The Bishop and the Boogerman

by Joel Chandler Harris

Both men looked up, but it was left to Mr. Sanders to express the surprise of each. "What in the confounded nation does this mean?" he exclaimed, rising to a standing position, and facing the officer and prisoner.

The prisoner was ahead of the deputy with a reply: "It means lots mo' to me than what it do to anybody else, suh," Randall declared, drawing in a deep breath, as if, in that way, he could control his emotion. "Whar I come frum they warned me ag'in' all white folks, bofe Republican an' Dimmycrat. They say, 'You go an' preach the straight gospel, an' let 'em alone when they talk anything else but the Saviour an' Him crucified; they tol' me that, an' now you see me! But for that little white child down yander, I wouldn't be here now. But here I is, an' here I'll stay, an' I'll be nuther the fust nor the last that was flung to the lions. Look at Daniel, an' see what he done! Yes, suh! I'm right here!"

"Well, now, you jest hold up your head an' put your hat on sideways ef you want to," remarked Mr. Sanders. "Gus!" he said, turning to the lawyer, with something like a frown on his bland countenance, "here's a whole bunch of business that's fell right in our laps. An' it's all in your line, too; but ef you can't do nothin', why, then, I'll take up the loose ends an' see what I kin do wi' 'em. I'll tell you right now," he went on, turning to the deputy sheriff, "when you take this nigger to jail, you'll take me, too—you or the man that's waitin' for your job. Make no mistake about that!"

A number of negroes who had been talking together near the courthouse drew nearer when they saw one of their colour held prisoner. One of them was the negro member of the Legislature, and he was curious to know what the trouble was—curious and sympathetic, too, for he somehow felt that as the representative of the race in the county, he was responsible for the welfare of each individual. When Lawyer Tidwell thought that the negroes were near enough to hear everything that was said, he rose from his seat on the stile, and impressively shook his leonine mane. "What do you propose to do with this boy?" he inquired.

"I'm taking him to jail," the deputy replied, with a little relapse from dignity due to the unwonted aspect of Mr. Tidwell and Mr. Sanders. The lawyer demanded by what authority he had arrested the negro, and asked to see the warrant. By this time a considerable crowd of coloured people had gathered around, and when the warrant was produced, Mr. Tidwell created a considerable sensation by the tone of indignation he assumed and by the dramatic gestures with which he denounced such proceedings.

"Do you call this a warrant?" he cried, striking the document with the back of his hand. Then with threatening forefinger, held under the deputy's nose, he went on: "Do you mean to tell me, sir, that you arrest people, and run them into jail with such scraps of paper as this is? Deprive them of their rights under the constitution without giving them a chance to be heard at a preliminary trial?" Lawyer Tidwell's voice grew higher, and his indignation seemed to rise higher, as he contemplated the rampant injustice of the period, of which this proceeding was a very small part. "Mark my words!" he exclaimed; "you'll go to jail before this boy does! You know just as well as I do that this is no warrant. You know it isn't properly made out, nor even properly signed. I tell you again, the man that issued it will be impeached, and the man that served it will occupy the same cell. You'll know a thing or two worth remembering when I get through with you!" The lawyer's whole attitude was menacing, and it made precisely the impression he had intended it should. He turned to Randall. "What party do you vote with?"

"Wid the party of Aberham Lincoln, suh; an' if you want to know why, turn to St. Paul (or it may be St. Second Timothy—one or the other) an' you'll see where the brotherin is begged an' commanded for to stand by one another in all manner of trial an' tribulation. In them days, suh, they grit one another wi' a holy kiss; but in these times—la! holy kissin' is done played out like a hoss that went through the war!"

At this point the negro legislator, in order to keep up his reputation for representing his race, spoke up. "Frien', what has you been doin', an' what has you been tuck up fer? It look like ter me that you has got a case fer ter fetch up in the gener'l insembly, an' ef you is, I want ter have the handlin' un it."

It was Mr. Tidwell who replied. "Don't you remember that old Tuttle was an overseer before the war? He had no niggers of his own, and he took his spite out on other people's niggers. One day, when he was kicking and cuffing this boy here, he hit him one lick too many. Randall turned on him, and came pretty near knocking him into the middle of next week. You-all have put old Tuttle in a place where he has a little power, and now, after all these years, he wants to slap Randall in jail, when he knows just as well as you know that he hit the boy a hundred times as many licks as the boy hit him. And he sha'n't put him in jail! One of you boys run to Mr. Whipple's and tell him that Mr. Sanders wants to see him at the courthouse at once. Tell him that Randall is in trouble."

Not only one negro, but half a dozen negroes, went on a run to carry the message to old Jonas.