Chapter Eighty Eight. Quick Executioners
I turned to the black for an explanation, but before he could make reply to my interrogatory, I more than half comprehended the situation.
My own plight admonished me. I remembered my wound – I remembered that I had received it from behind. I remembered that the bullet that struck the tree, came from the same quarter. I thought we had been indebted to the savages for the shots; but no, worse savages – Spence and Williams were the men who had fired them!
The reflection was awful – the motive mysterious.
And now returned to my thoughts the occurrences of the preceding night – the conduct of these two fellows in the forest – the suspicious hints thrown out by old Hickman and his comrades, and far beyond the preceding night, other circumstances, well marked upon my memory, rose freshly before me.
Here again was the hand of Arens Ringgold. O God, to think that this arch-monster —
“Dar only a tryin’ them two daam raskell,” said Jake, in reply to the interrogatory I had put, “daat’s what they am about, Mass’r George, dat’s all.”
“Who?” I asked mechanically, for I already knew who were meant by the “two daam raskell.”
“Lor, Massr George? doant you see um ober yonder – Spence an’ William – golly! tha’r boaf as white as peeled pumpkins! It war them that shot you, an’ no Indians, arter all. I knowd dat from tha fust, an’ I tol’ Mass’ Hickman de same; but Mass’ Hickman ’clare he see um for hisself – an’ so too Mass’ Weatherford – boaf seed ’um fire tha two shots. Thar a tryin’ ’on ’em for tha lives, dat’s what tha men am doin’.”
With strange interest I once more turned my eyes outward, and gazed, first at one group, then the other. The fire was now making less noise – the sapwood having nearly burnt out – and the detonations caused by the escape of the pent gases from the cellular cavities of the wood had grown less frequent. Voices could be heard over the glade, those of the improvised jury.
I listened attentively. I perceived that a dispute was still raging between them. They were not agreed upon their verdict – some advocating the immediate death of the prisoners; while others, adverse to such prompt punishment, would have kept them for further inquiry.
There were some who could not credit their guilt – the deed was too atrocious, and hence improbable; under what motive could they have committed it? At such a time, too, with their own lives in direst jeopardy?
“Ne’er a bit o’ jeppurdy,” exclaimed Hickman in reply to the interrogatory, “ne’er a bit o’ jeppurdy. Thar haint been a shot fired at eyther on ’em this hul day. I tell ye, fellers, thar’s a un’erstannin’ ’atween them an’ the Indyens. Thar no better’n spies, an’ thar last night’s work proves it; an’ but for the breakin’ out of the fire, which they didn’t expect, they’d been off arter firin’ the shots. ’Twar all bamfoozle about thar gettin’ lost – them fellers git lost, adeed! Both on ’em knows these hyar wuds as well as the anymals thet lives in ’em. Thum both been hyar many’s the time, an’ a wheen too often, I reckin. Lost! wagh! Did yez iver hear o’ a coon gittin’ lost?” Some one made reply, I did not hear what was said, but the voice of the hunter again sounded distinct and clear.
“Ye palaver about thar motive – I s’pose you mean thar reezuns for sech bloody bizness! Them, I acknullidge, aint clar, but I hev my sespicions too. I aint a gwine to say who or what. Thar’s some things as mout be, an’ thar’s some as moutn’t; but I’ve seed queer doin’s in these last five yeern, an’ I’ve heern o’ others; an if what I’ve heern be’s true – what I’ve seed I know to be – then I tell ye, fellers, thar’s a bigger than eyther o’ thesen at the bottom o’ the hul bizness – that’s what thar be.”
“But do you really say you saw them take aim in that direction; are you sure of that?”
This inquiry was put by a tall man who stood in the midst of the disputing party – a man of advanced age, and of somewhat severe aspect. I knew him as one of our neighbours in the settlement – an extensive planter – who had some intercourse with my uncle, and out of friendship for our family had joined the pursuit.
“Sure,” echoed the old hunter with emphasis, and not without some show of indignation; “didn’t me an’ Jim Weatherford see ’em wi’ our own two eyes? an’ thar good enough, I reckin, to mark sich varmints as them. We’d been a watchin’ ’em all day, for we knowd thar war somethin’ ugly afoot. We seed ’em both fire acrost the gleed – an’ sight plum-centre at young Randolph; besides, the black himself sez that the two shots comed that away. What more proof kin you want?”
At this moment I heard a voice by my side. It was that of Jake, calling out to the crowd.
“Mass’ Hickman,” cried he, “if dey want more proof, I b’lieve dis nigger can gib it. One ob de bullets miss young mass’r, an’ stuck in da tree; yonner’s the verry tree itself, that we wa behind, it ain’t burn yet, it no take fire; maybe, gen’lem’n, you mout find tha bullet tha still? maybe you tell what gun he ’longs to?”
The suggestion was instantly adopted. Several men ran towards the tree behind which Jake and I had held post; and which, with a few others – near it, for some reason or other – had escaped the flames, and still stood with trunks unscathed in the foreground of the conflagration.
Jake ran with the rest and pointed out the spot.
The bark was scrutinised, the hole found, and the leaden witness carefully picked out. It was still in its globe shape, slightly torn by the grooves of the barrel. It was a rifle ballet, and one of the very largest size.
It was known that Spence carried a piece of large calibre. But the guns of all the party were paraded, and their measure taken. The bullet would enter the barrel of no other rifle save that of Spence.
The conclusion was evident – the verdict was no longer delayed. It was unanimous, that the prisoners should die.
“An’ let ’em die like dogs as they are,” cried Hickman, indignantly raising his voice, and at the same time bringing his piece to the level, “Now, Jim Weatherford! look to yer sights! Let ’em go thar, fellers! an’ git yerselves out o’ the way. We’ll gie ’em a chance for thar cussed lives. They may take to yonner trees if they like, an’ git ’customed to it – for they’ll be in a hotter place than that afore long. Let ’em go I let ’em go! I say, or by the tarnal I’ll fire into the middle o’ ye!”
The men who had hold of the prisoners, perceiving the menacing attitude of the hunter, and fearing that he might make good his words, suddenly dropped their charge, and ran back towards the group of jurors.
The two wretches appeared bewildered. Terror seemed to hold them speechless, and fast glued to the spot. Neither made any effort to leave the ground. Perhaps the complete impossibility of escape was apparent to them, and prostrated all power to make the attempt. Of course, they could not have got away from the glade. Their taking to the trees was only mockery on the part of the indignant hunter. In ten seconds, they would have been roasted among the blazing branches.
It was a moment of breathless suspense. Only one voice was heard – that of Hickman:
“Now Jim, you sight Spence – gie tother to me.” This was said in a hurried undertone, and the words had scarcely passed, when the two rifles cracked simultaneously.
The execution was over. The renegades had ceased to live.
This speedy punishment of convicted rascals is a severe commentary upon the more refined proceedings of our judicial trials, in which every effort is made, and every argument strained to enable the culprit – known to be guilty – to escape the punishment due to his crimes, a result which is generally effected, either by some legal technicality or political machinery.