A SHORT CUT TO JUSTICE
Ever since the days of Solomon, the courts and tribunals of the law in all lands have sought short cuts to justice, but one of the straightest and strangest in the history of jurisprudence was achieved by one Daniel W. Robinson, colored, sometime Magistrate or Trial Justice of the sovereign State of South Carolina, for the Bailiwick of Jacksonboro, in lower Colleton County.
Under the trying days of Reconstruction in South Carolina, the white men and boys living in the so-called “black belt,” comprising the coastal counties of the State, were constantly seeking to lure the black voters into the fold of Democracy, with but indifferent success, for the wary freedman, under the secret instructions given him by the leaders of his own race and the white-skinned spoilers, native and alien, who controlled his political activities for their own profit, was hard to wean away from the idols set up for him within “the awful circle” of the Republican fold.
These poor, deluded negroes, absolutely dependent upon their former masters, the landholders, for food, for clothing, for shelter, for remunerative work—often for free medicines and medical treatment in communities where there were no doctors and no drug stores—though making profuse lip service for benefits received, forgot them all on election day when, under the influence of the knaves who manipulated them, they turned away from their best friends and, hurdled at the polls like sheep, voted blindly the ballots put into their hands by the corruptionists.
At one of these elections the Republican ballot was headed with the national flag in colors, swathed around the ample loins and spreading hips of the figure of Liberty, with the legend “Union Republican ticket.” One of these flamboyant affairs was secured from the printer a day or two before the election and the Democratic tickets were also printed in red ink with a rooster at the top, in the hope that some of the negroes might accept and vote them for Republican ballots. One of these rooster ballots was offered an old darkey at the polls by a Democratic negro worker, but the wary old fellow had been rehearsed in his lesson too well, and he rejected it indignantly, saying: “No, man! uh yent want da’ t’ing! Gimme da’ ticket fuh wote wuh hab de gal wid de Balmuhral sku’t wrop roun’um!” And he got it.
Then came ’76 and the “Straight-Out” campaign. Every white man and boy who could raise two or three dollars to buy a few yards of flannel, sported a red shirt, usually put together by the loving hands of some member of his family, but, occasionally, fearfully and wonderfully made by a sweetheart or feminine acquaintance—some perhaps “a little more than kin,” but all “less than kind.” The boys, however, upon whom had been wished the needlework activities of their lady friends, wore them jauntily nevertheless, absolutely indifferent to the want of co-ordination of “seam and gusset and band.”
As the campaign progressed and enthusiasm increased, an occasional courageous black, taking his life in his hands and braving the hatred and ostracism of his fellows, even of his church and his family, would boldly put on a red shirt and ride with the whites to political meetings or rallies. One of these, old Clitus Wilson, a life-long Democrat, who, as his master’s body servant, fought with him in the battle of Gettysburg, flaunted his red shirt bravely and defiantly. Another was Paul Jenkins, a thrifty, property-owning negro, whose courageous work in the first Hampton campaign was remembered by the whites, who elected him county commissioner soon after the Democrats came into power. Paul, a wiry, coal-black negro, was once beset by several members of the Grant family, “Free-Issue” mulatto Republicans, and cruelly beaten. In the courts of radicalism there was no redress for a negro Democrat, but Paul bided his time and, meeting one of the Grants alone, retaliated so vigorously that the mulatto was laid up for a week. The victim went before Trial Justice Robinson, over the river at Jacksonboro, and swore out a warrant, charging Paul with aggravated assault and battery.
Paul, summoned to appear on the following Saturday, came in great trouble to a stripling planter of the neighborhood who willingly accompanied him to see that the Democrat got justice, and to go on his bond in case he should be sent up to a higher court.
On Saturday morning the deep and swift Edisto, lacking a ferry, was crossed in a shallow bateau, the saddle-horses, held by their bridles, swimming alongside, and the accused and his protector soon appeared before the august Court, sitting in a small shanty, facing an imposing layout of writing materials and a copy of the statutes. The young planter told the Court that he had come over with Paul to look after his interests and see that he got justice. The Court responded graciously that he was “glad to welcome the distinguished counsel from across the river” and took pleasure in extending to him the courtesies of his Court.
A jury was asked for and Justice Robinson, calling up some of the idle negroes who hung about his office, selected five elderly darkeys, all of them as black as crows. To these five jurors the magistrate added “the distinguished counsel from across the river,” whom he graciously requested to consent to serve as foreman. In the interest of justice the request was complied with.
Grant, the aggrieved, appeared as prosecuting witness, “tore a passion to tatters” in describing the sudden and furious onslaught made upon him by the black Democrat, and rantingly demanded justice. Paul simply told the story of the attack made upon him by the Grant family and admitted his retaliation, which he held was justifiable, and the jury withdrew to a vacant room nearby which was indicated as the place of deliberation.
The foreman was given a primitive split white-oak chair with a rawhide seat, while his five dusky associates ranged themselves like roosting buzzards upon a teetering bench, whose supports, two short boards sawed into the semblance of legs at the bottom, were placed so close together that the utmost skill was required on the part of the sitters to maintain their equilibrium, for if the central section rose, both end men had to sit tight until they could rise simultaneously, else the laggard would be in jeopardy.
And now the jurors were ready for the case. Paul, having beaten his man fairly and in righteous retaliation, was entitled to an acquittal and to this end the foreman directed his efforts. As a preliminary, Paul was called to the shanty window, provided with sixty cents, and despatched to Arnold’s store for a quart of corn whiskey. Upon his return with the pallid pop-skull, there was an excited shifting of five seats on the shaky bench and five pairs of eagerly expectant eyes rested their kindly regard upon the messenger of Bacchus as he withdrew, leaving his fate in their hands.
The lone and crafty Caucasian, playing Iago to five Othellos, picked out a gorilla-like old codger on the near end of the bench as the dominant personality among them, and extending the flask told him to take a drink and serve his fellows. Hacklus Manigo jumped up with such alacrity, and was followed so quickly by the negroes who sat next him, that the near end of the bench, relieved of their combined weight, flew up, and the two remaining jurors tumbled ignominiously and indignantly to the floor. The grumbling of the fallen and the derisive guffawing of the risen, ceased suddenly, however, as eight saucered and fascinated eyes fastened upon old Manigo’s Adam’s apple which moved up and down his neck in perfect unison with the “glug, glug,” of the liquid flowing so easily down his throat. The drinker’s ocular and auricular demonstration of hydraulics was too much for his associates, who cried out in indignant protest. “Tek’care, man! We’own dey een da’ t’ing!” “Cap’n, please, suh, mek’um tek ’e mout’ off da’ bottle. ’E gwine drink eb’ry Gawd’ drap!”
Manigo, having absorbed almost one-fourth of the contents of the flask, gave it into the nearest of the eager hands held out to receive it, drew his coat sleeve with a great swipe across his wet and glistening mouth, gave a grateful grunt, “umh, da’ t’ing good! Tengky, Boss, tengky, suh!” accompanied by an elaborate scrape of the foot and a low obeisance, and took his seat in the center of the bench, where he was soon flanked by the four, whose watchful eyes, each upon the other, had not permitted their attainment of Manigo’s state of exaltation.
“Now, Manigo, and you boys,” said Iago. “This is a plain story. Three or four yellow men double-team a black man and beat him up. He doesn’t take them to court but waits his chance, and when he catches one of these yellow men away from his gang, why the black man beats him to pay him back for what the yellow man helped to do to him. Now, that’s what Paul did to this free-issue yellow fellow Grant. Paul is black like all of you. Do you want to send him to jail for laying hands on a mulatto, just because mulattoes think themselves better than you blacks?”
“Great Gawd, no, suh!” shouted Manigo, springing up. Turning half way round out of respect to the foreman, he alternately jumped in the air and squatted like a gigantic frog, while he whirled his arms and harangued his fellow blacks, cutting his eye around now and then for a nod of approval from Iago. “De debble! Punkin-skin’ nigguh fuh beat black nigguh en’ black nigguh ent fuh beat’um back, enty? Oonuh ebbuh yeddy ’bout shishuh t’ing sence you bawn? Me fuh ’low yalluh nigguh fuh knock me en’ me yent fuh knock’um back! No, man! Uh knock’um ef uh dead!”
“Yaas, man, knock’um, knock’um!” came the cries of approval as old Hacklus, having put up his yellow man of straw, leaped about as he proceeded to bowl him over.
“Uh yent fuh wait ’tell ’e knock me fus’. Uh gwine knock’um befo’ ’e hice ’e han’! Uh knock’um een ’e yeye, uh kick’um on ’e shin, alltwo one time. Den uh butt’um een ’e belly. Uh double’um up ’cause ’e too swonguh, ’e too ’laagin’! Cap’n, who dis yalluh nigguh nyuse to blonx to een slabery time?” he asked the foreman.
“To nobody. He was free. He belonged to himself.”
“Great Gawd! Cap’n, all dese’yuh mans blonx to quality! All uh we yuh nyuse to blonx to Baa’nwell, eeduhso Heywu’d en’ Wandross. All duh juntlemun’ nigguh. Nigguh stan’ sukkuh ’e maussuh. Ef ’e blonx to juntlemun, him gwine mannusubble, ef ’e blonx to po’buckruh, him ent nutt’n’, ’cause uh po’buckruh nigguh ent wut, but ef ’e blonx to ’eself, ’e blonx to nigguh, en’ da’ yalluh t’ing wuh blonx to nigguh tek ’t’oruhty ’puntop ’eself fuh knock nigguh wuh blonx to juntlemun, en bex w’en de nigguh knock’um back! No, suh, ’e mus’ be fool! Leh we tu’n Bredduh Paul loose!”
“Yaas, man, tu’n’um loose, tu’n’um loose!” came the chorus.
“Well, boys, before we go, you’d better finish the flask.”
“Tengk Gawd, suh!” ejaculated old Hacklus whose mouth was now as cottony as a stump-tailed water moccasin’s, as he lifted the flask to his lips, “me t’roat dry. Uh binnuh talk.”
“Hol’ on, man!”
“Don’ tek’um all!”
“Manigo drink’ too hebby!”
“’E gwine dreen’um dry!” came the protests, but Manigo had swallowed the lion’s share before he passed the flask to the next man. “Boss, we fuh pit da’ yalluh Grant een jail, enty?” and he was much disappointed when told it couldn’t be done.
The jury returned to the Court room with their verdict of acquittal, and received the thanks of the Court, who assured them all, “and especially the distinguished foreman,” of his appreciation of the expedition with which they had dispatched the business of the Court. As Paul and his protector mounted their horses for the homeward ride, Daniel stood bare-headed at the Court room door, and expressed the hope that he might again welcome to his temple of justice “the distinguished counsel from across the river.”