Books: Manuel Pereira
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F. C. Adams >> Manuel Pereira
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"Don't be worried about it-I'll do what I can for you," said the old
man, as the Captain was leaving. George followed him into the
street, and made a great many apologies for his father's opinions
and seeming indifference, promising to do himself what his father
did not seem inclined to undertake. The Captain saw no more of him
during his stay in Charleston, and if his influence was exerted in
Manuel's behalf, he did not feel its benefits.
Business had so occupied the Captain's attention during the day,
that he had no time to visit Manuel at the jail; and when he
returned to the vessel, a message awaited him from the British
consul. One of the seamen had been detailed to fill Manuel's place,
who, with his dinner all prepared, reminded the Captain that it was
awaiting him. He sat down, took dinner, and left to answer the
consul's call. Arriving at the office, he found the consul had left
for his hotel, and would not return until four o'clock. As he passed
the post-office, a knot of men stood in front of it, apparantly in
anxious discussion. Feeling that their conversation might be
interesting to him, or have some connection with his case, he walked
slowly back, and as he approached them, observed that the
conversation had become more excited. The principals were Mr.
Grimshaw, and a factor on the bay, deeply interested in shipping.
"A man acting in your capacity," said the factor, "should never make
use of such expressions-never give encouragement to mob law. It's
not only disgraceful to any city, but ruinous to its interests.
Officials never should set or encourage the example. Want of order
is already in the ascendant, and if the populace is to be led on to
riot by the officials, what check have we? God save us from the
direful effects!"
"Well, perhaps I went too far," said Mr. Grimshaw, "for I think as
much of the name of our fair city as you do. But we ought to teach
him that he can't pursue this open, bold, and daring course,
endangering our institutions, because he's consul for Great Britain.
I would, at all events, treat him as we did the Yankee HOAR from
Massachusetts, and let the invitation be given outside of official
character, to save the name; then, if he did not move off, I'd go
for serving him as they did the Spanish consul, in New Orleans.
These English niggers and Yankee niggers are fast destroying the
peace of Charleston."
"You would, would you?" said another. "Then you would incite the
fury of an ungovernable mob to endanger the man's life for carrying
out the instructions of his government."
"That don't begin to be all that he does, for he's meddling with
every thing, and continually making remarks about our society," said
Grimshaw, evidently intending to create ill feeling against the
consul, and to make the matter as bad as possible.
"Now, Mr. Grimshaw," said the factor, "you know your jail is not fit
to put any kind of human beings into, much less respectable men.
It's an old Revolutionary concern, tumbling down with decay,
swarming with insects and vermin; the rooms are damp and unhealthy,
and without means to ventilate them; the mildew and horrible stench
is enough to strike disease into the strongest constitution; and you
aggravate men's appetites with food that's both insufficient and
unwholesome, I know, because I visited a friend who was put in there
on 'mesne process.'"
"There is little confidence to be placed in the stories of
prisoners; they all think they must be treated like princes, instead
of considering that they are put there for cause, and that a jail
was intended for punishment," interrupted Grimshaw, anxious to
change the subject of conversation, and displaying an habitual
coldness to misfortune which never can see the gentleman in a
prisoner.
"Yes, but you must not measure men by that standard. Circumstances
which bring them there are as different as their natures. I've known
many good, honest, and respectable, citizens, who once enjoyed
affluence in our community, put in there, month after month, and
year after year, suffering the persecution of creditors and the
effects of bad laws. Now these men would not all complain if there
was no cause, and they all loved you, as you state. But tell me, Mr.
Grimshaw, would it not be even safer for our institutions to make a
restriction confining them to the wharf, which could be easily done,
and with but small expense to the city? Niggers on the wharves could
have no communication with them, because each is occupied in his
business, and ours are too closely watched and driven during working
hours. As soon as those hours end, they are bound to leave, and the
danger ends. Again, those niggers who work on the wharves are
generally good niggers, while, on the other hand, bad niggers are
put into jail; and during the hours these stewards are allowed the
privilege of the yard, they mix with them without discrimination or
restraint. Their feelings, naturally excited by imprisonment, find
relief in discoursing upon their wrongs with those of their own
color, and making the contamination greater," said the factor, who
seemed inclined to view the matter in its proper light.
"Oh! what sir? That would never do. You mistake a nigger's feelings
entirely. Privileges never create respect with them. Just make a law
to leave 'em upon the wharf, and five hundred policemen wouldn't
keep 'em from spoiling every nigger in town, just destroying the
sovereignty of the law, and yielding a supreme right that we have
always contended for. It's 'contrary to law,' and we must carry out
the law," replied Grimshaw.
"Pshaw! Talk such stuff to me! Just take away the sixteen hundred or
two thousand dollars that you make by the law; and you'd curse it
for a nuisance. It would become obsolete, and the poor devils of
stewards would do what they pleased; you'd never trouble your head
about them. Now, Grimshaw, be honest for once; tell us what you
would do if circumstances compelled the Captain to leave that nigger
boy here?"
"Carry out the letter of the law; there's no alternative. But the
Captain swears he's a white man, and that would give him an
opportunity to prove it."
"How is he to prove it, Grimshaw? We take away the power, and then
ask him to do what we make impossible. Then, of course, you would
carry out the letter of the law and sell him for a slave. * * *
Well, I should like to see the issue upon a question of that kind
carried out upon an English nigger. It would be more of a curse upon
our slave institution than every thing else that could be raised,"
said the factor.
"Gentlemen, you might as well preach abolition at once, and then the
public would know what your sentiments were, and how to guard
against you. I must bid you good-by." So saying, Mr. Grimshaw
twisted his whip, took a large quid of tobacco, and left the company
to discuss the question among themselves.
CHAPTER XVIII.
LITTLE TOMMY AND THE POLICE.
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, but Daley,
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.
"Ot-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.
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