The Clansman
BOOK IV
THE KU KLUX KLAN
CHAPTER VIII
A RIDE FOR A LIFE
When Ben Cameron failed to find either Elsie or her father at home,
he hurried to the hotel, walking under the shadows of the trees to
avoid recognition, though his resemblance to Phil would have enabled
him to pass in his hat and coat unchallenged by any save the keenest
observers.
He found his mother's bedroom door ajar and saw Elsie within sobbing
in her arms. He paused, watched, and listened.
Never had he seen his mother so beautiful-her face calm, intelligent
and vital, crowned with a halo of gray. She stood, flushed and
dignified, softly smoothing the golden hair of the sobbing girl whom
she had learned to love as her daughter. Her whole being reflected the
years of homage she had inspired in husband, children, and neighbours.
What a woman! She had made war inevitable, fought it to the bitter end;
and in the despair of a Negro reign of terror, still the prophetess and
high priestess of a people, serene, undismayed and defiant, she had
fitted the uniform of a Grand Dragon on her last son, and sewed in
secret day and night to equip his men. And through it all she was
without affectation, her sweet motherly ways, gentle manner and bearing
always resistless to those who came within her influence.
“If he dies,” cried the tearful voice, “I shall never forgive myself
for not surrendering without reserve and fighting his battles with
him!”
“He is not dead yet,” was the mother's firm answer. “Doctor Cameron
is on Queen's back. Your lover's men will be riding to-night—these
young dare-devil Knights of the South, with their life in their hands,
a song on their lips, and the scorn of death in their souls!”
“Then I'll ride with them,” cried the girl, suddenly lifting her
head.
Ben stepped into the room, and with a cry of joy Elsie sprang into
his arms. The mother stood silent until their lips met in the long
tender kiss of the last surrender of perfect love.
“How did you escape so soon?” she asked quietly, while Elsie's head
still lay on his breast.
“Phil shot the brute, and I rushed him out of-town. He heard the
news, returned on the special, took my place, and sent me for his
father. The guard has been changed, and it's impossible to see him, or
communicate with the new Commandant—”
Elsie started and turned pale.
“And father has hidden to avoid me—merciful God—if Phil is
executed—”
“He isn't dead yet, either,” said Ben, slipping his arm around her.
“But we must save him without a clash or a drop of bloodshed, if
possible. The fate of our people may hang on this. A battle with United
States troops now might mean ruin for the South—”
“But you will save him?” Elsie pleaded, looking into his face.
“Yes—or I'll go down with him,” was the steady answer.
“Where is Margaret?” he asked.
“Gone to McAllister's with a message from your father,” Mrs. Cameron
replied.
“Tell her when she returns to keep a steady nerve. I'll save Phil.
Send her to find her father. Tell him to hold five hundred men ready
for action in the woods by the river and the rest in reserve two miles
out of town—”
“May I go with her?” Elsie asked, eagerly.
“No. I may need you,” he said. “I am going to find the old statesman
now, if I have to drag the bottomless pit. Wait here until I return.”
Ben reached the telegraph office unobserved, called the operator at
Columbia, and got the Grand Giant of the county into the office. Within
an hour he learned that the death-warrant had been received and
approved. It would be returned by a messenger to Piedmont on the
morning train. He learned also that any appeal for a stay must be made
through the Honourable Austin Stoneman, the secret representative of
the Government clothed with this special power. The execution had been
ordered the day of the election, to prevent the concentration of any
large force bent on rescue.
“The old fox!” Ben muttered.
From the Grand Giant at Spartanburg he learned, after a delay of
three hours, that Stoneman had left with a boy in a buggy, which he had
hired for three days, and refused to tell his destination. He promised
to follow and locate him as quickly as possible.
It was the afternoon on the day following, during the progress of
the election, before Ben received the message from Spartanburg that
Stoneman had been found at the Old Red Tavern where the roads crossed
from Piedmont to Hambright. It was only twelve miles away, just over
the line on the North Carolina side.
He walked with Margaret to the block where Queen stood saddled,
watching with pride the quiet air of self- control with which she bore
herself.
“Now, my sister, you know the way to the tavern. Ride for your
sweetheart's life. Bring the old man here by five o'clock, and we'll
save Phil without a fight. Keep your nerve. The Commandant knows a
regiment of mine is lying in the woods, and he's trying to slip out of
town with his prisoner. I'll stand by my men ready for a battle at a
moment's notice, but for God's sake get here in time to prevent it.”
She stooped from the saddle, pressed her brother's hand, kissed him,
and galloped swiftly over the old Way of Romance she knew so well.
On reaching the tavern, the landlord rudely denied that any such man
was there, and left her standing dazed and struggling to keep back the
tears.
A boy of eight, with big wide friendly eyes, slipped into the room,
looked up into her face tenderly, and said:
“He's the biggest liar in North Carolina. The old man's right
upstairs in the room over your head. Come on; I'll show you.”
Margaret snatched the child in her arms and kissed him.
She knocked in vain for ten minutes. At last she heard his voice
within:
“Go away from that door!”
“I'm from Piedmont, sir,” cried Margaret, “with an important message
from the Commandant for you.”
“Yes; I saw you come. I will not see you. I know everything, and I
will hear no appeal.”
“But you can not know of the exchange of men”—pleaded the girl.
“I tell you I know all about it. I will not interfere—”
“But you could not be so cruel—”
“The majesty of the law must be vindicated. The judge who consents
to the execution of a murderer is not cruel. He is showing mercy to
Society. Go, now; I will not hear you.”
In vain Margaret knocked, begged, pleaded, and sobbed.
At last, in a fit of desperation, as she saw the sun sinking lower
and the precious minutes flying, she hurled her magnificent figure
against the door and smashed the cheap lock which held it.
The old man sat at the other side of the room, looking out of the
window, with his massive jaws locked in rage. The girl staggered to his
side, knelt by his chair, placed her trembling hand on his arm, and
begged:
“For the love of Jesus, have mercy! Come with me quickly!”
With a growl of anger, he said:
“No!”
“It was a mad impulse, in my defense as well as his own.”
“Impulse, yes! But back of it lay banked the fires of cruelty and
race hatred! The Nation can not live with such barbarism rotting its
heart out.”
“But this is war, sir,—a war of races, and this an accident of war
—besides, his life had been attempted by them twice before.”
“So I've heard, and yet the Negro always happens to be the victim—
“
Margaret leaped to her feet and glared at the old man for a moment
in uncontrollable anger.
“Are you a fiend?” she fairly shrieked.
Old Stoneman merely pursed his lips.
The girl came a step closer, and extended her hand again in mute
appeal.
“No, I was foolish. You are not cruel. I have heard of a hundred
acts of charity you have done among our poor. Come, this is horrible!
It is impossible! You can not consent to the death of your son—”
Stoneman looked up sharply:
“Thank God, he hasn't married my daughter yet—”
“Your daughter!” gasped Margaret. “I've told you it was Phil who
killed the negro! He took Ben's place just before the guards were
exchanged—”
“Phil!—Phil?” shrieked the old man, staggering to his club foot
and stumbling toward Margaret with dilated eyes and whitening face; “My
boy—Phil?—why—why, are you crazy?—Phil? Did you say— Phil
?”
“Yes. Ben persuaded him to go to Charlotte until the excitement
passed to avoid trouble.—Come, come, sir, we must be quick! We may be
too late!”
She seized and pulled him toward the door.
“Yes. Yes, we must hurry,” he said in a laboured whisper, looking
around dazed. “You will show me the way, my child—you love him—yes,
we will go quickly—quickly! my boy—my boy!”
Margaret called the landlord, and while they hitched Queen to the
buggy, the old man stood helplessly wringing and fumbling his big ugly
hands, muttering incoherently, and tugging at his collar as though
about to suffocate.
As they dashed away, old Stoneman laid a trembling hand on
Margaret's arm.
“Your horse is a good one, my child?”
“Yes; the one Marion saved-the finest in the county.”
“And you know the way?”
“Every foot of it. Phil and I have driven it often.”
“Yes, yes—you love him,” he sighed, pressing her hand.
Through the long reckless drive, as the mare flew over the rough
hills, every nerve and muscle of her fine body at its utmost tension,
the father sat silent. He braced his club foot against the iron bar of
the dashboard and gripped the sides of the buggy to steady his feeble
body. Margaret leaned forward intently watching the road to avoid an
accident. The old man's strange colourless eyes stared straight in
front, wide open, and seeing nothing, as if the soul had already fled
through them into eternity.