_Seven_
The constable who had arrested old Peter led his prisoner away throughalleys and quiet streets--though for that matter all the streets ofClarendon were quiet in midafternoon--to a guardhouse or calaboose,constructed of crumbling red brick, with a rusty, barred iron doorsecured by a heavy padlock. As they approached this structure, whichwas sufficiently forbidding in appearance to depress the mostlighthearted, the strumming of a banjo became audible, accompanying amellow Negro voice which was singing, to a very ragged ragtime air,words of which the burden was something like this:
_"W'at's de use er my wo'kin' so hahd? I got a' 'oman in de white man's yahd. W'en she cook chicken, she save me a wing; W'en dey 'low I'm wo'kin', I ain' doin' a thing!"_
The grating of the key in the rusty lock interrupted the song. Theconstable thrust his prisoner into the dimly lighted interior, andlocked the door.
"Keep over to the right," he said curtly, "that's the niggers' side."
"But, Mistah Haines," asked Peter, excitedly, "is I got to stay hereall night? I ain' done nuthin'."
"No, that's the trouble; you ain't done nuthin' fer a month, but loafaroun'. You ain't got no visible means of suppo't, so you're took upfor vagrancy."
"But I does wo'k we'n I kin git any wo'k ter do," the old manexpostulated. "An' ef I kin jus' git wo'd ter de right w'ite folks,I'll be outer here in half a' hour; dey'll go my bail."
"They can't go yo' bail to-night, fer the squire's gone home. I'llbring you some bread and meat, an' some whiskey if you want it, andyou'll be tried to-morrow mornin'."
Old Peter still protested.
"You niggers are always kickin'," said the constable, who was notwithout a certain grim sense of humour, and not above talking to aNegro when there were no white folks around to talk to, or to listen."I never see people so hard to satisfy. You ain' got no home, an' hereI've give' you a place to sleep, an' you're kickin'. You doan knowfrom one day to another where you'll git yo' meals, an' I offer youbread and meat and whiskey--an' you're kickin'! You say you can't gitnothin' to do, an' yit with the prospect of a reg'lar job befo' youto-morrer--you're kickin'! I never see the beat of it in all my bo'ndays."
When the constable, chuckling at his own humour, left the guardhouse,he found his way to a nearby barroom, kept by one Clay Jackson, aplace with an evil reputation as the resort of white men of a lowclass. Most crimes of violence in the town could be traced to itsinfluence, and more than one had been committed within its walls.
"Has Mr. Turner been in here?" demanded Haines of the man in charge.
The bartender, with a backward movement of his thumb, indicated a dooropening into a room at the rear. Here the constable found his man--aburly, bearded giant, with a red face, a cunning eye and anoverbearing manner. He had a bottle and a glass before him, and wasunsociably drinking alone.
"Howdy, Haines," said Turner, "How's things? How many have you gotthis time?"
"I've got three rounded up, Mr. Turner, an' I'll take up another befo'night. That'll make fo'--fifty dollars fer me, an' the res' fer thesquire."
"That's good," rejoined Turner. "Have a glass of liquor. How much doyou s'pose the Squire'll fine Bud?"
"Well," replied Haines, drinking down the glass of whiskey at a gulp,"I reckon about twenty-five dollars."
"You can make it fifty just as easy," said Turner. "Niggers are alljust a passell o' black fools. Bud would 'a' b'en out now, if ithadn't be'n for me. I bought him fer six months. I kept close watch ofhim for the first five, and then along to'ds the middle er the las'month I let on I'd got keerliss, an' he run away. Course I put thedawgs on 'im, an' followed 'im here, where his woman is, an' got youafter 'im, and now he's good for six months more."
"The woman is a likely gal an' a good cook," said Haines. "_She'd_ bewuth a good 'eal to you out at the stockade."
"That's a shore fact," replied the other, "an' I need another goodwoman to help aroun'. If we'd 'a' thought about it, an' give' her achance to hide Bud and feed him befo' you took 'im up, we could 'a'filed a charge ag'inst her for harborin' 'im."
"Well, I kin do it nex' time, fer he'll run away ag'in--they alwaysdo. Bud's got a vile temper."
"Yes, but he's a good field-hand, and I'll keep his temper down. Havesomethin' mo'?"
"I've got to go back now and feed the pris'ners," said Haines, risingafter he had taken another drink; "an' I'll stir Bud up so he'll raiseh--ll, an' to-morrow morning I'll make another charge against himthat'll fetch his fine up to fifty and costs."
"Which will give 'im to me till the cotton crop is picked, and severalmonths more to work on the Jackson Swamp ditch if Fetters gits thecontract. You stand by us here, Haines, an' help me git all the han'sI can out o' this county, and I'll give you a job at Sycamo' when yo'rtime's up here as constable. Go on and feed the niggers, an' stir upBud, and I'll be on hand in the mornin' when court opens."
When the lesser of these precious worthies left his superior to hiscups, he stopped in the barroom and bought a pint of rotgut whiskey--acheap brand of rectified spirits coloured and flavoured to resemblethe real article, to which it bore about the relation of vitriol tolye. He then went into a cheap eating house, conducted by a Negro forpeople of his own kind, where he procured some slices of fried bacon,and some soggy corn bread, and with these various purchases, wrappedin a piece of brown paper, he betook himself to the guardhouse. Heunlocked the door, closed it behind him, and called Peter. The old mancame forward.
"Here, Peter," said Haines, "take what you want of this, and give someto them other fellows, and if there's anything left after you've gotwhat you want, throw it to that sulky black hound over yonder in thecorner."
He nodded toward a young Negro in the rear of the room, the BudJohnson who had been the subject of the conversation with Turner.Johnson replied with a curse. The constable advanced menacingly, hishand moving toward his pocket. Quick as a flash the Negro threwhimself upon him. The other prisoners, from instinct, or prudence, orhope of reward, caught him, pulled him away and held him off untilHaines, pale with rage, rose to his feet and began kicking hisassailant vigorously. With the aid of well-directed blows of his fistshe forced the Negro down, who, unable to regain his feet, finally,whether from fear or exhaustion, lay inert, until the constable,having worked off his worst anger, and not deeming it to his advantageseriously to disable the prisoner, in whom he had a pecuniaryinterest, desisted from further punishment.
"I might send you to the penitentiary for this," he said, panting forbreath, "but I'll send you to h--ll instead. You'll be sold back toMr. Fetters for a year or two tomorrow, and in three months I'll bedown at Sycamore as an overseer, and then I'll learn you to strike awhite man, you----"
The remainder of the objurgation need not be told, but there was nodoubt, from the expression on Haines's face, that he meant what hesaid, and that he would take pleasure in repaying, in overflowingmeasure, any arrears of revenge against the offending prisoner which hemight consider his due. He had stirred Bud up very successfully--muchmore so, indeed, than he had really intended. He had meant to procureevidence against Bud, but had hardly thought to carry it away in theshape of a black eye and a swollen nose.