LEGAL REDRESS.
‘O thou dread Power! whose empire-giving hand
Has oft been stretched to shield the honored land!’
SO trivial a quarrel as that narrated in the closing part of our last
chapter, had it occurred elsewhere than in a community in which the
inhabitants had so recently sustained the relations of masters and
slaves, would scarcely have elicited remark upon a subsequent day;
but over the three or four hundred colored, and forty or fifty white
residents of Baconsville there settled a dark cloud of anxiety and
apprehension of coming evil.
Angry looks and threats of violence on the part of the whites were
recalled and anxiously discussed by the colored people, as were also
the recent and frequently expressed determination to “carry the next
election for the Democratic Party, if even through blood waist deep,”
though the colored voters were largely in the majority, and almost
without exception, if unintimidated, voted the Republican ticket.
These, with the oft-repeated boast that the illegal Rifle Clubs,
trained cavalry companies, were ready to co-operate for the suppression
and utter dispersion of this colored company of State militia, with the
fact that similar acts of violence were by no means new experiences to
the ex-slaves in the South, but were even then being perpetrated in
the surrounding country, made the outlook for the colored population
gloomy, indeed.
On the other hand, the officers of the town, with the single exception
of our friend Marmor, were all of the colored race, and as he was a
Republican native, he was even more repugnant to his white neighbors
than a “nigger.”
On the other hand, during the two months preceding this encounter,
these militia-men were known to have been drilling as often as once or
twice a week, though the law required such practice but once a month.
This alarmed the whites, with whom anticipations of “insurrections” are
still either congenital or feigned.
In the days of slavery, and also by the South Carolina “Black
Code” (the only exclusively white legislation in the State since
reconstruction), arms were strictly forbidden to the negroes, and under
heavy penalties; yet, through the subsequent Republican legislation,
they rejoiced in being the “National Guards,” bearing the same flag
which Sherman “carried down to the sea,” and under which Captain Doc
learned tactics and heroism in the “Black Regiment,” which once swept
over Fort Fisher, and closed the last port of the rebellious States.
What signified it to those conscience-accused whites that these were
poor men maneuvering by the light of the moon to save the expense of
lighting their drill room; and, unable to spare time from their toil,
they took it from the hours of their rest, to prepare for a creditable
performance on the Nation’s Centennial birthday? So much the worse. The
Fourth of July was the birthday of the “national nonsense” that “all
men are created equal;” and it was not the fault or credit of these
white men that there was left a nation to celebrate its Centennial.
Now that the sole militia of the State was enrolled from this
emancipated race (white men would not enlist under charters, because
unassured that they should not be subordinated to colored officers, and
they might be required to sustain a State government of the colored
majority), how should one expect the former masters to be content and
at ease, even though no concerted outbreak had ever occurred among
the freedmen, whose temper is naturally peaceable and timid even to
servility?
Undoubtedly, the fears of those once reputed hard masters, or who
still find it difficult to conform to the new conditions, are often
distressing. They are also nature’s incontrovertible testimony to the
wisdom and divine origin of equal rights.
Great was the excitement of the Baker families when the young men
arrived with the tale of their “narrow escape from the militia men.”
Early the next morning, the old slave-hunter and his three sons set
out for the office of Trial Justice Rives, who, though a colored man,
it was thought could be more easily induced to meet out punishment to
those miserable offenders, than Louis Marmor, who was the only other
competent magistrate in the town.
Of course, as has been the custom of the whites there, from the
earliest settlement of that country, these gentlemen all wore their
side-arms, and for greater safety these were put into the very best
condition, and fully loaded, as they suspected the Town Marshal, who
ran after them on the previous evening, might attempt a counter-arrest
for the same offense.
Young Tommy did not feel quite safe from Dan Pipsie without his
eighteen-shooting rifle in addition; and so, with it in hand, he
mounted his young bay horse, while beside him rode his brother-in-law,
Harry Gaston,—the best shot in town, bearing also his carbine; while
the father and his eldest son, Hanson, were seated in a light wagon in
which were placed additional firearms, lightly covered with a lap-robe.
Thus equipped, they proceeded in safety, through the quiet little
village to the Justice’s office; and finding it closed, went two miles
further on, to his plantation, and returned with him to his office;
quite a formidable party to be sure. Arrived there, they entered
complaints against Dan Pipsie for threats to kill, and against the
officers of the Militia Company for “obstructing the highway.”
The Justice, being himself Major-general of that division of the State
Militia, after thoughtfully scratching his crispy locks awhile, said:
“I reckon it is best to hear a _statement_ of the testimony, and then
decide whether it is a case for court-martialing, or for trial under
the _civil law_.”
Ten o’clock of the next morning was fixed as the time for hearing the
case.
At that hour Justice Rives was found seated behind his desk, and busily
examining papers and documents.
The Bakers made their appearance, accompanied by a few friends, among
whom were two professional men—a Reverend, and an M. D.; though
not with compresses and consolations for the possible wounded and
dying, (for South Carolina chivalry does not fight its duels with
“niggers,”) but with bail money (modified from bullets), should that
counter-arrest, which they feared, be attempted.
Automatically, or through force of habit, each race in the southern
States still assumes, in assemblies, the positions and attitudes
imposed in the days of slavery. In the churches of the colored people
one or more of the most desirable seats are reserved for whites, and
these often remain vacant, or nearly so, during a lengthy service,
while church members stand to exhaustion for want of seats.
Hence, the front seats of Gen. Justice Rives’ court-room were occupied
by the plaintiffs and their friends, and the defendants and their
friends sat at a respectful distance in the rear, while a number of
boys and women of color gathered outside of the door.
The magistrate, who had not altogether escaped the envy of his less
fortunate neighbors, had often been accused by them of a sycophantic
weakness for the approval of the whites; while the latter declared
that justice could not be obtained by them before a colored officer,
and that, as a political canvass was approaching, they would not again
submit to negro magistrates.
He therefore felt his position peculiarly trying, especially when he
saw that they were all thoroughly armed.
He held both his official positions by appointments of the Governor,
to be sure; yet he knew that the preponderance of wealth, intelligence
and bravery was with the white race; while at the same time he did not
forget that if “a traitor to his race,” he would probably, through
ostracism and insult, reap a bitter retribution from his own people.
A peace warrant was, however, soon issued against Dan Pipsie, his
“Daddy” being present to give bail for his future good behavior. Then,
with some apparent reluctance and nervousness, the Justice called the
principal case.
Mr. Watta arose and announced that lawyer Kanrasp, from the county seat
would appear for the defense.
To this Robert Baker strenuously objected, as, not having been advised
that attorneys would be employed, he had none. He therefore asked a
postponement of the case.
Kanrasp then suggested to his client that inasmuch as the proceedings
had thus far been very informal—the paper served being neither a writ
nor summons, and not at all a legal paper—he would withdraw from the
case, and let Rives take judgment if he chose, when the case could be
appealed to the Superior Court, where justice might be had.
This he did on account of the extreme indignation manifested by the
Bakers and their friends.
Gaston, who was a shriveled, weason-faced specimen of the _genus homo_,
with sandy hair, flaming whiskers, and a face in which whiskey held a
profusion of freckles in purple solution, was the first to testify,
which he did in accordance with his views of the affair.
“Now, Captain,” said the Judge, when Gaston had finished, “as you have
no counsel, you may question the witness if you want to.”
Captain Doc was a well-made, medium sized and shrewd man, little
less than forty years of age, with very dark complexion, having
three-fourths African blood.
He arose from his seat quite slowly, and squarely fronting Gaston,
asked:
“Mr. Gaston, did I treat yo’ with any disrespect when I spoke to yo’?
Didn’t I treat yo’ politely?”
“I ca’n’t say that you treated me with any disrespect; but I can say
this much, that there was two or three members of your company that
showed some impudence to me, and I also saw them load their guns.”
“Mr. Gaston,” replied the Captain, looking searchingly in the eyes of
the little man, “didn’t yo’ see me examining the cartridge-boxes and
the pockets of the company, to see if they had any ammunition before we
went on drill?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Did yo’ see any?”
“No.”
“_I_ did. I found one man with a cartridge in his pocket, and I took it
away, and scolded him about it.”
Gaston replied, “Yes, I saw that.”
“Well then, are yo’ _certain_ that these men loaded their guns?”
“I saw them moving them, and I thought they were loading them.”
“And so yo’ came here to _swear_ that we wanted to kill yo’? That’s
about as much as a colored man can get for his care not to give
offense. A man is a fool to go out of his way for any of yo’ white
folks anyway. Yo’ had no right to aim to drive through our Company as
yo’ did; but when I gave in and got out of yo’r way, and let you go
‘long—gave yo’ the road that b’longed to us—yo’ just come heah with
such a lie as that against us.”
“Captain, I don’t want you to treat my court with contempt,” said
Rives, severely. “If you can’t address the gentleman more politely you
must sit down.”
“Judge, I don’t mean no contempt,” said Doc, in a conciliatory tone,
“not if I know myself. I never expect to treat no lawful court with
any contempt. I was only asking questions, but if the questions is not
legal, then I don’t want to ask him. I won’t ask no mo’, but leave it
to yo’r discretion,” and he sat down.
“Well, sir, to sit down without permission is contempt of court.”
With such an air of drollery as only a negro can assume, Doc sprung to
his feet again, saying—
“Yo’ mus’ pardon me sah. I’s not accustomed to law offices. If sitting
down or anything else is contempt, I’m asking yo’r pardon this minute;
for I didn’t mean to contempt this court.”
“It is contempt, sir!” thundered the judge, “and I put you under
arrest, and dismiss this court till July the 8th at four o’clock in the
evening.”
Some protestations were made on account of the lateness of the hour,
but Rives insisted he could not leave his plantation labor earlier, and
immediately declared the court adjourned.
Neither the day nor hour was satisfactory to the complainants, as it
was on Saturday afternoon, when many country negroes were certain to
visit the village shops, stores, and market; but as the whites were
more generally masters of their own time, it is possible Rives feared
he might need the presence and support of his own race should he not
condemn the accused.
Harry Gaston was enraged and strutted about like a bantam cock; his
face became almost livid, and his hands nervously bobbed in and out
of the breast pockets of his short coat, where rested a well-prepared
pistol on one side, and a flask of whiskey on the other. Alas, the
_flask_ knew little rest.
“I pray you be calm, my dear nephew,” said the Reverend Mr. Mealy,
who, though inwardly _seething_, was so enswathed in his own innate
mealiness, that he was measurably cool. “Do not allow this degraded
black to disturb you. Remember your position in society. You have
been raised by me as my own son. Do not disgrace yourself and me by
condescending to dispute with one in his station, and of his color,”
and grasping the young man’s arm, he moved towards the door.
Lieutenant Watta, who had been sitting beside his Captain, now
sprung to his feet, and grasping Doc’s arm, rushed towards the door,
attempting to lead him out.
Doc, however, hung back, and having extricated himself, said in a low
tone, “Watta, keep cool!” and he sat down again.
“I won’t keep cool!” retorted the lieutenant. This white-livered judge
has shown partiality. Look at the arms in this court room! and Rives
is afraid!” (with a sneer.) “They may shed my blood if they can, but I
won’t keep still and see my captain arrested for contempt just because
in questioning, he got ahead of these unrebuked and cowardly bullies
when you humbled us all, on the Fourth of July, to avoid a fuss and
concilliate their lordships;” and the enraged man strode out of the
building, threw the gate back upon its hinges, and standing in the
opening thus made, drew himself to his full height, and threw out his
empty palms exclaiming
“I carry no arms; but we’ve got arms.”
“Yes, you’ve got arms, but you’ll see how it’ll be yourselves!” said
Hanson Baker, who had been haranguing the people outside the court
house. “There’s a fellow from Texas here, two or more of ’em, and
they’re going to kill that Town Marshall, and nobody isn’t going to
know who done it, and then they’ll leave.”
“What does he or they know about John Carr, the Marshall?” asked a very
large, but irresolute-looking black man.
“He’s been informed of his character, and I tell you John Carr won’t be
living in this town three months, neither will some o’ the rest.”
“How about that Harmony Case?” asked the same voice (a case of massacre
of blacks).
“Well, I wasn’t there, but they done it, and there’s a programme laid
down for the white folks _this_ year.”
“That is wrong,” said a voice.
“Well, if it _is_ wrong, it is no matter; it’ll be done all the same.
There is no laws now.”
“Ha! ha!” laughed the crowd, the whites applauding, and the blacks
deriding the threats.
“Does yo’ pretend to say there a’n’t no law in the State now?”
“No, there a’n’t no law in this State, nor any other State. It’s been
a hundred years since the Constitution of the United States, and it’s
played out now, and every man can do as he likes. We’re going to get
Chamberlain and his crowd out o’ the State House.”
“How about Grant? You know he’s President.”
“By——! we’ll have him too.”
“Take care, that is treason,” said another.
Harrison Baker and Watta proceeded, each with his harangue, and paid no
heed to each other, till the plaintiffs and their friends crowded out
of the building, pistols in hand, ready for instantaneous use.
A frightened old mammy bawled out, with great eyes rolling, and great
hands waving, “See the pistols and guns! See the pistols and guns! Oh,
Lor’! they ort to be shot down theirselves!” but the next instant she
cowered under the same fierce gaze of the “old man Baker,” which had
made many a stalwart runaway stand tamely after the dogs were taken off
and while the shackles were put on.
“Uncle, Uncle, let me go,” said Gaston impatiently, striving to free
himself from that worthy’s grasp. “I want to shut that yellow chap’s
mouth with this little bit of lead. The judge ought to arrest _him_,
but I’ll take his case if you’ll let me go, I’ll give him a mouthful to
chaw!”
“Shut my mouth, would you?” retorted Watta, who had caught the words
as the two men approached the door. “You’ll find that hard business
before you are through with it, if you try. The whites have ruled us
long enough. Two hundred and fifty years they bought and sold us like
cattle, till the United States set us free; and since then, colored
citizens have been tied and whipped, and shot, and murdered in cold
blood, and driven from their homes, and their property destroyed, to
this day. But it is all no matter here before this white-livered judge.
It’ll take a regiment to tie and whip _me_, or spill what black blood
_I_ have.”
“Do not speak to him, my nephew,” said the Rev. Mr. Mealy.
“A regiment!” cried Gaston, with a sneer. “Let me go and whip him
myself;” but the readiness with which he yielded to the pressure of his
uncle’s hands, was amusingly in contrast with his words.
“We will have this matter settled by law now, and know whether we
are to be run over in this way. We will know which are to rule this
place—the blacks or the whites,” said Rev. Mr. Mealy. “We’ll know what
rights this militia company have. They have got an idea that they can
do whatever they please. We’ll have it settled now.”
“This court is a mockery of justice,” continued Watta. “Look at those
arms on the side of wealth, and an unarmed poor man arrested for
contempt, because he has a dark skin and cornered his opponent by
lawful questions. The next time a white swell rides into our ranks
while we are on parade we will see that he doesn’t take us to court for
obstructing his way.”
Rev. Mr. Mealy, Dr. Shall, and General Rives were active and nearest
in efforts to control the now highly incensed Baker family and Gaston;
and an influential colored man succeeded in getting Watta out of the
street. With deep muttered threats and oaths, the Bakers and their
friends at length betook themselves to their conveyances and their
homes.
Captain Doc conversed with the constable, in the justice’s office,
while the latter official went to his dinner and returned. Re-entering,
Rives approached, and extending his hand said good-humoredly, “Shake
hands Doc.”
“I don’t know,” replied he, with averted eyes.
“Yes, you will. I couldn’t help it. You was bearing on so hard that
they would have shot you in two minutes more. I did it to save you.”
“Is that so, judge? Then here’s my hand. I didn’t mean no contempt; but
if I’ve contempted you, or your court I’m sorry.”
“That’s all right now, and I’ll remit the fine. Now let me tell you,
you’d best settle this matter somehow, if it is possible. I’m afraid
trouble will come of this. I wish Watta had ’a’ kept still.”
“So do I. He’s a marked man now, shor’, and his life an’t worth much,”
said Nat Wellman, the constable.
“Settle it?” said Capt. Doc. “Major General Rives, nothing will settle
it but to let the company be broken up. I won’t do that, and my oath to
the State, that I have taken as Captain, wonldn’t let me if I wanted
to.”
“I can’t see the end of this yet, I can’t,” said the Judge, with a
sigh, as the trio separated.