Then the Governor called the first name on the list and told the man to come forward to the table. But nobody moved. They just huddled there in their striped overalls, murmuring to one another while the guards began to holler at the man to come out and the Governor looked up from the paper and looked at them with his eyebrows raised. Then somebody said from back in the crowd: ‘Let Terrel speak for us, Governor. We done ’lected him to do our talking.’
Uncle Gavin didn’t look up at once. He looked at his list until he found the name:
Terrel, Bill. Manslaughter. Twenty years. Served since May 9, 19—. Applied for pardon January, 19—. Vetoed by Warden C. L. Gambrell. Applied for pardon September, 19—. Vetoed by Warden C. L. Gambrell. Record, Troublemaker
. Then he looked up and watched Terrel walk out of the crowd and approach the table—a tall man, a huge man, with a dark aquiline face like an Indian’s, except for the pale yellow eyes and a shock of wild, black hair—who strode up to the table with a curious blend of arrogance and servility and stopped and, without waiting to be told to speak, said in a queer, high singsong filled with that same abject arrogance: ‘Your Honor, and honorable gentlemen, we have done sinned against God and man but now we have done paid it out with our suffering. And now we want to go out into the free world, and farm.’
Uncle Gavin was on the platform almost before Terrel quit speaking, leaning over the Governor’s chair, and the Governor turned with his little, shrewd, plump face and his inscrutable, speculative eyes toward Uncle Gavin’s urgency and excitement. ‘Send that man back for a minute,’ Uncle Gavin said. ‘I must speak to you in private.’ For a moment longer the Governor looked at Uncle Gavin, the puppet Board looking at him too, with nothing in their faces at all, Uncle Gavin said.
‘Why, certainly, Mr. Stevens,’ the Governor said. He rose and followed Uncle Gavin back to the wall, beneath the barred window, and the man Terrel still standing before the table with his head jerked suddenly up and utterly motionless and the light from the window in his yellow eyes like two match flames as he stared at Uncle Gavin.
‘Governor, that man’s a murderer,’ Uncle Gavin said. The Governor’s face did not change at all.
‘Manslaughter, Mr. Stevens,’ he said. ‘Manslaughter. As private and honorable citizens of the state, and as humble servants of it, surely you and I can accept the word of a Mississippi jury.’
‘I’m not talking about that,’ Uncle Gavin said. He said he said it like that, out of his haste, as if Terrel would vanish if he did not hurry; he said that he had a terrible feeling that in a second the little inscrutable, courteous man before him would magic Terrel out of reach of all retribution by means of his cold will and his ambition and his amoral ruthlessness. ‘I’m talking about Gambrell and that half-wit they hanged. That man there killed them both as surely as if he had fired the pistol and sprung that trap.’
Still the Governor’s face did not change at all. ‘That’s a curious charge, not to say serious,’ he said. ‘Of course you have proof of it.’
‘No. But I will get it. Let me have ten minutes with him, alone. I will get proof from him. I will make him give it to me.’
‘Ah,’ the Governor said. Now he did not look at Uncle Gavin for a whole minute. When he did look up again, his face still had not altered as to expression, yet he had wiped something from it as he might have done physically, with a handkerchief. (‘You see, he was paying me a compliment,’ Uncle Gavin told me. ‘A compliment to my intelligence. He was telling the absolute truth now. He was paying me the highest compliment in his power.’) ‘What good do you think that would do?’ he said.
‘You mean …’ Uncle Gavin said. They looked at one another. ‘So you would still turn him loose on the citizens of this state, this country,
Uncle Gavin didn’t look up at once. He looked at his list until he found the name:
Terrel, Bill. Manslaughter. Twenty years. Served since May 9, 19—. Applied for pardon January, 19—. Vetoed by Warden C. L. Gambrell. Applied for pardon September, 19—. Vetoed by Warden C. L. Gambrell. Record, Troublemaker
. Then he looked up and watched Terrel walk out of the crowd and approach the table—a tall man, a huge man, with a dark aquiline face like an Indian’s, except for the pale yellow eyes and a shock of wild, black hair—who strode up to the table with a curious blend of arrogance and servility and stopped and, without waiting to be told to speak, said in a queer, high singsong filled with that same abject arrogance: ‘Your Honor, and honorable gentlemen, we have done sinned against God and man but now we have done paid it out with our suffering. And now we want to go out into the free world, and farm.’
Uncle Gavin was on the platform almost before Terrel quit speaking, leaning over the Governor’s chair, and the Governor turned with his little, shrewd, plump face and his inscrutable, speculative eyes toward Uncle Gavin’s urgency and excitement. ‘Send that man back for a minute,’ Uncle Gavin said. ‘I must speak to you in private.’ For a moment longer the Governor looked at Uncle Gavin, the puppet Board looking at him too, with nothing in their faces at all, Uncle Gavin said.
‘Why, certainly, Mr. Stevens,’ the Governor said. He rose and followed Uncle Gavin back to the wall, beneath the barred window, and the man Terrel still standing before the table with his head jerked suddenly up and utterly motionless and the light from the window in his yellow eyes like two match flames as he stared at Uncle Gavin.
‘Governor, that man’s a murderer,’ Uncle Gavin said. The Governor’s face did not change at all.
‘Manslaughter, Mr. Stevens,’ he said. ‘Manslaughter. As private and honorable citizens of the state, and as humble servants of it, surely you and I can accept the word of a Mississippi jury.’
‘I’m not talking about that,’ Uncle Gavin said. He said he said it like that, out of his haste, as if Terrel would vanish if he did not hurry; he said that he had a terrible feeling that in a second the little inscrutable, courteous man before him would magic Terrel out of reach of all retribution by means of his cold will and his ambition and his amoral ruthlessness. ‘I’m talking about Gambrell and that half-wit they hanged. That man there killed them both as surely as if he had fired the pistol and sprung that trap.’
Still the Governor’s face did not change at all. ‘That’s a curious charge, not to say serious,’ he said. ‘Of course you have proof of it.’
‘No. But I will get it. Let me have ten minutes with him, alone. I will get proof from him. I will make him give it to me.’
‘Ah,’ the Governor said. Now he did not look at Uncle Gavin for a whole minute. When he did look up again, his face still had not altered as to expression, yet he had wiped something from it as he might have done physically, with a handkerchief. (‘You see, he was paying me a compliment,’ Uncle Gavin told me. ‘A compliment to my intelligence. He was telling the absolute truth now. He was paying me the highest compliment in his power.’) ‘What good do you think that would do?’ he said.
‘You mean …’ Uncle Gavin said. They looked at one another. ‘So you would still turn him loose on the citizens of this state, this country,
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