Later he found it convenient to address him as follows: "By the way, Christian, you have never told me about that frolic you had with that Negro. You were telling Stewart about it when I called to see you at the first of the legislative session just closed."

Christian said, "Excuse me, Mr. Lanier, but the deed was too cold-blooded to be mentioned. The darky had never done me a bit of harm and I have never gotten over what I did."

"I suppose that that is what made you so gay this session. I have heard of your little intrigue with Margaret Marston."

"Ha, ha, ha! Have you heard of that? I did not know it was out. I suppose there will soon be a young African calling me daddy. Ha! Ha!

Ha!"

Lanier was so disgusted with Christian that he could hardly repress manifestations of his repugnance. He found some way of excusing himself and went to his own room. He locked himself up in his room and walked to and fro. He had two great problems on his hands. One was to save John Wysong from the gallows, the other was to kill Horace Christian. At length a plan suggested itself to him, and he grasped his hat to examine into its feasibility. He went down to the jail in which John Wysong was incarcerated, and being an intimate acquaintance of the jailer, he was allowed to visit John privately in his cell. In fact, the jailer owed his appointment to Lanier's influence. Lanier had John Wysong to stand up. He eyed him closely from head to foot. He then had John to turn his back to him, which Lanier examined thoroughly. He next examined his hands and his feet. He reached in his vest pocket and drew out a tape line with which he measured John accurately and thoroughly, taking a record of the measurements. Having obtained the information he desired he started to leave, when he caught sight of a burned place behind John's ear. He stopped and looked at that closely. He then said to John, "If the jailer seeks to cut off your hair you must not let him. Plead with him to the very last. Your life depends upon it." So saying he gave another scrutinizing look at John and then left. From the jail he went to the tailor shop where a number of the legislators always had their clothes made. He took the book in which the tailor kept the measurements of his regular customers and on the pretence of copying his own measurements, copied those of Christian. He now took these to his room and placed them before him, by the side of those of John Wysong. He was astonished at how the two ran together, only differing by half and quarter inches. He paid Christian a visit and while they indulged in ordinary chat he noticed every feature of Christian's face. John Wysong's lips were larger than those of Christian, while their noses were about the same size. There was just a shade of difference in the color of their eyes. Christian's cheeks were not quite as full as those of John. Other than this, if Christian were black there would be scarcely anything to distinguish him from John, as John was a Negro of the most common place type as to features and Christian was a white man of the same mould. Of course there was a world of difference as to their hair. Lanier was now convinced that shrewd management would enable him to carry out his plans.

Knowing where the jailer's mother lived he boarded a train and went to that place. Lanier found a person suited to his purpose and left in his possession a telegram to the jailer informing him that a dying mother desired to see him. This telegram was dated the day before John Wysong was to be executed and was to be sent on that day in time for the jailer to catch the afternoon train leaving for his mother's home. By another device he so arranged as to get the death watch who had had special care of John out of the way. He next bought a quant.i.ty of a solution which is said to be used by burglars and criminals in general of the white race, who at any time desire to pa.s.s for Negroes. The secret of the compound was guarded so closely that Lanier experienced considerable difficulty in getting hold of it. But he secured a large quant.i.ty of it, as well as the counter solution enabling him to cleanse himself quickly and thus become white again. He now goes to Christian on the day before John Wysong was to be hanged and said:

"Christian, let us have a little frolic to-night; let us get our hair cut real close, paint ourselves black all over, using a solution which I have. I have another solution which will cleanse us immediately. Let us go among the darky belles and have a good time."

"Bully, Lanier, bully. I am in for it. Since Margaret left I have had the blues. I want a little fun. But say, you are a sly chap. With your grave looks we would not have thought anything like this was in you.

Yes, I am in for it. What time will you be here?"

"At about ten o'clock. Don't fail me, now," replied Lanier.

"I won't. I wish it was night now," said Christian.

Lanier listened out for the news from his telegram. It came in and the jailer went speeding out of town, but not before Lanier had gotten a permit to see John Wysong at any time. Thanks to his other device the regular death watch was out of the way also. That night at Christian's room Lanier and Christian transformed themselves into "Negroes" and went forth.

Lanier said, "Christian, if we happen to get drunk to-night and are put in the lockup you must not squeal. You must play "darky" to the last or our enemies will get hold of it and we will be done for politically."

"Don't be afraid of my squealing. I'll play darky all right. I won't mind getting arrested and paying a fine, for the sake of the novelty of experiencing just what a darky does go through."

"All right; now, Christian, be merry. Play your part like a man."

The two go to a house of ill-fame, where Christian gets beastly drunk.

Lanier slips out and goes to a place for which he had arranged beforehand. He undresses, applies his solution and is white again. He grasps a valise in which he has a number of things and returns to where he left Christian. He gets him by the arm and leads him until he comes to the jail in which John Wysong was incarcerated. He aroused the subst.i.tute jailer and, showing him his pa.s.s, was allowed to come in. He told the jail officials that he brought along a fellow who was going to do a kindly act for John's sister. The two, Lanier and Christian, were allowed to go into John Wysong's cell. Lanier left Christian in a drunken stupor in the cell and took the jailer and death watchman _pro tem_ aside and supplied them with whiskey to drink. It was drugged and they were both very soon unconscious. Lanier seeing that they were sound asleep returned to John Wysong's cell. He took out a pair of clippers and soon had all of John Wysong's hair clipped off to the scalp. He got from his valise a wig made of Negro hair just like John's, and carefully adjusted it to Christian's head. He took out a syringe and injected a poison in Christian's upper lip which caused it to swell slightly. He looked from Christian to John to see how the likeness grew. He next injected a small quant.i.ty of the fluid into each of Christian's cheeks and they came out. He was astonished himself at the resemblance Christian now bore to John. He had omitted to fix the lower lip which he now did and stood off and surveyed his work.

Mr. Lanier and John together then undressed Christian, putting Christian's clothes on John and John's clothes on Christian. Lanier now examined the wig again and saw to it that it was so closely connected with the scalp that only the most rigid examination would reveal that it was a wig. He observed that the representation of the scar behind John's neck was in exactly the right place, in the adjustment of the wig to Christian's head. Christian's feet were somewhat smaller than John's, but shoes were exchanged anyway, John cutting Christian's open to get his feet into them. John did all of this without question, Erma having so often praised Mr. Lanier and having led him to believe that he would be largely instrumental in saving him. How little did she dream of the way in which it was to be done. Lanier now goes back to the drunken jailer and watchman, takes his seat as though he had never moved and finally arouses them from their slumber, joking them about being able to stand only a little drinking. After awhile he signifies his intention of leaving. John Wysong, acting as drunken Christian had acted on coming in, sat in the jail corridor waiting for Lanier. The jailer, watchman and Lanier walked down the corridor, glancing into Wysong's cell as they pa.s.sed. The jail door was opened and Lanier and John Wysong walked forth, leaving Christian in the cell of the doomed to die. The death watchman drowsily took his seat by the side of the cell in which Horace Christian was sleeping his last sleep on earth.

CHAPTER XXI.

THE HANGING.

On the night preceding the day set for John Wysong's execution, Erma did not retire to rest. She paced to-and-fro, wringing her hands in despair.

She accused herself of having needlessly murdered her own brother, of having cast him into the midst of ravenous beasts, dest.i.tute of conscience and of feeling. She felt that Lanier had treated her shamefully to hold out to her a ray of hope, only to s.n.a.t.c.h it away and make the darkness all the more dark. She had not seen him nor heard from him since the day he made her such a faithful promise at Mrs. Turner's residence, whither she had gone concerning Margaret. This brought Margaret to her mind. She accused herself of being responsible for that poor child's ruin, in that she had allowed herself to be drawn into those social fetes in the hope of saving her brother. Instead of saving him, she had lost him, and destroyed that girl as well, she thought. As the night wore on, her agony became more and more intense.

Despair! despair! despair! Night of the soul. At the bottom of the pit of sorrow, millions and millions, deep, Erma crawled about, bitten by vipers put there, eyeless, to bite all the children of men whom G.o.d, for any cause, sends to them. Upward from the bottom of this pit Erma lifted her eyes, but the darkness was so intense that even night would have been swallowed up and lost therein. Yes, though in her room, Erma was nevertheless in this pit.

Eventually, and without apparent cause, a calm stole over Erma, her burden rolled away. As to why this was the case, she could not tell and did not know. All that she knew was, the burden had gone, and a calm had settled down upon her soul. She opened her front door and let the night air sweep down and kiss her fevered brow.

The moon, one-quarter full, was now half-way between the zenith and the horizon. The morning star was near at hand, evidently endeavoring to outshine its queen. The moon, not fearful of her throne, shone on in unprovoked beauty, and the stars were watching the contest, forgetful of the fact that the sun was soon to come forth. At length the sun burst upon the scene; the unfinished battle was deferred until the coming night, as more tragic scenes were to be enacted.

If you wish, gentle reader, you may stay in Erma's company on the day of the execution, but we prefer to hasten away. Early in the morning, the newspaper reporters gathered at the jail in great numbers. They were allowed inside, and stationed themselves where they could see through the bars of John Wysong's cell. At length Horace Christian awoke from his drunken stupor, and gazed blankly around him. At first he did not know what to make of his surroundings. Glancing at his hands, he noticed that they were black. Then it all came to him, how that he was playing "darky" on the night previous. In all likelihood he had gotten into a drunken brawl, and had been arrested, he thought. He decided to play "darky" all the way through. He looked through the bars and saw the group of reporters gathered there, but he did not know how to account for their presence. Happening to rub his hand over his head, it came in contact with hair, and he remembered distinctly of having cut his off.

He now felt that Lanier had put that hair on his head while he was drunk, as a joke, and having escaped himself, had sent the reporters down in order to play a prank of some sort on him. He decided that nothing should induce him to betray his ident.i.ty, preferring to take a somewhat severe penalty first. The joke of sending the reporters was not exactly to his liking, but he was in it, and would stick. He chuckled to himself as he thought of the antics he was going to play, and the witty sayings that he would throw out in the police court at his trial that morning.

"Have you any message to give to the world through our paper?" asked a reporter.

"Yes, tell 'em dat you saw me, but you didunt see me saw."

"Can you talk with such levity on an occasion like this?" asked another.

"Boss, I don't know nuthin' 'bout yer levity. But I knows erbout dese erkasions mos' much. De police court air my headquarters."

Breakfast was brought in, and it was such a splendid repast that Christian now knew that Lanier was playing him a joke. The jailer _pro tem._, acting in the place of the real jailer, gone to his mother, brought in a new suit of clothes. Knowing that ordinary prisoners were not treated thus, Christian feared that his ident.i.ty had been disclosed, and that they were treating him with such marked courtesy on account of his distinction. One thing puzzled him. He could not tell where he got that suit which he had just pulled off to put on the new one brought by the jailer. After a while he was handcuffed and marched out of the jail, the reading of the death warrant having been dispensed with. Here he met a throng, numbering well up in the thousands. He began to curse Lanier inwardly, thinking he had put an account of the episode in the papers, and that, as a consequence, all Richmond was out to see the Hon. Horace Christian. He bit his lip and inwardly defied any man to make him acknowledge that he was white. He would defy Lanier himself. They started on their march, and when they got to the corner where, turning one way, they could go to the Police Court, much to Christian's surprise, they turned in an opposite direction, the crowd following them.

Christian said, "Say, boss, you air gwine to de police coat by a roundabout way." The jailer looked at him contemptuously. They soon came in sight of an open field, in the center of which there was erected a large gallows. People stood about it on every side as far out as the eye could reach. A clearing had been kept open so that the jailer and his ward might go through to the gallows uninterrupted. Christian now felt an uneasy sensation in his bosom, that mysterious monitor that wafts to our ears the notes of the death knell even before they are struck.

Christian walked in the direction of the gallows hesitatingly.

"Come along, John, come along. You must die game, you know," said the jailer, urging him along.

"Hold on, jailer," said Christian; "what does this mean?"

"There is where you are going to be hanged, John. Cheer up. Don't be uneasy. Die game."

"Hanged! hanged! what in the name of G.o.d are you going to hang me for?

Do you hang a fellow for a little midnight fun?" asked Christian, thoroughly aroused and terrified.

"John, that is why you are going to be hanged. You looked upon murder as a matter of fun."

The picture of the Negro tramp whose murder he had caused for political purposes, crowded before his gaze. He shook tremblingly and began to stagger. "Say," he gasped, "who told on me?"

"Why, you told on yourself, John."

"I was a blamed fool for telling it. I must have been drunk. But say,"

he continued, "are they going to mob a white man for killing a n.i.g.g.e.r tramp?"

"You mean, are they going to mob a n.i.g.g.e.r tramp for killing a white man."

"I am no Negro; I am a white man" exclaimed Christian.

"That's enough. Come on." They were now at the foot of the gallows, and Christian was the very embodiment of abject terror. He attempted to cling to the railing on the steps leading up to the platform of the gallows. He was whining piteously, saying, "I am a white man, I killed a n.i.g.g.e.r; I am a white man, I killed a n.i.g.g.e.r."

His complete breakdown filled the people with disgust, and they howled in derision.

"It took a cowardly wretch to commit a crime like his," said a member of the throng. The trembling man was hurried to the trapdoor, the noose was adjusted, the black cap put on, the trap sprung, all as quickly as possible, the victim kicking, scratching, clawing, the little that he could, and bellowing, "I killed a n.i.g.g.e.r! I killed a n.i.g.g.e.r!" As his body shot down, his last words were "O G.o.d, I killed a--." The sentence was finished in the other world. A few convulsive jerks, and the murderer of an innocent fellow being and the despoiler of virtue had gone to his reward.

CHAPTER XXII.