Gotterdammerung

By W. F. Twyman, Jr.

Chapter 118

The Dusk Of An Old Voice

The butchering knife whistled through the air. Louise watched and felt a surge of vengeance in her heart. She would get Mary. She would strike Mary down by killing William G. William G. had avenged his manhood and declared his desire for Mary without apology. And then the knife found its mark. “Ahhhh,” cried out William G. as he felt a stabbing pain in his back. He leaned back before falling to his knees and then face down on the floor. The wail brought William C. out of his room.

“Mother!” yelled William C. He saw his mother rushing toward his wounded father on the floor. William C. ran across the room and restrained his mother.

“Leave me alone. Let me be. I must kill her. I must kill her,” said Louise.

William C. pulled his mother back from his bleeding father.

“Help! Help! Somebody help!” yelled William C. Little Alex walked out and saw his father’s blood on the floor. Little Alex stood frozen in the doorway, silent, watching with the same blank expression he’d shown when Louise held his hand over the fire. William C. wanted to comfort his little brother, but he couldn’t let go of their mother.

The Chief Justice and his Clerk were unaware of the domestic violence rippling through the Nell home. All of their energies were focused on the legal crossroads before them that evening. Was there legal support for the examination of a colored applicant as a second-class citizen? Langston said Loring’s argument made eminent sense. All citizens should be eligible for examination but the State was within its discretion to apply differential terms and conditions of examination due to color. The Chief Justice knew the logic of Loring’s position but he would not be rushed into a monumental decision that would change the complexion of the legal profession. The Chief Justice insisted upon sleeping overnight on the matter.

As the Chief Justice walked to his home on Beacon Hill, he walked near Joy Street. He heard a commotion, screams and the rumblings of a small crowd gathering. “What is going on?” the Chief Justice asked a colored passerby.

“There is trouble at the Nell home. William G. Nell is near death,” replied the pedestrian. The Chief Justice knew of William G. from the papers. It would traumatize the anti-slavery movement if the leading colored abolitionist passed away. The Chief Justice remembered the poisoning of David Walker, the assassination of Theodore Moore Scott, and the shipwreck of William Babbitt Haynes. He prayed Senator Lynch had no hand in Mr. Nell’s critical condition.

The Chief Justice stood on Joy Street, looking at the crowd gathered outside the Nell home. If Lynch was bold enough to orchestrate Nell’s death, what would he do if a Black lawyer was admitted to the bar? The Chief Justice thought of James Moore Scott’s motion, sitting on his desk at home. Perhaps sleeping on the decision wasn’t enough. Perhaps he needed to act quickly, before Lynch struck again.

William C.’s screams had roused neighbors from their homes. A few men, including Gideon Langston and Floyd Patterson, rushed inside the Nell’s front door. “Hold him up so he can breathe,” said Patterson. William G.’s shirt was bloodied from tail to collar. Gideon held William G. up as Patterson removed the knife from William G.’s back. William G. groaned. “What happened?” asked Patterson.

Louise continued to flail around trying to finish the job she had started. William C. held on until a few other men helped in restraining his mother. “Die, die, die. She’s the devil. She must die,” muttered Louise.

“They were having a fight. I came out of my room and saw my mother hurl a knife at my father’s back,” said William C.

“We have to stop the bleeding,” said Gideon. “Bring me shirts, clothes, anything!” The knife had missed William G.’s heart by inches. When Patterson removed the knife, it nicked the aorta which ruptured. William G. began to drown in his own blood. His breath became labored, each breath more difficult than the preceding breath. A small crowd assembled in the Nell house as Patterson ran out the door and across the street to the African Meeting House. He knocked again and again on the closed door of the church building.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

A drowsy Rev. Givens woke up. He had been taking a late afternoon nap after reading one too many sermons. He stumbled down the staircase from his second floor study to the front door on the first floor.

“Rev. Givens! Rev. Givens! It’s William G. He’s dying!” screamed Patterson.

Rev. Givens hurried to the door and opened it. “William G. is dying?” asked the startled Rev. Givens.

“Yes, Louise and William G. were having a fight and Louise stabbed him in the back. It looks bad, Rev. He’s knocked out and his breathing is labored. Come quick!” said Patterson.

The clothes Gideon had used to stem the bleeding were drenched in blood. Gideon kept his hand on William’s back as the breathing grew more frequent and weaker. Gideon offered William G. a teaspoon of brandy which he swallowed with great difficulty. Another teaspoon of brandy almost strangled William G. so Gideon gave up on the brandy. A call went out for a doctor but, as there were no colored doctors in Boston, it took a while for someone from outside the colored neighborhood to be contacted.

Someone said staunching the blood would drown William G. in his own blood. Gideon let the blood flow freely as William G. was having more and more difficulty breathing. His breathing continued to deteriorate. The local white doctor, Dr. Jose Schwartz, could not be found as he was attending a formal dinner that evening.

At twenty-three minutes after seven o’clock that afternoon, William G. took his final breath. The room fell silent. Gideon Langston slowly removed his blood-soaked hand from William G.’s back. Someone began to weep. Rev. Givens, who had arrived too late, closed William G.’s eyes and began to pray.

William C. Nell looked at his father’s body, then at his little brother standing motionless in the doorway, then at the blood-stained floor. In one evening, he had lost both parents—one to death, one to madness.

Two constables arrived and took Louise into custody. She went quietly, still muttering about “the devil” and “she must die.” William C. watched them take his mother away, knowing he’d never see her again.