Arrested, Richard Darke is taken to jail. This not in Natchez, but a place of less note; the Court-house town of the county, within the limits of which lie the Darke and Armstrong plantations. He is there consigned to the custody of Joe Harkness, jailer.
But few, who assisted at the arrest, accompany him to the place of imprisonment; only the Deputy, and the brace of constables.
The sheriff himself, with the others, does not leave Ephraim Darke’s premises, till after having given them a thorough examination, in quest of evidence against the accused.
This duty done, without regard to the sensibilities of the owner, who follows them from room to room, now childishly crying—now frantically cursing.
Alike disregarded are his tears and oaths.
The searchers have no sympathy for him in his hour of affliction. Some even secretly rejoice at it.
Ephraim Darke is not a Southerner, pur sang; and, though without the slightest taint of abolitionism—indeed the very opposite—he has always been unpopular in the neighbourhood; alike detested by planter and “poor white.” Many of both have been his debtors, and felt his iron hand over them, just as Archibald Armstrong.
Besides, some of these now around his house were present two days before upon Armstrong’s plantation; saw his establishment broken up, his goods and chattels confiscated, his home made desolate.
Knowing by whom all this was done, with ill-concealed satisfaction, they now behold the arcana of Ephraim Darke’s dwelling exposed to public gaze; himself humiliated, far more than the man he made homeless.
With no more ceremony than was shown in making the arrest, do the sheriff and party explore the paternal mansion of him arrested, rudely ransacking it from cellar to garret; the outbuildings as well, even to the grounds and garden.