Originally published in Harper's New Monthly Magazine (Harper and Brothers) vol.18 #108 (May 1859).
I think I had never heard of Lynch law until about the year 1834, when the citizens of Vicksburg organized themselves into a Court of Uncommon Pleas, with special reference to certain men in their midst who were, or were said to be, "living on the borders of the law." And I well remember, boy as I was, the sensation with which the news of the hanging of the Vicksburg gamblers was received in the old States, and how soon the terms "Lynch law" and "lynching" became familiar as household words. While the excitement was still high, and the Vicksburg tragedy was the main staple of conversation, the expression "Lynch law" was used by one of several gentlemen who were on a visit to Mr. Richard Venable, of Prince Edward County, Virginia. I give the name because what follows may start inquiry, and may possibly elicit further information.
Mr. Venable, at the time of which I speak, was and had long been in feeble health, and often sat for hours to all appearance unconscious alike of what was said or done in his presence; when, all at once, generally when least expected, his eye would kindle, and his originally strong masculine mind would seem to renew the vigor of its youth. Such was the effect of the sound of these two words, "Lynch law." He had been gazing abstractedly into the fire from his armchair in the corner, when he turned quickly to the speaker, and remarked,
"I do not like to hear that name."
When asked the reason, he was silent for a moment, and seemed to be relapsing into apathy. Presently, however, and as if speaking to himself, he said, "Such a name connected with such deeds!" and then, in a still more abstracted manner, he added, "How strangely may men be damned to everlasting fame!"
After another short pause, he turned again to the gentleman whom he had interrupted, and said, in substance:
"I knew Mr. Lynch well—as well as a stripling could be expected to know a dignified and venerable gentleman. He was for many years the senior and presiding Justice of the County Court of Pittsylvania, whose terms he attended with remarkable punctuality. His advanced age prevented him from taking the field during the War of Independence, but no man more heartily embraced or more zealously supported the cause of the colonists. His judgment made his enthusiasm practical; his head and his heart worked well together.
"Some of you know, though none of you can remember, that before and during the war there was but one criminal court for the final trial of murders and felonies in Virginia; that court sat at Williamsburg, some two hundred miles from Pittsylvania court-house.
"Our war, like all wars, was an Alma nutrix of depredations and felonies. The prices paid by both armies for fine horses rendered that species of property particularly insecure; and contemporaneously with, or rather in advance of, the Southern invasion by Cornwallis, an organized band of horse thieves had established posts and dépôts, from far away North, through Virginia into the Carolinas. They were headed by a man of some notoriety, fitted by nature to shine in any office or profession. He was said to be a man of strikingly handsome face and elegant person, of most courtly manners, and easy, graceful conversation. His life was a mystery, and so his fate remains, I believe. He was known as Captain Perkins, and his name was as perfect a terror in the nursery as was that of the Douglas when English nurses were wont to quiet their babies with the lullaby,
"'Hush ye, hush ye, little pet ye;
The Black Douglas shall not get ye!'
"These thieves were frequently arrested, often flagrante delictu. They would be committed, examined by a bench of Justices, and remanded to Williamsburg for final trial. Even before the occupation of the country by the English, the distance of the court rendered the attendance of witnesses uncertain; and when they appeared to prosecute they would be confronted with any number of contradicting witnesses the occasion might require—men, too, of equal or superior appearance of respectability to themselves, thoroughly instructed as to what they should swear, and as thoroughly capable of strictly obeying their instructions."
I thought, par parenthese, the old gentleman laid a double emphasis on the word "instructions." I might have been mistaken, but about that time his kinsman and friend, Benjamin Watkins Leigh, was making manly fight against the Virginia Legislature in regard to what they both (I mean both these gentlemen) called a mutilation of a certain record of the United States Senate. But to resume. Mr. V. proceeded:
"The conviction of these outlaws being thus rendered next to impossible, sufferers had become averse to add the cost of time and money to the loss of property, even before the enemy entered the country. The advent of the British troops gave @ new impulse to the operations of this gang by bringing the market to the seller, by rendering the chance even of transporting the criminals to Williamsburg more than doubtful, and making the sessions of the Court itself very uncertain. The horse-thieves, when they and their guard would be intercepted, were always ready to take English bounty, and being, for the most part, young, wiry, active fellows, acquainted with all the highways, and still better with all the by-ways of the country, they were gladly enlisted in that service, while their guards would, probably, be held prisoners of war. As long as the escape of these miscreants was attributable only to the imperfection of the criminal jurisprudence—was, in other words, the fault of the law—no one thought of overstepping the barrier which that law interposed.
"But when a state of things existed which enhanced the evil ten-fold, and took away even the semblance of a remedy, the cry of a whole community suffering under the accumulation of pillage and fire from the enemy, and the loss by theft of what property they could hide from that enemy, came up to the only tribunal to which they could look for relief, the only tribunal, in fact, which might be said to have been left possessed of vitality—the county magistracy—a body of men who, at that time, would have compared favorably with Rome's proud 'Patres Conscripti' in the purest days of that republic.
"In obedience to this call for relief, and impelled by this stern necessity, the Justices of Pittsylvania County were summoned specially to be in attendance at one of the regular terms of their court—a large majority, perhaps the whole bench, being present. The presiding Justice, Mr. Lynch, having plainly but forcibly reminded them of the extraordinary condition of the country, the entire insecurity of life and property, and the complete suspension of the administration of justice, exactly when stringent laws required most vigorous enforcing, submitted a proposition, that in consideration of the fact that the Criminal Court at Williamsburg had ceased to exist, at least in so far as related to the border counties, the County Court of Pittsylvania should undertake to try finally all cases of murder and felony occurring within that county which were required to be sent to the court at Williamsburg for trial, by the words of the law. That in such trials the accused should have the same rights as to the impanneling the jury, the peremptory challenge, the challenge for cause, etc.; the same rights as to all pleadings, general and special; as to the summoning and compelling the attendance of their witnesses, and the cross-examination of witnesses for the Commonwealth, and of being heard by counsel, as were secured to them by the law giving jurisdiction of their cases exclusively to the court at Williamsburg. In short, he simply proposed to change the forum. The plan was adopted and recommended to the neighboring counties, by some of which it was also adopted. As may be imagined, the effect was felt at once. A few were caught, tried, and hung—hanging was the legal penalty then—the rest sought a more congenial clime. The gang was dispersed in fact.
"Mr. Lynch was a man of enlarged mind, great decision of character, fixedness, almost sternness of purpose, but most eminently a law-loving and law-abiding man. He had thoroughly counted the cost, and carefully weighed the consequences; he took his position with full knowledge of its responsibility, and maintained it with firmness and dignity. He continued to preside over the county court long after it had laid down the powers it had so bravely assumed; and he carried to the grave the love and veneration of all good men. Our flourishing town of Lynchburg received its name in compliment to his worth. Do you now wonder," said Mr. V. again, turning to his guest, "that I dislike to his name connected with the lawless acts of men probably as worthy of the rope as their victims?"
This report from memory may look somewhat like an oration rather than fire-side talk—it probably does so look to most readers. I wish any such could have heard it told as I heard it, and could report it more faithfully. Mr. Venable had been for many years a lawyer with extensive practice, and had been frequently in the Legislature of his State; he was a man of great precision both of thought and language, a gentleman of the old school, with a little, not much, of the stately formality of the ante-revolutionary period. I have tried, as I promised, to "tell the tale as 'twas told to me." This was his account of the origin of Lynch law.
The conversation of the evening took the turn of this diversion. Vicksburg was forgotten, and Captain Perkins became the theme of talk. Let me try to remember some of the stories that were told of him and his exploits.
One of the gentlemen present had heard a lady-relative tell how, in the most disturbed state of the country, she had left home on horseback, unattended, to visit a sick friend at some five miles' distance. As she emerged from a private lane into the public road she met a well-dressed and elegantly mounted horseman traveling in the direction she was herself going; he saluted her gracefully, and soon fell into conversation. After thus traveling together for some distance, the stranger asked the lady if she did not feel some apprehension in traveling thus unprotected when the enemy were overrunning the country; and, what was still worse, there was a report that Captain Perkins was in the very neighborhood. She replied that she had no apprehensions from the enemy, none of whom were near; and that from all she had heard of Captain Perkins, she was led to think that, whatever might be his notions of rights of property, a lady in distress should rather fly to him for succor than from him through fear. Some two or three miles were thus traveled in pleasant converse before their roads diverged. In parting the stranger doffed his hat, and bowing to his saddle-bow with a grace that would have done honor to Grahame of Claverhouse, took his leave, assuring her that Captain Perkins would ever hold in grateful memory her too flattering opinion of his gallantry and chivalry.
Another was told, in which that great lover of horses and prince of good livers, Archy Randolph, bore a part. Mr. Randolph, whose desire was to have the best of every thing, and who would have the best horses at any cost, had in his stud a favorite riding horse, at once the admiration and envy of his acquaintances. Of great power and great action, unequaled at any gait beseeming such a cavalier, it is enough to say the bright sorrel was worthy to be bestrode by Archy Randolph. This horse was stolen, spirited away so adroitly that all efforts to trace even the direction the thief had taken utterly failed. Mr. Randolph had to bear his loss with what philosophy he could command—a very small modicum, unless he has been sadly belied. At any rate the horse was gone, and had been gone some weeks, when one day, as Mr. Randolph was standing in the tavern-porch at the Bowling Green, a stranger rode to the door and dismounted from a beautiful dark-brown horse, of most elegant carriage and action. There was but one thing amiss about him; he had been nicked. Mr. Randolph was in conscience opposed to curtailing horse-nature of any of its fair proportions, but so perfect was this horse that even nicking might be forgiven. Mr. R. lost little time in ascertaining that the stranger might be induced to sell, and still less in mounting the horse and trying his gaits. The result may be guessed. The horse was certainly not equal to Fencer, but came nearer to him in figure and action than any horse he had ever expected to see. The stranger named the price, and Mr. Randolph rode home almost consoled.
The next morning as Mr. R. was paying his usual call at the stable his head groom approached him with a very unsettled expression of face, as if he would have given the world for a good old [racial slur] guffaw, but had some misgivings about a suspicious-looking implement, meant for horses, but which might be, and sometimes was, otherwise used, and which his master "then and there held in his right hand." So, bringing his face into the expression of proper respect, Cuffey modestly remarked,
"Massa, I does b'leve you done gone buy Fensa back agin."
"Buy Fencer back again! Why, what do you mean?" said Mr. R.; and the whip showed a rising disposition.
"Dat hoss you bring home yistidde frum de Boln Green—" said Cuff, falling modestly back about a yard, a yard and a half, or two yards.
"Well, what about him?" said Mr. R., advancing, the whip now exhibiting a more decidedly upward tendency, with a motion slightly spasmodic.
"Wy," said Cuff, still retreating, "dat hoss Fensa, sho's you bawn."
"Fencer!" roared Mr. R., and the whip came down with a run; "Fencer!" and the whip came down again almost before it had recovered from its first sudden fall.
Cuff looked as much hurt as if his fulled linsey jacket had possessed acute sensibilities; but as his master was now speechless and powerless he took courage and said,
"Yes, massa, dat hoss Fensa. He know he stable; he know me same as you; he know him own stall. Go straight da; you go to de stable, massa, an call dat hoss same like you use to; he know you, sho's you bawn."
Mr. Randolph strode into the stable, and, as he entered, called, "Ho, Fencer! Fencer, boy!"
A quick turn of the head to the call, and a pointing of both ears forward, were succeeded by a merry whinny.
"Bring him out!" shouted Mr. R.; and the bright morning sunlight enabled him to detect the dye in his hair, though it had been colored by a master; and a close inspection showed that the cut which the nicker had given his tail was not yet quite healed.
"Dat hoss Fensa, sho's you bawn."
Mr. Randolph's breakfast meditations were by no means agreeable. The money he had disbursed gave him no concern; he would have given, perhaps, ten times the sum to reclaim his horse; but that he, Archy Randolph, the leader of every hunt, the oracle of the turf—that he should have been deceived—deceived in a horse—deceived in his own horse—his own favorite riding-horse—shocking! most shocking! And then came the reflection that it could not be concealed. Before the sun went down the whole country would ring with the story. Mr. Randolph dearly loved a joke; he was a joker—a laughing, practical joker—and, like all men of that turn, was very restive under a joke of which he was the victim. But the chalice was commended to his lips, and, poisoned as it was, he was compelled to drink.
Some two weeks passed, during which he was forced to grin ghastly smiles at every variety of jocular comment on his knowledge of horse-flesh. The joke was beginning to grow stale, and Mr. R.'s wrung withers were slowly losing their soreness, when he was met one morning, just as he left his chamber, by Cuffey, who stood before him holding his hat in one hand and a soiled note in the other. His eyes seemed starting from their sockets, his face had assumed an ashy hue, and he shook in every joint.
"Well, what now?" said the master.
Cuff found courage to hand him the paper, as the words, "Fensa gone agin—find dat papa in |he troff," came rattling through his shivering jaws.
Mr. R. rushed with the unopened note to the stable, where he had the satisfaction of seeing Fencer's stall. It was after many moments of paralyzed silence that he remembered the paper found in the stall, which he still held clutched in his hand. Walking to the stable-door, he examined the note, which was sealed carefully, the device being a winged horse. Upon opening it, his eyes were delighted with a perusal of a communication nearly in these words:
Captain Perkinsp his compliments to Mr. Randolph, and hopes he will be believed when he assures Mr. R. that when he unexpectedly met him at the Bowling Green and sold him the horse Fencer he sincerely intended never to interrupt Mr. R. in the quiet possession of that valuable animal. Captain P., however, finds that every day makes him more and more regret having ever consented to part with him; and now, business of a pressing nature calling Captain P. to a distant part of the country, he finds himself constrained, however reluctantly, once more to rely on the speed and endurance of the best horse he ever had the pleasure of backing. Before Mr. R. receives this Fencer will be many miles distant, and will probably not return to Virginia."
Fencer never returned to Virginia, so far as is known; but the second loss was not the subject of jocular remarks in Mr. Randolph's presence for years after. The kindly feelings of some, and a suspicion of unpleasant correspondence on the part of others, saved him from any superadded pain.
Captain Perkins is said to have been several times taken, but always to have effected his escape before reaching jail. He seemed never to have been out of observation of some of his trustiest followers. One instance was mentioned. He was entrapped in one of the lower counties of the State, and taken without resistance. After he had been securely bound upon a horse, his captors hurried toward their county jail. Captain P. beguiled the weary ride by pleasant conversation; among other things, assuring the sheriff's officers that he purposed leaving their society before they reached the county seat.
Thus pleasantly talking, they arrived at an old Virginia ordinary—called "ornery" for short. The tavern porch was unusually full, and Captain P. was the engrossing theme of conversation. None of the company but had lost one or more horses; and right welkin-ringing was the shout that went forth when the veritable Captain was exhibited, bound hand and foot. While the officers were taking the customary refresher—metheglin was the proper name of "peach and honey" in the days of our Revolutionary sires—they informed their friends of the cool manner in which the Captain assured them that he had no intention of going to jail.
Their first amazement over, several of the party volunteered their services as an additional escort. One or two were going that way anyhow; to some others a few miles more or less made no sort of difference; while yet more would travel afoot to the world's end to see him hanged. The sheriff left the tavern with a goodly company of well-mounted and pretty-well-armed special deputies, who, after traveling a few miles, drew their weapons, unbound their Captain, dismounted the law officers, and dashed off, "right merrilie," into the pine-woods.
If these random recollections of one among many evenings spent under that same hospitable roof should be an incentive to others, and bring out some of the many similar stories which, though unpublished, are still treasured traditions in the old families of Virginia, I will have done a good work. If not witty myself, I would be gratified to think that I was "the cause of wit in others." Should the surviving relatives of Mr. Venable desire to know who has taken the present liberty, their memories will recall the real name of one who, while he resided among them, was sometimes called Cohee.