The Lynching of Jube Benson by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Gordon Fairfax's library held but three men, but the air was dense
with clouds of smoke. The talk had drifted from one topic to another
much as the smoke wreaths had puffed, floated, and thinned away. Then
Handon Gay, who was an ambitious young reporter, spoke of a lynching
story in a recent magazine, and the matter of punishment without trial
put new life into the conversation.
I should like to see a real lynching, said Gay rather callously.
Well, I should hardly express it that way, said Fairfax, but if a
real, live lynching were to come my way, I should not avoid it.
I should, spoke the other from the depths of his chair, where he
had been puffing in moody silence. Judged by his hair, which was freely
sprinkled with gray, the speaker might have been a man of forty-five or
fifty, but his face, though lined and serious, was youthful, the face
of a man hardly past thirty.
What, you, Dr. Melville? Why, I thought that you physicians
wouldn't weaken at anything.
I have seen one such affair, said the doctor gravely, in fact, I
took a prominent part in it.
Tell us about it, said the reporter, feeling for his pencil and
notebook, which he was, nevertheless, careful to hide from the speaker.
The men drew their chairs eagerly up to the doctor's, but for a
minute he did not seem to see them, but sat gazing abstractedly into
the fire, then he took a long draw upon his cigar and began:
I can see it all very vividly now. It was in the summer time and
about seven years ago. I was practising at the time down in the little
town of Bradford. It was a small and primitive place, just the location
for an impecunious medical man, recently out of college.
In lieu of a regular office, I attended to business in the first of
two rooms which I rented from Hiram Daly, one of the more prosperous of
the townsmen. Here I boarded and here also came my patientswhite and
blackwhites from every section, and blacks from 'nigger town,' as the
west portion of the place was called.
The people about me were most of them coarse and rough, but they
were simple and generous, and as time passed on I had about abandoned
my intention of seeking distinction in wider fields and determined to
settle into the place of a modest country doctor. This was rather a
strange conclusion for a young man to arrive at, and I will not deny
that the presence in the house of my host's beautiful young daughter,
Annie, had something to do with my decision. She was a beautiful young
girl of seventeen or eighteen, and very far superior to her
surroundings. She had a native grace and a pleasing way about her that
made everybody that came under her spell her abject slave. White and
black who knew her loved her, and none, I thought, more deeply and
respectfully than Jube Benson, the black man of all work about the
He was a fellow whom everybody trusted; an apparently steady-going,
grinning sort, as we used to call him. Well, he was completely under
Miss Annie's thumb, and would fetch and carry for her like a faithful
dog. As soon as he saw that I began to care for Annie, and anybody
could see that, he transferred some of his allegiance to me and became
my faithful servitor also. Never did a man have a more devoted adherent
in his wooing than did I, and many a one of Annie's tasks which he
volunteered to do gave her an extra hour with me. You can imagine that
I liked the boy and you need not wonder any more that as both wooing
and my practice waxed apace, I was content to give up my great
ambitions and stay just where I was.
It wasn't a very pleasant thing, then, to have an epidemic of
typhoid break out in the town that kept me going so that I hardly had
time for the courting that a fellow wants to carry on with his
sweetheart while he is still young enough to call her his girl. I
fumed, but duty was duty, and I kept to my work night and day. It was
now that Jube proved how invaluable he was as a coadjutor. He not only
took messages to Annie, but brought sometimes little ones from her to
me, and he would tell me little secret things that he had overheard her
say that made me throb with joy and swear at him for repeating his
mistress' conversation. But best of all, Jube was a perfect Cerberus,
and no one on earth could have been more effective in keeping away or
deluding the other young fellows who visited the Dalys. He would tell
me of it afterwards, chuckling softly to himself. 'An,' Doctah, I say
to Mistah Hemp Stevens, 'Scuse us, Mistah Stevens, but Miss Annie, she
des gone out, an' den he go outer de gate lookin' moughty lonesome.
When Sam Elkins come, I say, Sh, Mistah Elkins, Miss Annie, she done
tuk down, an' he say, What, Jube, you don' reckon hit de Den he
stop an' look skeert, an' I say, I feared hit is, Mistah Elkins, an'
sheks my haid ez solemn. He goes outer de gate lookin' lak his bes'
frien' done daid, an' all de time Miss Annie behine de cu'tain ovah de
po'ch des' a laffin' fit to kill.'
Jube was a most admirable liar, but what could I do? He knew that I
was a young fool of a hypocrite, and when I would rebuke him for these
deceptions, he would give way and roll on the floor in an excess of
delighted laughter until from very contagion I had to join himand,
well, there was no need of my preaching when there had been no
beginning to his repentance and when there must ensue a continuance of
This thing went on for over three months, and then, pouf! I was
down like a shot. My patients were nearly all up, but the reaction from
overwork made me an easy victim of the lurking germs. Then Jube loomed
up as a nurse. He put everyone else aside, and with the doctor, a
friend of mine from a neighbouring town, took entire charge of me. Even
Annie herself was put aside, and I was cared for as tenderly as a baby.
Tom, that was my physician and friend, told me all about it afterward
with tears in his eyes. Only he was a big, blunt man and his
expressions did not convey all that he meant. He told me how my nigger
had nursed me as if I were a sick kitten and he my mother. Of how
fiercely he guarded his right to be the sole one to 'do' for me, as he
called it, and how, when the crisis came, he hovered, weeping, but
hopeful, at my bedside, until it was safely passed, when they drove
him, weak and exhausted, from the room. As for me, I knew little about
it at the time, and cared less. I was too busy in my fight with death.
To my chimerical vision there was only a black but gentle demon that
came and went, alternating with a white fairy, who would insist on
coming in on her head, growing larger and larger and then dissolving.
But the pathos and devotion in the story lost nothing in my blunt
It was during the period of a long convalescence, however, that I
came to know my humble ally as he really was, devoted to the point of
abjectness. There were times when for very shame at his goodness to me,
I would beg him to go away, to do something else. He would go, but
before I had time to realise that I was not being ministered to, he
would be back at my side, grinning and pottering just the same. He
manufactured duties for the joy of performing them. He pretended to see
desires in me that I never had, because he liked to pander to them, and
when I became entirely exasperated, and ripped out a good round oath,
he chuckled with the remark, 'Dah, now, you sholy is gittin' well.
Nevah did hyeah a man anywhaih nigh Jo'dan's sho' cuss lak dat.'
Why, I grew to love him, love him, oh, yes, I loved him as
welloh, what am I saying? All human love and gratitude are damned
poor things; excuse me, gentlemen, this isn't a pleasant story. The
truth is usually a nasty thing to stand.
It was not six months after that that my friendship to Jube, which
he had been at such great pains to win, was put to too severe a test.
It was in the summer time again, and as business was slack, I had
ridden over to see my friend, Dr. Tom. 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.
It was Annie, poor girl, bruised and bleeding, her face and dress
torn from struggling. 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.
'Who?' I asked.
Her eyes half opened, 'That black' She fell back into my arms
We turned and looked at each other. The mother had broken down and
was weeping, but the face of the father was like iron.
'It is enough,' he said; 'Jube has disappeared.' He went to the
door and said to the expectant crowd, 'She is dead.'
I heard the angry roar without swelling up like the noise of a
flood, and then I heard the sudden movement of many feet as the men
separated into searching parties, and laying the dead girl back upon
her couch, I took my rifle and went out to join them.
As if by intuition the knowledge had passed among the men that Jube
Benson had disappeared, and he, by common consent, was to be the object
of our search. 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.' Oh, if she had only known.
'To the woods! To the woods!' that was the cry, and away we went,
each with the determination not to shoot, but to bring the culprit
alive into town, and then to deal with him as his crime deserved.
I cannot describe the feelings I experienced as I went out that
night to beat the woods for this human tiger. 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
Luck or ill-luck, which you will, was with our party, and just as
dawn was graying the sky, we came upon our quarry crouched in the
corner of a fence. 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.
'I t'ought you wa'n't gwine see me,' he said sullenly, 'I didn't
mean no harm.'
Some of the men took the word up with oaths, others were ominously
We gathered around him like hungry beasts, and I began to see
terror dawning in his eyes. He turned to me, 'I's moughty glad you's
hyeah, doc,' he said, 'you ain't gwine let 'em whup me.'
'Whip you, you hound,' I said, 'I'm going to see you hanged,' and
in the excess of my passion I struck him full on the mouth. He made a
motion as if to resent the blow against even such great odds, but
'W'y, doctah,' he exclaimed in the saddest voice I have ever heard,
'w'y, doctah! 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.'
'You lie!' I said, and my hands were busy helping the others bind
him upon a horse. 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.
But this has nothing to do with what happened.
After firing a few shots to announce our capture, we rode back into
town with Jube. 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.
We took Jube into the house, into the room where the corpse lay. At
sight of it, he gave a scream like an animal's and his face went the
colour of storm-blown water. This was enough to condemn him. We
divined, rather than heard, his cry of 'Miss Ann, Miss Ann, oh, my God,
doc, you don't t'ink I done it?'
Hungry hands were ready. 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. It was lax at first. Then it tightened, and I felt the
quivering soft weight resist my muscles. Other hands joined, and Jube
swung off his feet.
No one was masked. We knew each other. Not even the Culprit's face
was covered, and the last I remember of him as he went into the air was
a look of sad reproach that will remain with me until I meet him face
to face again.
We were tying the end of the rope to a tree, where the dead man
might hang as a warning to his fellows, when a terrible cry chilled us
to the marrow.
'Cut 'im down, cut 'im down, he ain't guilty. We got de one. Cut
him down, fu' Gawd's sake. Here's de man, we foun' him hidin' in de
Jube's brother, Ben, and another Negro, came rushing toward us,
half dragging, half carrying a miserable-looking wretch between them.
Someone cut the rope and Jube dropped lifeless to the ground.
'Oh, my Gawd, he's daid, he's daid!' wailed the brother, but with
blazing eyes he brought his captive into the centre of the group, and
we saw in the full light the scratched face of Tom Skinnerthe worst
white ruffian in the townbut the face we saw was not as we were
accustomed to see it, merely smeared with dirt. It was blackened to
imitate a Negro's.
God forgive me; I could not wait to try to resuscitate Jube. I knew
he was already past help, so I rushed into the house and to the dead
girl's side. In the excitement they had not yet washed or laid her out.
Carefully, carefully, I searched underneath her broken finger nails.
There was skin there. I took it out, the little curled pieces, and went
with it to my office.
There, determinedly, I examined it under a powerful glass, and read
my own doom. It was the skin of a white man, and in it were embedded
strands of short, brown hair or beard.
How I went out to tell the waiting crowd I do not know, for
something kept crying in my ears, 'Blood guilty! Blood guilty!'
The men went away stricken into silence and awe. The new prisoner
attempted neither denial nor plea. When they were gone I would have
helped Ben carry his brother in, but he waved me away fiercely, 'You
he'ped murder my brothah, you dat was his frien', go 'way, go
'way! I'll tek him home myse'f' I could only respect his wish, and he
and his comrade took up the dead man and between them bore him up the
street on which the sun was now shining full.
I saw the few men who had not skulked indoors uncover as they
passed, and IIstood there between the two murdered ones, while all
the while something in my ears kept crying, 'Blood guilty! Blood
The doctor's head dropped into his hands and he sat for some time in
silence, which was broken by neither of the men, then he rose, saying,
Gentlemen, that was my last lynching.