# The Clansman (1905)/Book 4/Chapter 8

WHEN Ben Cameron failed to find either Elsie or her father at home, he hurried to the hotel, walking under the shadows of the trees to avoid recognition, though his resemblance to Phil would have enabled him to pass in his hat and coat unchallenged by any save the keenest observers.
He found his mother's bedroom door ajar and saw Elsie within sobbing in her arms. He paused, watched, and listened.
Never had he seen his mother so beautiful—her face calm, intelligent and vital, crowned with a halo of gray. She stood, flushed and dignified, softly smoothing the golden hair of the sobbing girl whom she had learned to love as her daughter. Her whole being reflected the years of homage she had inspired in husband, children, and neighbours. What a woman! She had made war inevitable, fought it to the bitter end; and in the despair of a Negro reign of terror, still the prophetess and high priestess of a people, serene, undismayed and defiant, she had fitted the uniform of a Grand Dragon on her last son, and sewed in secret day and night to equip his men. And through it all she was without affectation, her sweet motherly ways, gentle manner and bearing always resistless to those who came within her influence.
​"If he dies," cried the tearful voice, "I shall never forgive myself for not surrendering without reserve and fighting his battles with him!"
"He is not dead yet," was the mother's firm answer. "Doctor Cameron is on Queen's back. Your lover's men will be riding to-night—these young dare-devil Knights of the South, with their life in their hands, a song on their lips, and the scorn of death in their souls!"
"Then I'll ride with them," cried the girl, suddenly lifting her head.
Ben stepped into the room, and with a cry of joy Elsie sprang into his arms. The mother stood silent until their lips met in the long tender kiss of the last surrender of perfect love.
"How did you escape so soon?" she asked quietly, while Elsie's head still lay on his breast.
"Phil shot the brute, and I rushed him out of town. He heard the news, returned on the special, took my place, and sent me for his father. The guard has been changed, and it's impossible to see him, or communicate with the new Commandant——"
Elsie started and turned pale.
"And father has hidden to avoid me—merciful God—if Phil is executed——"
"He isn't dead yet, either," said Ben, slipping his arm around her. "But we must save him without a clash or a drop of bloodshed, if possible. The fate of our people may hang on this. A battle with United States troops now might mean ruin for the South——"
​"But you will save him?" Elsie pleaded, looking into his face.
"Yes—or I'll go down with him," was the steady answer.
"Where is Margaret?" he asked.
"Gone to McAllister's with a message from your father," Mrs. Cameron replied.
"Tell her when she returns to keep a steady nerve. I'll save Phil. Send her to find her father. Tell him to hold five hundred men ready for action in the woods by the river and the rest in reserve two miles out of town——"
"May I go with her?" Elsie asked, eagerly.
"No. I may need you," he said. "I am going to find the old statesman now, if I have to drag the bottomless pit. Wait here until I return."
Ben reached the telegraph office unobserved, called the operator at Columbia, and got the Grand Giant of the county into the office. Within an hour he learned that the death-warrant had been received and approved. It would be returned by a messenger to Piedmont on the morning train. He learned also that any appeal for a stay must be made through the Honourable Austin Stoneman, the secret representative of the Government clothed with this special power. The execution had been ordered the day of the election, to prevent the concentration of any large force bent on rescue.
"The old fox!" Ben muttered.
From the Grand Giant at Spartanburg he learned, after a delay of three hours, that Stoneman had left with a boy in a buggy, which he had hired for three days, and re​fused to tell his destination. He promised to follow and locate him as quickly as possible.
It was the afternoon on the day following, during the progress of the election, before Ben received the message from Spartanburg that Stoneman had been found at the Old Red Tavern where the roads crossed from Piedmont to Hambright. It was only twelve miles away, just over the line on the North Carolina side.
He walked with Margaret to the block where Queen stood saddled, watching with pride the quiet air of self-control with which she bore herself.
"Now, my sister, you know the way to the tavern. Ride for your sweetheart's life. Bring the old man here by five o'clock, and we'll save Phil without a fight. Keep your nerve. The Commandant knows a regiment of mine is lying in the woods, and he's trying to slip out of town with his prisoner. I'll stand by my men ready for a battle at a moment's notice, but for God's sake get here in time to prevent it."
She stooped from the saddle, pressed her brother's hand, kissed him, and galloped swiftly over the old Way of Romance she knew so well.
On reaching the tavern, the landlord rudely denied that any such man was there, and left her standing dazed and struggling to keep back the tears.
A boy of eight, with big wide friendly eyes, slipped into the room, looked up into her face tenderly, and said:
"He's the biggest liar in North Carolina. The old man's right upstairs in the room over your head. Come on; I'll show you."
​Margaret snatched the child in her arms and kissed him.
She knocked in vain for ten minutes. At last she heard his voice within:
"Go away from that door!"
"I'm from Piedmont, sir," cried Margaret, "with an important message from the Commandant for you."
"Yes; I saw you come. I will not see you. I know everything, and I will hear no appeal."
"But you can not know of the exchange of men"—pleaded the girl.
"I tell you I know all about it. I will not interfere——"
"But you could not be so cruel——"
"The majesty of the law must be vindicated. The judge who consents to the execution of a murderer is not cruel. He is showing mercy to Society. Go, now; I will not hear you."
In vain Margaret knocked, begged, pleaded, and sobbed.
At last, in a fit of desperation, as she saw the sun sinking lower and the precious minutes flying, she hurled her magnificent figure against the door and smashed the cheap lock which held it.
The old man sat at the other side of the room, looking out of the window, with his massive jaws locked in rage. The girl staggered to his side, knelt by his chair, placed her trembling hand on his arm, and begged:
"For the love of Jesus, have mercy! Come with me quickly!"
With a growl of anger, he said:
"No!"
​"It was a mad impulse, in my defense as well as his own."
"Impulse, yes! But back of it lay banked the fires of cruelty and race hatred! The Nation can not live with such barbarism rotting its heart out."
"But this is war, sir,—a war of races, and this an accident of war—besides, his life had been attempted by them twice before."
"So I've heard, and yet the Negro always happens to be the victim——"
Margaret leaped to her feet and glared at the old man for a moment in uncontrollable anger.
"Are you a fiend?" she fairly shrieked.
Old Stoneman merely pursed his lips.
The girl came a step closer, and extended her hand again in mute appeal.
"No, I was foolish. You are not cruel. I have heard of a hundred acts of charity you have done among our poor. Come, this is horrible! It is impossible! You can not consent to the death of your son——"
Stoneman looked up sharply:
"Thank God, he hasn't married my daughter yet——"
"Your daughter!" gasped Margaret. "I've told you it was Phil who killed the negro! He took Ben's place just before the guards were exchanged——"
"Phil!—Phil?" shrieked the old man, staggering to his club foot and stumbling toward Margaret with dilated eyes and whitening face; "My boy—Phil?—why—why, are you crazy?—Phil? Did you say—Phil?"
"Yes. Ben persuaded him to go to Charlotte until ​the excitement passed to avoid trouble.—Come, come, sir, we must be quick! We may be too late!"
She seized and pulled him toward the door.
"Yes. Yes, we must hurry," he said in a laboured whisper, looking around dazed. "You will show me the way, my child—you love him—yes, we will go quickly—quickly! my boy—my boy!"
Margaret called the landlord, and while they hitched Queen to the buggy, the old man stood helplessly wringing and fumbling his big ugly hands, muttering incoherently, and tugging at his collar as though about to suffocate.
As they dashed away, old Stoneman laid a trembling hand on Margaret's arm.
"Your horse is a good one, my child?"
"Yes; the one Marion saved—the finest in the county."
"And you know the way?"
"Every foot of it. Phil and I have driven it often."
"Yes, yes—you love him," he sighed, pressing her hand.
Through the long reckless drive, as the mare flew over the rough hills, every nerve and muscle of her fine body at its utmost tension, the father sat silent. He braced his club foot against the iron bar of the dashboard and gripped the sides of the buggy to steady his feeble body. Margaret leaned forward intently watching the road to avoid an accident. The old man's strange colourless eyes stared straight in front, wide open, and seeing nothing, as if the soul had already fled through them into eternity.