XXXVI
FIAT JUSTITIA
By the light of the burning building, which illuminated the street forseveral blocks, Major Carteret and Ellis made their way rapidly untilthey turned into the street where the major lived. Reaching the house,Carteret tried the door and found it locked. A vigorous ring at the bellbrought no immediate response. Carteret had begun to pound impatientlyupon the door, when it was cautiously opened by Miss Pemberton, who waspale, and trembled with excitement.
"Where is Olivia?" asked the major.
"She is upstairs, with Dodie and Mrs. Albright's hospital nurse. Dodiehas the croup. Virgie ran away after the riot broke out. Sister Oliviahad sent for Mammy Jane, but she did not come. Mrs. Albright let herwhite nurse come over."
"I'll go up at once," said the major anxiously. "Wait for me,Ellis,--I'll be down in a few minutes."
"Oh, Mr. Ellis," exclaimed Clara, coming toward him with both handsextended, "can nothing be done to stop this terrible affair?"
"I wish I could do something," he murmured fervently, taking both hertrembling hands in his own broad palms, where they rested with asurrendering trustfulness which he has never since had occasion todoubt. "It has gone too far, already, and the end, I fear, is not yet;but it cannot grow much worse." The editor hurried upstairs. Mrs.Carteret, wearing a worried and haggard look, met him at the thresholdof the nursery.
"Dodie is ill," she said. "At three o'clock, when the trouble began, Iwas over at Mrs. Albright's,--I had left Virgie with the baby. When Icame back, she and all the other servants had gone. They had heard thatthe white people were going to kill all the negroes, and fled to seeksafety. I found Dodie lying in a draught, before an open window, gaspingfor breath. I ran back to Mrs. Albright's,--I had found her much betterto-day,--and she let her nurse come over. The nurse says that Dodie isthreatened with membranous croup."
"Have you sent for Dr. Price?"
"There was no one to send,--the servants were gone, and the nurse wasafraid to venture out into the street. I telephoned for Dr. Price, andfound that he was out of town; that he had gone up the river thismorning to attend a patient, and would not be back until to-morrow. Mrs.Price thought that he had anticipated some kind of trouble in the townto-day, and had preferred to be where he could not be called upon toassume any responsibility."
"I suppose you tried Dr. Ashe?"
"I could not get him, nor any one else, after that first call. Thetelephone service is disorganized on account of the riot. We needmedicine and ice. The drugstores are all closed on account of the riot,and for the same reason we couldn't get any ice."
Major Carteret stood beside the brass bedstead upon which his child waslying,--his only child, around whose curly head clustered all his hopes;upon whom all his life for the past year had been centred. He stoopedover the bed, beside which the nurse had stationed herself. She waswiping the child's face, which was red and swollen and covered withmoisture, the nostrils working rapidly, and the little patient vainlyendeavoring at intervals to cough up the obstruction to his breathing.
"Is it serious?" he inquired anxiously. He had always thought of thecroup as a childish ailment, that yielded readily to proper treatment;but the child's evident distress impressed him with sudden fear.
"Dangerous," replied the young woman laconically. "You came none toosoon. If a doctor isn't got at once, the child will die,--and it mustbe a good doctor."
"Whom can I call?" he asked. "You know them all, I suppose. Dr. Price,our family physician, is out of town."
"Dr. Ashe has charge of his cases when he is away," replied the nurse."If you can't find him, try Dr. Hooper. The child is growing worse everyminute. On your way back you'd better get some ice, if possible."
The major hastened downstairs.
"Don't wait for me, Ellis," he said. "I shall be needed here for awhile. I'll get to the office as soon as possible. Make up the paper,and leave another stick out for me to the last minute, but fill it up incase I'm not on hand by twelve. We must get the paper out early in themorning."
Nothing but a matter of the most vital importance would have kept MajorCarteret away from his office this night. Upon the presentation to theouter world of the story of this riot would depend the attitude of thegreat civilized public toward the events of the last ten hours. TheChronicle was the source from which the first word would be expected; itwould give the people of Wellington their cue as to the position whichthey must take in regard to this distressful affair, which had so fartranscended in ferocity the most extreme measures which the conspiratorshad anticipated. The burden of his own responsibility weighed heavilyupon him, and could not be shaken off; but he must do first the dutynearest to him,--he must first attend to his child.
Carteret hastened from the house, and traversed rapidly the shortdistance to Dr. Ashe's office. Far down the street he could see the glowof the burning hospital, and he had scarcely left his own house when thefusillade of shots, fired when the colored men emerged from the burningbuilding, was audible. Carteret would have hastened back to the scene ofthe riot, to see what was now going on, and to make another effort tostem the tide of bloodshed; but before the dread of losing his child,all other interests fell into the background. Not all the negroes inWellington could weigh in the balance for one instant against the lifeof the feeble child now gasping for breath in the house behind him.
Reaching the house, a vigorous ring brought the doctor's wife to thedoor.
"Good evening, Mrs. Ashe. Is the doctor at home?"
"No, Major Carteret. He was called to attend Mrs. Wells, who was takensuddenly ill, as a result of the trouble this afternoon. He will bethere all night, no doubt."
"My child is very ill, and I must find some one."
"Try Dr. Yates. His house is only four doors away."
A ring at Dr. Yates's door brought out a young man.
"Is Dr. Yates in?"
"Yes, sir."
"Can I see him?"
"You might see him, sir, but that would be all. His horse was frightenedby the shooting on the streets, and ran away and threw the doctor, andbroke his right arm. I have just set it; he will not be able to attendany patients for several weeks. He is old and nervous, and the shock wasgreat."
"Are you not a physician?" asked Carteret, looking at the young mankeenly. He was a serious, gentlemanly looking young fellow, whose wordmight probably be trusted.
"Yes, I am Dr. Evans, Dr. Yates's assistant. I'm really little morethan a student, but I'll do what I can."
"My only child is sick with the croup, and requires immediateattention."
"I ought to be able to handle a case of the croup," answered Dr. Evans,"at least in the first stages. I'll go with you, and stay by the child,and if the case is beyond me, I may keep it in check until anotherphysician comes."
He stepped back into another room, and returning immediately with hishat, accompanied Carteret homeward. The riot had subsided; even the glowfrom the smouldering hospital was no longer visible. It seemed that thecity, appalled at the tragedy, had suddenly awakened to a sense of itsown crime. Here and there a dark face, emerging cautiously from somehiding-place, peered from behind fence or tree, but shrank hastily awayat the sight of a white face. The negroes of Wellington, with theexception of Josh Green and his party, had not behaved bravely on thiscritical day in their history; but those who had fought were dead, tothe last man; those who had sought safety in flight or concealment werealive to tell the tale.
"We pass right by Dr. Thompson's," said Dr. Evans. "If you haven'tspoken to him, it might be well to call him for consultation, in casethe child should be very bad."
"Go on ahead," said Carteret, "and I'll get him."
Evans hastened on, while Carteret sounded the old-fashioned knocker uponthe doctor's door. A gray-haired negro servant, clad in a dress suit andwearing a white tie, came to the door.
"De doctuh, suh," he replied politely to Carteret's question, "has goneter ampitate de ahm er a gent'eman who got one er his bones smashed wi
da pistol bullet in de--fightin' dis atternoon, suh. He's jes' gone, suh,an' lef' wo'd dat he'd be gone a' hour er mo', suh."
Carteret hastened homeward. He could think of no other availablephysician. Perhaps no other would be needed, but if so, he could findout from Evans whom it was best to call.
When he reached the child's room, the young doctor was bending anxiouslyover the little frame. The little lips had become livid, the littlenails, lying against the white sheet, were blue. The child's efforts tobreathe were most distressing, and each gasp cut the father like aknife. Mrs. Carteret was weeping hysterically. "How is he, doctor?"asked the major.
"He is very low," replied the young man. "Nothing short oftracheotomy--an operation to open the windpipe--will relieve him.Without it, in half or three quarters of an hour he will be unable tobreathe. It is a delicate operation, a mistake in which would be asfatal as the disease. I have neither the knowledge nor the experience toattempt it, and your child's life is too valuable for a student topractice upon. Neither have I the instruments here."
"What shall we do?" demanded Carteret. "We have called all the bestdoctors, and none are available."
The young doctor's brow was wrinkled with thought. He knew a doctor whocould perform the operation. He had heard, also, of a certain event atCarteret's house some months before, when an unwelcome physician hadbeen excluded from a consultation,--but it was the last chance.
"There is but one other doctor in town who has performed the operation,so far as I know," he declared, "and that is Dr. Miller. If you can gethim, he can save your child's life."
Carteret hesitated involuntarily. All the incidents, all the arguments,of the occasion when he had refused to admit the colored doctor to hishouse, came up vividly before his memory. He had acted in accordancewith his lifelong beliefs, and had carried his point; but the presentsituation was different,--this was a case of imperative necessity, andevery other interest or consideration must give way before the imminenceof his child's peril. That the doctor would refuse the call, he did notimagine: it would be too great an honor for a negro to decline,--unlesssome bitterness might have grown out of the proceedings of theafternoon. That this doctor was a man of some education he knew; and hehad been told that he was a man of fine feeling,--for a negro,--andmight easily have taken to heart the day's events. Nevertheless, hecould hardly refuse a professional call,--professional ethics wouldrequire him to respond. Carteret had no reason to suppose that Millerhad ever learned of what had occurred at the house during Dr. Burns'svisit to Wellington. The major himself had never mentioned thecontroversy, and no doubt the other gentlemen had been equally silent.
"I'll go for him myself," said Dr. Evans, noting Carteret's hesitationand suspecting its cause. "I can do nothing here alone, for a littlewhile, and I may be able to bring the doctor back with me. He likes adifficult operation."
* * * * *
It seemed an age ere the young doctor returned, though it was reallyonly a few minutes. The nurse did what she could to relieve the child'ssufferings, which grew visibly more and more acute. The mother, upon theother side of the bed, held one of the baby's hands in her own, andcontrolled her feelings as best she might. Carteret paced the flooranxiously, going every few seconds to the head of the stairs to listenfor Evans's footsteps on the piazza without. At last the welcome soundwas audible, and a few strides took him to the door.
"Dr. Miller is at home, sir," reported Evans, as he came in. "He saysthat he was called to your house once before, by a third person whoclaimed authority to act, and that he was refused admittance. Hedeclares that he will not consider such a call unless it come from youpersonally."
"That is true, quite true," replied Carteret. "His position is a justone. I will go at once. Will--will--my child live until I can get Millerhere?"
"He can live for half an hour without an operation. Beyond that I couldgive you little hope."
Seizing his hat, Carteret dashed out of the yard and ran rapidly toMiller's house; ordinarily a walk of six or seven minutes, Carteretcovered it in three, and was almost out of breath when he rang the bellof Miller's front door.
The ring was answered by the doctor in person.
"Dr. Miller, I believe?" asked Carteret.
"Yes, sir."
"I am Major Carteret. My child is seriously ill, and you are the onlyavailable doctor who can perform the necessary operation."
"Ah! You have tried all the others,--and then you come to me!"
"Yes, I do not deny it," admitted the major, biting his lip. He had notcounted on professional jealousy as an obstacle to be met. "But I _have_come to you, as a physician, to engage your professional services for mychild,--my only child. I have confidence in your skill, or I should nothave come to you. I request--nay, I implore you to lose no more time,but come with me at once! My child's life is hanging by a thread, andyou can save it!"
"Ah!" replied the other, "as a father whose only child's life is indanger, you implore me, of all men in the world, to come and save it!"
There was a strained intensity in the doctor's low voice that struckCarteret, in spite of his own pre-occupation. He thought he heard, too,from the adjoining room, the sound of some one sobbing softly. There wassome mystery here which he could not fathom unaided.
Miller turned to the door behind him and threw it open. On the whitecover of a low cot lay a childish form in the rigidity of death, and byit knelt, with her back to the door, a woman whose shoulders were shakenby the violence of her sobs. Absorbed in her grief, she did not turn, orgive any sign that she had recognized the intrusion.
"There, Major Carteret!" exclaimed Miller, with the tragic eloquence ofdespair, "there lies a specimen of your handiwork! There lies _my_ onlychild, laid low by a stray bullet in this riot which you and your paperhave fomented; struck down as much by your hand as though you had heldthe weapon with which his life was taken!"
"My God!" exclaimed Carteret, struck with horror. "Is the child dead?"
"There he lies," continued the other, "an innocent child,--there he liesdead, his little life snuffed out like a candle, because you and ahandful of your friends thought you must override the laws and run thistown at any cost!--and there kneels his mother, overcome by grief. Weare alone in the house. It is not safe to leave her unattended. My dutycalls me here, by the side of my dead child and my suffering wife! Icannot go with you. There is a just God in heaven!--as you have sown, somay you reap!"
Carteret possessed a narrow, but a logical mind, and except whenconfused or blinded by his prejudices, had always tried to be a justman. In the agony of his own predicament,--in the horror of thesituation at Miller's house,--for a moment the veil of race prejudicewas rent in twain, and he saw things as they were, in their correctproportions and relations,--saw clearly and convincingly that he had nostanding here, in the presence of death, in the home of this strickenfamily. Miller's refusal to go with him was pure, elemental justice; hecould not blame the doctor for his stand. He was indeed conscious of acertain involuntary admiration for a man who held in his hands the powerof life and death, and could use it, with strict justice, to avenge hisown wrongs. In Dr. Miller's place he would have done the same thing.Miller had spoken the truth,--as he had sown, so must he reap! He couldnot expect, could not ask, this father to leave his own household atsuch a moment.
Pressing his lips together with grim courage, and bowing mechanically,as though to Fate rather than the physician, Carteret turned and leftthe house. At a rapid pace he soon reached home. There was yet a chancefor his child: perhaps some one of the other doctors had come; perhaps,after all, the disease had taken a favorable turn,--Evans was but ayoung doctor, and might have been mistaken. Surely, with doctors allaround him, his child would not be permitted to die for lack of medicalattention! He found the mother, the doctor, and the nurse still grouped,as he had left them, around the suffering child.
"How is he now?" he asked, in a voice that sounded like a groan.
"No better," rep
lied the doctor; "steadily growing worse. He can go onprobably for twenty minutes longer without an operation."
"Where is the doctor?" demanded Mrs. Carteret, looking eagerly towardthe door. "You should have brought him right upstairs. There's not aminute to spare! Phil, Phil, our child will die!"
Carteret's heart swelled almost to bursting with an intense pity. Evenhis own great sorrow became of secondary importance beside the griefwhich his wife must soon feel at the inevitable loss of her only child.And it was his fault! Would that he could risk his own life to spare herand to save the child!
Briefly, and as gently as might be, he stated the result of his errand.The doctor had refused to come, for a good reason. He could not ask himagain.
Young Evans felt the logic of the situation, which Carteret hadexplained sufficiently. To the nurse it was even clearer. If she or anyother woman had been in the doctor's place, she would have given thesame answer.
Mrs. Carteret did not stop to reason. In such a crisis a mother's heartusurps the place of intellect. For her, at that moment, there were buttwo facts in all the world. Her child lay dying. There was within thetown, and within reach, a man who could save him. With an agonized cryshe rushed wildly from the room.
Carteret sought to follow her, but she flew down the long stairs like awild thing. The least misstep might have precipitated her to the bottom;but ere Carteret, with a remonstrance on his lips, had scarcely reachedthe uppermost step, she had thrown open the front door and fledprecipitately out into the night.
The Marrow of Tradition Page 36