At this late day there is no particular reason for concealing the facts.
Ananias took the responsibility on his shoulders, and thereafter the
colonel’s larder was always comparatively full. At night Ananias would
sit and nod before a fire in the kitchen, and after everybody else
had gone to bed he would sneak out into the darkness, and be gone for
many hours; but whether the hours of his absence were many or few, he
never returned empty-handed. Sometimes he would bring a “turn” of wood,
sometimes a bag of meal or potatoes, sometimes a side of meat or a ham,
and sometimes he would be compelled to stop, while yet some distance
from the house, to choke a chicken that betrayed a tendency to squall
in the small still hours between midnight and morning. The colonel and
his daughter never knew whence their supplies came. They only knew that
Ananias suddenly developed into a wonderfully good cook, for it is a very
good cook indeed that can go on month after month providing excellent
meals without calling for new supplies.
But Ananias had always been peculiar, and if he grew a trifle more
uncommunicative than usual, neither the colonel nor the colonel’s
daughter was expected to take notice of the fact. Ananias was a sullen
negro at best, but his sullenness was not at all important, and nobody
cared whether his demeanor was grave or gay, lively or severe. Indeed,
except that he was an object of distrust and suspicion, nobody cared
anything at all about Ananias. For his part, Ananias seemed to care
nothing for people’s opinions, good, bad, or indifferent. If the citizens
of Rockville thought ill of him, that was their affair altogether.
Ananias went sneaking around, attending to what he conceived to be his
own business, and there is no doubt that, in some way, he managed to keep
Colonel Flewellen’s larder well supplied with provisions.
About this time Mr. Washington Jones, who had hired a clerk for his
store, and who was mainly devoting his time to managing, as proprietor,
the Flewellen place, which he had formerly managed as overseer, began to
discover that he was the victim of a series of mysterious robberies and
burglaries. Nobody suffered but Mr. Jones, and everybody said that it was
not only very unjust, but very provoking also, that this enterprising
citizen should be systematically robbed, while all his neighbors should
escape. These mysterious robberies soon became the talk of the whole
county. Some people sympathized with Jones, while others laughed at him.
Certainly the mystery was a very funny mystery, for when Jones watched
his potato hill, his smoke-house was sure to be entered. If he watched
his smoke-house, his potato hill would suffer. If he divided his time
watching both of these, his storehouse would be robbed. There was no
regularity about this; but it was generally conceded that the more Jones
watched, the more he was robbed, and it finally came to be believed in
the county that Jones, to express it in the vernacular, “hollered too
loud to be hurt much.”
At last one day it was announced that Jones had discovered the thief who
had been robbing him. He had not caught him, but he had seen him plainly
enough to identify him. The next thing that Rockville knew, a warrant had
been issued for Ananias, and he was arrested. He had no commitment trial.
He was lodged in the jail to await trial in the Superior Court. Colonel
Flewellen was sorry for the negro, as well he might be, but he was afraid
to go on his bond. Faithful as Ananias had been, he was a negro, after
all, the colonel argued, and if he was released on bond he would not
hesitate to run away, if such an idea should occur to him.
Fortunately for Ananias, he was not permitted to languish in jail. The
Superior Court met the week after he was arrested, and his case was among
the first called. It seemed to be a case, indeed, that needed very little
trying. But a very curious incident happened in the court-room.
Among the lawyers present was Mr. Terrell, of Macon. Mr. Terrell was by
all odds the greatest lawyer practising in that circuit. He was so great,
indeed, that he was not called “major,” or “colonel,” or “judge.” He
ranked with Stephens and Hill, and like these distinguished men his title
was plain “Mr.” Mr. Terrell practised in all the judicial circuits of
the State, and had important cases in all of them. He was in Rockville
for the purpose of arguing a case to be tried at term, and which he
knew would be carried to the Supreme Court of the State, no matter what
the verdict of the lower court might be. He was arranging and verifying
his authorities anew, and he was very busy when the sheriff came into
the court-house bringing Ananias. The judge on the bench thought he had
never seen a more rascally-looking prisoner; but even rascally-looking
prisoners have their rights, and so, when Ananias’s case was called, the
judge asked him in a friendly way if he had counsel—if he had engaged a
lawyer to defend him.
Ananias did not understand at first, but when the matter was made plain
to him he said he could get a lawyer. Whereupon he walked over to where
Mr. Terrell sat immersed in his big books, and touched him on the
shoulder. The lawyer looked up.
“I’m name’ Ananias, suh,” said the negro.
“I remember you,” said Mr. Terrell. “What are you doing here?”
“Dey got me up fer my trial, suh, en I ’ain’t got nobody fer ter speak
de word fer me, suh, en I ’low’d maybe—”
Ananias paused. He knew not what else to say. He had no sort of claim
on this man. He saw everybody around him laughing. The great lawyer
himself smiled as he twirled his eye-glasses on his fingers. Ananias was
embarrassed.
“You want me to speak the word?” said Mr. Terrell.
“Yes, suh, if you please, suh.”
“You need not trouble yourself, Mr. Terrell,” said the judge, affably. “I
was about to appoint counsel.”
“May it please your honor,” said Mr. Terrell, rising. “I will defend this
boy. I know nothing whatever of the case, but I happen to know something
of the negro.”
There was quite a little stir in the court-room at this announcement.
The loafers outside the railings of the bar, who had seen Ananias every
day for a good many years, leaned forward to take another look at him.
The lawyers inside the bar also seemed to be interested in the matter.
Some thought that the great lawyer had taken the negro’s case by way of a
joke, and they promised themselves a good deal of enjoyment, for it is
not every day that a prominent man is seen at play. Others knew not what
to think; so that between those who regarded it as a practical joke and
those who thought that Mr. Terrell might be in a serious mood, the affair
caused quite a sensation.
“May it please the court,” said Mr. Terrell, his firm voice penetrating
to every part of the large room, “I know nothing of this case; therefore
I will ask half an hour’s delay to look over the papers and to consult
with my client.”
“Certainly,” said the judge, pleasantly. “Mr. Sheriff, take the prisoner
to the Grand Jury room, so that he may consult with his counsel.”
The sheriff locked the prisoner and the lawyer in the Grand Jury room,
and left his deputy there to open the door when Mr. Terrell announced
that the conference was over. In the mean time the court proceeded with
other business. Cases were settled, dismissed, or postponed. A couple of
young lawyers fell into a tumultuous wrangle over an immaterial point,
which the judge disposed of with a wave of his hand.
In the Grand Jury room Ananias was telling his volunteer counsel a
strange tale.