The Colonel's Dream

by Charles W. Chesnutt

  _Eight_

  When the colonel set out next morning for a walk down the main street,he had just breakfasted on boiled brook trout, fresh laid eggs, hotmuffins and coffee, and was feeling at peace with all mankind. He wasalone, having left Phil in charge of the hotel housekeeper. He hadgone only a short distance when he reached a door around which severalmen were lounging, and from which came the sound of voices and loudlaughter. Stopping, he looked with some curiosity into the door, overwhich there was a faded sign to indicate that it was the office of aJustice of the Peace--a pleasing collocation of words, to those whocould divorce it from any technical significance--Justice, Peace--theseed and the flower of civilisation.

  An unwashed, dingy-faced young negro, clothed in rags unspeakablyvile, which scarcely concealed his nakedness, was standing in themidst of a group of white men, toward whom he threw now and then ashallow and shifty glance. The air was heavy with the odour of staletobacco, and the floor dotted with discarded portions of the weed. Awhite man stood beside a desk and was addressing the audience:

  "Now, gentlemen, here's Lot Number Three, a likely young nigger whoanswers to the name of Sam Brown. Not much to look at, but will make agood field hand, if looked after right and kept away from liquor; usedto workin', when in the chain gang, where he's been, off and on, sincehe was ten years old. Amount of fine an' costs thirty-seven dollarsan' a half. A musical nigger, too, who plays the banjo, an' sings jus'like a--like a blackbird. What am I bid for this prime lot?"

  The negro threw a dull glance around the crowd with an air ofdetachment which seemed to say that he was not at all interested inthe proceedings. The colonel viewed the scene with something more thancurious interest. The fellow looked like an habitual criminal, or atleast like a confirmed loafer. This must be one of the idle andworthless blacks with so many of whom the South was afflicted. Thiswas doubtless the method provided by law for dealing with them.

  "One year," answered a voice.

  "Nine months," said a second.

  "Six months," came a third bid, from a tall man with a buggy whipunder his arm.

  "Are you all through, gentlemen? Six months' labour for thirty-sevenfifty is mighty cheap, and you know the law allows you to keep thelabourer up to the mark. Are you all done? Sold to Mr. Turner, for Mr.Fetters, for six months."

  The prisoner's dull face showed some signs of apprehension when thename of his purchaser was pronounced, and he shambled away uneasilyunder the constable's vigilant eye.

  "The case of the State against Bud Johnson is next in order. Bring inthe prisoner."

  The constable brought in the prisoner, handcuffed, and placed him infront of the Justice's desk, where he remained standing. He was ashort, powerfully built negro, seemingly of pure blood, with awell-rounded head, not unduly low in the brow and quite broad betweenthe ears. Under different circumstances his countenance might havebeen pleasing; at present it was set in an expression of angrydefiance. He had walked with a slight limp, there were severalcontusions upon his face; and upon entering the room he had thrown adefiant glance around him, which had not quailed even before the sterneye of the tall man, Turner, who, as the agent of the absent Fetters,had bid on Sam Brown. His face then hardened into the blank expressionof one who stands in a hostile presence.

  "Bud Johnson," said the justice, "you are charged with escaping fromthe service into which you were sold to pay the fine and costs on acharge of vagrancy. What do you plead--guilty or not guilty?"

  The prisoner maintained a sullen silence.

  "I'll enter a plea of not guilty. The record of this court shows thatyou were convicted of vagrancy on December 26th, and sold to Mr.Fetters for four months to pay your fine and costs. The four monthswon't be up for a week. Mr. Turner may be sworn."

  Turner swore to Bud's escape and his pursuit. Haines testified to hiscapture.

  "Have you anything to say?" asked the justice.

  "What's de use er my sayin' anything," muttered the Negro. "It won'tmake no diff'ence. I didn' do nothin', in de fus' place, ter be fine'fer, an' run away 'cause dey did n' have no right ter keep me dere."

  "Guilty. Twenty-five dollars an' costs. You are also charged withresisting the officer who made the arrest. Guilty or not guilty? Sinceyou don't speak, I'll enter a plea of not guilty. Mr. Haines may besworn."

  Haines swore that the prisoner had resisted arrest, and had only beencaptured by the display of a loaded revolver. The prisoner wasconvicted and fined twenty-five dollars and costs for this secondoffense.

  The third charge, for disorderly conduct in prison, was quicklydisposed of, and a fine of twenty-five dollars and costs levied.

  "You may consider yo'self lucky," said the magistrate, "that Mr.Haines didn't prefer a mo' serious charge against you. Many a niggerhas gone to the gallows for less. And now, gentlemen, I want to cleanthis case up right here. How much time is offered for the fine andcosts of the prisoner, Bud Johnson, amounting to seventy-five dollarsfine and thirty-three dollars and fifty-fo' cents costs? You've heardthe evidence an' you see the nigger. Ef there ain't much competitionfor his services and the time is a long one, he'll have his ownstubbornness an' deviltry to thank for it. He's strong and healthy andable to do good work for any one that can manage him."

  There was no immediate response. Turner walked forward and viewed theprisoner from head to foot with a coldly sneering look.

  "Well, Bud," he said, "I reckon we'll hafter try it ag'in. I havenever yet allowed a nigger to git the better o' me, an', moreover, Inever will. I'll bid eighteen months, Squire; an' that's all he'sworth, with his keep."

  There was no competition, and the prisoner was knocked down to Turner,for Fetters, for eighteen months.

  "Lock 'im up till I'm ready to go, Bill," said Turner to theconstable, "an' just leave the irons on him. I'll fetch 'em back nexttime I come to town."

  The unconscious brutality of the proceeding grated harshly upon thecolonel's nerves. Delinquents of some kind these men must be, who werethus dealt with; but he had lived away from the South so long that sosudden an introduction to some of its customs came with something of ashock. He had remembered the pleasant things, and these but vaguely,since his thoughts and his interests had been elsewhere; and in thesifting process of a healthy memory he had forgotten the disagreeablethings altogether. He had found the pleasant things still inexistence, faded but still fragrant. Fresh from a land of labourunions, and of struggle for wealth and power, of strivings first forequality with those above, and, this attained, for a point of vantageto look down upon former equals, he had found in old Peter, only theday before, a touching loyalty to a family from which he could nolonger expect anything in return. Fresh from a land of women's clubsand women's claims, he had reveled last night in the charmingdomestic, life of the old South, so perfectly preserved in a quiethousehold. Things Southern, as he had already reflected, lived longand died hard, and these things which he saw now in the clear light ofday, were also of the South, and singularly suggestive of other thingsSouthern which he had supposed outlawed and discarded long ago.

  "Now, Mr. Haines, bring in the next lot," said the Squire.

  The constable led out an old coloured man, clad in a quaint assortmentof tattered garments, whom the colonel did not for a moment recognise,not having, from where he stood, a full view of the prisoner's face.

  "Gentlemen, I now call yo'r attention to Lot Number Fo', left overfrom befo' the wah; not much for looks, but respectful and obedient,and accustomed, for some time past, to eat very little. Can be madeuseful in many ways--can feed the chickens, take care of the children,or would make a good skeercrow. What I am bid, gentlemen, for ol'Peter French? The amount due the co't is twenty-fo' dollahs and ahalf."

  There was some laughter at the Squire's facetiousness. Turner, who hadbid on the young and strong men, turned away unconcernedly.

  "You'd 'a' made a good auctioneer, Squire," said the one-armed man.

  "Thank you, Mr. Pearsall. How much am I offered for this bargain?"

&
nbsp; "He'd be dear at any price," said one.

  "It's a great risk," observed a second.

  "Ten yeahs," said a third.

  "You're takin' big chances, Mr. Bennet," said another. "He'll die infive, and you'll have to bury him."

  "I withdraw the bid," said Mr. Bennet promptly.

  "Two yeahs," said another.

  The colonel was boiling over with indignation. His interest in thefate of the other prisoners had been merely abstract; in old Peter'scase it assumed a personal aspect. He forced himself into the room andto the front.

  "May I ask the meaning of this proceeding?" he demanded.

  "Well, suh," replied the Justice, "I don't know who you are, or whatright you have to interfere, but this is the sale of a vagrant nigger,with no visible means of suppo't. Perhaps, since you're interested,you'd like to bid on 'im. Are you from the No'th, likely?"

  "Yes."

  "I thought, suh, that you looked like a No'the'n man. That bein' so,doubtless you'd like somethin' on the Uncle Tom order. Old Peter'sfine is twenty dollars, and the costs fo' dollars and a half. Theprisoner's time is sold to whoever pays his fine and allows him theshortest time to work it out. When his time's up, he goes free."

  "And what has old Peter done to deserve a fine of twenty dollars--moremoney than he perhaps has ever had at any one time?"

  "'Deed, it is, Mars Henry, 'deed it is!" exclaimed Peter, fervently.

  "Peter has not been able," replied the magistrate, "to show this co'tthat he has reg'lar employment, or means of suppo't, and he wastherefore tried and convicted yesterday evenin' of vagrancy, under ourState law. The fine is intended to discourage laziness and to promoteindustry. Do you want to bid, suh? I'm offered two yeahs, gentlemen,for old Peter French? Does anybody wish to make it less?"

  "I'll pay the fine," said the colonel, "let him go."

  "I beg yo' pahdon, suh, but that wouldn't fulfil the requi'ments ofthe law. He'd be subject to arrest again immediately. Somebody musttake the responsibility for his keep."

  "I'll look after him," said the colonel shortly.

  "In order to keep the docket straight," said the justice, "I shouldwant to note yo' bid. How long shall I say?"

  "Say what you like," said the colonel, drawing out his pocketbook.

  "You don't care to bid, Mr. Turner?" asked the justice.

  "Not by a damn sight," replied Turner, with native elegance. "I buyniggers to work, not to bury."

  "I withdraw my bid in favour of the gentleman," said the two-yearbidder.

  "Thank you," said the colonel.

  "Remember, suh," said the justice to the colonel, "that you areresponsible for his keep as well as entitled to his labour, for theperiod of your bid. How long shall I make it?"

  "As long as you please," said the colonel impatiently.

  "Sold," said the justice, bringing down his gavel, "for life, to--whatname, suh?"

  "French--Henry French."

  There was some manifestation of interest in the crowd; and the colonelwas stared at with undisguised curiosity as he paid the fine andcosts, which included two dollars for two meals in the guardhouse, andwalked away with his purchase--a purchase which his father had made,upon terms not very different, fifty years before.

  "One of the old Frenches," I reckon, said a bystander, "come back on avisit."

  "Yes," said another, "old 'ristocrats roun' here. Well, they ought totake keer of their old niggers. They got all the good out of 'em whenthey were young. But they're not runnin' things now."

  An hour later the colonel, driving leisurely about the outskirts ofthe town and seeking to connect his memories more closely with thescenes around him, met a buggy in which sat the man Turner. After thebuggy, tied behind one another to a rope, like a coffle of slaves,marched the three Negroes whose time he had bought at the constable'ssale. Among them, of course, was the young man who had been called BudJohnson. The colonel observed that this Negro's face, when turnedtoward the white man in front of him, expressed a fierce hatred, as ofsome wild thing of the woods, which finding itself trapped andbetrayed, would go to any length to injure its captor.

  Turner passed the colonel with no sign of recognition or greeting.

  Bud Johnson evidently recognised the friendly gentleman who hadinterfered in Peter's case. He threw toward the colonel a look whichresembled an appeal; but it was involuntary, and lasted but a moment,and, when the prisoner became conscious of it, and realised itsuselessness, it faded into the former expression.

  What the man's story was, the colonel did not know, nor what were hisdeserts. But the events of the day had furnished food for reflection.Evidently Clarendon needed new light and leading. Men, even black men,with something to live for, and with work at living wages, wouldscarcely prefer an enforced servitude in ropes and chains. And thepunishment had scarcely seemed to fit the crime. He had observed nogreat zeal for work among the white people since he came to town; suchwork as he had seen done was mostly performed by Negroes. If idlenesswere a crime, the Negroes surely had no monopoly of it.