Intruder In The Dust

“Then maybe we will accept him as he seems to intend to be accepted.”

Lucas infuriates the white population of the local town because he refuses to live on their terms. Charles, still young, has internalized this racist idea of hierarchy, which is why Lucas’s refusal of his money offends him so much. Charles struggles to vocalize this offense, as it is buried deep in his subconscious, but he remembers the words of older men who are insistent that the only way for Lucas to be accepted is if he subjugates himself to them.

“Your friend Beauchamp seems to have done it this time.”

Gavin refers to Lucas as Charles’s “friend.” The irony of Gavin’s comment is predicated on the absurdity of the idea that a young white boy like Charles could be friends with an old African American man like Lucas. This so-called friendship is built on the same rejection of social expectations that Lucas constantly seems to infringe and that, as Gavin points out, he has offended once again.

“He knew exactly what he was going to do.”

Charles does not know “exactly” what he will do, but he does understand that—in a fundamental sense—he has to do something. He feels drawn through events as though he has no control over his actions, as though he has a debt or an obligation to Lucas and to his own sense of justice. The exact details of what Charles will do are irrelevant; that he understands that he will do something is important. Charles will not and cannot stop himself from helping Lucas.

“Now the white people will take him out and burn him, all regular and in order and themselves acting exactly as he is convinced Lucas would wish them to act: like white folks.”

Lynching Lucas would be unjust, but people the town—even those white people who are sympathetic to the plight of African American people—feel that they cannot change anything. They feel disempowered, as they have been taught from a young age that the extrajudicial murder of an innocent African American man is the expected punishment for the death of a white man. The lynching may not be just, but everyone involved understands that they are playing a role in satisfying social expectations.

“People like the Gowries dont attach a great deal of importance to death or dying. But they do put a lot of stock in the dead and how they died—particularly their own.”

That Vinson is dead is not hugely important to the Gowrie family, as life is cheap in this day and age. The manner of the death, however, offends their sense of racial hierarchy. As demonstrated later in the novel, the idea of Vinson being killed by a white person (or even his brother) is not as consequential as the false accusation that Lucas killed him, as the former does not challenge the white people’s sense that their lives are more valuable than those of the Black Americans. For the Gowries, Lucas’s racial identity is of more consequence than the death of Vinson.

“But I dont believe there are that many people in this county who really want to hang Lucas to a telephone pole and set fire to him with gasoline.”

Gavin acknowledges the racism in the segregated South that could lead to an innocent man like Lucas being lynched by a mob, but his more optimistic side hints that not everyone in the crowd is filled with the same dark intent. The mob mentality, he suggests, relies on a small number of zealots to instigate the act, followed by the larger number who are willing to tolerate this violent act. Gavin hopes that not everyone would be willing to kill Lucas, but his comments show an implicit acceptance that many people are willing to tolerate such an offence.

“It’s the ones like Lucas makes trouble for everybody.”

Aleck Sander is an African American boy of the same age as Charles. They grew up alongside one another, though their experiences of life in the segregated South are very different due to their respective skin colors. Even Aleck Sander, however, says what he expects Charles wants to hear. He blames Lucas for bringing violence upon the rest of the African American community, even though Lucas is an innocent man. Aleck Sander and Charles may know each other very well, but Aleck’s comment serves as a reminder that a racial barrier still exists between them, a barrier that fundamentally defines their relationship.

“The deliberate turning as with one back of the whole dark people on which the very economy of the land itself was founded.”

In the segregated South, the system of racial apartheid that causes so much violence is also the foundation of the entire economy. For many years, enslavement of Black people by white people built the local economy through violent subjugation. Even after the abolition of enslavement, racism and violent subjugation endured. The proposed murder of Lucas Beauchamp by a white lynch mob is another instant of this racism being reinforced and reiterated through violence. The land, its history, and its economy are inextricably linked to the brutal treatment of Black people by while people.

“We must wait for daylight.”

The violent mob, the sheriff believes, will only try to murder Lucas in the night. At night, he says, they will not be able to see one another’s faces. In turn, Gavin suggests that they must wait until daytime to dig up the body of Vinson Gowrie a second time. The light of the day differentiates their legal actions from the illegality of the mob. They must wait for daylight not just for practical reasons, but for moral and legal reasons as well. They must be seen to be doing right.

“She didn’t curse. She didn’t need to.”

Miss Habersham is much older than Charles. She has grown up amid many of the rules and biases that govern the American South at this time. Nevertheless, she has learned to challenge expectations in her own way. She is a fervent defender of Lucas, illustrating the way in which even those from previous generations can rebuke the racist hierarchies of their world. Miss Habersham has found her own way to rebel, operating within the letter of the rules but not according to the spirit. She does not need to say a curse word to let everyone know she is cursing.

“‘I’m worse than that,’ his uncle said. ‘I’m just a man.’”

In Charles’s life—and in the novel in general—Gavin represents the legal world. He is a lawyer, a product of a system that he knows is not perfect. Gavin seeks to uphold the rules, from the law to the rules governing Charles’s bedtime. As he and Charles get deeper into the situation, however, he must remind Charles that he is just a man. He faces the same limitations and restrictions as everyone else.

“Then he remembered again the faces myriad yet curiously identical in their lack of individual identity, their complete relinquishment of individual identity into one We.”

Individually, the members of the crowd have opinions, views, and beliefs. On an individual basis, they may not agree with the unlawful killing of Lucas Beauchamp. As part of the mob, however, their individual identities are lost and they are subsumed into a larger, singular identity. The mob demands justice, and the individual members surrender their more intelligent selves to the raging idea of mob “justice.”

“They were going quite fast now, faster than he could ever remember his uncle driving.”

The speed of the car hits new heights as Gavin and Charles hurtle toward the cemetery in a race against injustice. The acceleration of the car symbolizes the acceleration of the narrative, as the immediacy and the stakes are continuously raised. The speeding car becomes justice, hurtling through the landscape in an urgent rush to avert an unlawful act. The speed, almost out of control, is necessary due to the stakes at play. In terms of speed and in terms of situation, everyone is in uncharted territory.

“That’s what we are really defending: the privilege of setting him free ourselves.”

Gavin accepts that the vestigial injustices and brutality of enslavement have endured in the South long after abolition. This, he believes, is due to abolition being imposed on the South by the North, rather than emerging organically from the South. Resistance against the North functions as a route toward an egalitarian society, Gavin believes, as the people of the South must enact their own form of abolition that is not just imposed from the outside. He does not want to resist northern influence because he wishes to maintain enslavement and racial hierarchy; he wishes to resist the North precisely to abolish such injustices, but on Southern terms.

“It was empty.”

After the immense effort of convincing Gavin and the authorities to dig up Vinson’s grave, after convincing even Mr. Gowrie to allow his son’s grave to be exhumed, the coffin at the bottom of the grave is revealed to be empty. Emptiness, however, does not signify a failed mission. The emptiness of the coffin is as damning as the corpse of Jake Montgomery, as the emptiness indicates that an injustice has taken place. The empty coffin is a symbol of the empty reasoning of the mob: Buried in the mind of the mob is an emptiness that can no longer be denied but was convenient for those seeking racial violence.

“And now you get started. You’re the one that seems to know all about this, that sent me word out to my breakfast table at six oclock this morning to meet you here.”

Mr. Gowrie was invited to the exhumation by the sheriff to serve an important role. The sheriff needs Gowrie to witness the emptiness of his son’s coffin, so that he can no longer deny that the convenient story about Lucas being a murderer is simply not true. Given the lawlessness of the moment, the sheriff understands that his word alone is not enough. He needs evidence and he needs those involved, those directing the violence, to be placed in a situation where reality is impossible to deny.

“Only until the old man himself turned, quick and wiry, already in motion, already speaking peremptory and loud, not brookless of opposition or argument, simply incapable of conceiving either.”

At the moment when the sheriff reveals to Mr. Gowrie that Vinson was killed by a gun owned by his other son, Crawford, Charles studies Mr. Gowrie’s reactions. There is no surprise or shock. There is no grief. This, Charles comes to understand, is a terrible tragedy, as Gowrie knew beforehand the identity of the murderer. He knew that Vinson was not killed by Lucas, but Lucas’s life meant so little to him that he was willing to allow Lucas to die rather than sully his murderous son’s reputation. Mr. Gowrie is already in motion, even as the evidence of the situation turns against him.

“Not just the town but the Town.”

In moments such as this, the community becomes more than just its constituent parts. The members of the mob are no longer individuals; they are now the Mob. Similar, the town has become the Town, a capitalized version of the word, which indicates the transition from community into an abstract idea of the very idea itself. This Town may not have every inhabitant, but it represents the Town as it moves through the streets in search of justice. If Lucas Beauchamp were to be killed, he would be killed by this Town, killed by the community itself rather than any actual individuals.

“They’re probably all in bed asleep by now.”

By the time Charles and Gavin return to the town, the streets have largely emptied. The people have gone home; Lucas remains alive. The suggestion that they are all at home in bed is a humanizing moment, a reminder of the pressing physical issues that cannot be denied, even to a bloodthirsty mob. For all their violent intent, they remain human. At the same time, Charles is forced to empathize with them through his own tiredness. He is subject to the same physical forces as the people he seeks to stop.

“Lucas Beauchamp once the slave of any white man within range of whose notice he happened to come, now tyrant over the whole county’s white conscience.”

Lucas is such a vital target for the mob because he refuses to be cowed by racial expectations in his community. He has his pride and he refuses to subjugate himself before white people, a refusal that offends their expectations for how the world operates. Now, everyone knows how closely he came to be killed for a crime he did not commit. Lucas knows this, too, allowing him a sense of superiority that is all the more effective because so many people have been forced to accept that he is right. They are beholden to him in a way that he will never allow them to forget.

“Just don’t stop.”

Gavin’s advice to Charles hearkens back to the desperate chase toward the cemetery. As with the speeding car, Gavin urges Charles not to stop. Charles is concerned that he was acting overly righteous or that he was ineffectual, but Gavin suggests that all that matters is his effort. If he tries to be just, then he will be just. All that is necessary for injustices like the murder of Lucas Beauchamp to occur is for men like Charles to stop.

“I […] told him to be sure not to mention it to anybody.”

The sheriff and Gavin hatch a plan to catch Crawford that relies on the unreliability of the community. They hint at a rumor to drive Lucas to a different place and then ask people not to tell anyone, knowing full well that the people will immediately talk to one another. In this way, their knowledge of the reality of the town allows them to weaponize the community’s unreliability in the pursuit of justice. They achieve something like justice by leaning on the town’s inability to keep a secret.

“To be foiled here by the fact that four years ago a child whose presence in the world he was not even aware of fell into a creek in the presence of that same Negro insomnambulist.”

Lucas’s survival is a demonstration of moral retribution, in which the help he offered to a young boy who had fallen in a creek came back to help him in the future. Lucas’s initial act of kindness was defiant and unexpected. It did, however, leave a lasting impression. Charles was convinced to help the man who once helped him, suggesting how improved race relations are achieved through these acts of human kindness and empathy rather than the imposition of laws from external forces.