<h2> <SPAN name="Thirty_seven" id="Thirty_seven"></SPAN><i>Thirty-seven</i> </h2>
<h2> THE MOB </h2>
<p>When Emma, Bertie's child, came home after a two years' course of
study, she had passed from girlhood to young womanhood. She was
white, and sandy-haired. She was not beautiful, and she appeared
to be fragile; but she also looked sweet and good, with that
peculiar innocence which peers out upon the world with calm,
round eyes and sees no evil, but does methodically its simple,
everyday work. Zora mothered her, Miss Smith found her plenty to
do, and Bles thought her a good girl. But Mrs. Cresswell found
her perfect, and began to scheme to marry her off. For Mary
Cresswell, with the restlessness and unhappiness of an unemployed
woman, was trying to atone for her former blunders.</p>
<p>Her humiliation after the episode at Cresswell Oaks had been
complete. It seemed to her that the original cause of her whole
life punishment lay in her persistent misunderstanding of the
black people and their problem. Zora appeared to her in a new and
glorified light—a vigorous, self-sacrificing woman. She
knew that Zora had refused to marry Bles, and this again seemed
fitting. Zora was not meant for marrying; she was a born leader,
wedded to a great cause; she had long outgrown the boy and girl
affection. She was the sort of woman she herself might have been
if she had not married.</p>
<p>Alwyn, on the other hand, needed a wife; he was a great, virile
boy, requiring a simple, affectionate mate. No sooner did she see
Emma than she was sure that this was the ideal wife. She compared
herself with Helen Cresswell. Helen was a contented wife and
mother because she was fitted for the position, and happy in it;
while she who had aimed so high had fallen piteously. From such a
fate she would save Zora and Bles.</p>
<p>Emma's course in nurse-training had been simple and short and
there was no resident physician; but Emma, in her unemotional
way, was a born nurse and did much good among the sick in the
neighborhood. Zora had a small log hospital erected with four
white beds, a private room, and an office which was also Emma's
bedroom. The new white physician in town, just fresh from school
in Atlanta, became interested and helped with advice and
suggestions.</p>
<p>Meantime John Taylor's troubles began to increase. Under the old
political regime it had been an easy matter to avoid serious
damage-suits for the accidents in the mill. Much child labor and
the lack of protective devices made accidents painfully frequent.
Taylor insisted that the chief cause was carelessness, while the
mill hands alleged criminal neglect on his part. When the new
labor officials took charge of the court and the break occurred
between Colonel Cresswell and his son-in-law, Taylor found that
several damage-suits were likely to cost him a considerable sum.</p>
<p>He determined not to let the bad feelings go too far, and when a
particularly distressing accident to a little girl took place, he
showed more than his usual interest and offered to care for her.
The new young physician recommended Zora's infirmary as the only
near place that offered a chance for the child's recovery.</p>
<p>"Take her out," Taylor promptly directed.</p>
<p>Zora was troubled when the child came. She knew the suspicious
temper of the town whites. The very next day Taylor sent out a
second case, a child who had been hurt some time before and was
not recovering as she should. Under the care of the little
hospital and the gentle nurse the children improved rapidly, and
in two weeks were outdoors, playing with the little black
children and even creeping into classrooms and listening. The
grateful mothers came out twice a week at least; at first with
suspicious aloofness, but gradually melting under Zora's tact
until they sat and talked with her and told their troubles and
struggles. Zora realized how human they were, and how like their
problems were to hers. They and their children grew to love this
busy, thoughtful woman, and Zora's fears were quieted.</p>
<p>The catastrophe came suddenly. The sheriff rode by, scowling and
hunting for some poor black runaway, when he saw white children
in the Negro school and white women, whom he knew were
mill-hands, looking on. He was black with anger; turning he
galloped back to town. A few hours later the young physician
arrived hastily in a cab to take the women and children to town.
He said something in a low tone to Zora and drove away, frowning.</p>
<p>Zora came quickly to the school and asked for Alwyn. He was in
the barn and she hurried there.</p>
<p>"Bles," she said quietly, "it is reported that a Toomsville mob
will burn the school tonight."</p>
<p>Bles stood motionless.</p>
<p>"I've been fearing it. The sheriff has been stirring up the worst
elements in the town lately and the mills pay off tonight."</p>
<p>"Well," she said quietly, "we must prepare."</p>
<p>He looked at her, his face aglow with admiration.</p>
<p>"You wonder-woman!" he exclaimed softly.</p>
<p>A moment they regarded each other. She saw the love in his eyes,
and he saw rising in hers something that made his heart bound.
But she turned quickly away.</p>
<p>"You must hurry, Bles; lives are at stake." And in another moment
he thundered out of the barn on the black mare.</p>
<p>Along the pike he flew and up the plantation roads. Across broad
fields and back again, over to the Barton pike and along the
swamp. At every cabin he whispered a word, and left behind him
grey faces and whispering children.</p>
<p>His horse was reeking with sweat as he staggered again into the
school-yard; but already the people were gathering, with
frightened, anxious, desperate faces. Women with bundles and
children, men with guns, tottering old folks, wide-eyed boys and
girls. Up from the swamp land came the children crying and
moaning. The sun was setting. The women and children hurried into
the school building, closing the doors and windows. A moment
Alwyn stood without and looked back. The world was peaceful. He
could hear the whistle of birds and the sobbing of the breeze in
the shadowing oaks. The sky was flashing to dull and purplish
blue, and over all lay the twilight hush as though God did not
care.</p>
<p>He threw back his head and clenched his hands. His soul groaned
within him. "Heavenly Father, was man ever before set to such a
task?" Fight? God! if he could but fight! If he could but let go
the elemental passions that were leaping and gathering and
burning in the eyes of yonder caged and desperate black men. But
his hands were tied—manacled. One desperate struggle, a
whirl of blood, and the whole world would rise to crush him and
his people. The white operatore in yonder town had but to flash
the news, "Negroes killing whites," to bring all the country, all
the State, all the nation, to red vengeance. It mattered not what
the provocation, what the desperate cause.</p>
<p>The door suddenly opened behind him and he wheeled around.</p>
<p>"Zora!" he whispered.</p>
<p>"Bles," she answered softly, and they went silently in to their
people.</p>
<p>All at once, from floor to roof, the whole school-house was
lighted up, save a dark window here and there. Then some one
slipped out into the darkness and soon watch-fire after
watch-fire flickered and flamed in the night, and then burned
vividly, sending up sparks and black smoke. Thus ringed with
flaming silence, the school lay at the edge of the great, black
swamp and waited. Owls hooted in the forest. Afar the shriek of
the Montgomery train was heard across the night, mingling with
the wail of a wakeful babe; and then redoubled silence. The men
became restless, and Johnson began to edge away toward the lower
hall. Alwyn was watching him when a faint noise came to him on
the eastern breeze—a low, rumbling murmur. It died away,
and rose again; then a distant gun-shot woke the echoes.</p>
<p>"They're coming!" he cried. Standing back in the shadow of a
front window, he waited. Slowly, intermittently, the murmuring
swelled, till it grew distinguishable as yelling, cursing, and
singing, intermingled with the crash of pistol-shots. Far away a
flame, as of a burning cabin, arose, and a wilder, louder yell
greeted it. Now the tramp of footsteps could be heard, and
clearer and thicker the grating and booming of voices, until
suddenly, far up the pike, a black moving mass, with glitter and
shout, swept into view. They came headlong, guided by
pine-torches, which threw their white and haggard faces into wild
distortion. Then as bonfire after bonfire met their gaze, they
moved slowly and more slowly, and at last sent a volley of
bullets at the fires. One bullet flew high and sang through a
lighted window. Without a word, Uncle Isaac sank upon the floor
and lay still. Silence and renewed murmuring ensued, and the
sound of high voices in dispute. Then the mass divided into two
wings and slowly encircled the fence of fire; starting noisily
and confidently, and then going more slowly, quietly, warily, as
the silence of the flame began to tell on their heated nerves.</p>
<p>Strained whispers arose.</p>
<p>"Careful there!"</p>
<p>"Go on, damn ye!"</p>
<p>"There's some one by yon fire."</p>
<p>"No, there ain't."</p>
<p>"See the bushes move."</p>
<p><i>Bang! bang! bang!</i></p>
<p>"Who's that?"</p>
<p>"It's me."</p>
<p>"Let's rush through and fire the house."</p>
<p>"And leave a pa'cel of niggers behind to shoot your lights out?
Not me."</p>
<p>"What the hell are you going to do?"</p>
<p>"I don't know yet."</p>
<p>"I wish I could see a nigger."</p>
<p><i>"Hark!"</i></p>
<p>Stealthy steps were approaching, a glint of steel flashed behind
the fire lights. Each band mistook the other for the armed
Negroes, and the leaders yelled in vain; human power can not stay
the dashing torrent of fear-inspired human panic. Whirling, the
mob fled till it struck the road in two confused, surging masses.
Then in quick frenzy, shots flew; three men threw up their hands
and tumbled limply in the dust, while the main body rushed
pellmell toward town.</p>
<p>At early dawn, when the men relaxed from the strain of the
night's vigil, Alwyn briefly counselled them: "Hide your guns."</p>
<p>"Why?" blustered Rob. "Haven't I a right to have a gun?"</p>
<p>"Yes, you have, Rob; but don't be foolish—hide it. We've
not heard the last of this."</p>
<p>But Rob tossed his head belligerently.</p>
<p>In town, rumor spread like wildfire. A body of peaceful whites
passing through the black settlement had been fired on from
ambush, and six killed—no, three killed—no, one
killed and two severely wounded.</p>
<p>"The thing mustn't stop here," shouted Sheriff Colton; "these
niggers must have a lesson." And before nine next morning fully
half the grown members of the same mob, now sworn in as deputies,
rode with him to search the settlement. They tramped insolently
through the school grounds, but there was no shred of evidence
until they came to Rob's cabin and found his gun. They tied his
hands behind him and marched him toward town.</p>
<p>But before the mob arrived the night before, Johnson feeling that
his safety lay in informing the white folks, had crawled with his
gun into the swamp. In the morning he peered out as the cavalcade
approached, and not knowing what had happened, he recognized
Colton, the sheriff, and signalled to him cautiously. In a moment
a dozen men were on him, and he appealed and explained in
vain—the gun was damning evidence. The voices of Rob's wife
and children could be heard behind the two men as they were
hurried along at a dog trot.</p>
<p>The town poured out to greet them—"The murderers! the
murderers! Kill the niggers!" and they came on with a rush. The
sheriff turned and disappeared in the rear. There was a great
cloud of dust, a cry and a wild scramble, as the white and angry
faces of men and boys gleamed a moment and faded.</p>
<p>A hundred or more shots rang out; then slowly and silently, the
mass of women and men were sucked into the streets of the town,
leaving but black eddies on the corners to throw backward glances
toward the bare, towering pine where swung two red and awful
things. The pale boy-face of one, with soft brown eyes glared up
sightless to the sun; the dead, leathered bronze of the other was
carved in piteous terror.</p>
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