“Cap’n, uh yent hab nutt’n’ fuh say. Uh gone fish duh backwatuh, en’ een de fus’ gwinin’ off, uh did’n’ hab no luck, ’cause silbuhfish tek me bait en’ uh nubbuh ketch’um, en’ one limus cootuh grab de hook en’ uh ketch him en’ t’row’um’way, en’ den uh ketch ’nuf fish, en’ uh gone Yamassee en’ sell’um, en’ uh binnuh walk duh paat’, en’ uh meet one gal duh walk duh paat’, name ’Riah Wineglass, en’ uh yeddy’um befo’ uh shum, ’cause ’e mek one soun’ w’en ’e walk sukkuh cow foot crack w’en him duh run, en’ w’en uh yiz shum close, ’e frock duh bunch out all roun’um sukkuh cootuh ’tring out ’puntop’uh log, en’ uh ax’um, ’gal, wuh you got fuh fifty cent?’ en’ ’e say ’e yent got nutt’n’ fuh fifty cent but ’e hab ’nuf fuh seb’nty fi’ cent, en’ I tell’um ’lemme shum,’ en’ ’e hice ’e frock, en’ him hab one t’ing onduhneet’ him frock, dem call’um bloomuh, uh nubbuh see shishuh debble’ub’uh t’ing befo’ sence uh bawn! ’E hol’ ’bout t’ree-fo’ bushel, en’ ’e mek outuh grano sack, en’ britchiz duh ’e farruh en’ frock duh ’e murruh, en’ ’e stan’ sukkuh alltwo. Den de gal graff een da’ t’ing wunnuh call’um so, en’ ’e full’uh de pyo’ killybash ’long Fus’ X, en’ ’e ketch’out one en’ gimme, en’ uh gone off en’ drink’um, en’ fus’ t’ing uh know uh yent know nutt’n’, ’tell de counstubble fin’ me dis mawnin’, en’ las’ night w’en uh bin een one strance, some dem Macfussn’nbil nigguh’ t’ief one new shu’t off me back, en’,” said Billybedam, “uh tengk Gawd uh did’n’ bin hab on uh new britchiz!”
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.