THE appearance of things at the jail was forlorn in the extreme. The Captain knew the integrity of Manuel, and not only believed his statement, but saw the positive proofs to confirm them. He repaired to the sheriff's office, and inquiring for that functionary, was pointed to Mr. Grimshaw, who sat in his large chair, with his feet upon the table, puffing the fumes of a very fine-flavored Havana, as unconcerned as if he was lord in sovereignty over every thing about the city. “I am captain of the Janson, and have called to inquire about my steward?” said the Captain.

“Ah! yes,—you have a nigger fellow in jail. Oh! by-the-by, that's the one there was so much fuss about, isn't it?” said Mr. Grimshaw, looking up.

“It is an imperative duty on me to seek the comfort of my officers and crew,” said the Captain. “I received a note from my steward, this morning,—here it is, (handing him the note,) you can read it. He requested me to call upon him at the jail, where I lost no time in going, and found what he stated there to be too true. How is it! From the great liberality of tone which everywhere met my ears when I first arrived, I was led to believe that he would be made comfortable; and that the mere confinement was the only feature of the law that was a grievance. Now I find that to be the only tolerable part of it. When a man has committed no crime, and is imprisoned to satisfy a caprice of public feeling, it should be accompanied with the most favoring attendants. To couple it with the most disgraceful abuses, as are shown here, makes it exceedingly repugnant. If we pay for confining these men, and for their living while they are confined, in God's name let us get what we pay for!”

The reader will observe that Mr. Grimshaw was a man of coarse manners and vulgar mind, with all their traces preserved on the outer man. He looked up at the Captain with a presumptuous frown, and then said, “Why, Mr. Captain, how you talk! But that kind o' talk won't do here in South Carolina. That nigger o' yourn gives us a mighty site of trouble, Captain. He doesn't seem to understand that he must be contented in jail, and live as the other prisoners do. He gets what the law requires, and if he gives us any further trouble, we shall lock him up in the third story.”

“You cannot expect him to be contented, when you furnish the means of discontent. But I did not come here to argue with you, nor to ask any thing as a favour, but as a right. My steward has been left to suffer! Am I to pay for what he does not get? Or am I to pay you for the pretence, and still be compelled to supply him on account of the owners? You must excuse my feelings, for I have had enough to provoke them!” returned the Captain.

“That business is entirely my own! He gets what the State allows, and I provide. Your steward never wrote that note; it was dictated by some of them miserable white prisoners. I can hear no complaints upon such cases as them. If I were to listen to all these nonsensical complaints, it would waste all my time. I wish the devil had all the nigger stewards and their complaints; the jail's in a fuss with them all the time. I can hear nothing further, sir-nothing further!” said Grimshaw emphatically, interrupting the Captain as he attempted to speak; at which the Captain became so deeply incensed, that he relieved his feelings in that sort of plain English which a Scotchman can best bestow in telling a man what he thinks of his character.

“You must remember, sir, you are in the office of the sheriff of the county-parish, I mean,—and I am, sir, entitled to proper respect. Begone!—avaunt! you have no right to come here and traduce my character in that way. You musn't take me for a parish beadle,” said Grimshaw, contorting the unmeaning features of his visage, and letting fly a stream of tobacco juice in his excitement.

“If you have no laws to give me justice, you have my opinion of your wrongs,” returned the Captain, and taking his hat, left the office with the intention of returning to the jail. On reflection, he concluded to call upon Colonel S—, which he did, and finding him in his office, stated the circumstances to him.

“These things are the fruits of imbecility; but I am sorry to say there is no relief from them. We are a curious people, and do a great many curious things according to law, and leave a great many things undone that the law and lawmakers ought to do. But I will go with you to the jail, and whatever my influence will effect is at your service,” said the Colonel, putting on his hat, and accompanying the Captain to the jail.

Mr. Grimshaw had forestalled them, and after having given the jailer particular instructions to lock Manuel up if he made any further complaint, and to carry out his orders upon the peril of his situation, met them a few steps from the outer gate, on his return. “There, Captain!” said Grimshaw, making a sort of halt, “I have given the jailer particular orders in regard to your grumbling nigger!”

Neither the Captain nor Colonel S—took any notice of his remarks, and passed on into the jail. Colonel S—interceded for the man, explaining the circumstances which had unfortunately brought him there, and begged the jailer's kind consideration in his behalf. The jailer told them what his orders had been, but promised to do as far as was in his power, and to see any thing that was sent to him safely delivered.

After leaving the jail, Colonel S—proposed a walk, and they proceeded along a street running at right angles with the jail, until they came to a corner where a large brick building was in process of erection. The location was not in what might strictly be called “the heart of the city,” nor was it in the suburbs. Carpenters and masons, both black and white, were busily employed in their avocations, and from the distance all seemed fair and moving with despatch. As they approached nearer, cries and moans sounded upon the air, and rose high above the clatter of the artisans' work. The Captain quickened his pace, but the colonel, as if from a consciousness of the effect, halted, and would fain have retraced his steps. “Come!” said the Captain, “let us hasten-they are killing somebody!” They approached the building, and entered by an open door in the basement. The passage, or entry-way, was filled with all sorts of building materials; and on the left, another door opened into a long basement apartment, with loose boards laid upon the floor-joists overhead. Here in this dark apartment was the suffering object whose moans had attracted their attention. A large billet of wood, about six feet long and three feet square, which had the appearance of being used for a chopping-block, laid near. A poor negro man, apparently advanced in years, was stripped naked and bent over the block, in the shape of a horse-shoe, with his hands and feet closely pinioned to stakes, driven in the ground on each side. His feet were kept close together, and close up to the log, while he was drawn over, tight by the hands, which were spread open. Thus, with a rope around his neck, tied in a knot at the throat, with each end carried to the pinion where his hands were secured, his head and neck were drawn down to the tightest point. The very position was enough to have killed an ordinary human being in less than six hours. His master, a large, robust man, with a strong Irish brogue, started at their appearance, as if alarmed at the presence of intruders, while holding his hand in the attitude of administering another blow. “There! you infernal nigger; steal again, will you?” said he, frothing at the mouth with rage—with his coat off, his shirt-sleeves rolled up, and his face, hands, arms and shirt-bosom so bespattered with blood, that a thrill of horror ran through the Captain. On the ground lay several pieces of hoop, broken and covered with blood, while he held in his hand another piece, (which he had torn from a lime-cask,) reeking with blood, presenting the picture of a murderer bestained with the blood of his victim. But the poor sufferer's punishment had wasted his strength,—his moans had become so faint as to be scarcely perceptible. His posteriors were so cut and mangled that we could compare them to nothing but a piece of bullock's-liver, with its tenacity torn by craven dogs. His body was in a profuse perspiration, the sweat running from his neck and shoulders, while the blood streamed from his bruises, down his legs, and upon some shavings on the ground. Just at this moment a boy brought a pail of water, and set it down close by the tyrant's feet. “Go away, boy!” said he, and the boy left as quick as possible. The Captain stood dismayed at the bloody picture.

“Unmerciful man!” said the colonel in a peremptory tone; “what have you been doing here? You fiend of hell, let the man up! You own slaves to bring disgrace upon us in this manner! Epithets of contempt and disgust are too good for you. It is such beasts as you who are creating a popular hatred against us, and souring the feelings of our countrymen. Let the man up instantly; the very position you have him in is enough to kill him, and, if I'm not mistaken, you've killed him already.”

“Indeed, he's me own property, and it's yerself won't lose a ha'penny if he's kilt. An' I'll warrant ye he's cur't of stalin' better than the man beyant at the wurk'o'se would be doin' if. Bad luck to the nager, an' it's the second time he'd be doin' that same thing,” said he, as unconcernedly as if he had just been killing a calf.

“I'll 'your own' you, you miserable wretch! Your abuse and cruel treatment of your slaves is becoming a public thing; and if you a'n't very careful, something will be done about it before council. If they are your own, you must not treat them worse than dogs; they have feeling, if you have no compassion. Be quick! release him at once!” demanded the colonel, feeling the man's wrist and head.

The tyrant vent deliberately to work, unloosing the cords. This provoked the colonel still more, and taking his knife from his pocket, he severed the cords that bound his hands and feet, while as suddenly the Captain sprang with his knife and severed those that bound his hands and neck. “Stop, Captain, stop! take no part,” said the colonel, with a significant look.

“Gintlemen, I wish yes wouldn't interfere with my own business,” said the master.

“Take him up, you villanous wretch! I speak to you as you deserve, without restraint or respect,” again the colonel repeated.

He called to the boy who was bringing the pail of water when they entered. He came forward, and taking the poor fellow by the shoulders, this beast in human form cried out, “Get up now, ye miserable thief, ye.” The poor fellow made a struggle, but as the black man raised his head-which seemed to hang as a dead weight-exhaustion had left him without strength, and he fell back among the bloody shavings like a mutilated mass of lifeless flesh.

“None of your humbugging; yer worth a dozen dead niggers anyhow,” said he, taking up the pail of water and throwing nearly half of it over him; then passing the bucket to the black man and ordering him to get more water and wash him down; then to get some saltpetre and a sponge to sop his flesh.

“Well,” said the colonel, “I have seen a good deal of cruelty to slaves, but this is the most beastly I have ever beheld. If you don't send for a doctor at once, I shall report you. That man will die, to a moral certainty. Now, you may depend upon what I say-if that man dies, you'll feel the consequences, and I shall watch you closely.”

“Sure I always takes care of me own niggers, an' it's himself that won't be asked to do a stroke of work for a week, but have the same to git well in,” said the tyrant as the colonel and Captain were leaving.

“God be merciful to us, and spare us from the savages of mankind. That scene, with its bloody accompaniment, will haunt me through life. Do your laws allow such things?” said the Captain, evidently excited.

“To tell the truth, Captain,” said the colonel, “our laws do not reach them. These men own a few negroes, which, being property, they exercise absolute control over; a negro's testimony being invalid, gives them an unlimited power to abuse and inflict punishment; while, if a white man attempts to report such things, the cry of 'abolitionist' is raised against him, and so many stand ready to second the cry, that he must have a peculiar position if he does not prejudice his own interests and safety. I am sorry it is so; but it is too true, and while it stigmatizes the system, it works against ourselves. The evil is in the defects of the system, but the remedy is a problem with diverse and intricate workings, which, I own, are beyond my comprehension to solve. The reason why I spoke to you as I did when you cut the pinions from the man's hands, was to give you a word of precaution. That is a bad man. Negroes would rather be sold to a sugar plantation in Louisiana any time than be sold to him. He soon works them down; in two years, fine, healthy fellows become lame, infirm, and sickly under him; he never gives them a holiday, and seldom a Sunday, and half-starves them at that. If his feelings had been in a peculiar mood at the instant you cut that cord, and he had not labored under the fear of my presence, he would have raised a gang of his stamp, and with the circumstance of your being a stranger, the only alternative for your safety would have been in your leaving the city.”

“That vagabond has beaten the poor creature so that he will die; it can't be otherwise,” said the Captain.

“Well, no; I think not, if he is well taken care of for a week or so; but it's a chance if that brute gives him a week to get well. When proud-flesh sets in, it is very tedious; that is the reason, so far as the law is concerned, that the lash was abolished and the paddle substituted—the former mangled in the manner you saw just now, while the latter is more acute and bruises less. I have seen a nigger taken from the paddle-frame apparently motionless and lifeless, very little bruised, and not much blood drawn; but he would come to and go to work in three or four days,” said the colonel as they passed along together.

We would print the name of this brute in human form, that the world might read it, were it not for an amiable wife and interesting family, whose feelings we respect. We heard the cause of this cruel torture a short time after, which was simply that he had stolen a few pounds of nails, and this fomented the demon's rage. In the manner we have described, this ferocious creature had kept his victim for more than two hours, beating him with the knotty hoops taken from lime-casks. His rage would move at intervals, like gusts of wind during a gale. Thus, while his feelings raged highest, he would vent them upon the flesh of the poor pinioned wretch; then he would stop, rest his arm, and pace the ground from wall to wall, and as soon as his passion stormed, commence again and strike the blows with all his power, at the same time keeping the black boy standing with a bucket of water in his hand ready to pour upon the wretch whenever signs of fainting appeared. Several times, when the copious shower came over him, it filled his mouth, so that his cries resounded with a gurgling, death-like noise, that made every sensation chill to hear it. During this space of time, he inflicted more than three hundred blows. Our information is from the man who did his master's bidding—poured the water—and dared not say, “Good massa, spare poor Jacob.” We visited the place about a month afterward, on a pretext of examining the basement of the building, and saw the unmistakable evidences of civilized torture yet remaining in the ground and upon the shavings that were scattered around.

“Captain, you must not judge the institution of slavery by what you saw there; that is only one of those isolated cases so injurious in themselves, but for which the general character of the institution should not be held answerable,” said the colonel.

“A system so imperfect should be revised, lest innocent men be made to suffer its wrongs,” said the Captain.

They continued their walk through several very pretty parts of the city, where fine flowering gardens and well-trimmed hedges were nicely laid out; these, however, were not the habitations of the “old families.” They occupied parts of the city designated by massive-looking old mansions, exhibiting an antiqueness and mixed architecture, with dilapidated court-yards and weather-stained walls, showing how steadfast was the work of decay.

The colonel pointed out the many military advantages of the city, which would be used against Uncle Sam if he meddled with South Carolina. He spoke of them ironically, for he was not possessed of the secession monomania. He had been a personal friend of Mr. Calhoun, and knew his abstractions. He knew Mr. McDuffie; Hamilton, (the transcendant, of South Carolina fame;) Butler, of good component parts-eloquent, but moved by fancied wrongs; Rhett, renouncer of that vulgar name of Smith, who hated man because he spoke, yet would not fight because he feared his God; and betwixt them, a host of worthies who made revenge a motto; and last, but not least, great Quattlebum, whose strength and spirit knows no bound, and brought the champion Commander, with his enthusiastic devotion, to lead unfaltering forlorn hopes. But he knew there was deception in the political dealings of this circle of great names.

Returning to the market, they took a social glass at Baker's, where the colonel took leave of the Captain; and the latter, intending to repair to his vessel, followed the course of the market almost to its lowest extreme. In one of the most public places of the market, the Captain's attention was attracted by a singular object of mechanism. It seemed so undefined in its application, that he was reminded of the old saying among sailors when they fall in with any indescribable thing at sea, that it was a “fidge-fadge, to pry the sun up with in cloudy weather.” It was a large pedestal about six feet high, with a sort of platform at the base for persons to stand upon, supplied with two heavy rings about eight inches apart. It was surmounted by an apex, containing an iron shackle long enough for a sloop-of-war's best bower chain, and just, beneath it was a nicely-turned moulding. About three feet from the ground, and twelve inches from the pedestal, were two pieces of timber one above the other, with a space of some ten inches between them, the upper one set about five inches nearest the pedestal, also containing two rings, and both supported by posts in the ground. Above the whole was a framework, with two projecting timbers supplied with rings, and standing about fourteen inches in a diagonal direction above the big ring in the apex of the shaft. It was altogether a curious instrument, but it designated the civilization of the age, upon the same principle that a certain voyager who, on landing in a distant country, discovered traces of civilization in the decaying remains of an old gallows.

He viewed the curious instrument for some time, and then turning to an old ragged negro, whose head and beard were whitened with the flour of age, said, “Well, old man, what do you call that?”

“Why, massa, him great t'ing dat-what big old massa judge send buckra-man to get whip, so color foke laugh when 'e ketch 'im on de back, ca' bim; an' massa wid de cock-up hat on 'e head put on big vip jus' so,” said the old negro.

It was the whipping-post, where white men, for small thefts, were branded with ignominy and shame.

“Are you a slave, old man?” inquired the Captain.

The old man turned his head aside and pulled his ragged garments, as if shame had stung his feelings.

“Do, good massa-old Simon know ye don'e belong here-give him piece of 'bacca,” replied the hoary-headed veteran evidently intending to evade the question. The Captain divided his “plug” with him, and gave him a quarter to get more, but not to buy whiskey. “Tank-e, massa, tank-e; he gone wid ole Simon long time.”

“But you haven't answered my question; I asked you if you were a slave.”

“Ah! massa, ye don'e know him how he is, ah ha! ha! I done gone now. Massa Pringle own 'im once, but 'im so old now, nobody say I own 'im, an' ole Simon a'n't no massa what say I his fo' bacon. I don't woff nofin' nohow now, 'cos I ole. When Simon young-great time 'go-den massa say Simon his; woff touzan' dollars; den me do eve' ting fo' massa just so. I prime nigga den, massa; now I woff nosin', no corn and bacon 'cept what 'im git from Suke-e. She free; good massa make her free,” said he.

“How old are you, old man?” inquired the Captain.

“Ah, Massa Stranger, ye got ole Simon da! If me know dat, den 'im know somefin' long time ago, what buckra-man don' larn. I con'try-born nigger, massa, but I know yonder Massa Pringle house fo' he built 'im.” Just at this moment several pieces of cannon and other ordnance were being drawn past on long, low-wheeled drays. “Ah, massa, ye don'e know what 'em be,” said the old negro, pointing to them. “Dem wa' Massa South Ca'lina gwan to whip de 'Nited States wid Massa Goberna' order 'em last year, an 'e jus' come. Good masse gwan' to fight fo' we wid 'em.” The poor old man seemed to take a great interest in the pieces of ordnance as they passed along, and to have inherited all the pompous ideas of his master. The negroes about Charleston have a natural inclination for military tactics, and hundreds of ragged urchins, as well as old daddies and mammies, may be seen following the fife and drum on parade days.

“Then I suppose you've a home anywhere, and a master nowhere, old man?” said the Captain, shaking him by the hand, as one who had worn out his slavery to be disowned in the winter of life.