SHORTLY after daylight, Tommy fell into a dozing sleep, from which he was awakened by the mustering of the prisoners who had been brought up during the night, and were to appear before the mayor at nine o'clock. A few minutes before eight o'clock, an officer opened the cell-door, and they were ordered to march out into a long room. In this room they found all the prisoners gathered. There were three blacks and five whites, who had been arrested on different charges; and as the mayor's court was merely a tribunal of commitment-not judgment-if the charges upon which the prisoners were brought up were sustained-which they generally were, because the policeman who made the arrest was the important witness, they were committed to await the tardy process of the law.
Considerable uneasiness had been felt on board of the Janson for Tommy, and the Captain suggested that he might have got astray among the dark lanes of the city, and that the mate had better send some of the crew to look for him. The mate, better acquainted with Tommy's feelings and attachment for Manuel than he was with the rules of the prison and Mr. Grimshaw's arbitrary orders, assured the Captain that such a course would be entirely unnecessary, for he knew when he left that he would stop all night with Manuel. This quieted the Captain's apprehensions, and he said no more about it until he sat down to breakfast. “I miss Tommy amazingly,” said the Captain. “If he stopped all night, he should be here by this time. I think some one had better be sent to the jail to inquire for him.” Just as he arose from the table, one of the crew announced at the companion that a person on deck wished to see the Captain. On going up, he found a policeman, who informed him that a little boy had been arrested as a vagrant in the street, last night, and when brought before the mayor a few minutes ago, stated that he belonged to his vessel, and the mayor had despatched him to notify the master. “Circumstances are suspicious; he was seen in company with a negro of very bad habits; but if you can identify the boy, you had better come quick, or he'll be sent to jail, and you'll have some trouble to get him out,” said the messenger, giving the Captain a description of the boy.
“Oh yes!” said the Captain, “that's my Tommy. I verily believe they'll have us all in jail before we get away from the port.” Numerous appointments engrossed his time, and he had promised to meet the consul at an early hour that morning. Notwithstanding this, he gave a few orders to the mate about getting the hatches ready and receiving the port-wardens, and then immediately repaired to the all-important guard-house. He was just in time to receive the mortifying intelligence that the mayor's court had concluded its sitting, and to see little Tommy, with a pair of handcuffs on his hand, in the act of being committed to jail by a Dutch constable. He stopped the constable, and being told that his honor was yet in the room, put a couple of dollars into his hand to await his intercession. Another fortunate circumstance favored him; just as he stopped the constable, he saw his friend, Colonel S—, approaching. The colonel saw there was trouble, and with his usual, characteristic kindness, hastened up and volunteered his services.
We must now return to the arraignment, as it proceeded after the messenger had been despatched.
The negro confined with Tommy presented a wretched picture when brought into the light room among the other prisoners. His head was so swollen that no trace of feature was left in his face. Cuts and gashes were marked with plaster all over his neck and face; his head tied up with an old red handkerchief; his eyes, what could be seen of them, more like balls of blood than organs of sight; while the whiskey and water with which his head had been washed, had mixed with the blood upon his clothes, and only served to make its appearance more disgusting. Altogether, a more pitiful object never was presented to human sight.
Some minutes before the clock struck nine, an intelligent-looking gentleman, very well dressed, and portly in his appearance, entered the room. He was evidently kindly disposed, but one of those men whose feelings prompt them to get through business with despatch, rather than inquire into the circumstances of aggravated cases. He held a consultation with the officer for some minutes with reference to the prisoners. After which he mounted a little tribune, and addressing a few words to the white prisoners, (a person who acted the part of clerk announced court by rapping upon a desk with a little mallet,) inquired whether the officers had notified the owners of the negroes. Being informed that they had, he proceeded with the negroes first. One, by some good fortune, was taken away by his master, who paid the usual fee to swell the city treasury; another was sentenced to receive twenty paddles on the frame at the workhouse; and the third, the man we have described, being brought forward, weak with the loss of blood, leaned his hand upon the back of a chair. “Stand up straight!” said the officer, in a commanding tone.
“Now, my boy, this is twice you have been before this court. Your master has left you to the mercy of the law, and given strict orders to the police in the event that you were caught a third time. Your crime is worse now, for you were caught in company with that white boy-probably on some errand of villany, prowling about the streets after drum-beat. I shall, in consideration of the facts here stated by the police, whose evidence I am bound to recognise, sentence you to nineteen paddles on the frame, and to be committed to jail, in accordance with your master's orders, there to await his further directions.
“Arraign the white prisoners according to the roll, Mr.—. Have you sent a message to the Captain about that boy?” inquired the mayor.
“No, yer honor; but I will send at once,” said the officer, stepping into the passage and calling an attendant.
The little fellow was arraigned first. He stood up before the mayor while the ruffianly policeman who arrested him preferred the charges and swore to them, adding as much to give coloring as possible. “Now, my man, let me hear what you have got to say for yourself. I have sent for your captain,” said the mayor, looking as if he really felt pity for the little fellow.
He commenced to tell his simple story, but soon became so convulsed with tears that he could proceed no further. “I only went to the jail to see Manuel, the steward, and I got lost, and begged the black man to show me the way”—said he, sobbing.
“Well, I have heard enough,” said the mayor, interrupting him. “You could not have been at the jail at that time o' night-impossible. It was after hours-contrary to rules-and only makes the matter worse for yourself. You can stand aside, and if the Captain comes before court is through, we will see further; if not, you must be committed as a vagrant. I'm afraid of you young strollers.”
The officer of the guard, as if the poor boy's feelings were not already sufficiently harassed, took him by the arm, and pushing him into a corner, said, “There, you young scamp, sit down. You'll get your deserts when you get to the jail.”
He sat down, but could not restrain his feelings. The presence of the Captain was his only hope. He saw the prisoners arraigned one by one, and join him as they were ordered for committal. He was handcuffed like the rest, and delivered to the constable. The reader can imagine the smile of gladness that welcomed the Captain's timely appearance. The latter's exhibition of feeling, and the simple exclamation of the child's joy, formed a striking picture of that fondness which a loving child manifests when meeting its parents after a long absence.
“Take the irons off that child,” said the colonel to the constable. “A man like you should not put such symbols of ignominy upon a youth like that.”
“I would do any thing to oblige you, colonel; but I cannot without orders from the mayor,” returned the man, very civilly.
“I'll see that you do, very quick,” rejoined the colonel, impatiently; and taking the little fellow by the arm in a compassionate manner, led him back into the presence of the mayor, followed by the Captain.
“I want to know what you are committing this lad for,” said the colonel, setting his hat upon the table, while his face flushed with indignation.
“Vagrancy, and caught prowling about the streets with a negro at midnight. That is the charge, colonel,” replied the mayor, with particular condescension and suavity.
“Was there any proof adduced to substantiate that fact?”
“None but the policeman's; you know we are bound to take that as prima facie.”
“Then it was entirely ex parte. But you know the character of these policemen, and the many aggravated circumstances that have arisen from their false testimony. I wish to cast no disrespect, your honor; but really they will swear to any thing for a fee, while their unscrupulous bribery has become so glaring, that it is a disgrace to our police system. Have you heard the boy's story?” said the colonel.
“Well, he began to tell a crooked story, so full of admissions, and then made such a blubbering about it, that I couldn't make head or tail of it.”
“Well, here is the Captain of his vessel, a friend of mine, whom I esteem a gentleman-for all captains ought to be gentlemen, not excepting Georgia captains and majors,” said the colonel, jocosely, turning round and introducing the Captain to his honor. “Now, your honor, you will indulge me by listening to the little fellow's story, which will be corroborated in its material points by the statements of the Captain, which, I trust, will be sufficient; if not, we shall recur to the jailer.”
“It will be sufficient. I am only sorry there has been so much trouble about it,” said the mayor.
The boy now commenced to tell his story, which the mayor listened to with all learned attention. No sooner had Tommy finished, and the Captain arose to confirm his statements, than the mayor declared himself satisfied, apologized for the trouble it had caused, and discharged the boy upon paying the costs, the amount of which the colonel took from his pocket and threw upon the table. Thus was Tommy's joy complete; not so the poor negro whose ill luck he shared. This high-sounding mayor's court was like Caesar's court, with the exceptions in Caesar's favor.
SEVERAL days had passed ere we again introduce the reader to the cell of the imprisoned stewards. The captain of the Janson had been assured by Mr. Grimshaw that every thing was comfortable at the jail, and Manuel would be well cared for. Confiding in this, the activity of the consul to bring the matter before the proper authorities-and the manner in which his own time was engrossed with his business-left him no opportunity to visit Manuel at the jail. Tommy and one of the sailors had carried him his hammock, and a few things from the ship's stores; and with this exception, they had but little to eat for several days. Copeland had but a few days more to remain, and, together with those who were with him, had exhausted their means, in providing from day to day, during their imprisonment. The poor woman who did their washing, a generous-hearted mulatto, had brought them many things, for which she asked no compensation. Her name was Jane Bee, and when the rules of the jail made every man his own washerwoman, she frequently washed for those who had nothing to pay her. But her means were small, and she worked hard for a small pittance, and had nothing to bring them for several days. They were forced to take the allowance of bread, but could not muster resolution to eat the sickly meat.
Those who had suffered from it before, took it as a natural consequence, looking to the time of their release, as if it was to bring a happy change in their lives. But Manuel felt that it was an unprecedented outrage upon his feelings, and was determined to remonstrate against it. He knocked loudly at the door, and some of the prisoners hearing it, reported to the jailer, who sent Daley to answer it. As soon as the door was opened, he rushed past, and succeeded in gaining the iron door that opened into the vestibule, where he could converse with the Jailer, through the grating, before Daley could stop him.
The jailer seeing him at the grating, anticipated his complaint. “Well, Pereira,—what's the matter up-stairs?” said he.
“For God's sake, jailer, what am I put in here for-to starve? We cannot eat the meat you send us, and we have had little else than bread and water for three days. Do give us something to eat, and charge it to consul, or Captain, an' I'll pay it from my wages when I get out, if I ever do,” said he.
“My dear fellow!” said the jailer, “no one knows your case better than I do; but I am poor, and the restrictions which I am under allow me no privileges. You had all better take your meat in the morning-if you won't take soup-and try to cook it, or get Jane to do it for you. I will give you some coffee and bread from my own table, to-night, and you better say as little about it as possible, for if Grimshaw hears it, he may lock you up.”
“Do, I shall be very thankful, for we are really suffering from hunger, in our cell, and I pay you when I get money from Captain,” said Manuel, manifesting his thankfulness at the jailer's kindness.
“I will send it up in a few minutes, but you needn't trouble yourself about pay-I wouldn't accept it!” said the jailer; and as good as his word, he sent them up a nice bowl of coffee for each, and some bread, butter, and cheese. They partook of the humble fare, with many thanks to the donor. Having despatched it, they seated themselves upon the floor, around the faint glimmer of a tin lamp, while Copeland read the twentieth and twenty-first chapters of the Acts of the Apostles. Copeland was a pious negro, and his behaviour during his imprisonment enlisted the respect of every one in jail. Singular as the taste may seem, he had his corner in the cell decorated with little framed prints. Among them we noticed one of the crucifixion, and another of the Madonna. After reading the chapters, they retired to their hard beds. About nine o'clock the next morning, Daley came to the door with a piece of neck meat, so tainted and bloody that its smell and looks more than satisfied the stomach.
“Here it is, boys,” said he; “yer four pound, but ye's better take soup, cos ye'll niver cook that bone, anyhow.”
“Do you think we're like dogs, to eat such filth as that? No! I'd rather starve!” said Manuel.
“Indeed, an' ye'll larn to ate any thing win ye'd be here a month. But be dad, if ye don't watch number one about here, ye's won't get much nohow,” replied Daley, dropping the bloody neck upon the floor, and walking out.
“Better take it,” said Copeland. “There's no choice, and hunger don't stand for dainties, especially in this jail, where everybody is famished for punishment. If we don't eat it, we can give it to some of the poor prisoners up-stairs.”
“While I have good ship-owners, and a good Captain, I never will eat such stuff as that; oh! no,” returned Manuel.
The meat was laid in a corner for the benefit of the flies; and when dinner time arrived, the same hard extreme arrived with it-bread and water. And nobody seemed to have any anxieties on their behalf; for two of them had written notes to their Captains, on the day previous, but they remained in the office for want of a messenger to carry them. Fortunately, Jane called upon them in the afternoon, and brought a nice dish of rice and another of homony.
We will here insert a letter we received from a very worthy friend, who, though he had done much for the Charleston people, and been repaid in persecutions, was thrown into jail for a paltry debt by a ruthless creditor. Cleared by a jury of twelve men, he was held in confinement through the wretched imperfection of South Carolina law, to await nearly twelve months for the sitting of the “Appeal Court,” more to appease the vindictiveness of his enemies than to satisfy justice, for it was well understood that he did not owe the debt. His letter speaks for itself. Charleston Jail, March 31, '52.
MY DEAR FRIEND,—I could not account for your absence during the last few days, until this morning, when Mr. F***** called upon me for a few moments, and from him I learnt that you had been quite unwell. If you are about to-morrow, do call upon me; for a more dreary place, or one where less regard is paid to the calls of humanity, cannot be found among the nations of the earth.
Such is the ordinary condition of suffering within this establishment, that men, and even women, are forced to all kinds of extremes to sustain life; and, to speak what experience has taught me, crime is more increased than reduced by this wretched system. There seems to be little distinction among the prisoners, and no means to observe it, except in what is called Mount Rascal on the third story. Pilfering is so common, that you cannot leave your room without locking your door. The jailer is a good, kind-hearted old man, very often giving from his own table to relieve the wants of debtors, many of whom repay him with ingratitude. I have suffered many privations from shipwreck and cold, but never until I came to South Carolina was I compelled to endure imprisonment and subsist several days upon bread and water.
Talk about chivalry and hospitality! How many men could join with me and ask, “Where is it?” But why should I demur, when I see those abroad who have been driven from this State to seek bread; when I hear the many voices without tell of struggling to live, for want of system in mechanical employment, and when I look upon several within these sombre walls who are even worse than me. Here is a physician, with a wife and large family, committed for a debt which he was unable to pay. His father's name stands among the foremost of the State—a General of distinction, who offered his life for her in time of war, and whose name honors her triumphs, and has since graced the councils of state.
General Hammond, whose name occupies such a conspicuous place in the military history of South Carolina. The father's enthusiasm for his country's cause led him to sacrifice his all, and by it he entailed misfortune upon his descendants. When I consider the case of Shannon, whose eleven years and seven months' imprisonment for debt, as it was called, but which eventually proved to be a question turning upon technicalities of law, gave him, body and soul, to the vindictiveness of a persecutor, whose unrelenting malignity was kept up during that long space of time. It was merely a breach of limitation between merchants, the rights of which should be governed by commercial custom. Shannon had, amassed about twenty thousand dollars by hard industry; his health was waning, and he resolved to retire with it to his native county. The gem proved too glaring for the lynx eye of a “true Carolinian,” who persuaded him to invest his money in cotton. Moved by flattering inducements, he authorized a factor to purchase for him upon certain restrictions, which, unfortunately for himself, were not drawn up with regard to legal enforcement-one of those singular instruments between a merchant and an inexperienced man which a professional quibbler can take advantage of. Cotton was at the tip-top, and very soon Shannon was presented with an account of purchase, and draft so far beyond his limits, that he demurred, and rejected the purchase entirely; but some plot should be laid to entrap him. The factor undertook the force game, notified him that the cotton was held subject to his order, and protested the draft for the appearance of straightforwardness. Cotton shortly fell to the other extreme, the lot was “shoved up” for sale on Shannon's account, Shannon was sued for the balance, held to bail, and in default committed to prison. His confinement and endurance of it would form a strange chapter in the history of imprisonment for debt. Carrying his money with him, he closed the door of his cell, and neither went out nor would allow any one but the priest to enter for more than three years; and for eleven years and seven months he paced the room upon a diagonal line from corner to corner, until he wore the first flooring, of two-and-a-quarter-inch pine, entirely through.
I might go on and tell of many others, whose poverty was well known, and yet suffered years of imprisonment for debt; but I find I have digressed. I must relate an amusing affair which took place this morning between Manuel Pereira, the steward of the English brig Janson, which put into this port in distress, and the jailer. He is the man about whom so much talk and little feeling has been enlisted—a fine, well-made, generous-hearted Portuguese. He is olive-complexioned—as light as many of the Carolinians—intelligent and obliging, and evidently unaccustomed to such treatment as he receives here.
Manuel appeared before the jailer's office this morning with two junks of disgusting-looking meat, the neck-bones, tainted and bloody, in each hand. His Portuguese ire was up. “Mister Poulnot, what you call dis? In South Carolina you feed man on him, ah? In my country, ah yes! we feed him to dog. What you call him? May-be somethin' what me no know him. In South Carolina, prison sailor when he shipwreck, starve him on nosin', den tell him eat this, ah! I sails 'round ze world, but never savage man gives me like zat to eat! No, I starve 'fore I eat him, be gar! Zar, you take him,” said he, throwing the pieces of meat upon the floor in disdain.
“Meat! Yes, it's what's sent here for us. You mustn't grumble at me; enter your complaints to the sheriff, when he comes,” said the jailer, with an expression of mortification on his countenance.
“Meat, ah! You call dat meat in South Carolina? I call him bull-neck, not fit for dog in my country. I see, when Capitan come, vat he do,” said Manuel, turning about and going to his room in a great excitement.
“You'd better be careful how you talk, or you may get locked up when the sheriff comes.”
It seems that the Captain had received a note from him, addressed by one of the white prisoners on the same floor, and reached the jail just as Manuel had ascended the stairs. He rang the bell and requested to see Manuel.
“Manuel Pereira?” inquired the jailer.
“Yes,” said the Captain, “he is my steward.”
He heard the Captain's voice, and immediately returned to the lobby. The tears ran down his cheeks as soon as he saw his old protector. “Well, Manuel, I am glad to see you, but sorry that it is in imprisonment. Tell me what is the matter. Don't they use you well here?” inquired the Captain.
Stepping within the office door, he caught up the pieces of meat, and bringing them out in his hands, held them up. “There, Capitan, that no fit for man, is it?” said he. “Law send me prison, but law no give not'ing to eat. What I do dat people treat me so? Ah, Capitan, bull neck, by gar, yes-bull born in South Carolina, wid two neck. Ils sont reduits l'extremit,” said he, concluding with broken French.
“That cannot be; it's against the law to kill bulls in South Carolina,” interrupted the jailer jocosely.
“Must be. I swear he bull-neck, 'cas he cum every day just like him. Bull born wid one neck no cum so many. What I get for breakfast, Capitan, ah?—piece bad bread. What I get for dinner, ah?—bull-neck. Yes, what I get for supper, too?—piece bread and bucket o' water. May-be he bad, may be he good, just so he come. You think I live on dat, Capitan?” said he, in reply to the Captain's questions.
The Captain felt incensed at such treatment, and excused himself for not calling before; yet he could not suppress a smile that stole upon his countenance in consequence of Manuel's quaint earnestness.
“That is certainly strange fare for a human being; but the supper seems rather a comical one. Did you drink the bucket of water, Manuel?” inquired the Captain, retaining a sober face.
“Capitan, you know me too well for dat. I not ask 'em nozin' what he no get, but I want my coffee for suppe'. I no eat him like zat,” throwing the putrid meat upon the floor again.
“Hi, hi! That won't do in this jail. You're dirtying up all my floor,” said the jailer, calling a negro boy and ordering him to carry the bull-necks, as Manuel called them, into the kitchen.
“You call him dirt, ah, Miser Jailer? Capitan, just come my room; I shown him,” said Manuel, leading the way up-stairs, and the Captain followed. A sight at the cell was enough, while the sickly stench forbid him to enter beyond the threshold. He promised Manuel that he would provide for him in future, and turning about suddenly, retreated into the lower lobby.
“Jailer, what does all this mean? Do you allow men to starve in a land of plenty, and to suffer in a cell like that?” asked the Captain in a peremptory tone.
“I feel for the men, but you must enter your complaints to the sheriff-the ration of the jail is entirely in his hands.”
“But have you no voice in it, by which you can alleviate their situation?”
“Not the least! My duty is to keep every thing-every thing to rights, as far as people are committed. You will find the sheriff in his office, any time between this and two o'clock,” said the jailer. And the Captain left as suddenly as he came.
You will think I have written you an essay, instead of a letter inviting you to come and see me. Accept it for its intention, and excuse the circumstances. Your obedient servant,
THE appearance of things at the jail was forlorn in the extreme. The Captain knew the integrity of Manuel, and not only believed his statement, but saw the positive proofs to confirm them. He repaired to the sheriff's office, and inquiring for that functionary, was pointed to Mr. Grimshaw, who sat in his large chair, with his feet upon the table, puffing the fumes of a very fine-flavored Havana, as unconcerned as if he was lord in sovereignty over every thing about the city. “I am captain of the Janson, and have called to inquire about my steward?” said the Captain.
“Ah! yes,—you have a nigger fellow in jail. Oh! by-the-by, that's the one there was so much fuss about, isn't it?” said Mr. Grimshaw, looking up.
“It is an imperative duty on me to seek the comfort of my officers and crew,” said the Captain. “I received a note from my steward, this morning,—here it is, (handing him the note,) you can read it. He requested me to call upon him at the jail, where I lost no time in going, and found what he stated there to be too true. How is it! From the great liberality of tone which everywhere met my ears when I first arrived, I was led to believe that he would be made comfortable; and that the mere confinement was the only feature of the law that was a grievance. Now I find that to be the only tolerable part of it. When a man has committed no crime, and is imprisoned to satisfy a caprice of public feeling, it should be accompanied with the most favoring attendants. To couple it with the most disgraceful abuses, as are shown here, makes it exceedingly repugnant. If we pay for confining these men, and for their living while they are confined, in God's name let us get what we pay for!”
The reader will observe that Mr. Grimshaw was a man of coarse manners and vulgar mind, with all their traces preserved on the outer man. He looked up at the Captain with a presumptuous frown, and then said, “Why, Mr. Captain, how you talk! But that kind o' talk won't do here in South Carolina. That nigger o' yourn gives us a mighty site of trouble, Captain. He doesn't seem to understand that he must be contented in jail, and live as the other prisoners do. He gets what the law requires, and if he gives us any further trouble, we shall lock him up in the third story.”
“You cannot expect him to be contented, when you furnish the means of discontent. But I did not come here to argue with you, nor to ask any thing as a favour, but as a right. My steward has been left to suffer! Am I to pay for what he does not get? Or am I to pay you for the pretence, and still be compelled to supply him on account of the owners? You must excuse my feelings, for I have had enough to provoke them!” returned the Captain.
“That business is entirely my own! He gets what the State allows, and I provide. Your steward never wrote that note; it was dictated by some of them miserable white prisoners. I can hear no complaints upon such cases as them. If I were to listen to all these nonsensical complaints, it would waste all my time. I wish the devil had all the nigger stewards and their complaints; the jail's in a fuss with them all the time. I can hear nothing further, sir-nothing further!” said Grimshaw emphatically, interrupting the Captain as he attempted to speak; at which the Captain became so deeply incensed, that he relieved his feelings in that sort of plain English which a Scotchman can best bestow in telling a man what he thinks of his character.
“You must remember, sir, you are in the office of the sheriff of the county-parish, I mean,—and I am, sir, entitled to proper respect. Begone!—avaunt! you have no right to come here and traduce my character in that way. You musn't take me for a parish beadle,” said Grimshaw, contorting the unmeaning features of his visage, and letting fly a stream of tobacco juice in his excitement.
“If you have no laws to give me justice, you have my opinion of your wrongs,” returned the Captain, and taking his hat, left the office with the intention of returning to the jail. On reflection, he concluded to call upon Colonel S—, which he did, and finding him in his office, stated the circumstances to him.
“These things are the fruits of imbecility; but I am sorry to say there is no relief from them. We are a curious people, and do a great many curious things according to law, and leave a great many things undone that the law and lawmakers ought to do. But I will go with you to the jail, and whatever my influence will effect is at your service,” said the Colonel, putting on his hat, and accompanying the Captain to the jail.
Mr. Grimshaw had forestalled them, and after having given the jailer particular instructions to lock Manuel up if he made any further complaint, and to carry out his orders upon the peril of his situation, met them a few steps from the outer gate, on his return. “There, Captain!” said Grimshaw, making a sort of halt, “I have given the jailer particular orders in regard to your grumbling nigger!”
Neither the Captain nor Colonel S—took any notice of his remarks, and passed on into the jail. Colonel S—interceded for the man, explaining the circumstances which had unfortunately brought him there, and begged the jailer's kind consideration in his behalf. The jailer told them what his orders had been, but promised to do as far as was in his power, and to see any thing that was sent to him safely delivered.
After leaving the jail, Colonel S—proposed a walk, and they proceeded along a street running at right angles with the jail, until they came to a corner where a large brick building was in process of erection. The location was not in what might strictly be called “the heart of the city,” nor was it in the suburbs. Carpenters and masons, both black and white, were busily employed in their avocations, and from the distance all seemed fair and moving with despatch. As they approached nearer, cries and moans sounded upon the air, and rose high above the clatter of the artisans' work. The Captain quickened his pace, but the colonel, as if from a consciousness of the effect, halted, and would fain have retraced his steps. “Come!” said the Captain, “let us hasten-they are killing somebody!” They approached the building, and entered by an open door in the basement. The passage, or entry-way, was filled with all sorts of building materials; and on the left, another door opened into a long basement apartment, with loose boards laid upon the floor-joists overhead. Here in this dark apartment was the suffering object whose moans had attracted their attention. A large billet of wood, about six feet long and three feet square, which had the appearance of being used for a chopping-block, laid near. A poor negro man, apparently advanced in years, was stripped naked and bent over the block, in the shape of a horse-shoe, with his hands and feet closely pinioned to stakes, driven in the ground on each side. His feet were kept close together, and close up to the log, while he was drawn over, tight by the hands, which were spread open. Thus, with a rope around his neck, tied in a knot at the throat, with each end carried to the pinion where his hands were secured, his head and neck were drawn down to the tightest point. The very position was enough to have killed an ordinary human being in less than six hours. His master, a large, robust man, with a strong Irish brogue, started at their appearance, as if alarmed at the presence of intruders, while holding his hand in the attitude of administering another blow. “There! you infernal nigger; steal again, will you?” said he, frothing at the mouth with rage—with his coat off, his shirt-sleeves rolled up, and his face, hands, arms and shirt-bosom so bespattered with blood, that a thrill of horror ran through the Captain. On the ground lay several pieces of hoop, broken and covered with blood, while he held in his hand another piece, (which he had torn from a lime-cask,) reeking with blood, presenting the picture of a murderer bestained with the blood of his victim. But the poor sufferer's punishment had wasted his strength,—his moans had become so faint as to be scarcely perceptible. His posteriors were so cut and mangled that we could compare them to nothing but a piece of bullock's-liver, with its tenacity torn by craven dogs. His body was in a profuse perspiration, the sweat running from his neck and shoulders, while the blood streamed from his bruises, down his legs, and upon some shavings on the ground. Just at this moment a boy brought a pail of water, and set it down close by the tyrant's feet. “Go away, boy!” said he, and the boy left as quick as possible. The Captain stood dismayed at the bloody picture.
“Unmerciful man!” said the colonel in a peremptory tone; “what have you been doing here? You fiend of hell, let the man up! You own slaves to bring disgrace upon us in this manner! Epithets of contempt and disgust are too good for you. It is such beasts as you who are creating a popular hatred against us, and souring the feelings of our countrymen. Let the man up instantly; the very position you have him in is enough to kill him, and, if I'm not mistaken, you've killed him already.”
“Indeed, he's me own property, and it's yerself won't lose a ha'penny if he's kilt. An' I'll warrant ye he's cur't of stalin' better than the man beyant at the wurk'o'se would be doin' if. Bad luck to the nager, an' it's the second time he'd be doin' that same thing,” said he, as unconcernedly as if he had just been killing a calf.
“I'll 'your own' you, you miserable wretch! Your abuse and cruel treatment of your slaves is becoming a public thing; and if you a'n't very careful, something will be done about it before council. If they are your own, you must not treat them worse than dogs; they have feeling, if you have no compassion. Be quick! release him at once!” demanded the colonel, feeling the man's wrist and head.
The tyrant vent deliberately to work, unloosing the cords. This provoked the colonel still more, and taking his knife from his pocket, he severed the cords that bound his hands and feet, while as suddenly the Captain sprang with his knife and severed those that bound his hands and neck. “Stop, Captain, stop! take no part,” said the colonel, with a significant look.
“Gintlemen, I wish yes wouldn't interfere with my own business,” said the master.
“Take him up, you villanous wretch! I speak to you as you deserve, without restraint or respect,” again the colonel repeated.
He called to the boy who was bringing the pail of water when they entered. He came forward, and taking the poor fellow by the shoulders, this beast in human form cried out, “Get up now, ye miserable thief, ye.” The poor fellow made a struggle, but as the black man raised his head-which seemed to hang as a dead weight-exhaustion had left him without strength, and he fell back among the bloody shavings like a mutilated mass of lifeless flesh.
“None of your humbugging; yer worth a dozen dead niggers anyhow,” said he, taking up the pail of water and throwing nearly half of it over him; then passing the bucket to the black man and ordering him to get more water and wash him down; then to get some saltpetre and a sponge to sop his flesh.
“Well,” said the colonel, “I have seen a good deal of cruelty to slaves, but this is the most beastly I have ever beheld. If you don't send for a doctor at once, I shall report you. That man will die, to a moral certainty. Now, you may depend upon what I say-if that man dies, you'll feel the consequences, and I shall watch you closely.”
“Sure I always takes care of me own niggers, an' it's himself that won't be asked to do a stroke of work for a week, but have the same to git well in,” said the tyrant as the colonel and Captain were leaving.
“God be merciful to us, and spare us from the savages of mankind. That scene, with its bloody accompaniment, will haunt me through life. Do your laws allow such things?” said the Captain, evidently excited.
“To tell the truth, Captain,” said the colonel, “our laws do not reach them. These men own a few negroes, which, being property, they exercise absolute control over; a negro's testimony being invalid, gives them an unlimited power to abuse and inflict punishment; while, if a white man attempts to report such things, the cry of 'abolitionist' is raised against him, and so many stand ready to second the cry, that he must have a peculiar position if he does not prejudice his own interests and safety. I am sorry it is so; but it is too true, and while it stigmatizes the system, it works against ourselves. The evil is in the defects of the system, but the remedy is a problem with diverse and intricate workings, which, I own, are beyond my comprehension to solve. The reason why I spoke to you as I did when you cut the pinions from the man's hands, was to give you a word of precaution. That is a bad man. Negroes would rather be sold to a sugar plantation in Louisiana any time than be sold to him. He soon works them down; in two years, fine, healthy fellows become lame, infirm, and sickly under him; he never gives them a holiday, and seldom a Sunday, and half-starves them at that. If his feelings had been in a peculiar mood at the instant you cut that cord, and he had not labored under the fear of my presence, he would have raised a gang of his stamp, and with the circumstance of your being a stranger, the only alternative for your safety would have been in your leaving the city.”
“That vagabond has beaten the poor creature so that he will die; it can't be otherwise,” said the Captain.
“Well, no; I think not, if he is well taken care of for a week or so; but it's a chance if that brute gives him a week to get well. When proud-flesh sets in, it is very tedious; that is the reason, so far as the law is concerned, that the lash was abolished and the paddle substituted—the former mangled in the manner you saw just now, while the latter is more acute and bruises less. I have seen a nigger taken from the paddle-frame apparently motionless and lifeless, very little bruised, and not much blood drawn; but he would come to and go to work in three or four days,” said the colonel as they passed along together.
We would print the name of this brute in human form, that the world might read it, were it not for an amiable wife and interesting family, whose feelings we respect. We heard the cause of this cruel torture a short time after, which was simply that he had stolen a few pounds of nails, and this fomented the demon's rage. In the manner we have described, this ferocious creature had kept his victim for more than two hours, beating him with the knotty hoops taken from lime-casks. His rage would move at intervals, like gusts of wind during a gale. Thus, while his feelings raged highest, he would vent them upon the flesh of the poor pinioned wretch; then he would stop, rest his arm, and pace the ground from wall to wall, and as soon as his passion stormed, commence again and strike the blows with all his power, at the same time keeping the black boy standing with a bucket of water in his hand ready to pour upon the wretch whenever signs of fainting appeared. Several times, when the copious shower came over him, it filled his mouth, so that his cries resounded with a gurgling, death-like noise, that made every sensation chill to hear it. During this space of time, he inflicted more than three hundred blows. Our information is from the man who did his master's bidding—poured the water—and dared not say, “Good massa, spare poor Jacob.” We visited the place about a month afterward, on a pretext of examining the basement of the building, and saw the unmistakable evidences of civilized torture yet remaining in the ground and upon the shavings that were scattered around.
“Captain, you must not judge the institution of slavery by what you saw there; that is only one of those isolated cases so injurious in themselves, but for which the general character of the institution should not be held answerable,” said the colonel.
“A system so imperfect should be revised, lest innocent men be made to suffer its wrongs,” said the Captain.
They continued their walk through several very pretty parts of the city, where fine flowering gardens and well-trimmed hedges were nicely laid out; these, however, were not the habitations of the “old families.” They occupied parts of the city designated by massive-looking old mansions, exhibiting an antiqueness and mixed architecture, with dilapidated court-yards and weather-stained walls, showing how steadfast was the work of decay.
The colonel pointed out the many military advantages of the city, which would be used against Uncle Sam if he meddled with South Carolina. He spoke of them ironically, for he was not possessed of the secession monomania. He had been a personal friend of Mr. Calhoun, and knew his abstractions. He knew Mr. McDuffie; Hamilton, (the transcendant, of South Carolina fame;) Butler, of good component parts-eloquent, but moved by fancied wrongs; Rhett, renouncer of that vulgar name of Smith, who hated man because he spoke, yet would not fight because he feared his God; and betwixt them, a host of worthies who made revenge a motto; and last, but not least, great Quattlebum, whose strength and spirit knows no bound, and brought the champion Commander, with his enthusiastic devotion, to lead unfaltering forlorn hopes. But he knew there was deception in the political dealings of this circle of great names.
Returning to the market, they took a social glass at Baker's, where the colonel took leave of the Captain; and the latter, intending to repair to his vessel, followed the course of the market almost to its lowest extreme. In one of the most public places of the market, the Captain's attention was attracted by a singular object of mechanism. It seemed so undefined in its application, that he was reminded of the old saying among sailors when they fall in with any indescribable thing at sea, that it was a “fidge-fadge, to pry the sun up with in cloudy weather.” It was a large pedestal about six feet high, with a sort of platform at the base for persons to stand upon, supplied with two heavy rings about eight inches apart. It was surmounted by an apex, containing an iron shackle long enough for a sloop-of-war's best bower chain, and just, beneath it was a nicely-turned moulding. About three feet from the ground, and twelve inches from the pedestal, were two pieces of timber one above the other, with a space of some ten inches between them, the upper one set about five inches nearest the pedestal, also containing two rings, and both supported by posts in the ground. Above the whole was a framework, with two projecting timbers supplied with rings, and standing about fourteen inches in a diagonal direction above the big ring in the apex of the shaft. It was altogether a curious instrument, but it designated the civilization of the age, upon the same principle that a certain voyager who, on landing in a distant country, discovered traces of civilization in the decaying remains of an old gallows.
He viewed the curious instrument for some time, and then turning to an old ragged negro, whose head and beard were whitened with the flour of age, said, “Well, old man, what do you call that?”
“Why, massa, him great t'ing dat-what big old massa judge send buckra-man to get whip, so color foke laugh when 'e ketch 'im on de back, ca' bim; an' massa wid de cock-up hat on 'e head put on big vip jus' so,” said the old negro.
It was the whipping-post, where white men, for small thefts, were branded with ignominy and shame.
“Are you a slave, old man?” inquired the Captain.
The old man turned his head aside and pulled his ragged garments, as if shame had stung his feelings.
“Do, good massa-old Simon know ye don'e belong here-give him piece of 'bacca,” replied the hoary-headed veteran evidently intending to evade the question. The Captain divided his “plug” with him, and gave him a quarter to get more, but not to buy whiskey. “Tank-e, massa, tank-e; he gone wid ole Simon long time.”
“But you haven't answered my question; I asked you if you were a slave.”
“Ah! massa, ye don'e know him how he is, ah ha! ha! I done gone now. Massa Pringle own 'im once, but 'im so old now, nobody say I own 'im, an' ole Simon a'n't no massa what say I his fo' bacon. I don't woff nofin' nohow now, 'cos I ole. When Simon young-great time 'go-den massa say Simon his; woff touzan' dollars; den me do eve' ting fo' massa just so. I prime nigga den, massa; now I woff nosin', no corn and bacon 'cept what 'im git from Suke-e. She free; good massa make her free,” said he.
“How old are you, old man?” inquired the Captain.
“Ah, Massa Stranger, ye got ole Simon da! If me know dat, den 'im know somefin' long time ago, what buckra-man don' larn. I con'try-born nigger, massa, but I know yonder Massa Pringle house fo' he built 'im.” Just at this moment several pieces of cannon and other ordnance were being drawn past on long, low-wheeled drays. “Ah, massa, ye don'e know what 'em be,” said the old negro, pointing to them. “Dem wa' Massa South Ca'lina gwan to whip de 'Nited States wid Massa Goberna' order 'em last year, an 'e jus' come. Good masse gwan' to fight fo' we wid 'em.” The poor old man seemed to take a great interest in the pieces of ordnance as they passed along, and to have inherited all the pompous ideas of his master. The negroes about Charleston have a natural inclination for military tactics, and hundreds of ragged urchins, as well as old daddies and mammies, may be seen following the fife and drum on parade days.
“Then I suppose you've a home anywhere, and a master nowhere, old man?” said the Captain, shaking him by the hand, as one who had worn out his slavery to be disowned in the winter of life.