To the woods! My throat throbbed drily, but water nor whiskey would not have quenched my thirst. I simply went forward, and watched, watched with burning eyes for a familiar form that I had looked for as often before with such different emotions. It was only half light, and we might have passed, but my eyes had caught sight of him, and I raised the cry.
We levelled our guns and he rose and came toward us. He made a motion as if to resent the blow against even such great odds, but controlled himself. I only run off to see my gal, Lucy, ovah to de Centah. Why did I do it? A false education, I reckon, one false from the beginning. I saw his black face glooming there in the half light, and I could only think of him as a monster.
At first I was told that the black man would catch me, and when I got over that, they taught me that the devil was black, and when I had recovered from the sickness of that belief, here were Jube and his fellows with faces of menacing blackness. There was only one conclusion: This black man stood for all the powers of evil, the result of whose machinations had been gathering in my mind from childhood up.
But this has nothing to do with what happened. The ingathering parties from all directions met us as we made our way up to the house. All was very quiet and orderly. There was no doubt that it was as the papers would have said, a gathering of the best citizens. It was a gathering of stern, determined men, bent on a terrible vengeance. This was enough to condemn him. We hurried him out into the yard. A rope was ready.
A tree was at hand. Well, that part was the least of it, save that Hiram Daly stepped aside to let me be the first to pull upon the rope. Truly I have no complaints. I enjoyed the reading as a reader, but found conflict with it as a student of literature. The writing was well done but nonetheless dramatic. I knew from the moment Dr.
Melville ominously emerged from his smoky shadow that an unjust lynching was to occur. As much as I enjoyed the piece, I could not help but be conscious of the fact that it was very much a story. The tragedy is a classic one of racism and premature action. An innocent and goodhearted man is punished for the color of his skin. Jube Benson is portrayed as the absolute height of good character, cursed only by his unfortunate blackness. The truth is usually a nasty thing to stand.
I had spent a good part of the day there, and it was past four o'clock when I rode leisurely into Bradford. I was in a particularly joyous mood and no premonition of the impending catastrophe oppressed me.
No sense of sorrow, present or to come, forced itself upon me, even when I saw men hurrying through the almost deserted streets. When I got within sight of my home and saw a crowd surrounding it, I was only interested sufficiently to spur my horse into a jog trot, which brought me up to the throng, when something in the sullen, settled horror in the men's faces gave me a sudden, sick thrill.
They whispered a word to me, and without a thought, save for Annie, the girl who had been so surely growing into my heart, I leaped from the saddle and tore my way through the people to the house. They were gathered round her with white faces, and, oh, with what terrible patience they were trying to gain from her fluttering lips the name of her murderer. They made way for me and I knelt at her side. She was beyond my skill, and my will merged with theirs.
One thought was in our minds. The mother had broken down and was weeping, but the face of the father was like iron. Fully a dozen of the citizens had seen him hastening toward the woods and noted his skulking air, but as he had grinned in his old good-natured way they had, at the time, thought nothing of it.
Now, however, the diabolical reason of his slyness was apparent. He had been shrewd enough to disarm suspicion, and by now was far away. Even Mrs. Daly, who was visiting with a neighbour, had seen him stepping out by a back way, and had said with a laugh, 'I reckon that black rascal's a-running off somewhere. To the woods! My heart smouldered within me like a coal, and I went forward under the impulse of a will that was half my own, half some more malignant power's.
My throat throbbed drily, but water nor whiskey would not have quenched my thirst. The thought has come to me since that now I could interpret the panther's desire for blood and sympathise with it, but then I thought nothing.
I simply went forward, and watched, watched with burning eyes for a familiar form that I had looked for as often before with such different emotions. It was only half light, and we might have passed, but my eyes had caught sight of him, and I raised the cry.
We levelled our guns and he rose and came toward us. He turned to me, 'I's moughty glad you's hyeah, doc,' he said, 'you ain't gwine let 'em whup me. He made a motion as if to resent the blow against even such great odds, but controlled himself. I ain't stole nuffin' o' yo'n, an' I was comin' back. I only run off to see my gal, Lucy, ovah to de Centah. Why did I do it?
I don't know. A false education, I reckon, one false from the beginning. I saw his black face glooming there in the half light, and I could only think of him as a monster. It's tradition. At first I was told that the black man would catch me, and when I got over that, they taught me that the devil was black, and when I had recovered from the sickness of that belief, here were Jube and his fellows with faces of menacing blackness.
There was only one conclusion: This black man stood for all the powers of evil, the result of whose machinations had been gathering in my mind from childhood up. Thus, this story sends a message that is still relevant today. Despite the fact that Melville pretty much dehumanized Jube from the beginning, which he may have not realized, his description of his former friend grows to become even more negative when he falls under the pretense that Jube murdered Annie.
This ultimately highlights the learned social values that led Melville and his fellow citizens to act as they did upon Jube. The connection Melville makes between the lynching and the way the press would have depicted it serves to emphasize the power of the media and the influence it has in shaping public opinion. This is obviously something that still applies to society today, as those who watch Fox 5 News probably have very contrasting views than those who watch MSNBC.
All in all, the message of the story is one that is still relevant today.
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