"No, sir. On the contrary, he endeavored to make a victim out of her, and he has been victimized."

"How did young Lawson happen to approach you?"

"Many years ago I first acted as procuress for his father, my own sister being the victim. Perhaps information as to what I could do came to him from his exemplary father."

The Commonwealth here stated that the evidence was all in, and if agreeable to the defense, the case would be submitted to the jury without argument. The defense, however, desired to make one speech, the prosecution waiving its right to make reply. The speech as prepared by the leading counsel for the defense was not delivered. The case of his client was ignored altogether, and a stirring invective was delivered against Dolly Smith.

As torrent after torrent of scathing rebuke rolled forth from the lips of the speaker, Dolly Smith writhed as one under the severest physical torture. Feeling unable to longer endure the ordeal, she arose and fled toward the door. As if by a common impulse, the throng of spectators surged about her.

"Tar and feathers!" some one suggested.

The cry was taken up, and soon all were loudly clamoring for "tar and feathers!" Tar and feathers were procured and applied to Dolly, who was now screaming at the top of her voice and striking wildly in the air.

She was soon overpowered and, followed by a hooting mob of men and boys, was led to the railway station, where she was placed upon the first outgoing train, with emphatic instructions to never again show her face in Richmond.

The train went rumbling out, bearing its unpopular burden. While the train was crossing a high bridge a few miles from Richmond, Dolly rushed upon the platform of the car in which she had been riding, huddled into one corner, and, leaping into the air, descended upon the unyielding rocks at the bottom of a deep gorge, whereupon her soul bade her body an eternal farewell, leaving it as food for such fowls of the air as should see fit to feed thereon.

To return to the trial, young Lawson, after conviction, was solemnly sentenced by the Judge to a term in the State prison. The Ex-Governor experienced such a shock from the occurrences that his mind became unbalanced. He went forth from the court room a complete mental wreck, and wandered aimlessly about the streets of Richmond, piteously repeating to any one who would take time to listen: "The fathers have eaten sour grapes, and the children's teeth are set on edge."

It developed that Dolly Smith was the purchaser of the home of Erma and John, and, through a provision in her will, it was now restored unto them. The storm of life bursting over their heads experiences a lull.

But be not deceived thereby. The Storm King is crafty.

CHAPTER XV.

AN AWFUL RESOLVE.

Erma is reinstated at Mrs. Turner's. That lady's heart is now drawn to Erma with peculiar warmth, as if in atonement for her previous harsh judgment and maltreatment. Mrs. Turner is a firm believer in the transcendant greatness of the aristocratic blood of the South, and the presence of Ex-Governor Lawson's blood in Erma's veins doubly endeared Erma to her. Thus it came about that Erma was treated more on the order of one under Mrs. Turner's special care than as a servant. Very frequently the white citizens of Richmond called at Mrs. Turner's in order to see the beautiful Negro girl that was said to be the daughter of Ex-Governor Lawson. Erma was so clever in conversation that all went away admiring her, but ascribing her cleverness to her white parentage, an appropriation that is often made whenever a notable performance comes from a person of mixed blood. But amid all this, Erma Wysong was by no means a happy girl. Her brother had at last confessed to her his awful crime and had thus rolled that crushing stone upon her heart. In addition to her sorrow over the fact that John, _her_ John, was a murderer, he had left it with her to tell him what steps to take.

After his confession to Erma, John's weight on his own heart materially lessened. He had put the matter into the hands of Erma and he felt that Erma's love for him and her love for G.o.d would effect such a compromise as to bring him back to favor with G.o.d. While naturally deeply concerned as to what Erma was to have him do, yet he felt that somehow all would be well, because ERMA had the matter in charge. Two or three times a week he would visit her, saying nothing of his crime, but hoping that she was ready with her decision. Her loving heart was touched with this childlike trust on the part of her brother. Erma also felt that the eyes of her mother were looking down upon her from the skies watching every step that she was taking concerning John, whom her mother had commended to her care with her latest breath. "Be faithful to John's soul, Erma,"

were the last words that escaped the lips of the dying mother. Then, too, Erma felt that the eyes of G.o.d were upon her. And yet again she remembered that she was a member of organized society; was in possession of the knowledge of an awful crime against society and therefore owed something to society. How much? was the great question. Thus, in settling this terrible matter she had to deal with her own heart full of love for John; had to deal with John's simple, trusting soul; with the sacred memory of her mother; with the will of G.o.d; with the demands of organized society calling loudly for her guilty brother.

Sleepless nights, weary tossings, the all-night prayers, the tear-bathed pillows were testimonials to the terrific conflict raging within Erma's bosom. At one time she had about argued her brother innocent to her satisfaction. She reasoned thus: The Labor Union drove her brother from employment at the Bilgal works, debarred him from leaving the city to find other work of the kind, drove him to the seat on the carriage where he overheard the Labor Union argument which corrupted his soul. Then she argued that the policy of the Union was nothing more nor less than a cold-blooded attempt at murder by starvation, as its principles universally applied would result in the starvation of all Negroes. Her brother's blow, then, was a blow in self-defense, a blow to strike down that being that was driving him to the water's edge and threatening to overwhelm him therein. But these arguments were destined to be soon overthrown in her mind.

Announcement was made that Booker T. Washington, her former teacher at Tuskegee, would lecture in Richmond on the "Race Problem." Erma went to this lecture. Mr. Washington delivered a strong address showing how the situation of the Negro was not altogether a hopeless one, and showing the audience how the Negro could, if he would, pull up with all the odds against him; how that there was no need for moping and despondent brooding. This Erma felt was a home thrust for John, for it was just this that had made his soul ripe for his crime. As Mr. Washington drew to the close of his remarks, his voice began to change from the earnest to the pa.s.sionate. In tones full of the pa.s.sionate fire of the orator, coupled with the pathos welling up out of a grieved soul, he said by way of peroration,

"After all, after all, it may be that the Negro has chosen the best weapon for the attainment of his rights and privileges. The Nihilist of Russia appeals to his bomb of dynamite; the American Indian to his tomahawk; but the American Negro has dropped upon his knees in his one room cabin and has sent up a prayer to G.o.d. After all, may it not be that his anguish torn face and sorrow-laden prayer of faith are better weapons than the bomb of the Russian Nihilist and the tomahawk of the Indian?"

This one remark determined Erma. As she now saw it, John's error was in adopting the motto of that Anglo-Saxon Master Workman, "If a foe stands in our way and nothing will dislodge him but death, then he must die."

Then the thought flashed over her mind that the Anglo-Saxon race, whose every advancing footstep had been planted in a pool of blood, was about to impart its mercilessness to the Negro, a being of another mould. And John was the first victim over whom the b.l.o.o.d.y shadow had cast itself.

She was determined to return John into the ways of his fathers. He was to renounce the pathway of blood and have recourse to G.o.d. Erma determined to have John Wysong confess his crime and take his chances before a court of justice, trusting to G.o.d to befriend her and him.

CHAPTER XVI.

A POLITICAL TRICK.

"h.e.l.lo, Christian, old boy. I am truly glad to see you back."

"Thank you, friend Stewart, thank you. I confess that I am much more than glad to be back. I would not have missed being here this year for anything. Why, we are to have a Railroad Bill before us and the question of electing a United States Senator, and n.o.body wants to miss good things like those."

"You are right. But from the way the papers read, you were having a hot time of it, and we all gave you up as a gone chap, once. How on earth did you pull through?"

Horace Christian's face took on a serious expression, and he looked around and around anxiously, and said, "Come with me over to my room, Stewart, and I will tell you the whole story. The thing isn't altogether to my credit, but I can trust a chap like you."

Such was a conversation that took place in front of the State Capitol at Richmond at the close of the first day's session of the Legislature. The sun was just down and flashing a defiant look backward on coming night.

The speakers were two members of the House of Delegates. The time is but a short period subsequent to John Wysong's confession to Erma.

Horace Christian was slightly below the medium in stature, had dark eyes and facial features of the most commonplace type. There was no marked peculiarity about him, nothing that would so impress you that you could point him out again if you saw him in a crowd. The two locked arms and went walking out of the Capitol yard, and over to Christian's room in Ford's Hotel. Once there, they locked the door to his room and took seats at a table in the center of the room. Christian offered Stewart a cigar, and taking one himself, lighted it, and leaning back in his chair, threw one leg over the table. Sitting thus, his hat on his head, he began his story, the gloom of evening fast creeping on.

"Well, Stewart, my election came about in this way. You know my district is a very close one, and a fellow's election is determined by a very few votes. On previous occasions I had paid out a little money and bought up the Negro vote to such an extent as to secure my election. But this time the Republicans put up as their candidate an ex-general in the Confederate Army. An Ex-Confederate who confesses to the error of his ways and joins the Republicans can always rely on the Negroes killing the fatted calf for him. So my opponent was just sweeping things before him. I began to look upon my candidacy as a forlorn hope, until an idea, which I regarded as a brilliant one, flashed into my mind.

"You know, Stewart, the Negro's weak point is grat.i.tude to the white man. That point in the Negro race is over developed. I have noticed that a merchant can keep a Negro's trade forever by merely speaking to him kindly. The Negro seems to feel that he owes the white man his trade for that friendly greeting, and he will not quit trading with him to trade with a member of his own race. A smile from a white man will go farther toward getting a Negro's trade than a day's pleasant conversation from another Negro, the Negro feels so grateful for the condescension of the white man. If a white man cuts off a Negro's leg, expresses sorrow for it, and gives him a cork one, accompanied with a kindly pat on his shoulder, that Negro feels under a debt of grat.i.tude to that white man all his days. I reasoned, then, that my only salvation lay in doing something to get the grat.i.tude of the Negro. Just now all the grat.i.tude of the Negroes is lavished upon Southern whites who denounce lynching. I decided to get an anti-lynching record. But I could not get that record without a lynching. If I was to get to the Legislature and have a finger in the pie, I must have a lynching. The question had reduced itself to this simple proposition; no lynching, no seat in the Legislature, or a lynching and a seat in the Legislature. I argued with myself that it would not matter so much with the universe if one more innocent Negro were lynched. Just one more name to the long list of innocents slain would not be such a great addition. Besides, I argued, if the lynching spirit goes on, some innocent Negro will soon be lynched and nothing gained, but in my case there is something to gain--a seat in the a.s.sembly at a most opportune time.

"Having toned my conscience down, I began to concoct my scheme. Of course, that was the easiest part of the job. You know that in the chivalrous South whenever a white woman throws out a hint against a Negro, he might as well make his will. I decided to take advantage of this chivalrous feeling and make it serve my purposes. A false charge was trumped up against a Negro, and he was soon in the hands of a mob.

According to prearranged plans, the Negro was being led forth to the place where he was to be hanged, when I came upon the scene and besought the mob to halt. This they did, and listened to remarks from me, denunciatory of their proposed actions. Only the leaders knew of my true relation to the whole affair.

"The fury of the mob had been aroused to such a pitch that nothing could induce them to desist. That Negro did look at me so appealingly, evidently regarding me as his only possible hope. Finally the crowd became impatient at listening to my harangue. They started off with the Negro. I then drew my pistol as if about to kill and be killed for his sake. I was overpowered in short order; but that one deed, the drawing of that pistol, has made me solid forever. The poor Negro was taken near the scene of the alleged crime and was hanged and riddled with bullets.

"That night I could not sleep. About twelve o'clock I got out of the bed and dressed. The moon was gleaming down upon the earth. Something drew me irresistibly to the scene of the lynching. The murdered Negro was yet hanging there, and by the light of the moon struggling through the treetops and falling in spangles over his form, I saw a horrible sight.

The face was ploughed up with bullets, his eyes were bulging out, his stomach was ripped open and his entrails were visible. On his breast there was a placard, and an inward voice seemed to say to me, 'Read!'

With my hair rising on my head and the strangest feeling I ever had in my life stealing over me, I crept up to the body. I could not see distinctly, so I struck a match and read these words: 'Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.' I looked up at the bulging eyes, and they seemed to be trying to speak to me and say, 'Thou art the man.' My strength failed me, and I fell forward, and, clutching at anything to keep from striking the ground, caught hold of the dead Negro. My weight, added to his, broke the rope, and we fell down together, my head getting caught under his mangled form.

"But, Stewart, the story is too uncanny. I can't go on with it!" His voice now grew loud and wild. "I would like to tell you about my dream.

Oh! it was awful. But I can't tell it to you! That queer feeling is stealing over me. My hair is rising now. Don't you hear my teeth chattering! Light the lamp! Light the lamp, Stewart!" Christian was now standing up, grasping the table in terror, and shaking like an aspen leaf.

Suddenly a rap was heard at the door. Christian cried out with the terror of a child, "Oh, don't open that door, Stewart, don't! That n.i.g.g.e.r will come in!" Stewart lighted the lamp, and this had the effect of restoring Christian to his normal condition. Christian now went to the door and opened it himself.

"Why, Speaker Lanier! Come in, Mr. Speaker, come in; your call does me a signal honor," he said. Mr. Lanier was a large, tall man, of grave aspect, and of a commanding appearance. "Be seated, Mr. Lanier, be seated." Speaker Lanier sat down and let his eyes rove around the room.

He caught sight of the grave look on Stewart's face, and inquired the cause.

"Oh, nothing, Mr. Speaker. A n.i.g.g.e.r stood in the way of my coming to the Legislature, so I just killed him. I have been telling Stewart about it," said Christian.

"In cold blood?" asked Lanier.

"Oh, it's a small matter about the sort of blood," laughed Christian.

"Killing a n.i.g.g.e.r does not amount to anything. A man isn't popular these days unless he kills a n.i.g.g.e.r. I have got mine." Lanier looked at Christian contemptuously. The subject was so disgusting that he hastened to discard it at once.

"Say, boys," said Lanier. "I have just come from the house of Ex-Mayor Turner's wife, and she has sent me to you all on the queerest mission possible. It comes about in this way.

"You know she has staying with her, a Negro girl, Erma Wysong, who is currently believed to be the daughter of Ex-Governor Lawson. This girl has so favorably impressed Mrs. Turner and has so elevated the opinion of the people as to the capabilities of Negroes, that Mrs. Turner has decided to use a number of Negro girls to kill off inimical legislation relative to the Negro race, which legislation threatens them at this session. You know a determined effort will be made to pa.s.s a separate coach bill; and also a law so dividing the school funds that Negro children shall get only that proportion of school money that comes from taxes paid on Negro property. Of course that means death to the Negro schools. Well, Mrs. Turner wishes to defeat these bills and desires to have the credit of the performance. Here is her idea. She holds that the social tie has been the a.s.suager of all racial antagonisms in history and that what makes the Negro Race Problem so hard of solution is that the social factor is missing and ever shall be.

"She has decided to employ this idea of the power of social influence in dealing with the pending legislation. She wishes to hold at her house a number of fetes at which no one shall be present but about twenty young Negro women of the very purest and highest type in their race, together with an equal number of the leaders in the Legislature. She wishes to bring you all together in this secret way for a purpose which she regards as lofty, even to the sublime.