CHAPTER XXII. WORSE THAN DEATH.

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The astounding fact brought to light in our foregoing chapter, the successful substitution of Horace Christian, a white man, for a Negro, John Wysong, would not, perhaps, have been so easy of accomplishment, if its sole reliance had been the likeness which Lanier had created and the circumstances already set forth. There were other factors that contributed to the success of the scheme, which factors we shall now mention in order that so remarkable an occurrence may be the more fully understood.

As a result of the Civil war, four million Negroes who had not been permitted individual self-management or family management, who had been rigorously prevented from developing and using collective wisdom—four million illiterate Negroes of this description were practically given control of State Governments that called for a high degree of self-mastery on the part of the units of the governing force; that demanded ability to legislate in a manner that could command the respect of the collective wisdom of an antagonistic group, rich in examples of exalted statesmanship.

The outcome of the situation was a wedding between Thomas Jefferson and Charles Darwin, the truism of the household thus formed being, "All men are created equal, but the fittest survive." In order to dislodge their former field hands who were sitting in the seats formerly occupied by Thomas Jefferson and John C. Calhoun, the more scrupulous among the whites were allowed to take back seats, while the less scrupulous resorted to violence and fraud to restore the government to the hands of its former rulers, a result well pleasing to all of them.

It can readily be seen that conditions were propitious for the exercise of talents not anywhere, in normal times, considered as desirable. With the highest needs of a community apparently calling for lawlessness and knavery; with virtue stating that she would be forever destroyed without the protection of vice—under such conditions, in some sections of the South, the reins of government fell into the hands of evil men and the taint of party politics affected everything that these men touched.

In this period of transition even the judiciary was sometimes honeycombed with politics. The same blighting shadow cast itself over the prison system where appointees were selected with regard to their "political pull." This state of affairs will account to you for the latitude allowed to the successful politician, Lanier, a product of his times, in his dealing with the condemned Negro, John Wysong.

Another factor in rendering the substitution so successful, was as follows: Under the system of slavery, the whites, being interested in the Negroes from many points of view, habitually scrutinized their features and were adepts at distinguishing one Negro from another. When freedom came, the necessity for close inspection passed away. The altered demeanor of the former slave begat a species of contempt in the former master. Thus, while self-interest under slavery led the white man's eyes to the Negro, contempt for what he regarded as insolence led his eyes away from him after the coming of freedom. The white woman who coined the phrase, "All niggers look alike to me," is but an illustration of what is here set forth.

Inasmuch as that the white people generally were indisposed to give close scrutiny to Negro countenances and were consequently deficient in ability to readily distinguish them, Lanier, knowing these things, felt confident of carrying out his plan of substituting Horace Christian for John Wysong.

There was one other thing that he had to fear, but the situation contained a remedy for that, he thought. He realized that Christian upon finding himself on the way to the gallows, would seek to inspire in the minds of the jail officials, a doubt as to his being the proper victim. But Lanier knew that the populace would regard it as a mere ruse to gain time and would take the prisoner and hang him forth-with, should the officials hesitate.

Due to the foregoing circumstances, Lanier's jail delivery was eminently successful. He had at last redeemed his pledge to Erma and had executed his vow to mete out punishment to Horace Christian. But his work was not yet complete. He had to make some disposition of John Wysong. His first step was to remove John as far as possible from the scene of the crime, and, in keeping with this desire, he and John Wysong took a train for Florida the same night of the jail delivery.

Arriving at a city in the central part of Florida, Lanier repaired to a hotel, carrying John Wysong with him as a servant, under an assumed name. He went to the room assigned to him, accompanied by John. Lanier lighted a cigar, took a seat near a table on which he rested his crossed legs. This was a favorite attitude with him when endeavoring to solve a peculiarly knotty problem.

"I have a miniature race problem on my hands," was his first reflection. "What must be done with John Wysong?" With that as a starting point his thoughts ran as follows:

"John Wysong has taken human life. There was no personal ill will between him and his victim. He regarded the Master Workman as the embodiment of a principle that narrowed his horizon; that turned his face from the hope of prosperity in the direction of starvation. His attack was directed at the principle and not the human being embodying it. This much in explanation of his crime. His error lay in appropriating to his own use the very principle from the effects of which he believed himself to be suffering. On account of the color of his skin and the attendant delimitations begotten thereby, he felt that other avenues for redress were closed and that he must have recourse to revolution.

"In view of all the circumstances surrounding the murder, I feel called upon to do full justice to society and yet exercise clemency in the case of this youth, holding in especial view the fact that he regarded the act as committed in self-defense."

"John," said Lanier to the former, who was sitting in a corner of the room, "I have saved you from the gallows, yet you must suffer in a manner commensurate with your offense. The penalty which I am to affix must affect your whole life. The murderous instinct is not a part of your being. It is merely an accretion that has come to you because of your environments which you were too feeble to alter. You are not fit for the rigors of civilized life in America. The pace is too swift for you. I decree your banishment from civilization and require you to spend the remainder of your days in Africa, a punishment not lacking in severity to one who has had a taste of civilization. To Africa you shall go."

The look of terror that overspread John's face at this announcement could not have been greater had Lanier decreed that he was to be burned alive at the stake within the next five minutes. His agony was so apparent and intense that Lanier was touched.

He said, "John, you do not seem to like my verdict."

"I shall do what you say," said John, in tones of utter despair, dropping his head upon his chest.

"Strange! strange! strange! I thought that the one point of cheer in my verdict would be love of his fatherland," mused Lanier, who had now arisen and was gazing upon the picture of woe before him. "But love of the fatherland is all gone, all gone. His love is for a soil where he must run an unequal race and where divers persecutions and injustices must necessarily befall him," thought Lanier, as he continued to gaze upon John. Aloud he said, "Well, John, what would be more to your liking?"

A ray of hope shot through John's darkened soul, and with a face lighted up with joyous expectancy, he cried, "Arrange it so that I can go to the penitentiary for a long, long term of years. I do not wish to leave this country. I must not put an ocean between me and Erma."

"Ah," replied Lanier, "but you must never see Erma again. She does not know of your escape from the gallows nor the method thereof, and because of this latter fact you and I both had better beware. The dear girl is so deuced conscientious."

"Just let me stay in this country! Send me to prison for as long a term of years as you will."

"How can you manage that?" inquired Lanier.

"Manage it!" exclaimed John, "That's so, you have never been a Negro. Why, it is the easiest thing imaginable for a Negro to get into the penitentiary."

"Well, John, you shall have your way. Change your name. Never allude to your past life. When and how shall you start?"

"To-night," was John's prompt reply.

That night John was caught by a policeman while in a feigned attempt at burglarizing a store. He was arraigned, duly tried, convicted, and sentenced to ten years in the Florida penitentiary. He was taken to the city not far away, where there was what is known as the "Stockade." Here he found three hundred Negro men, women, boys and girls chained together, with an iron ring around each neck and a pick around the ankle of each. John was added to the gang. They were awaiting the convict "auction day."

The day came and capitalists from all over the South poured into the city to bid on the lot of convicts. A syndicate that operated turpentine forests in Florida was the highest bidder and the convicts were turned over to it. They were marched down to the train and crowded into cattle cars and borne into the swamps of the turpentine establishments. They were put in charge of white bosses, who had been selected because of their known cruelty, on the hypothesis that it took such characters to keep in subjection a colony of Negro convicts.

Necessarily a series of hardships followed, but amid all, John was happy, for he was not in Africa and was in the same land with Erma. Notwithstanding Lanier's prohibition, he intended seeing his sister again, feeling assured that it could not possibly result in any harm to any of the parties concerned. Sustained by this hope he witnessed and endured all manner of hardships. He saw women of his race forced to labor side by side with men hardened in crime. With these same hardened criminals the small boys and girls, present in the convict camp for their first offenses, had to labor. The Negro women were sometimes the victims of outrages committed by their white bosses. Illegitimate offsprings born in prison were taken possession of and doomed to perpetual slavery.

Men, women and children slept together like a herd of cattle, as many as sixty being crowded into a room eighteen feet square, with a ceiling seven feet high, there being no ventilation whatever. After hard days' work the convicts had to cook their own food, fat bacon and corn bread, on small fires made on the ground. A downpour of rain would not induce the bosses to allow the convicts to quit work and seek shelter. Slight offenses were punished by brutal whippings; and one aged Negro, in the prison for stealing food for a starving family, was beaten until he died; beaten because he expressed an opinion as to the decency of the conduct of one white boss toward a Negro woman, his niece, in the penitentiary as accessory to his crime.

Whenever showers of rain drenched the entire lot of convicts they did not have changing garments, but had to wear and even sleep in their wet clothing until they dried upon them. When the few small houses were filled to their utmost capacities, a tent was spread and all fresh comers were assigned to sleep beneath this on the bare ground. If some convict, more adroit than his fellows, made his escape, the bloodhounds would soon be on his trail and ere long would have their fangs buried in his quivering flesh.

Filth abounded on every hand, vermin covered everything in the convict quarters, and sanitation was a thing unheard of. Disease walked boldly into their midst and bade Death mow down with his scythe twenty out of each hundred, this being the proportion of those who died.[1] Consumption took up its abode in John's bosom and began to eat away his life. John dwelt amid all these sickening, these blood-curdling horrors with death gnawing at his own vitals. But through it all, a smile of joy was ever upon his face, hope was alive within his bosom. The thought that he might one day see Erma again was his sun that beat back the shades of eternal night that were seeking to engulf the vital spark left within him. How incomplete would have been the soul of man, how powerless to cope with this mysterious thing which we call life, were it not that its soil is never impervious to the growth of that fragrant flower, which sends pleasing odors even into the nostrils of the dying, Hope! immortal Hope!


                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

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