A Woman Rice Planter

by Elizabeth W. Allston Pringle

I had a sleepless, miserable night; the thought of Dab's going to the chain gang for firing a pistol was too distressing, and I saw no possibility of raising $50. It was a great comfort to me that Mr. H. did not believe there was any malice or premeditation in the act, but I knew very well there were others who would think differently. I have no idea what the mental attitude of the magistrate will be.

I talked with Dab a long time and told him that while I would protect him always from injustice I would never support him in defying the law in any way. I recalled to his mind what a long fight I had made with him about a pistol, how when he was a little fellow and somehow got hold of a pistol which looked as though it might be the Adam of all firearms, I had a procession formed, he leading, Rab following, and I bringing up the rear, down to the creek, and there I made him give me the weapon and I threw it as far as I could out into the water.

It is very hard to know whether Dab is impressed or not. I told him how miserable it would make me to see him go to the chain gang after all the trouble I had taken with him, hoping to see him grow up a respectable, honest man. I could not keep the tears from coming now and then, but Dab's black face was sphinx-like in its immobility. I told him I had not $50 to pay, and that all I could do would be to go to the magistrate and plead the fact that it was his first offence, and that he did not really understand what a serious matter it was to fire a pistol on the public highway.

November 5.

Drove up this morning to see Mr. H. about Dab's case. He lives at one of the old plantation homes, which has passed into new hands. I have never seen it since, and was quite moved in going there. It is a long, rambling house, a stone's throw from the Pee Dee River, surrounded by live oaks.

I left Dab to hold Ruth some distance from the house, out of ear-shot. Mr. H. was holding court, so I could not see him at once, but his wife asked me in to the spick and span clean house and showed me her beautiful begonias, of which she asked me to accept cuttings, which I was pleased to do. When Mr. H. arrived I made my plea for Dab, and Mr. H. relieved my mind by saying as it was a first offence and Mr. A. was willing not to push it, he would try to arrange it "as light as possible."

He would send the Sheriff in a day or two for Dab, telling him to take the handcuffs along but not to use them unless Dab resisted arrest; but that if he came quietly, gave up the pistol and answered all questions frankly, he thought it could be arranged. He then set going a phonograph and treated me to "Rock of Ages" as sung by Trinity church choir, New York. O tempora, o mores!

I returned home, the horizon of my experience enlarged in an unexpected direction, wondering over the kindness of people generally, but very weary and worn with anxiety.

November 6.

The Sheriff came for Dab this morning while he was currying Ruth. Dab got his pistol from an old stump in the woods where he kept it hid, and gave it up and went quietly along. I do hope he will behave properly; he is always so respectful to me, but Chloe tells me he is not so to every one. If only the green-eyed monster could be eliminated, life would be easier.