# The Clansman (1905)/Book 3/Chapter 4

WITHIN an hour from Ben's encounter, he was arrested without warrant by the military commandant, handcuffed, and placed on the train for Columbia, more than a hundred miles distant. The first purpose of sending him in charge of a negro guard was abandoned for fear of a riot. A squad of white troops accompanied him.
Elsie was waiting at the gate, watching for his coming, her heart aglow with happiness.
When Marion and little Hugh ran to tell the exciting news, she thought it a joke and refused to believe it.
"Come, dear, don't tease me; you know it's not true!"
"I wish I may die if 'taint so!" Hugh solemnly declared. "He run Gus away 'cause he scared Aunt Margaret so. They come and put handcuffs on him and took him to Columbia. I tell you Grandpa and Grandma and Aunt Margaret are mad!"
Elsie called Phil and begged him to see what had happened.
When Phil reported Ben's arrest without a warrant, and the indignity to which he had been subjected on the amazing charge of resisting military authority, Elsie hurried with Marion and Hugh to the hotel to express her ​indignation, and sent Phil to Columbia on the next train to fight for his release.
By the use of a bribe Phil discovered that a special inquisition had been hastily organised to procure perjured testimony against Ben on the charge of complicity in the murder of a carpet-bag adventurer named Ashburn, who had been killed at Columbia in a row in a disreputable resort. This murder had occurred the week Ben Cameron was in Nashville. The enormous reward of $25,000 had been offered for the conviction of any man who could be implicated in the killing. Scores of venal wretches, eager for this blood-money, were using every device of military tyranny to secure evidence on which to convict—no matter who the man might be. Within six hours of his arrival they had pounced on Ben.
They arrested as a witness an old negro named John Stapler, noted for his loyalty to the Camerons. The doctor had saved his life once in a dangerous illness. They were going to put him to torture and force him to swear that Ben Cameron had tried to bribe him to kill Ashburn. General Howle, the commandant of the Columbia district, was in Charleston on a visit to headquarters.
Phil resorted to the ruse of pretending, as a Yankee, the deepest sympathy for Ashburn, and by the payment of a fee of twenty dollars to the Captain, was admitted to the fort to witness the torture.
They led the old man trembling into the presence of the Captain, who sat on an improvised throne in full uniform.
"Have you ordered a barber to shave this man's head?" sternly asked the judge.
​"Please, Marster, fer de Lawd's sake, I ain' done, nuttin'—doan' shave my head. Dat ha'r been wropped lak dat fur ten year! I die sho' ef I lose my ha'r."
"Bring the barber, and take him back until he comes," was the order. In an hour they led him again into the room, blindfolded, and placed him in a chair.
"Have you let him see a preacher before putting him through?" the Captain asked. "I have an order from the General in Charleston to put him through to-day."
"For God's sake, Marster, doan' put me froo—I ain't done nuttin' en I doan' know nuttin'!"
The old negro slipped to his knees, trembling from head to foot.
The guards caught him by the shoulders and threw him back into the chair. The bandage was removed, and just in front of him stood a brass cannon pointed at his head, a soldier beside it holding the string ready to pull. John threw himself backward, yelling:
"Goddermighty!"
When he scrambled to his feet and started to run, another cannon swung on him from the rear. He dropped to his knees and began to pray:
"Yes, Lawd, I'se er comin'. I hain't ready—but, Lawd, I got ter come! Save me!"
"Shave him!" the Captain ordered.
While the old man sat moaning, they lathered his head with two scrubbing-brushes and shaved it clean.
"Now stand him up by the wall and measure him for his coffin," was the order.
They snatched him from the chair, pushed him against ​the wall, and measured him. While they were taking his measure, the man next to him whispered:
"Now's the time to save your hide—tell all about Ben Cameron trying to hire you to kill Ashburn."
"Give him a few minutes," said the Captain, "and maybe we can hear what Mr. Cameron said about Ashburn."
"I doan' know nuttin', General," pleaded the old darkey. "I ain't heard nuttin'—I ain't seed Marse Ben fer two monts."
"You needn't lie to us. The rebels have been posting you. But it's no use. We'll get it out of you."
"'Fo' Gawd, Marster, I'se er telling de truf!"
"Put him in the dark cell and keep him there the balance of his life unless he tells," was the order.
At the end of four days, Phil was summoned again to witness the show.
John was carried to another part of the fort and shown the sweat-box.
"Now tell all you know or in you go!" said his tormentor.
The negro looked at the engine of torture in abject terror—a closet in the walls of the fort just big enough to admit the body, with an adjustable top to press down too low for the head to be held erect. The door closed tight against the breast of the victim. The only air admitted was through an auger-hole in the door.
The old man's lips moved in prayer.
"Will you tell?" growled the Captain.
"I cain't tell ye nuttin' 'cept'n' a lie!" he moaned.
​They thrust him in, slammed the door, and in a loud voice the Captain said:
"Keep him there for thirty days unless he tells."
He was left in the agony of the sweat-box for thirty-three hours and taken out. His limbs were swollen, and when he attempted to walk he tottered and fell.
The guard jerked him to his feet, and the Captain said:
"I'm afraid we've taken him out too soon, but if he don't tell he can go back and finish the month out."
The poor old negro dropped in a faint, and they carried him back to his cell.
Phil determined to spare no means, fair or foul, to secure Ben's release from the clutches of these devils. He had as yet been unable to locate his place of confinement.
He continued his ruse of friendly curiosity, kept in touch with the Captain, and the Captain in touch with his pocket-book.
Summoned to witness another interesting ceremony, he hurried to the fort.
The officer winked at him confidentially, and took him out to a row of dungeons built of logs and ceiled inside with heavy boards. A single pane of glass about eight inches square admitted light ten feet from the ground.
There was a commotion inside, curses, groans and cries for mercy mingling in rapid succession.
"What is it?" asked Phil.
"Hell's goin' on in there!" laughed the officer.
"Evidently."
A heavy crash, as though a ton-weight had struck the floor, and then all was still.
​"By George, it's too bad we can't see it all!" exclaimed the officer.
"What does it mean?" urged Phil.
Again the Captain laughed immoderately.
"I've got a blue-blood in there taking the bruin' out of his system. He gave me some impudence. I'm teaching him who's running this country!"
"What are you doing to him?" Phil asked with a sudden suspicion.
"Oh, just having a little fun! I put two big white drunks in there with him—half-fighting drunks, you know—and told them to work on his teeth and manicure his face a little to initiate him into the ranks of the common people, so to speak!"
Again he laughed.
Phil, listening at the keyhole, held up his hand:
"Hush, they're talking——"
He could hear Ben Cameron's voice in the softest drawl: "Say it again."
"Please, Marster!"
"Now both together, and a little louder."
"Please, Marster!" came the united chorus.
"Now what kind of a dog did I say you are?"
"The kind as comes when his marster calls."
"Both together—the under dog seems to have too much cover, like his mouth might be full of cotton."
They repeated it louder.
"A common—stump-tailed—cur-dog?"
"Yessir."
"Say it."
​"A common—stump-tailed—cur-dog—Marster!"
"A pair of them."
"A pair of 'em."
"No, the whole thing—all together—'we—are—a—pair.'"
"Yes—Marster." They repeated it in chorus.
"With apologies to the dogs——"
"Apologies to the dogs——"
"And why does your master honour the kennel with his presence to-day?"
"He hit a nigger on the head so hard that he strained the nigger's ankle, and he's restin' from his labours."
"That's right, Towser. If I had you and Tige a few hours every day I could make good squirrel-dogs out of you.
There was a pause. Phil looked up and smiled.
"What does it sound like?" asked the Captain, with a shade of doubt in his voice.
"Sounds to me like a Sunday-school teacher taking his class through a new catechism."
The Captain fumbled hurriedly for his keys.
"There's something wrong in there."
He opened the door and sprang in.
Ben Cameron was sitting on top of the two toughs, knocking their heads together as they repeated each chorus.
"Walk in, gentlemen. The show is going on now—the animals are doing beautifully," said Ben.
The Captain muttered an oath. Phil suddenly grasped him by the throat, hurled him against the wall, and snatched the keys from his hand.
​"Now open your mouth, you white-livered cur, and inside of twenty-four hours I'll have you behind the bars. I have all the evidence I need. I'm an ex-officer of the United States Army, of the fighting corps—not the vulture division. This is my friend. Accompany us to the street and strike your charges from the record."
The coward did as he was ordered, and Ben hurried back to Piedmont with a friend toward whom he began to feel closer than a brother.
When Elsie heard the full story of the outrage, she bore herself toward Ben with unusual tenderness, and yet he knew that the event had driven their lives farther apart. He felt instinctively the cold silent eye of her father, and his pride stiffened under it. The girl had never considered the possibility of a marriage without her father's blessing. Ben Cameron was too proud to ask it. He began to fear that the differences between her father and his people reached to the deepest sources of life.
Phil found himself a hero at the Cameron House. Margaret said little, but her bearing spoke in deeper language than words. He felt it would be mean to take advantage of her gratitude.
But he was quick to respond to the motherly tenderness of Mrs. Cameron. In the groups of neighbours who gathered in the evenings to discuss with the doctor the hopes, fears, and sorrows of the people, Phil was a charmed listener to the most brilliant conversations he had ever heard. It seemed the normal expression of their lives. He had never before seen people come together to talk to one another after this fashion. More and more the ​simplicity, dignity, patience, courtesy, and sympathy of these people in their bearing toward one another impressed him. More and more he grew to like them.
Marion went out of her way to express her open admiration for Phil and tease him about Margaret. The Rev. Hugh McAlpin was monopolizing her on the Wednesday following his return from Columbia and Phil sought Marion for sympathy.
"What will you give me if I tease you about Margaret right before her?" she asked.
He blushed furiously.
"Don't you dare such a thing on peril of your life!"
"You know you like to be teased about her," she cried, her blue eyes dancing with fun.
"With such a pretty little friend to do the teasing all by ourselves, perhaps——"
"You'll never get her unless you have more spunk."
"Then I'll find consolation with you."
"No, I mean to marry young."
"And your ideal of life?"
"To fill the world with flowers, laughter, and music—especially my own home—and never do a thing I can make my husband do for me! How do you like it?"
"I think it very sweet," Phil answered soberly.
At noon on the following Friday, the Piedmont Eagle appeared with an editorial signed by Dr. Cameron, denouncing in the fine language of the old school the arrest of Ben as "despotism and the usurpation of authority."
At three o'clock, Captain Gilbert, in command of the troops stationed in the village, marched a squad of soldiers ​to the newspaper office. One of them carried a sledge-hammer. In ten minutes he demolished the office, heaped the type and their splintered cases on top of the battered press in the middle of the street, and set fire to the pile.
On the court-house door he nailed this proclamation:
"To the People of Ulster County:
"The censures of the press, directed against the servants of the people, may be endured; but the military force in command of this district are not the servants of the people of South Carolina. We are your masters. The impertinence of newspaper comment on the military will not be brooked under any circumstances whatever.
G. C. Gilbert,
"Captain in Command."
Not content with this display of power, he determined to make an example of Dr. Cameron, as the leader of public opinion in the county.
He ordered a squad of his negro troops to arrest him immediately and take him to Columbia for obstructing the execution of the Reconstruction Acts. He placed the squad under command of Gus, whom he promoted to be a corporal, with instructions to wait until the doctor was inside his house, boldly enter it and arrest him.
When Gus marched his black janizaries into the house, no one was in the office. Margaret had gone for a ride with Phil, and Ben had strolled with Elsie to Lover's Leap, unconscious of the excitement in town.
Dr. Cameron himself had heard nothing of it, having just reached home from a visit to a country patient.
Gus stationed his men at each door, and with another ​trooper walked straight into Mrs. Cameron's bedroom, where the doctor was resting on a lounge.
Had an imp of perdition suddenly sprung through the floor, the master of the house of Cameron would not have been more enraged or surprised.
A sudden leap, as the spring of a panther, and he stood before his former slave, his slender frame erect, his face a livid spot in its snow-white hair, his brilliant eyes flashing with fury.
Gus suddenly lost control of his knees.
His old master transfixed him with his eyes, and in a voice, whose tones gripped him by the throat, said:
"How dare you?"
The gun fell from the negro's hand, and he dropped to the floor on his face.
His companion uttered a yell and sprang through the door, rallying the men as he went:
"Fall back! Fall back! He's killed Gus! Shot him dead wid his eye. He's conjured him! Git de whole army quick."
They fled to the Commandant.
Gilbert ordered the negroes to their tents and led his whole company of white regulars to the hotel, arrested Dr. Cameron, and rescued his fainting trooper, who had been revived and placed under a tree on the lawn.
The little Captain had a wicked look on his face. He refused to allow the doctor a moment's delay to leave instructions for his wife, who had gone to visit a neighbour. He was placed in the guard-house, and a detail of twenty soldiers stationed around it.
​The arrest was made so quickly, not a dozen people in town had heard of it. As fast as it was known, people poured into the house, one by one, to express their sympathy. But a greater surprise awaited them.
Within thirty minutes after he had been placed in prison, a Lieutenant entered, accompanied by a soldier and a negro blacksmith who carried in his hand two big chains with shackles on each end.
The doctor gazed at the intruders a moment with incredulity, and then, as the enormity of the outrage dawned on him, he flushed and drew himself erect, his face livid and rigid.
He clutched his throat with his slender fingers, slowly recovered himself, glanced at the shackles in the black hands and then at the young Lieutenant's face, and said slowly, with heaving breast:
"My God! Have you been sent to place these irons on me?"
"Such are my orders, sir," replied the officer, motioning to the negro smith to approach. He stepped forward, unlocked the padlock and prepared the fetters to be placed on his arms and legs. These fetters were of enormous weight, made of iron rods three-quarters of an inch thick and connected together by chains of like weight.
"This is monstrous!" groaned the doctor, with choking agony, glancing helplessly about the bare cell for some weapon with which to defend himself.
Suddenly, looking the Lieutenant in the face, he said:
"I demand, sir, to see your commanding officer. He ​cannot pretend that these shackles are needed to hold a weak unarmed man in prison, guarded by two hundred soldiers?"
"It is useless. I have his orders direct."
"But I must see him. No such outrage has ever been recorded in the history of the American people. I appeal to the Magna Charta rights of every man who speaks the English tongue—no man shall be arrested or imprisoned or deprived of his own household, or of his liberties, unless by the legal judgment of his peers or by the law of the land!"
"The bayonet is your only law. My orders admit of no delay. For your own sake, I advise you to submit. As a soldier, Dr. Cameron, you know I must execute orders."
"These are not the orders of a soldier!" shouted the prisoner, enraged beyond all control. "They are orders for a jailer, a hangman, a scullion—no soldier who wears the sword of a civilised nation can take such orders. The war is over; the South is conquered; I have no country save America. For the honour of the flag, for which I once poured out my blood on the heights of Buena Vista, I protest against this shame!"
The Lieutenant fell back a moment before the burst of his anger.
"Kill me! Kill me!" he went on, passionately throwing his arms wide open and exposing his breast. "Kill—I am in your power. I have no desire to live under such conditions. Kill, but you must not inflict on me and on my people this insult worse than death!"
​"Do your duty, blacksmith," said the officer, turning his back and walking toward the door.
The negro advanced with the chains cautiously, and attempted to snap one of the shackles on the doctor's right arm.
With sudden maniac frenzy, Dr. Cameron seized the negro by the throat, hurled him to the floor, and backed against the wall.
The Lieutenant approached and remonstrated:
"Why compel me to add the indignity of personal violence? You must submit."
"I am your prisoner," fiercely retorted the doctor. "I have been a soldier in the armies of America, and I know how to die. Kill me, and my last breath will be a blessing. But while I have life to resist, for myself and for my people, this thing shall not be done!"
The Lieutenant called a sergeant and a file of soldiers, and the sergeant stepped forward to seize the prisoner.
Dr. Cameron sprang on him with the ferocity of a tiger, seized his musket, and attempted to wrench it from his grasp.
The men closed in on him. A short passionate fight, and the slender, proud, gray-haired man lay panting on the floor.
Four powerful assailants held his hands and feet, and the negro smith, with a grin, secured the rivet on the right ankle and turned the key in the padlock on the left.
As he drove the rivet into the shackle on his left arm, a spurt of bruised blood from the old Mexican War wound stained the iron.
​Dr. Cameron lay for a moment in a stupor. At length he slowly rose. The clank of the heavy chains seemed to choke him with horror. He sank on the floor, covering his face with his hands and groaned:
"The shame! The shame! O God, that I might have died! My poor, poor wife!"
Captain Gilbert entered and said with a sneer:
"I will take you now to see your wife and friends if you would like to call before setting out for Columbia."
The doctor paid no attention to him.
"Will you follow me while I lead you through this town, to show them their chief has fallen, or will you force me to drag you?"
Receiving no answer, he roughly drew the doctor to his feet, held him by the arm, and led him thus in half-unconscious stupor through the principal street, followed by a drove of negroes. He ordered a squad of troops to meet him at the depot. Not a white man appeared on the streets. When one saw the sight and heard the clank of those chains, there was a sudden tightening of the lip, a clinched fist, and an averted face.
When they approached the hotel, Mrs. Cameron ran to meet him, her face white as death.
In silence she kissed his lips, kissed each shackle on his wrists, took her handkerchief and wiped the bruised blood from the old wound on his arm the iron had opened afresh, and then with a look, beneath which the Captain shrank, she said in low tones:
"Do your work quickly. You have but a few moments to get out of this town with your prisoner. I have sent
​a friend to hold my son. If he comes before you go, he will kill you on sight as he would a mad dog."
With a sneer, the Captain passed the hotel and led the doctor, still in half-unconscious stupor, toward the depot down past his old slave-quarters. He had given his negroes who remained faithful each a cabin and a lot.
They looked on in awed silence as the Captain proclaimed:
"Fellow citizens, you are the equal of any white man who walks the ground. The white man's day is done. Your turn has come."
As he passed Jake's cabin, the doctor's faithful man stepped suddenly in front of him, looking at the Captain out of the corners of his eyes, and asked:
"Is I yo' equal?"
"Yes."
"Des lak any white man?"
"Exactly."
The negro's fist suddenly shot into Gilbert's nose with the crack of a sledge-hammer, laying him stunned on the pavement.
"Den take dat f'um yo' equal, d—m you!" he cried, bending over his prostrate figure. "I'll show you how to treat my ole marster, you low-down slue-footed devil!"
The stirring little drama roused the doctor, and he turned to his servant with his old-time courtesy, and said:
"Thank you, Jake."
"Come in here, Marse Richard; I knock dem things off'n you in er minute, 'en I get you outen dis town in er jiffy."
​"No, Jake, that is not my way; bring this gentleman some water, and then my horse and buggy. You can take me to the depot. This officer can follow with his men." And he did.