The Clansman: An Historical Romance of the Ku Klux Klan

CHAPTER IV
The Banner of the Dragon

Ben Cameron rode rapidly to the rendezvous of the pickets who were to meet the coming squadrons.

He returned home and ate a hearty meal. As he emerged from the dining-room, Phil seized him by the arm and led him under the big oak on the lawn:

“Cameron, old boy, I’m in a lot of trouble. I’ve had a quarrel with my father, and your sister has broken me all up by returning my ring. I want a little excitement to ease my nerves. From Elsie’s incoherent talk I judge you are in danger. If there’s going to be a fight, let me in.”

Ben took his hand:

“You’re the kind of a man I’d like to have for a brother, and I’ll help you in love – but as for war – it’s not your fight. We don’t need help.”

At ten o’clock Ben met the local Den at their rendezvous under the cliff, to prepare for the events of the night.

The forty members present were drawn up before him in double rank of twenty each.

“Brethren,” he said to them solemnly, “I have called you to-night to take a step from which there can be no retreat. We are going to make a daring experiment of the utmost importance. If there is a faint heart among you, now is the time to retire – ”

“We are with you!” cried the men.

“There are laws of our race, old before this Republic was born in the souls of white freemen. The fiat of fools has repealed on paper these laws. Your fathers who created this Nation were first Conspirators, then Revolutionists, now Patriots and Saints. I need to-night ten volunteers to lead the coming clansmen over this county and disarm every negro in it. The men from North Carolina cannot be recognized. Each of you must run this risk. Your absence from home to-night will be doubly dangerous for what will be done here at this negro armoury under my command. I ask of these ten men to ride their horses until dawn, even unto death, to ride for their God, their native land, and the womanhood of the South!

“To each man who accepts this dangerous mission I offer for your bed the earth, for your canopy the sky, for your bread stones; and when the flash of bayonets shall fling into your face from the Square the challenge of martial law, the protection I promise you – is exile, imprisonment, and death! Let the ten men who accept these terms step forward four paces.”

With a single impulse the whole double line of forty white-and-scarlet figures moved quickly forward four steps!

The leader shook hands with each man, his voice throbbing with emotion as he said:

“Stand together like this, men, and armies will march and countermarch over the South in vain! We will save the life of our people.”

The ten guides selected by the Grand Dragon rode forward, and each led a division of one hundred men through the ten townships of the county and successfully disarmed every negro before day without the loss of a life.

The remaining squadron of two hundred and fifty men from Hambright, accompanied by the Grand Titan in command of the Province of Western Hill Counties, were led by Ben Cameron into Piedmont as the waning moon rose between twelve and one o’clock.

They marched past Stoneman’s place on the way to the negro armoury, which stood on the opposite side of the street a block below.

The wild music of the beat of a thousand hoofs on the cobblestones of the street waked every sleeper. The old Commoner hobbled to his window and watched them pass, his big hands fumbling nervously, and his soul stirred to its depths.

The ghostlike shadowy columns moved slowly with the deliberate consciousness of power. The scarlet circles on their breasts could be easily seen when one turned toward the house, as could the big red letters K. K. K. on each horse’s flank.

In the centre of the line waved from a gold-tipped spear the battle-flag of the Klan. As they passed the bright lights burning at his gate, old Stoneman could see this standard plainly. The huge black dragon with flaming eyes and tongue seemed a living thing crawling over a scarlet-tipped yellow cloud.

At the window above stood a little figure watching that banner of the Dragon pass with aching heart.

Phil stood at another, smiling with admiration for their daring:

“By George, it stirs the blood to see it! You can’t crush men of that breed!”

The watchers were not long in doubt as to what the raiders meant.

They deployed quickly around the armoury. A whistle rang its shrill cry, and a volley of two hundred and fifty carbines and revolvers smashed every glass in the building. The sentinel had already given the alarm, and the drum was calling the startled negroes to their arms. They returned the volley twice, and for ten minutes were answered with the steady crack of two hundred and fifty guns. A white flag appeared at the door, and the firing ceased. The negroes laid down their arms and surrendered. All save three were allowed to go to their homes for the night and carry their wounded with them.

The three confederates in the crime of their captain were bound and led away. In a few minutes the crash of a volley told their end.

The little white figure rapped at Phil’s door and placed a trembling hand on his arm:

“Phil,” she said softly, “please go to the hotel and stay until you know all that has happened – until you know the full list of those killed and wounded. I’ll wait. You understand?”

As he stooped and kissed her, he felt a hot tear roll down her cheek.

“Yes, little Sis, I understand,” he answered.

CHAPTER V
The Reign of the Klan

In quick succession every county followed the example of Ulster, and the arms furnished the negroes by the State and National governments were in the hands of the Klan. The League began to collapse in a panic of terror.

A gale of chivalrous passion and high action, contagious and intoxicating, swept the white race. The moral, mental, and physical earthquake which followed the first assault on one of their daughters revealed the unity of the racial life of the people. Within the span of a week they had lived a century.

The spirit of the South “like lightning had at last leaped forth, half startled at itself, its feet upon the ashes and the rags,” its hands tight-gripped on the throat of tyrant, thug, and thief.

It was the resistless movement of a race, not of any man or leader of men. The secret weapon with which they struck was the most terrible and efficient in human history – these pale hosts of white-and-scarlet horsemen! They struck shrouded in a mantle of darkness and terror. They struck where the power of resistance was weakest and the blow least suspected. Discovery or retaliation was impossible. Not a single disguise was ever penetrated. All was planned and ordered as by destiny. The accused was tried by secret tribunal, sentenced without a hearing, executed in the dead of night without warning, mercy, or appeal. The movements of the Klan were like clockwork, without a word, save the whistle of the Night Hawk, the crack of his revolver, and the hoofbeat of swift horses moving like figures in a dream, and vanishing in mists and shadows.

The old club-footed Puritan, in his mad scheme of vengeance and party power, had overlooked the Covenanter, the backbone of the South. This man had just begun to fight! His race had defied the Crown of Great Britain a hundred years from the caves and wilds of Scotland and Ireland, taught the English people how to slay a king and build a commonwealth, and, driven into exile into the wilderness of America, led our Revolution, peopled the hills of the South, and conquered the West.

As the young German patriots of 1812 had organized the great struggle for their liberties under the noses of the garrisons of Napoleon, so Ben Cameron had met the leaders of his race in Nashville, Tennessee, within the picket lines of thirty-five thousand hostile troops, and in the ruins of an old homestead discussed and adopted the ritual of the Invisible Empire.

Within a few months this Empire overspread a territory larger than modern Europe. In the approaching election it was reaching out its daring white hands to tear the fruits of victory from twenty million victorious conquerors.

The triumph at which they aimed was one of incredible grandeur. They had risen to snatch power out of defeat and death. Under their clan leadership the Southern people had suddenly developed the courage of the lion, the cunning of the fox, and the deathless faith of religious enthusiasts.

Society was fused in the white heat of one sublime thought and beat with the pulse of the single will of the Grand Wizard of the Klan of Memphis.

Women and children had eyes and saw not, ears and heard not. Over four thousand disguises for men and horses were made by the women of the South, and not one secret ever passed their lips!

With magnificent audacity, infinite patience, and remorseless zeal, a conquered people were struggling to turn his own weapon against their conqueror, and beat his brains out with the bludgeon he had placed in the hands of their former slaves.

Behind the tragedy of Reconstruction stood the remarkable man whose iron will alone had driven these terrible measures through the chaos of passion, corruption, and bewilderment which followed the first assassination of an American President. As he leaned on his window in this village of the South and watched in speechless rage the struggle at that negro armoury, he felt for the first time the foundations sinking beneath his feet. As he saw the black cowards surrender in terror, noted the indifference and cool defiance with which those white horsemen rode and shot, he knew that he had collided with the ultimate force which his whole scheme had overlooked.

He turned on his big club foot from the window, clinched his fist and muttered:

“But I’ll hang that man for this deed if it’s the last act of my life!”

The morning brought dismay to the negro, the carpet-bagger, and the scallawag of Ulster. A peculiar freak of weather in the early morning added to their terror. The sun rose clear and bright except for a slight fog that floated from the river valley, increasing the roar of the falls. About nine o’clock a huge black shadow suddenly rushed over Piedmont from the west, and in a moment the town was shrouded in twilight. The cries of birds were hushed and chickens went to roost as in a total eclipse of the sun. Knots of people gathered on the streets and gazed uneasily at the threatening skies. Hundreds of negroes began to sing and shout and pray, while sensible people feared a cyclone or cloud-burst. A furious downpour of rain was swiftly followed by sunshine, and the negroes rose from their knees, shouting with joy to find the end of the world had after all been postponed.

But that the end of their brief reign in a white man’s land had come, but few of them doubted. The events of the night were sufficiently eloquent. The movement of the clouds in sympathy was unnecessary.

Old Stoneman sent for Lynch, and found he had fled to Columbia. He sent for the only lawyer in town whom the Lieutenant-Governor had told him could be trusted.

The lawyer was polite, but his refusal to undertake the prosecution of any alleged member of the Klan was emphatic.

“I’m a sinful man, sir,” he said with a smile. “Besides, I prefer to live, on general principles.”

“I’ll pay you well,” urged the old man, “and if you secure the conviction of Ben Cameron, the man we believe to be the head of this Klan, I’ll give you ten thousand dollars.”

The lawyer was whittling on a piece of pine meditatively.

“That’s a big lot of money in these hard times. I’d like to own it, but I’m afraid it wouldn’t be good at the bank on the other side. I prefer the green fields of South Carolina to those of Eden. My harp isn’t in tune.”

Stoneman snorted in disgust:

“Will you ask the Mayor to call to see me at once?”

“We ain’t got none,” was the laconic answer.

“What do you mean?”

“Haven’t you heard what happened to his Honour last night?”

“No.”

“The Klan called to see him,” went on the lawyer with a quizzical look “at 3 A. M. Rather early for a visit of state. They gave him forty-nine lashes on his bare back, and persuaded him that the climate of Piedmont didn’t agree with him. His Honour, Mayor Bizzel, left this morning with his negro wife and brood of mulatto children for his home, the slums of Cleveland, Ohio. We are deprived of his illustrious example, and he may not be a wiser man than when he came, but he’s a much sadder one.”

Stoneman dismissed the even-tempered member of the bar, and wired Lynch to return immediately to Piedmont. He determined to conduct the prosecution of Ben Cameron in person. With the aid of the Lieutenant-Governor he succeeded in finding a man who would dare to swear out a warrant against him.

As a preliminary skirmish he was charged with a violation of the statutory laws of the United States relating to Reconstruction and arraigned before a Commissioner.

Against Elsie’s agonizing protest, old Stoneman appeared at the courthouse to conduct the prosecution.

In the absence of the United States Marshal, the warrant had been placed in the hands of the sheriff, returnable at ten o’clock on the morning fixed for the trial. The new sheriff of Ulster was no less a personage than Uncle Aleck, who had resigned his seat in the House to accept the more profitable one of High Sheriff of the County.

There was a long delay in beginning the trial. At 10:30 not a single witness summoned had appeared, nor had the prisoner seen fit to honour the court with his presence.

Old Stoneman sat fumbling his hands in nervous, sullen rage, while Phil looked on with amusement.

“Send for the sheriff,” he growled to the Commissioner.

In a moment Aleck appeared bowing humbly and politely to every white man he passed. He bent halfway to the floor before the Commissioner and said:

“Marse Ben be here in er minute, sah. He’s er eatin’ his breakfus’. I run erlong erhead.”

Stoneman’s face was a thundercloud as he scrambled to his feet and glared at Aleck:

“Marse Ben? Did you say Marse Ben? Who’s he?”

Aleck bowed low again.

“De young Colonel, sah – Marse Ben Cameron.”

“And you the sheriff of this county trotted along in front to make the way smooth for your prisoner?”

“Yessah!”

“Is that the way you escort prisoners before a court?”

“Dem kin’ er prisoners – yessah.”

“Why didn’t you walk beside him?”

Aleck grinned from ear to ear and bowed very low:

“He say sumfin’ to me, sah!”

“And what did he say?”

Aleck shook his head and laughed:

“I hates ter insinuate ter de cote, sah!”

“What did he say to you?” thundered Stoneman.

“He say – he say – ef I walk ’longside er him – he knock hell outen me, sah!”

“Indeed.”

“Yessah, en I ‘spec’ he would,” said Aleck insinuatingly. “La, he’s a gemman, sah, he is! He tell me he come right on. He be here sho’.”

Stoneman whispered to Lynch, turned with a look of contempt to Aleck, and said:

“Mr. Sheriff, you interest me. Will you be kind enough to explain to this court what has happened to you lately to so miraculously change your manners?”

Aleck glanced around the room nervously.

“I seed sumfin’ – a vision, sah!”

“A vision? Are you given to visions?”

“Na-sah. Dis yere wuz er sho’ ’nuff vision! I wuz er feelin’ bad all day yistiddy. Soon in de mawnin’, ez I wuz gwine ’long de road, I see a big black bird er settin’ on de fence. He flop his wings, look right at me en say, ‘Corpse! Corpse! Corpse!’” – Aleck’s voice dropped to a whisper – “’en las’ night de Ku Kluxes come ter see me, sah!”

Stoneman lifted his beetling brows.

“That’s interesting. We are searching for information on that subject.”

“Yessah! Dey wuz Sperits, ridin’ white hosses wid flowin’ white robes, en big blood-red eyes! De hosses wuz twenty feet high, en some er de Sperits wuz higher dan dis cote-house! Dey wuz all bal’ headed, ’cept right on de top whar dere wuz er straight blaze er fire shot up in de air ten foot high!”

“What did they say to you?”

“Dey say dat ef I didn’t design de sheriff’s office, go back ter farmin’ en behave myself, dey had er job waitin’ fer me in hell, sah. En shos’ you born dey wuz right from dar!”

“Of course!” sneered the old Commoner.

“Yessah! Hit’s des lak I tell yer. One ob ’em makes me fetch ’im er drink er water. I carry two bucketsful ter ’im ‘fo’ I git done, en I swar ter God he drink it all right dar ‘fo’ my eyes! He say hit wuz pow’ful dry down below, sah! En den I feel sumfin’ bus’ loose inside er me, en I disremember all dat come ter pass! I made er jump fer de ribber bank, en de next I knowed I wuz er pullin’ fur de odder sho’. I’se er pow’ful good swimmer, sah, but I nebber git ercross er creek befo’ ez quick ez I got ober de ribber las’ night.”

“And you think of going back to farming?”

“I done begin plowin’ dis mornin’, marster!”

“Don’t you call me marster!” yelled the old man. “Are you the sheriff of this county?”

Aleck laughed loudly.

“Na-sah! Dat’s er joke! I ain’t nuttin’ but er plain nigger – I wants peace, judge.”

“Evidently we need a new sheriff.”

“Dat’s what I tell ’em, sah, dis mornin’ – en I des flings mysef on de ignance er de cote!”

Phil laughed aloud, and his father’s colourless eyes began to spit cold poison.

“About what time do you think your master, Colonel Cameron, will honour us with his presence?” he asked Aleck.

Again the sheriff bowed.

“He’s er comin’ right now, lak I tole yer – he’s er gemman, sah.”

Ben walked briskly into the room and confronted the Commissioner.

Without apparently noticing his presence, Stoneman said:

“In the absence of witnesses we accept the discharge of this warrant, pending developments.”

Ben turned on his heel, pressed Phil’s hand as he passed through the crowd, and disappeared.

The old Commoner drove to the telegraph office and sent a message of more than a thousand words to the White House, a copy of which the operator delivered to Ben Cameron within an hour.

President Grant next morning issued a proclamation declaring the nine Scotch-Irish hill counties of South Carolina in a state of insurrection, ordered an army corps of five thousand men to report there for duty, pending the further necessity of martial law and the suspension of the writ of Habeas Corpus.

CHAPTER VI
The Counter Stroke

From the hour he had watched the capture of the armoury old Stoneman felt in the air a current against him which was electric, as if the dead had heard the cry of the clansmen’s greeting, risen and rallied to their pale ranks.

The daring campaign these men were waging took his breath. They were going not only to defeat his delegation to Congress, but send their own to take their seats, reinforced by the enormous power of a suppressed negro vote. The blow was so sublime in its audacity, he laughed in secret admiration while he raved and cursed.

The army corps took possession of the hill counties, quartering from five to six hundred regulars at each courthouse; but the mischief was done. The State was on fire. The eighty thousand rifles with which the negroes had been armed were now in the hands of their foes. A white rifle-club was organized in every town, village, and hamlet. They attended the public meetings with their guns, drilled in front of the speakers’ stands, yelled, hooted, hissed, cursed, and jeered at the orators who dared to champion or apologize for negro rule. At night the hoofbeat of squadrons of pale horsemen and the crack of their revolvers struck terror to the heart of every negro, carpet-bagger, and scallawag.

There was a momentary lull in the excitement, which Stoneman mistook for fear, at the appearance of the troops. He had the Governor appoint a white sheriff, a young scallawag from the mountains who was a noted moonshiner and desperado. He arrested over a hundred leading men in the county, charged them with complicity in the killing of the three members of the African Guard, and instructed the judge and clerk of the court to refuse bail and commit them to jail under military guard.

To his amazement the prisoners came into Piedmont armed and mounted. They paid no attention to the deputy sheriffs who were supposed to have them in charge. They deliberately formed in line under Ben Cameron’s direction and he led them in a parade through the streets.

The five hundred United States regulars who were camped on the river bank were Westerners. Ben led his squadron of armed prisoners in front of this camp and took them through the evolutions of cavalry with the precision of veterans. The soldiers dropped their games and gathered, laughing, to watch them. The drill ended with a double-rank charge at the river embankment. When they drew every horse on his haunches on the brink, firing a volley with a single crash, a wild cheer broke from the soldiers, and the officers rushed from their tents.

Ben wheeled his men, galloped in front of the camp, drew them up at dress parade, and saluted. A low word of command from a trooper, and the Westerners quickly formed in ranks, returned the salute, and cheered. The officers rushed up, cursing, and drove the men back to their tents.

The horsemen laughed, fired a volley in the air, cheered, and galloped back to the courthouse. The court was glad to get rid of them. There was no question raised over technicalities in making out bail-bonds. The clerk wrote the names of imaginary bondsmen as fast as his pen could fly, while the perspiration stood in beads on his red forehead.

Another telegram from old Stoneman to the White House, and the Writ of Habeas Corpus was suspended and Martial Law proclaimed.

Enraged beyond measure at the salute from the troops, he had two companies of negro regulars sent from Columbia, and they camped in the Courthouse Square.

He determined to make a desperate effort to crush the fierce spirit before which his forces were being driven like chaff. He induced Bizzel to return from Cleveland with his negro wife and children. He was escorted to the City Hall and reinstalled as Mayor by the full force of seven hundred troops, and a negro guard placed around his house. Stoneman had Lynch run an excursion from the Black Belt, and brought a thousand negroes to attend a final rally at Piedmont. He placarded the town with posters on which were printed the Civil Rights Bill and the proclamation of the President declaring Martial Law.

Ben watched this day dawn with nervous dread. He had passed a sleepless night, riding in person to every Den of the Klan and issuing positive orders that no white man should come to Piedmont.

A clash with the authority of the United States he had avoided from the first as a matter of principle. It was essential to his success that his men should commit no act of desperation which would imperil his plans. Above all, he wished to avoid a clash with old Stoneman personally.

The arrival of the big excursion was the signal for a revival of negro insolence which had been planned. The men brought from the Eastern part of the State were selected for the purpose. They marched over the town yelling and singing. A crowd of them, half drunk, formed themselves three abreast and rushed the sidewalks, pushing every white man, woman, and child into the street.

They met Phil on his way to the hotel and pushed him into the gutter. He said nothing, crossed the street, bought a revolver, loaded it and put it in his pocket. He was not popular with the negroes, and he had been shot at twice on his way from the mills at night. The whole affair of this rally, over which his father meant to preside, filled him with disgust, and he was in an ugly mood.

Lynch’s speech was bold, bitter, and incendiary, and at its close the drunken negro troopers from the local garrison began to slouch through the streets, two and two, looking for trouble.

At the close of the speaking Stoneman called the officer in command of these troops, and said:

“Major, I wish this rally to-day to be a proclamation of the supremacy of law, and the enforcement of the equality of every man under law. Your troops are entitled to the rights of white men. I understand the hotel table has been free to-day to the soldiers from the camp on the river. They are returning the courtesy extended to the criminals who drilled before them. Send two of your black troops down for dinner and see that it is served. I wish an example for the State.”

“It will be a dangerous performance, sir,” the major protested.

The old Commoner furrowed his brow.

“Have you been instructed to act under my orders?”

“I have, sir,” said the officer, saluting.

“Then do as I tell you,” snapped Stoneman.

Ben Cameron had kept indoors all day, and dined with fifty of the Western troopers whom he had identified as leading in the friendly demonstration to his men. Margaret, who had been busy with Mrs. Cameron entertaining these soldiers, was seated in the dining-room alone, eating her dinner, while Phil waited impatiently in the parlour.

The guests had all gone when two big negro troopers, fighting drunk, walked into the hotel. They went to the water-cooler and drank ostentatiously, thrusting their thick lips coated with filth far into the cocoanut dipper, while a dirty hand grasped its surface.

They pushed the dining-room door open and suddenly flopped down beside Margaret.

She attempted to rise, and cried in rage:

“How dare you, black brutes?”

One of them threw his arm around her chair, thrust his face into hers, and said with a laugh:

“Don’t hurry, my beauty; stay and take dinner wid us!”

Margaret again attempted to rise, and screamed, as Phil rushed into the room with drawn revolver. One of the negroes fired at him, missed, and the next moment dropped dead with a bullet through his heart.

The other leaped across the table and through the open window.

Margaret turned, confronting both Phil and Ben with revolvers in their hands, and fainted.

Ben hurried Phil out the back door and persuaded him to fly.

“Man, you must go! We must not have a riot here to-day. There’s no telling what will happen. A disturbance now, and my men will swarm into town to-night. For God’s sake go, until things are quiet!”

“But I tell you I’ll face it. I’m not afraid,” said Phil quietly.

“No, but I am,” urged Ben. “These two hundred negroes are armed and drunk. Their officers may not be able to control them, and they may lay their hands on you – go – go! – go! – you must go! The train is due in fifteen minutes.”

He half lifted him on a horse tied behind the hotel, leaped on another, galloped to the flag-station two miles out of town, and put him on the north-bound train.

“Stay in Charlotte until I wire for you,” was Ben’s parting injunction.

He turned his horse’s head for McAllister’s, sent the two boys with all speed to the Cyclops of each of the ten township Dens with positive orders to disregard all wild rumours from Piedmont and keep every man out of town for two days.

As he rode back he met a squad of mounted white regulars, who arrested him. The trooper’s companion had sworn positively that he was the man who killed the negro.

Within thirty minutes he was tried by drum-head court-martial and sentenced to be shot.