we must take the reader back to the old jail, and continue our scene from where we left little tommy spreading the captain's present before the imprisoned stewards, whose grateful thanks were showered upon the head of the bestower. kindness, be it ever so small, to a man in prison, is like the golden rays of the rising sun lighting up the opening day. they all partook of the refreshments provided for them with grateful spirits.
it was near ten o'clock when daley came to announce that it was time to close the prison, and all strangers must withdraw. tommy had insisted upon stopping with manuel during the night.
this man daley was a proverbial drunkard, a tyrant in the exercise of his "little brief authority," and a notorious--. singular as it may seem, considering his position, he would quarrel with the men for a glass of whiskey, had given the jailer more trouble than any other man, and been several times confined in the cells for his incorrigible vices. if any thing more was wanting to confirm our note, we could refer to colonel condy, the very gentlemanly united states marshal in a very rude manner, told him it was against the rules, and putting his hand to his back, pushed him out of the cell and secured the bolts. the little fellow felt his way through the passage and down the stairs in the dark until he reached the corridor, where the jailer stood awaiting to let him pass the outer iron-gate. "you've made a long stay, my little fellow. you'll have a heap o' trouble to find the wharf, at this time o' night. i'd o' let you stopped all night, but it's strictly against the sheriff's orders," said the jailer, as, he passed into the street, at the same time giving him a list of imperfect directions about the course to proceed.
the jail is in a distant and obscure part of the city, surrounded by narrow streets and lanes, imperfectly laid out and undefined. in leaving the walls of the prison, he mistook his direction, and the night being very dark, with a light, drizzling rain, which commenced while he was in the prison, the whole aspect of things seemed reversed. after travelling about for some time, he found himself upon a narrow strip of land that crossed a basin of water and led to chisholm's mill. the different appearance of things here convinced him of his error. bewildered, and not knowing which way to proceed, he approached a cross road, and sitting down upon a log, wept bitterly. he soon heard a footstep, and as it approached, his cares lightened. it proved to be a negro man from the mill.
these mills are worked all night, and the poor negroes, wishing to follow an example which massa sets on a grand scale, save that they have an excuse in the fatigue of labor, will delegate some shrewd one of their number to proceed to a dutch "corner-shop" in the suburbs, run the gauntlet of the police, and get a bottle of whiskey, when interrogated, they are always "going for a bottle of molasses." they keep a keen watch for the police, and their cunning modes of eluding their vigilance forms many amusing anecdotes. they are bound to have a pass from master, or some white man; but if they can reach the shop in safety, the dutchman will always furnish them with one to return. it not unfrequently happens that the guard-men are much more ignorant than the slaves. the latter knowing this, will endeavor to find their station and approach by it, taking with them either an old pass or a forged one, which the guard-man makes a wonderful piece of importance about examining and countersigning, though he can neither read nor write. thus sambo passes on to get his molasses, laughing in his sleeve to think how he "fool ignorant buckra." a change of guard often forms a trap for sambo, when he is lugged to the guard-house, kept all night, his master informed in the morning, and requested to step up and pay a fine, or sambo's back catches thirty-nine, thus noting a depression of value upon the property. sometimes his master pays the municipal fine, and administers a domestic castigation less lacerating bound into the city on the usual errand of procuring a little of molasses. when he first discovered tommy, he started back a few paces, as if in fear; but on being told by tommy that he was lost, and wanted to find his way to the wharves, he approached and recovering, confidence readily, volunteered to see him to the corner of broad street. so, taking him by the hand, they proceeded together until they reached the termination of the causeway, and were about to enter tradd street, when suddenly a guard-man sprang from behind an old shed. the negro, recognising his white belt and tap-stick, made the best of his time, and set off at full speed down a narrow lane. the watchman proceeded close at his heels, springing his rattle at every step, and pouring out a volley of vile imprecations. tommy stood for a few moments, but soon the cries of the negro and the beating of clubs broke upon his ear; he became terrified, and ran at the top of his speed in an opposite direction. again he had lost his way, and seemed in a worse dilemma than before; he was weary and frightened, and hearing so many stories among the sailors about selling white children for slaves, and knowing the imprisonment of manuel, which he did not comprehend, his feelings were excited to the highest degree. after running for a few minutes, he stopped to see if he could recognize his position. the first thing that caught his eye was the old jail, looming its sombre walls in the gloomy contrast of night. he followed the walls until he reached the main gate, and then, taking an opposite direction from his former route, proceeded along the street until he came to a lantern, shedding its feeble light upon the murky objects at the corner of a narrow lane. here he stood for several minutes, not knowing which way to proceed: the street he was in continued but a few steps farther, and turn which ever way he would, darkness and obstacles rose to impede his progress. at length he turned down the lane, and proceeded until he came to another junction of streets; taking one which he thought would lead him in the right direction, he wandered through it and into a narrow, circuitous street, full of little, wretched-looking houses. a light glimmered from one of them, and he saw a female passing to and fro before the window. he approached and rapped gently upon the door. almost simultaneously the light was extinguished. he stood for a few minutes, and again rapped louder than before; all was silent for some minutes. a drenching shower had commenced, adding to the already gloomy picture; and the rustling leaves on a tree that stood near gave an ominous sound to the excited feelings of the child. he listened at the door with anxiety and fear, as he heard whispers within; and as he was about to repeat his rapping, a window on the right hand was slowly raised. the female who had been pacing the floor protruded her head with a caution that bespoke alarm. her long, black hair hanging about her shoulders, and her tawny, indian countenance, with her ghost-like figure dressed in a white habiliment, struck him with a sort of terror that wellnigh made him run.
"who is that, at this time of night?" inquired the woman, in a low voice.
"it's only me. i'm lost, and can't find my way to our vessel," said tommy, in a half-crying tone.
"mother," said the woman, shutting the window, "it's only a little sailor-boy, a stranger, and he's wet through."
she immediately unbarred and opened the door, and invited him to come in. stepping beyond the threshold, she closed the door against the storm, and placing a chair at the fire, told him to sit down and warm himself. they were mulatto half-breeds, retaining all the indian features which that remnant of the tribe now in charleston are distinguished by a family well known in the city, yet under the strictest surveillance of the police. every thing around the little room denoted poverty and neatness. the withered remnant of an aged indian mother lay stretched upon a bed of sickness, and the daughter, about nineteen years old, had been watching over her, and administering those comforts, which her condition required. "why, mother, it's a'most twelve o'clock. i don't believe he'll come to-night."
she awaited her friend, or rather he whose mistress she had condescended to be, after passing from several lords. the history of this female remnant of beautiful indian girls now left in charleston, is a mournful one. the recollection of their noble sires, when contrasted with their present unhappy associations, affords a sad subject for reflection and "this little boy can stop till morning in our room up-stairs," said she, looking up at an old connecticut clock that adorned the mantel-piece.
"oh! i could not stay all night. the mate would be uneasy about me, and might send the crew to look for me. i'm just as thankful, but i couldn't stop," said tommy.
"but you never can find the bay on such a night as this; and i've no pass, or i would show you into broad street, and then you could find the way. i am afraid of the guardmen, and if they caught me and took me to the station, my friend would abuse me awfully," said angeline, for such was her name; and she laid her hand upon his arm to feel his wet clothes.
he now arose from the chair, and putting on his hat, she followed him to the door and directed him how to proceed to find broad street.
he proceeded according to her directions, and soon found it. now, he thought, he was all right; but the wind had increased to a gale, and having a full sweep through the street, it was as much as he could do to resist it. he had scarcely reached half the distance of the street when it came in such sudden gusts that he was forced to seek a refuge against its fury in the recess of a door. he sat down upon a step, and buttoning his little jacket around him, rested his head upon his knees, and while waiting for the storm to abate, fell into a deep sleep. from this situation he was suddenly aroused by a guardman, who seized him by the collar, and giving him an unmerciful twitch, brought, him headlong upon the sidewalk.
"what are you at here? ah! another miserable vagrant, i suppose. we'll take care of such rascals as you; come with me. we'll larn ye to be round stealing at this time o' night."
"no, sir! no, sir! i didn't do nothing"--
"shut up! none of your lyin' to a policeman, you young rascal. i don't want to hear, nor i won't stand your infernal lies."
"oh do, mister, let me tell you all about it, and i know you won't hurt me. i'm only going to the vessel, if you'll show me the way," said the little fellow imploringly.
"stop yer noise, ye lying young thief, you. ye wouldn't be prowling about at this time o' night if ye belonged to a vessel. 'pon me soul, i believe yer a nigger. come to the light," said the guardman, dragging him up to a lamp near by. "well, you a'n't a nigger, i reckon, but yer a strolling vagrant, and that's worse," he continued, after examining his face very minutely. so, dragging him to the guardhouse as he would a dog, and thrusting him into a sort of barrack-room, the captain of the guard and several officials soon gathered around him to inquire the difficulty. the officers listened to the guardman's story, with perfect confidence in every thing he said, but refused to allow the little fellow to reply in his own behalf. "i watched him for a long time, saw him fumbling about people's doors, and then go to sleep in mr. t--'s recess. these boys are gettin' to be the very mischief-most dangerous fellows we have to deal with," said the policeman.
"oh, no! i was only goin' to the brig, and got turned round. i've been more than two hours trying to find my way in the storm. i'm sure i a'n't done no harm. if ye'll only let me tell my story," said tommy.
"shut up! we want no stories till morning. the mayor will settle your hash to-morrow; and if you belong to a ship, you can tell him all about it; but you'll have the costs to pay anyhow. just lay down upon that bench, and you can sleep there till morning; that's better than loafing about the streets," said the captain of the guard, a large, portly-looking man, as he pointed tommy to a long bench similar to those used in barrack-rooms.
the little fellow saw it was no use to attempt a hearing, and going quietly to the bench, he pulled off his man-a-war hat, and laying it upon a chair, stretched himself out upon it, putting his little hands under his head to ease it from the hard boards.
but he was not destined to sleep long in this position, for a loud, groaning noise at the door, broke upon their ears though the pelting fury of the storm, like one in agonizing distress.
"heavens! what is that!" said the captain of the guard, suddenly starting from his seat, and running for the door, followed by the whole posse. the groans grew louder and more death-like in their sound, accompanied by strange voices, giving utterance to horrible imprecations, and a dragging upon the floor. the large door opened, and what a sight presented itself! three huge monsters, with side-arms on, dragged in the poor negro who proffered to show tommy into broad street. his clothes were nearly torn from his back, besmeared with mud, from head to foot, and his face cut and mangled in the most shocking manner. his head, neck, and shoulders, were covered with a gore of blood, and still it kept oozing from his mouth and the cuts on his head. they dragged him in as if he was a dying dog that had been beaten with a club, and threw him into a corner, upon the floor, with just about as much unconcern.
"oh! massa! massa! kill me, massa, den 'em stop sufferin'!" said the poor fellow, in a painful murmur, raising his shackled hands to his head, and grasping the heavy chain that secured his neck, in the agony of pain.
"what has he done?" inquired the officer.
"resisted the guard, and ran when we told him to stop!" responded a trio of voices. "yes, and attempted to get into a house. ah! you vagabond you; that's the way we serve niggers like you!--attempt to run again, will you? i'll knock your infernal daylights out, you nigger you," said one of the party.
"it does seem tome that you might have taken him, and brought him up with less severity," said the officer.
"what else could we do, sure? didn't we catch him prowling about with a white fellow, and he runn'd till we couldn't get him. indeed it was nothing good they were after, and it's the like o' them that bees doing all the mischief beyant the city."
"an' 'imself, too, struck muldown two pokes, 'efore he lave de hancuffs be pat upon him, at all!" said another of the guardmen; and then turning around, caught a glimpse of poor little tommy, who had been standing up near a desk, during the scene, nearly "frightened out of his wits."
"by the pipers,--what! and is't here ye are? the same that was with himself beyant! come here, you spalpeen you. wasn't ye the same what runn'd whin we bees spaken to that nigger?" said the same guardman, taking hold of tommy's arm, and drawing him nearer the light.
"yes, he was coming along with me, to show me"--
"stop!--you know you are going to lie already. better lock 'em both up for the night, and let them be sent up in the morning," said another.
"then you won't let me speak for myself--"
"hush, sir!" interrupted the officer; "you can tell your story in the morning! but take care you are not a vagrant. if it's proved that you were with that nigger at the improper hour, you'll get your back scarred. come, you have owned it, and i must lock you up."
without attempting to wash the blood off the negro, or dress his wounds, they unlocked the handcuffs, and loosened the chain from his neck, handling him with less feeling than they would a dumb brute. relieved of his chains, they ordered him to get up.
the poor creature looked up imploringly, as if to beg them to spare his life, for he was too weak to speak. he held up his hands, drenched with blood, while beneath his head was a pool of gore that had streamed from his mounds. "none of your infernal humbuggery-you could run fast enough. just get up, and be spry about it, or i'll help you with the cowhide," said the officer, calling to one of the guardmen to bring it to him. he now made an effort, and had got upon his knees, when the guardman that seemed foremost in his brutality fetched him a kick with his heavy boots in the side, that again felled him to the ground with a deep groan.
"oh-tut! that will not do. you mus'n't kill the nigger; his master will come for him in the morning," said the officer, stooping down and taking hold of his arm with his left hand, while holding a cowhide in his right. "come, my boy, you must get up and go into the lock-up," he continued.
"massa! oh, good massa, do-don't! i's most dead now, wha'for ye no lef me whare a be?" said he in a whining manner; and making a second attempt, fell back upon the floor, at which two of them seized him by the shoulders, and dragging him into a long, dark, cell-like room, threw him violently upon the floor. then returning to the room, the officer took tommy by the arm, and marching him into the same room, shut the door to smother his cries. the little fellow was so frightened, that he burst into an excitement of tears. the room was dark, and as gloomy as a cavern. he could neither lie down, sleep, nor console himself. he thought of manuel, only to envy his lot, and would gladly have shared his imprisonment, to be relieved from such a horrible situation. morning was to bring, perhaps, worse terrors. he thought of the happy scenes of his rustic home in dunakade, and his poor parents, but nothing could relieve the anguish of his feelings. and then, how could he get word to his captain? if they were so cruel to him now, he could not expect them to be less so in the morning. in this manner, he sat down upon the floor with the poor negro, and, if he could do nothing more, sympathized with his feelings. the poor negro murmured and groaned in a manner that would have enlisted the feelings of a patagonian; and in this way he continued until about three o'clock in the morning, when his moaning became so loud and pitiful, that the officer of the guard came to the door with an attendant, and unbolting it, entered with a lantern in his hand. he held the light toward his face, and inquired what he was making such a noise about? "oh! good massa, good massa, do send for docta; ma head got a pile o' cuts on him," said he, putting his hand to his head. the officer passed the lantern to his attendant, and after putting a pair of gloves on his hands, began to feel his head, turn aside his torn clothes, and wipe the dirt from the places where the blood seemed to be clotted. "good gracious! i didn't conjecture that you were cut so bad. here, my good fellow, (addressing himself to tommy,) hold the lantern. michael, go get a pail of water, and some cloths," said he, very suddenly becoming awakened to the real condition of the man, after he had exhibited a coldness that bordered on brutality.
water and cloths were soon brought. the attendant, michael, commenced to strip his clothes off, but the poor fellow was so sore that he screeched, in the greatest agony, every time he attempted to touch him. "be easy," said the officer, "he's hurt pretty badly. he must a' been mighty refractory, or they'd never beaten him in this manner," he continued, opening a roll of adhesive plaster, and cutting it into strips. after washing, him with water and whiskey, they dressed his wounds with the plaster, and bound his head with an old silk handkerchief which they found in his pocket, after which they left the light burning and retired.
after they retired, tommy inquired of the negro how they came to keep him so long, before they brought him to the guard-house? it proved, that as soon as they came up with him, the first one knocked him down with a club; and they all at once commenced beating him with their bludgeons, and continued until they had satisfied their mad fury. and while he lay groaning in the streets, they left one of their number in charge, while the others proceeded to get handcuffs and chains, in which they bound him, and dragged him, as it were, the distance of four squares to the guard-house. what a sublime picture for the meditations of a people who boast of their bravery and generosity!
