with amusement.

  “Send for the sheriff,” he growled to the Commissioner.

  In a moment Aleck appeared bowing humbly and politely to every white man he passed. He bent halfway to the floor before the Commissioner and said:

  “Marse Ben be here in er minute, sah. He’s er eatin’ his breakfus’. I run erlong erhead.”

  Stoneman’s face was a thundercloud as he scrambled to his feet and glared at Aleck:

  “Marse Ben? Did you say Marse Ben? Who’s he?”

  Aleck bowed low again.

  “De young Colonel, sah—Marse Ben Cameron.”

  “And you the sheriff of this county trotted along in front to make the way smooth for your prisoner?”

  “Yessah!”

  “Is that the way you escort prisoners before a court?”

  “Dem kin’ er prisoners—yessah.”

  “Why didn’t you walk beside him?”

  Aleck grinned from ear to ear and bowed very low:

  “He say sumfin’ to me, sah!”

  “And what did he say?”

  Aleck shook his head and laughed:

  “I hates ter insinuate ter de cote, sah!”

  “What did he say to you?” thundered Stoneman.

  “He say—he say—ef I walk ’longside er him—he knock hell outen me, sah!”

  “Indeed.”

  “Yessah, en I ‘spec’ he would,” said Aleck insinuatingly. “La, he’s a gemman, sah, he is! He tell me he come right on. He be here sho’.”

  Stoneman whispered to Lynch, turned with a look of contempt to Aleck, and said:

  “Mr. Sheriff, you interest me. Will you be kind enough to explain to this court what has happened to you lately to so miraculously change your manners?”

  Aleck glanced around the room nervously.

  “I seed sumfin’—a vision, sah!”

  “A vision? Are you given to visions?”

  “Na-sah. Dis yere wuz er sho’ ’nuff vision! I wuz er feelin’ bad all day yistiddy. Soon in de mawnin’, ez I wuz gwine ’long de road, I see a big black bird er settin’ on de fence. He flop his wings, look right at me en say, ‘Corpse! Corpse! Corpse!’”—Aleck’s voice dropped to a whisper—“’en las’ night de Ku Kluxes come ter see me, sah!”

  Stoneman lifted his beetling brows.

  “That’s interesting. We are searching for information on that subject.”

  “Yessah! Dey wuz Sperits, ridin’ white hosses wid flowin’ white robes, en big blood-red eyes! De hosses wuz twenty feet high, en some er de Sperits wuz higher dan dis cote-house! Dey wuz all bal’ headed, ’cept right on de top whar dere wuz er straight blaze er fire shot up in de air ten foot high!”

  “What did they say to you?”

  “Dey say dat ef I didn’t design de sheriff’s office, go back ter farmin’ en behave myself, dey had er job waitin’ fer me in hell, sah. En shos’ you born dey wuz right from dar!”

  “Of course!” sneered the old Commoner.

  “Yessah! Hit’s des lak I tell yer. One ob ’em makes me fetch ’im er drink er water. I carry two bucketsful ter ’im ‘fo’ I git done, en I swar ter God he drink it all right dar ‘fo’ my eyes! He say hit wuz pow’ful dry down below, sah! En den I feel sumfin’ bus’ loose inside er me, en I disremember all dat come ter pass! I made er jump fer de ribber bank, en de next I knowed I wuz er pullin’ fur de odder sho’. I’se er pow’ful good swimmer, sah, but I nebber git ercross er creek befo’ ez quick ez I got ober de ribber las’ night.”

  “And you think of going back to farming?”

  “I done begin plowin’ dis mornin’, marster!”

  “Don’t you call me marster!” yelled the old man. “Are you the sheriff of this county?”

  Aleck laughed loudly.

  “Na-sah! Dat’s er joke! I ain’t nuttin’ but er plain nigger—I wants peace, judge.”

  “Evidently we need a new sheriff.”

  “Dat’s what I tell ’em, sah, dis mornin’—en I des flings mysef on de ignance er de cote!”

  Phil laughed aloud, and his father’s colourless eyes began to spit cold poison.

  “About what time do you think your master, Colonel Cameron, will honour us with his presence?” he asked Aleck.

  Again the sheriff bowed.

  “He’s er comin’ right now, lak I tole yer—he’s er gemman, sah.”

  Ben walked briskly into the room and confronted the Commissioner.

  Without apparently noticing his presence, Stoneman said:

  “In the absence of witnesses we accept the discharge of this warrant, pending developments.”

  Ben turned on his heel, pressed Phil’s hand as he passed through the crowd, and disappeared.

  The old Commoner drove to the telegraph office and sent a message of more than a thousand words to the White House, a copy of which the operator delivered to Ben Cameron within an hour.

  President Grant next morning issued a proclamation declaring the nine Scotch-Irish hill counties of South Carolina in a state of insurrection, orde
red an army corps of five thousand men to report there for duty, pending the further necessity of martial law and the suspension of the writ of Habeas Corpus.

  * * *

  CHAPTER VI

  The Counter Stroke

  From the hour he had watched the capture of the armoury old Stoneman felt in the air a current against him which was electric, as if the dead had heard the cry of the clansmen’s greeting, risen and rallied to their pale ranks.

  The daring campaign these men were waging took his breath. They were going not only to defeat his delegation to Congress, but send their own to take their seats, reinforced by the enormous power of a suppressed negro vote. The blow was so sublime in its audacity, he laughed in secret admiration while he raved and cursed.

  The army corps took possession of the hill counties, quartering from five to six hundred regulars at each courthouse; but the mischief was done. The State was on fire. The eighty thousand rifles with which the negroes had been armed were now in the hands of their foes. A white rifle-club was organized in every town, village, and hamlet. They attended the public meetings with their guns, drilled in front of the speakers’ stands, yelled, hooted, hissed, cursed, and jeered at the orators who dared to champion or apologize for negro rule. At night the hoofbeat of squadrons of pale horsemen and the crack of their revolvers struck terror to the heart of every negro, carpet-bagger, and scallawag.

  There was a momentary lull in the excitement, which Stoneman mistook for fear, at the appearance of the troops. He had the Governor appoint a white sheriff, a young scallawag from the mountains who was a noted moonshiner and desperado. He arrested over a hundred leading men in the county, charged them with complicity in the killing of the three members of the African Guard, and instructed the judge and clerk of the court to refuse bail and commit them to jail under military guard.

  To his amazement the prisoners came into Piedmont armed and mounted. They paid no attention to the deputy sheriffs who were supposed to have them in charge. They deliberately formed in line under Ben Cameron’s direction and he led them in a parade through the streets.

  The five hundred United States regulars who were camped on the river bank were Westerners. Ben led his squadron of armed prisoners in front of this camp and took them through the evolutions of cavalry with the precision of veterans. The soldiers dropped their games and gathered, laughing, to watch them. The drill ended with a double-rank charge at the river embankment. When they drew every horse on his haunches on the brink, firing a volley with a single crash, a wild cheer broke from the soldiers, and the officers rushed from their tents.

  Ben wheeled his men, galloped in front of the camp, drew them up at dress parade, and saluted. A low word of command from a trooper, and the Westerners quickly formed in ranks, returned the salute, and cheered. The officers rushed up, cursing, and drove the men back to their tents.

  The horsemen laughed, fired a volley in the air, cheered, and galloped back to the courthouse. The court was glad to get rid of them. There was no question raised over technicalities in making out bail-bonds. The clerk wrote the names of imaginary bondsmen as fast as his pen could fly, while the perspiration stood in beads on his red forehead.

  Another telegram from old Stoneman to the White House, and the Writ of Habeas Corpus was suspended and Martial Law proclaimed.

  Enraged beyond measure at the salute from the troops, he had two companies of negro regulars sent from Columbia, and they camped in the Courthouse Square.

  He determined to make a desperate effort to crush the fierce spirit before which his forces were being driven like chaff. He induced Bizzel to return from Cleveland with his negro wife and children. He was escorted to the City Hall and reinstalled as Mayor by the full force of seven hundred troops, and a negro guard placed around his house. Stoneman had Lynch run an excursion from the Black Belt, and brought a thousand negroes to attend a final rally at Piedmont. He placarded the town with posters on which were printed the Civil Rights Bill and the proclamation of the President declaring Martial Law.

  Ben watched this day dawn with nervous dread. He had passed a sleepless night, riding in person to every Den of the Klan and issuing positive orders that no white man should come to Piedmont.

  A clash with the authority of the United States he had avoided from the first as a matter of principle. It was essential to his success that his men should commit no act of desperation which would imperil his plans. Above all, he wished to avoid a clash with old Stoneman personally.

  The arrival of the big excursion was the signal for a revival of negro insolence which had been planned. The men brought from the Eastern part of the State were selected for the purpose. They marched over the town yelling and singing. A crowd of them, half drunk, formed themselves three abreast and rushed the sidewalks, pushing every white man, woman, and child into the street.

  They met Phil on his way to the hotel and pushed him into the gutter. He said nothing, crossed the street, bought a revolver, loaded it and put it in his pocket. He was not popular with the negroes, and he had been shot at twice on his way from the mills at night. The whole affair of this rally, over which his father meant to preside, filled him with disgust, and he was in an ugly mood.

  Lynch’s speech was bold, bitter, and incendiary, and at its close the drunken negro troopers from the local garrison began to slouch through the streets, two and two, looking for trouble.

  At the close of the speaking Stoneman called the officer in command of these troops, and said:

  “Major, I wish this rally to-day to be a proclamation of the supremacy of law, and the enforcement of the equality of every man under law. Your troops are entitled to the rights of white men. I understand the hotel table has been free to-day to the soldiers from the camp on the river. They are returning the courtesy extended to the criminals who drilled before them. Send two of your black troops down for dinner and see that it is served. I wish an example for the State.”

  “It will be a dangerous performance, sir,” the major protested.

  The old Commoner furrowed his brow.

  “Have you been instructed to act under my orders?”

  “I have, sir,” said the officer, saluting.

  “Then do as I tell you,” snapped Stoneman.

  Ben Cameron had kept indoors all day, and dined with fifty of the Western troopers whom he had identified as leading in the friendly demonstration to his men. Margaret, who had been busy with Mrs. Cameron entertaining these soldiers, was seated in the dining-room alone, eating her dinner, while Phil waited impatiently in the parlour.

  The guests had all gone when two big negro troopers, fighting drunk, walked into the hotel. They went to the water-cooler and drank ostentatiously, thrusting their thick lips coated with filth far into the cocoanut dipper, while a dirty hand grasped its surface.

  They pushed the dining-room door open and suddenly flopped down beside Margaret.

  She attempted to rise, and cried in rage:

  “How dare you, black brutes?”

  One of them threw his arm around her chair, thrust his face into hers, and said with a laugh:

  “Don’t hurry, my beauty; stay and take dinner wid us!”

  Margaret again attempted to rise, and screamed, as Phil rushed into the room with drawn revolver. One of the negroes fired at him, missed, and the next moment dropped dead with a bullet through his heart.

  The other leaped across the table and through the open window.

  Margaret turned, confronting both Phil and Ben with revolvers in their hands, and fainted.

  Ben hurried Phil out the back door and persuaded him to fly.

  “Man, you must go! We must not have a riot here to-day. There’s no telling what will happen. A disturbance now, and my men will swarm into town to-night. For God’s sake go, until things are quiet!”

  “But I tell you I’ll face it. I’m not afraid,” said Phil quietly.

  “No, but I am,” urged Ben. “These two hundred negroes are armed and drunk. Their officer
s may not be able to control them, and they may lay their hands on you—go—go!—go!—you must go! The train is due in fifteen minutes.”

  He half lifted him on a horse tied behind the hotel, leaped on another, galloped to the flag-station two miles out of town, and put him on the north-bound train.

  “Stay in Charlotte until I wire for you,” was Ben’s parting injunction.

  He turned his horse’s head for McAllister’s, sent the two boys with all speed to the Cyclops of each of the ten township Dens with positive orders to disregard all wild rumours from Piedmont and keep every man out of town for two days.

  As he rode back he met a squad of mounted white regulars, who arrested him. The trooper’s companion had sworn positively that he was the man who killed the negro.

  Within thirty minutes he was tried by drum-head court-martial and sentenced to be shot.

  * * *

  CHAPTER VII

  The Snare of the Fowler

  Sweet was the secret joy of old Stoneman over the fate of Ben Cameron. His death sentence would strike terror to his party, and his prompt execution, on the morning of the election but two days off, would turn the tide, save the State, and rescue his daughter from a hated alliance.

  He determined to bar the last way of escape. He knew the Klan would attempt a rescue, and stop at no means fair or foul short of civil war. Afraid of the loyalty of the white battalions quartered in Piedmont, he determined to leave immediately for Spartanburg, order an exchange of garrisons, and, when the death warrant was returned from headquarters, place its execution in the hands of a stranger, to whom appeal would be vain. He knew such an officer in the Spartanburg post, a man of fierce, vindictive nature, once court-martialed for cruelty, who hated every Southern white man with mortal venom. He would put him in command of the death watch.