“I'd like to see you do that same agin Mr.—. It wouldn't be savin' yerself a pace-warrant, and another for assault and battery! Sure magistrate Gyles is a first-rate friend of me own, and he'd not suffer me imposed on. The d—d nigger was obstinate and wouldn't go to jail,” said Dunn in a cowardly, whimpering manner.
“Oh yez, me heard mit 'im swore, vat he no go to zale!” rejoined the Dutchman anxiously.
“Tell me none of your lies,” said he; “you are both the biggest rascals in town, and carry on your concerted villany as boldly as if you had the control of the city in your hands.” Manuel was trembling under the emotions of grief and revenge. His Portuguese blood would have revenged itself at the poniard's point, but fortunately he had left it in his chest. He saw that he had a friend at his hand, and with the earnestness of a child, resigned himself to his charge.
In a few minutes quiet was produced, and the gentleman expressing a desire to know how the trouble originated, inquired of Manuel how it was brought about. But no sooner had he commenced his story, than he was interrupted by Dunn asserting his right, according to the laws of South Carolina, to make his declaration, which could not be refuted by the negro's statement, or even testimony at law; and in another moment jumped up, and taking Manuel by the collar, commanded him to come along to jail; and turning to the gentleman, dared him to interfere with his duty.
“I know how you take people to jail, very well. I'll now see that you perform that duty properly, and not torture prisoners from place to place before you get there. You inflict a worse punishment in taking poor, helpless people to jail, than they suffer after they get there!” said he; and immediately joined Manuel and walked to the jail with him.
CHAPTER XII. THE OLD JAIL.
THERE are three institutions in Charleston-either of which would be a stain upon the name of civilization-standing as emblems of the time-established notions of a people, and their cherished love for the ancestral relics of a gone-by age. Nothing could point with more unerring aim than these sombre monuments do, to the distance behind the age that marks the thoughts and actions of the Charlestonians. They are the poor-house, hospital, and jail; but as the latter only pertains to our present subject, we prefer to speak of it alone, and leave the others for another occasion. The workhouse may be said to form an exception-that being a new building, recently erected upon a European plan. It is very spacious, with an extravagant exterior, surmounted by lofty semi-Gothic watch-towers, similar to the old castles upon the Rhine. So great was the opposition to building this magnificent temple of a workhouse, and so inconsistent, beyond the progress of the age, was it viewed by the “manifest ancestry,” that it caused the mayor his defeat at the following hustings. “Young Charleston” was rebuked for its daring progress, and the building is marked by the singular cognomen of “Hutchinson's Folly.” What is somewhat singular, this magnificent building is exclusively for negroes. One fact will show how progressive has been the science of law to govern the negro, while those to which the white man is subjected are such as good old England conferred upon them some centuries ago. For felonious and burglarious offences, a white man is confined in the common jail; then dragged to the market-place, stripped, and whipped, that the negroes may laugh “and go see buckra catch it;” while a negro is sent to the workhouse, confined in his cell for a length of time, and then whipped according to modern science,—but nobody sees it except by special permission. Thus the negro has the advantage of science and privacy.
The jail is a sombre-looking building, with every mark of antiquity standing boldly outlined upon its exterior. It is surrounded by a high brick wall, and its windows are grated with double rows of bars, sufficiently strong for a modern penitentiary. Altogether, its dark, gloomy appearance strikes those who approach it, with the thought and association of some ancient cruelty. You enter through an iron-barred door, and on both sides of a narrow portal leading to the right are four small cells and a filthy-looking kitchen, resembling an old-fashioned smoke-house. These cells are the debtors'; and as we were passing out, after visiting a friend, a lame “molatto-fellow” with scarcely rags to cover his nakedness, and filthy beyond description, stood at what was called the kitchen door. “That poor dejected object,” said our friend, “is the cook. He is in for misdemeanor-one of the peculiar shades of it, for which a nigger is honored with the jail.” “It seems, then, that cooking is a punishment in Charleston, and the negro is undergoing the penalty,” said we. “Yes!” said our friend; “but the poor fellow has a sovereign consolation, which few niggers in Charleston can boast of-and none of the prisoners here have-he can get enough to eat.”
The poor fellow held out his hand as we passed him, and said, “Massa, gin poor Abe a piece o' 'bacca'?” We freely gave him all in our possession.