The Clansman
BOOK IV
THE KU KLUX KLAN
CHAPTER IX
'VENGEANCE IS MINE'
IT was dark long before Margaret and Stoneman reached Piedmont. A
mile out of town a horse neighed in the woods, and, tired as she was,
Queen threw her head high and answered the call.
The old man did not notice it, but Margaret knew a squadron of
white-and-scarlet horsemen stood in those woods, and her heart gave a
bound of Joy.
As they passed the Presbyterian church, she saw through the open
window her father standing at his Elder's seat leading in prayer. They
were holding a watch service, asking God for victory in the eventful
struggle of the day.
Margaret attempted to drive straight to the jail, and a sentinel
stopped them.
“I am Stoneman, sir—the real commander of these troops,” said the
old man, with authority.
“Orders is orders, and I don't take 'em from you,” was the answer.
“Then tell your commander that Mr. Stoneman has just arrived from
Spartanburg and asks to see him at the hotel immediately.”
He hobbled into the parlour and waited in agony while Margaret tied
the mare. Ben, her mother and father, and every servant were gone.
In a few moments the second officer hurried to Stoneman, saluted,
and said:
“We've pulled it off in good shape, sir. They've tried to fool us
with a dozen tricks, and a whole regiment has been lying in wait for us
all day. But at dark the Captain outwitted them, took his prisoner with
a squad of picked cavalry, and escaped their pickets. They've been gone
an hour, and ought to be back with the body—”
Old Stoneman sprang on him with the sudden fury of a madman,
clutching at his throat.
“If you've killed my son,” he gasped—“go—go! Follow them with a
swift messenger and stop them! It's a mistake—you're killing the
wrong man—you're killing my boy—quick—my God, quick—don't stand
there staring at me!”
The officer rushed to obey his order, as Margaret entered.
The old man seized her arm, and said with laboured breath:
“Your father, my child, ask him to come to me quickly.” Margaret
hurried to the church, and an usher called the doctor to the door.
He read the question trembling on the girl's lips.
“Nothing has happened yet, my daughter. Your brother has held a
regiment of his men in readiness every moment of the day.”
“Mr. Stoneman is at the hotel and asks to see you immediately,” she
whispered.
“God grant he may prevent bloodshed,” said the father. “Go inside
and stay with your mother.”
When Doctor Cameron entered the parlour, Stoneman hobbled painfully
to meet him, his face ashen, and his breath rattling in his throat as
if his soul were being strangled.
“You are my enemy, Doctor,” he said, taking his hand, “but you are a
pious man. I have been called an infidel- I am only a wilful sinner-I
have slain my own son, unless God Almighty, who can raise the dead,
shall save him! You are the man at whom I aimed the blow that has
fallen on my head. I wish to confess to you and set myself right before
God. He may hear my cry, and have mercy on me.”
He gasped for breath, sank into his seat, looked around, and said:
“Will you close the door?”
The doctor complied with his request and returned.
“We all wear masks, Doctor,” began the trembling voice. “Beneath lie
the secrets of love and hate from which actions move. My will alone
forged the chains of Negro rule. Three forces moved me—party success,
a vicious woman, and the quenchless desire for personal vengeance. When
I first fell a victim to the wiles of the yellow vampire who kept my
house, I dreamed of lifting her to my level. And when I felt myself
sinking into the black abyss of animalism, I, whose soul had learned
the pathway of the stars and held high converse with the great spirits
of the ages—”
He paused, looked up in terror, and whispered:
“What's that noise? Isn't it the distant beat of horses?”
“No,” said the doctor, listening; “it's the roar of the falls we
hear, from a sudden change of the wind.”
I'm done now,” Stoneman went on, slowly, fumbling his hands. “My
life has been a failure. The dice of God are always loaded.”
His great head drooped lower, and he continued:
Mightiest of all was my motive of revenge. Fierce business and
political feuds wrecked my iron-mills I shouldered their vast debts,
and paid the last mortgage of a hundred thousand dollars the week
before Lee invaded my state. I stood on the hill in the darkness,
cried, raved cursed, while I watched his troops lay those mills in
ashes. Then and there I swore that I'd live until I ground the South
beneath my heel! When I got back to my house, they had buried a
Confederate soldier in the field. I dug his body up, carted it to the
woods, and threw it into a ditch—”
The hand of the white-haired Southerner suddenly gripped old
Stoneman's throat-and then relaxed. His head sank on his breast, and he
cried in anguish:
“God be merciful to me a sinner! Would I, too, seek revenge!”
Stoneman looked at the doctor, dazed by his sudden onslaught and
collapse.
“Yes, he was somebody's boy down here,” he went on, who was loved
perhaps even as I love—I don't blame you. See, in the inside pocket
next to my heart I carry the pictures of Phil and Elsie taken from
babyhood up, all set in a little book. They don't know this—nor does
the world dream I've been so soft-hearted-”
He drew a miniature album from his pocket and fumbled it aimlessly:
“You know Phil was my first-born—”
His voice broke, and he looked at the doctor helplessly.
The Southerner slipped his arm around the old man' s shoulders and
began a tender and reverent prayer.
The sudden thunder of a squad of cavalry with clanking sabres swept
by the hotel toward the jail.
Stoneman scrambled to his feet, staggered, and caught a chair.
“It's no use,” he groaned, “—they've come with his body—I'm
skipping down—the lights are going out—I haven't a friend! It's
dark and cold—I'm alone, and lost—God—has—hidden—His—face—
from—me!”
Voices were heard without, and the tramp of heavy feet on the steps.
Stoneman clutched the doctor's arm in agony:
“Stop them!—Stop them! Don't let them bring him in here!”
He sank limp into the chair and stared at the door as it swung open
and Phil walked in, with Ben and Elsie by his side in full clansman
disguise.
The old man leaped to his feet and gasped:
“The Klan!—The Klan! No? Yes! It's true—glory to God, they've
saved my boy!—Phil—Phil!”
“How did you rescue him?” Doctor Cameron asked Ben.
“Had a squadron lying in wait on every road that led from town. The
Captain thought a thousand men were on him, and surrendered without a
shot.”
At twelve o'clock, Ben stood at the gate with Elsie.
“Your fate hangs in the balance of this election tonight,” she said.
“I'll share it with you, success or failure, life or death.”
“Success, not failure,” he answered, firmly. “The Grand Dragons of
six states have already wired victory. Look at our lights on the
mountains! They are ablaze—range on range our signals gleam until the
Fiery Cross is lost among the stars!”
“What does it mean?” she whispered.
“That I am a successful revolutionist—that Civilisation has been
saved, and the South redeemed from shame.”
THE END