Part 30 (2/2)
”You thought Cunnel Blount was all 'lone in bed, too weak to move, didn't you?” resumed Bill. ”Why, blame you, you couldn't 'rest Colonel Calvin Blount, not if he was _daid!_ Go 'long dah, now!”
Mose Taylor, the grim jest, the sardonic answer of the whites of Tullahoma County to those who deal fluently with questions of which they know but little, was fain to take Bill's sincere advice. Behind the shelter of the first clump of trees, he folded his arms into a posture as near resembling that of Napoleon as he could a.s.sume. He frowned heavily. ”Huh!” said he savagely, looking from one to another of the crew who made his ”posse.” ”Huh!” he said again, and yet again, ”Huh!” A cloud sat on his soul. It seemed to him that persons like himself, earnestly engaged in settling the race problem, ought not to have such difficulties cast in their way.
Meantime, in the house, Eddring still confronted the rage of Colonel Blount.
”You,” panted Blount. ”You! I thought you were one of us.”
”I am, I am!” cried Eddring. ”I was with you in what you did. I tried to get to you. It had to be done. But somewhere, Cal, we must stop.
We've got to pull up. We can't fight lawlessness with worse lawlessness. We must begin with the law.”
A bitter smile was his answer. ”Is that sort of sheriff the foundation that you lay?” said Calvin Blount, panting, as at length he threw his six-shooter upon the bed. ”Let me tell you, then, the law is never going to stand. That's no law for the Delta.”
Eddring sunk his face between his hands. ”Cal,” he said, ”we've got to begin. This country is being ruined, and perhaps it is partly our own fault. Now, I am guilty as you. are; but I say, we have got to give ourselves up to the law.”
”Give myself up? Why, of _course_ I will. I was going up directly, soon as I got well, to talk it over with the judge, and arrange for a trial. All this has got to be squared up legally, of course. But that's a heap different from sending a n.i.g.g.e.r sheriff down here to arrest Cal Blount in his own house. Why, I'm one of the oldest citizens in these here bottoms. I've carried my end of the log for fifty years, with black and white. Why, if I should go in with that fellow, where'd be my reputation? I'd have a heap of show of living down here after that, wouldn't I? Why, my neighbors'd kill me, and do me a kindness at that.”
”But we must begin,” said Eddring, insistently, once more. ”There must be some law. We'll go in and surrender. I'll take your case.”
”You mean you'll be my lawyer at the trial?”
”Yes, I'll defend you. But as for you and me, we're for the state, after all. We've got to prosecute this entire system which prevails down here to-day. We're growing more and more lawless all over the South, all over America. Now, we don't want that. We don't believe in it. Then what can we do? How can we get to the bottom of this thing?
Cal, I reckon you and I are brave enough to begin.”
Even as they were speaking, they heard a knock at the door, and Miss Lady once more stood looking in hesitatingly upon these stern-faced men. Upon her own face there was horror, terror.
”I don't know what to do!” she cried, her hands at her temples. ”I don't know where to go. You tell me this is my home, and I have nowhere else to go, but this is a _terrible_ place. Why, I have just heard about what happened--about Delphine and those others. Why, sir,”--this to Eddring,--”you knew it all the time. You saw. You knew!”
”Yes,” said Eddring, ”that is why I would not let you walk down that little path on the island. I didn't want you to know--we didn't want you ever to know.”
”Yes, Miss Lady,” affirmed Blount, ”we knew. We didn't want you to know.”
”But is there no law?” she cried. ”Why do you do these things? The punishment is for the officers, for the courts, and not for you. Why, how can I _look_ at you without s.h.i.+vering?”
”What shall we do, Miss Lady?” asked Blount, coldly. ”What's the right thing to do? Listen. We've done this thing for _you_. You're a white girl. The white women of this country--if we _didn't_ do these things, what chance would you and your like have in this country? Now, we've done it for you, and we'll finish the way you say. You're to decide. Shall we go in and surrender? Shall we be tried? Remember, it is our own lives at stake, then.”
”We will go in, and we will meet our trial,” said John Eddring, rising and interrupting, even as Miss Lady buried her face in her hands. ”We will begin, right here.”
CHAPTER XVII
THE LAW OF THE LAND
One morning in the early fall, the little town of Clarksville, county-seat of Tullahoma County, was thronged with people from all the country round about. There was in progress the trial of certain white citizens under indictment for murder, among these some of the most respected men of that region. The case of Colonel Calvin Blount had been chosen as the first of many.
The court-room in the square brick court house was packed with ma.s.ses of silent men. The halls were crowded. The yard of the court house was full, and the streets were alive with grim-faced men. The hitching racks were lined with saddle horses, and other horses and countless mules were hitched to fences and trees even beyond the outskirts of the town. The hotels had long since abandoned system, and every dwelling house was open and full to overflowing.
Outside of the town, or mingling in the fringes of the crowd at its edges, there huddled even greater numbers of those of the colored race. Some of these were armed. The white men in the streets were armed. None showed hurry or agitation; none shouted or gesticulated; yet the clerk of the court had a pistol in his pocket; each juryman was likewise equipped; the judge on the bench knew there was a pistol in the drawer of the desk before him. This gathering of the people was thoughtfully prepared. It was a crisis, and was so recognized.
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