The Benton weekly record. [volume] (Benton, Mont.) 1880-1885, 1883-11-10

Body swinging TO and Fro.
From the Detroit Free Press.
You may have seen a street riot. That
is simply the outer circles Of a whirlpool.
A shower of brick-bats-a surge up and
down--broken heads--a cry of 'polfce ~
and your crowd scatters like sheep, and
stink away like ours.
A mob sets out to resist the authorities.
Nine out of every ten men in it are COW
ards. They boast and brag and encourage,
but they keep their own bodies in the
background. They want to see some one
hurt, they know that law will triumph,
and they want to be able to prove that
they are simply lockers on. One brave
man will walk into mob and defy and
over-aWe it.
A brutal outrage has been committed
1t is an affair that stirs the blood of sons
and brothers and brings dangerous light
to the eyes of husbands and fathers. There
is no boastlng Or shouting. Knots of men
gather here and there, and they speak
with fierce earnestness, but in low voices.
No mob surges up and doWn-no wild
yells rend the air--no crowds furnishes
drink to excite young men to foolish
deeds.
"Lynch him!'
1t is not shouted. but spoken in whispers
or read in each others eyes. Every man
has obeyed the laws-everY man would
peril his life in aiding to enforce them, but
there is feeling that legal punishment
does not always punish sufficiently.
Lynch him -
When men who never partake of meal
without bowling the head in prayer whis
per those words, look out! The heart
burns and thrills. For the time being law
is nothing. Fathers whisper it to sons,
brothers whisper it to each other, mer-
chants to mechanics. Lips tighten and
grow pale, teeth shut close, eyes flash as
you never saw them before.
The knots of men gather into groups
the groups consolidate into crowd. The
leader takes his place, ,and instinctively the
crowd realizes that he is the proper per-
son. Speeches and orations are not in Or
der-ropes are!
See now Teeth shut tighter as the crowd
moves. Not man would turn back from
n loaded cannon. 1t moves ahead, but it
swirls and Kisses and gurgles like river
vexed by rocks. 1t is the whispers, the
quick answers, the pale faces which tell
you what danger turks in the crowd-a
noisy crowd can be scattered. 1t will fall
to pieces itself. A silent body Of men will
take your life if every man has to peril his
own.
1t is the Jail. Key or no key, the pris
oner must come out. The crowd would
have him if a score of grated doors had to
be battered down. He does not plead Tor
mercy. One look around him tells him
that his life is hungered for with such in
tensity that prayers would be mockery.
He may look up at the harvest moon and
the star-atudded heavens, but he sees noth-
ing. He is dazed and awed by the grim
silence of the band.
Halt -
No voice commands, but here is the tree.
The whirlpool stands still for moment.
Faces grow little whittier, but the eyes Of
every man show dogged determination
that would blaze into desperation if oppos-
ed, The moose is rapidly adjusted, there
is falling back, and with groan of ter
ror and despair trembling on bis lips the
guilty wretch swings in the air. The
ereak of limb, the calls of night bird,
the deep breathing of men are plainly
heard as the body swings to an fro turns
round and round as the death struggle goes
on.
n y X
1t is morning. Merchants are behind
their counters, mechanics at the bench,