The Marrow of Tradition Page 34

  XXXIV

  THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW

  Miller knocked at the door. There was no response. He went round to therear of the house. The dog had slunk behind the woodpile. Miller knockedagain, at the back door, and, receiving no reply, called aloud.

  "Mrs. Butler! It is I, Dr. Miller. Is my wife here?"

  The slats of a near-by blind opened cautiously.

  "Is it really you, Dr. Miller?"

  "Yes, Mrs. Butler. I am looking for my wife and child,--are they here?"

  "No, sir; she became alarmed about you, soon after the shootingcommenced, and I could not keep her. She left for home half an hour ago.It is coming on dusk, and she and the child are so near white that shedid not expect to be molested."

  "Which way did she go?"

  "She meant to go by the main street. She thought it would be lessdangerous than the back streets. I tried to get her to stay here, butshe was frantic about you, and nothing I could say would keep her. Isthe riot almost over, Dr. Miller? Do you think they will murder us all,and burn down our houses?"

  "God knows," replied Miller, with a groan. "But I must find her, if Ilose my own life in the attempt."

  Surely, he thought, Janet would be safe. The white people of Wellingtonwere not savages; or at least their temporary reversion to savagerywould not go as far as to include violence to delicate women andchildren. Then there flashed into his mind Josh Green's story of his"silly" mother, who for twenty years had walked the earth as a child, asthe result of one night's terror, and his heart sank within him.

  Miller realized that his buggy, by attracting attention, had been ahindrance rather than a help in his progress across the city. In orderto follow his wife, he must practically retrace his steps over the veryroute he had come. Night was falling. It would be easier to cross thetown on foot. In the dusk his own color, slight in the daytime, wouldnot attract attention, and by dodging in the shadows he might avoidthose who might wish to intercept him. But he must reach Janet and theboy at any risk. He had not been willing to throw his life awayhopelessly, but he would cheerfully have sacrificed it for those whom heloved.

  He had gone but a short distance, and had not yet reached the centre ofmob activity, when he intercepted a band of negro laborers from thecotton compress, with big Josh Green at their head.

  "Hello, doctuh!" cried Josh, "does you wan' ter jine us?"

  "I'm looking for my wife and child, Josh. They're somewhere in thisden of murderers. Have any of you seen them?"

  No one had seen them.

  "You men are running a great risk," said Miller. "You are rushing on tocertain death."

  "Well, suh, maybe we is; but we're gwine ter die fightin'. Dey say dew'ite folks is gwine ter bu'n all de cullud schools an' chu'ches, an'kill all de niggers dey kin ketch. Dey're gwine ter bu'n yo' newhospittle, ef somebody don' stop 'em."

  "Josh--men--you are throwing your lives away. It is a fever; it willwear off to-morrow, or to-night. They'll not burn the schoolhouses, northe hospital--they are not such fools, for they benefit the community;and they'll only kill the colored people who resist them. Every one ofyou with a gun or a pistol carries his death warrant in his own hand.I'd rather see the hospital burn than have one of you lose his life.Resistance only makes the matter worse,--the odds against you are toolong."

  "Things can't be any wuss, doctuh," replied one of the crowd sturdily."A gun is mo' dange'ous ter de man in front of it dan ter de man behin'it. Dey're gwine ter kill us anyhow; an' we're tired,--we read denewspapers,--an' we're tired er bein' shot down like dogs, widout jedgeer jury. We'd ruther die fightin' dan be stuck like pigs in a pen!"

  "God help you!" said Miller. "As for me, I must find my wife and child."

  "Good-by, doctuh," cried Josh, brandishing a huge knife. "'Member 'boutde ole 'oman, ef you lives thoo dis. Don' fergit de headbo'd an' defootbo'd, an' a silver plate on de coffin, ef dere's money ernuff."

  They went their way, and Miller hurried on. They might resist attack; hethought it extremely unlikely that they would begin it; but he knewperfectly well that the mere knowledge that some of the negroescontemplated resistance would only further inflame the infuriatedwhites. The colored men might win a momentary victory, though it wasextremely doubtful; and they would as surely reap the harvest later on.The qualities which in a white man would win the applause of the worldwould in a negro be taken as the marks of savagery. So thoroughlydiseased was public opinion in matters of race that the negro who diedfor the common rights of humanity might look for no meed of admirationor glory. At such a time, in the white man's eyes, a negro's couragewould be mere desperation; his love of liberty, a mere animal dislike ofrestraint. Every finer human instinct would be interpreted in terms ofsavagery. Or, if forced to admire, they would none the less repress.They would applaud his courage while they stretched his neck, or carriedoff the fragments of his mangled body as souvenirs, in much the same waythat savages preserve the scalps or eat the hearts of their enemies.

  But concern for the fate of Josh and his friends occupied only asecondary place in Miller's mind for the moment. His wife and child weresomewhere ahead of him. He pushed on. He had covered about a quarter ofa mile more, and far down the street could see the signs of greateranimation, when he came upon the body of a woman lying upon thesidewalk. In the dusk he had almost stumbled over it, and his heart cameup in his mouth. A second glance revealed that it could not be his wife.It was a fearful portent, however, of what her fate might be. The "war"had reached the women and children. Yielding to a professional instinct,he stooped, and saw that the prostrate form was that of old Aunt JaneLetlow. She was not yet quite dead, and as Miller, with a tender touch,placed her head in a more comfortable position, her lips moved with alast lingering flicker of consciousness:--

  "Comin', missis, comin'!"

  Mammy Jane had gone to join the old mistress upon whose memory herheart was fixed; and yet not all her reverence for her old mistress, norall her deference to the whites, nor all their friendship for her, hadbeen able to save her from this raging devil of race hatred whichmomentarily possessed the town.

  Perceiving that he could do no good, Miller hastened onward, sick atheart. Whenever he saw a party of white men approaching,--these bravereformers never went singly,--he sought concealment in the shadow of atree or the shrubbery in some yard until they had passed. He had coveredabout two thirds of the distance homeward, when his eyes fell upon agroup beneath a lamp-post, at sight of which he turned pale with horror,and rushed forward with a terrible cry.