They Turned Her Out of Church

Saturday night of that week was a beautiful night, and everybody sought the open air—no, almost everybody. There were a few that didn't, in fact they sought the closed inside for a purpose.

Murphy had a good crowd, for it was pay day, and everything was "sliding" along O.K. Glenview, who had purchased a new novel from Wyeth, who bought them and sold the same at a discount when he had read them, was there too. So was John Moore, he was always there. Wyeth was below, and so was Legs, for, strange as it may seem, he had kept his pledge thus far. He was glad of it, too, which is ahead of our story. Easy.

A game was on, a big game, and darkies were uncoated; perspiration flowed freely. Wyeth retired about twelve, or it might have been earlier—it makes little difference. The game was on, and so was somebody else. Wyeth felt himself being shook, but could not seem to awaken at once. Words came to his ears, and it was the voice of Legs that spoke:

"Get up," it said, in subdued excitement. "Get up, you fool."

"Go to the devil! Are you crazy? Don't awaken me. I'm tired and want to rest," he answered unconsciously.

"I said, arise—at once. Somethin' doin'."

"Will you go to the devil, or shall I hit you in the ear and dispatch you forthwith! I want to rest, you pair of Legs."

"Listen! Listen! Hear them, Books!"

Books heard something, but he didn't know what it was; moreover, he didn't care—in fact, he didn't want to hear. He wanted to sleep. It was a fine night for sleeping, too. The soft air floated in through the window at his head, and the vines and garden the Mis' raised, and which grew within a few feet of him, perfumed it with nature's own. Why should he be concerned about what went on up in Murphy's den. He kicked at Legs, when he repeated.

Legs went into the other room, but the noise from above persisted.

"Look out there, nigger!" it said. "Don't start nothing, don't start nothing! Get around there, you, beside that other nigger! Now, here, you, ink, put these cuffs on the two niggers against the wall. Right around the wrists, you fool. I've put them on you often enough for you to know that they don't go on the shoulders. And don't be so damn nervous. You shiver around there as though it was the first time you've been arrested. Are you done? Well, stand over in that row beside them other niggers! Don't think because I know you that you c'n ease out that window. And don't figure I'm going to play any pets! Heah! Heah! You little black rat! You, I say, with the pop peepers! If you try any monkey foolishness, I'll put'm out, I'll put'm out! Hear that nigger, hear that! I'll shoot you nigger, I'll shoot you!"

"Hear'm Books, hear'm! It's the police. They're upstairs. They're making a raid. Hear'm Books!" came Leg's voice, as he came back to where Wyeth lay. Sidney had awakened now. Sitting up in bed, he listened to the voices that came down from upstairs. It was still a little vague, but Legs spoke again:

"They are coming down now." And so they were. A noise of many feet tramping about, began to file downward on the rickety steps.

"Wait, Frank," came a voice. "Let me out on the front, so I can hold a gun on these niggers. Now come ahead. Now, niggers, the first one that makes a break, remember, out goes his light, bingo!"

"Mary, oh, Mary, bring me my coat and hat." Wyeth was dressed now and peeping out the window. Yes, it was John Moore, and he wanted his coat and hat. He was going away, on a journey. The Mis', very much frightened, hurried forward, and held them out to him. He placed the hat on his head, and took the coat on his arm. He wore cuffs, so that made a difference.

The Mis' fell into the room a moment later, and gave up to silent anguish. It was not the first time she had witnessed a raid. Sometimes Wyeth felt sorry for her. For, once upon a time she had been a good woman, she was yet when she could be. At least she was always kind; but when liquor was voted out of the state some years before, he, her husband then, took up the sale of it, contrary to the law. He had been caught once, and then twice. He had then been caught the third time. The third time is when you go to the mines. You may never return from these places, so 'tis said. "They kill you out there," is what John Moore had told him once, grimly. "Yes, they kill you out there. It's Hell!"

They killed the Mis's husband. And she had a son, and he sold liquor too. He was a dissipated youth. The mines had him six months. They gave him back to her. T.B. He died. And at this time she mourned his loss. She was now alone in the world. She had, at first, made an honest living, and was a member of the A.M.E. church. She became acquainted with John Moore. Well, they turned her out of church some time afterward. They would have done so sooner, but she was pitied, and black people have sympathy—even for criminals. The Mis' had lost her husband, and then her son and—but they turned her out of church. That's bad. Oh, it's awful bad to be turned out of church. Black faces, crooked often, regard one with dark suspicion when he is turned out of church, especially if a woman.

And now they had him. The other, her consort, for such he was, because you see, be merciful, she was a human being.... And all human beings cry out for love, yes, love....

"Take along his Bible, Mis'," grinned Legs. And then he looked at her.... Yes, Legs knew the story too.... He was sorry, terribly sorry. They were all sorry for the Mis'.

Legs and Wyeth now stood on the outside. It was safe now. They watched the arrangement.

Four abreast they now stood lined in four rows. They were all handcuffed together. John Moore was there, bringing up the rear. Murphy was, too. Being the man of the house, he was honored with a place at the front. And behind these sixteen men, walked his honor, the police. And so very insignificant they were, apparently. Yet, they were the law! And that means more than our pen can describe here.

Black people claim to fear God and no other. They don't. The most of them do not understand it in a larger sense. No. But, notwithstanding the fact that, in Dixie they are forever breaking it, they do fear the law—and the white man.

They filed now, a row at a time, and a few feet apart, across the street. Under the flaring electric street lamp they passed, some bareheaded, but all downcast, discouraged and remorseful. Oh, this was the law. The law of Effingham declared: "Thou must not game!" In the middle of the street they walked, and a few minutes later, they passed under the light of the lamp at the next intersection, and disappeared in the direction of the station. And it was only then, Wyeth recalled, that among them he had not observed Glenview. He was not there, he was positive; and yet he was at the game. Where was he? Where did he go?

He turned his eyes in the direction of the rear, and at that moment Glenview walked into view.

"You!" cried many voices, for a curious crowd of crooks had gathered. Good people had long since retired.

"Well?" he smiled.

"Well...."

"I'm here. Not there!" And his eyes went in the direction of the others, who were now passing under another light, into a bigger light.

"Well?"

"I saw they were nothing but a pair of snots."

"Well?"

"The window was open."

"The window?"

"And the outside air was very inviting. Much more than that other."

"Oh...." It was becoming clear to all now. The Mis' looked disappointed. Sometimes she had not liked Glenview.... He winked and went to the front of the house.

"Well," sighed the Mis', resignedly. "They certainly got a bunch of them," and then laughed, a laugh that Wyeth had heard before and knew. Not a cheerful laugh, but a dry, hard laugh. One that was possible after years of bitterness.

By this time, a score or more Negroes, denizens of the night, had gathered and were exchanging opinions, offering theories, and executing objections.

"Some low down nigga done turned'm up." This was what a large Negress, with imposing hips, was saying. She sold liquor across the way, and conducted a house for any kind of purpose.

"Some doity li'l' stool pigeon," added another, who was more doubtful still. Wyeth regarded them a moment in disgust. They were dressed as they were when they arose that morning or that afternoon, or whenever it was, which was not in the last hour or two.

It was Glenview who detailed the raid now at some length. "A big Negro was shooting for three dollars. A little guy, who appeared to be very drunk, kept making a fuss, finally asking to be let out. He went, and when Murphy opened the street door for that purpose, well, in walked the bulls—no, the little snots."

"I'm going upstairs to see how it looks after the scramble," said he, and a moment later his feet were heard in that direction. He had no sooner hit the landing, than from above came a dreadful noise. A crashing of window panes indicated that someone was trying to get out of the window. A table turned over with considerable objections, judging from the noise it made. The whatever-it-was appeared to be coming toward the stair in post haste now. Chairs were cast aside, without care of how they might land, and then it appeared on the landing. A moment later it came down, much a tumble, and not in the usual way. Hands and legs and feet seemed altogether, as they did many stunts on the way down. Eyes were opened wide, while breaths were held, as the spectacle was observed closely. And then it landed. One moment it lingered, and made a funny picture for the many eyes. Then it became erect—and behold! It was a man.

But he hadn't taken the time to dress entirely. He had, upon coming down, or deciding to do so, donned only a coat; while his large, loose knee lengths stood out conspicuously from the small legs, that reminded one of pipe stems, smoked ones—coming out of huge corn cobs.

It came about when Glenview ascended the stair, and met it in the act of looking about to ascertain whether the coast was clear.

For a time that may have been a second, possibly more, he stood hesitant. Wild of eye and trembling in the legs, but conspicuous to a humorous degree, he soon came to appreciate the spectacle he made, and forthwith betook himself hurriedly back up the steps; but, alas! Not many had he ascended when he made a miss, and, with a smothered, embarrassed cry, he fell, and the next moment came back.

While all this performing was going on, he was not aware that the officers had long since departed. And when he again landed at the feet of his onlookers, who were now given over to a fit of snickers, he cried in a subdued, but intensely excited voice: "Don't let them get me! Don't let them get me!" He was wild, as he hesitated before attempting to return. And in the meantime, he whined like a poor thing, which made the Negroes who stood about, give up to loud laughing.

At last, he was calmed to a point where he took himself hurriedly up the stairs, and disappeared. And then there was another commotion! Apparently the house was coming down, from the scrambling, and the way chairs, and beds, and tables—and everything seemed to be turning over.

"Say, say!" came the voice of Glenview. "The officers have disappeared a half hour ago. Be quiet. Those are not officers below. They are curiosities." But it was some time before he was able to communicate this fact to a point that brought quiet. When he presently emerged, the onlookers saw not two, Glenview and the other, but five. They slipped down the steps like ghosts, looked wildly about for one brief second, and then melted into the night like vampires.

As they floated away, some one recognized one and called him out by name, and these words came back to those who listened:

"Hush calling my name, you fool!"

The plate at the head of the table was not turned that morning. The Mis', notwithstanding the words she uttered when the raid had been made: "I'm glad of it! It'll stop that gambling, and I hope, Murphy's whiskey selling," she was, nevertheless, sad-eyed, and all upset. All that day she so remained, grew worse, if anything.

"Don't worry, Mis'," comforted Glenview kindly. "As soon as some word comes from them, I'll hustle about and secure bail." But it was late in the morning before any word came, and then, alas! It was a surprise.

There is a law in regard to gaming in Effingham, which makes the penalty heavier if caught gaming during the week; whereas, it is lighter for Sunday. Therefore, being well aware of the fact, no serious anticipation was held as to how the gamesters would be dealt with, since they had been caught after midnight Saturday night. In fact, when the excitement attendant with the raid had passed, those directly interested, looked hourly for those who were caught, to be released.

"What'll it cost them under this law?" inquired Wyeth of Glenview, who appeared to be fairly well informed regarding the matter.

"Oh, not much," he replied. "Perhaps five or six dollars. You see," he explained, "the city considers gambling through the week as a business indulged in by professionals; whereas Sunday, they construe that they may be workmen engaged in a pastime."

Wyeth understood, of course, but it appeared singular at first.

"They will be taken to the city lock-up," Glenview resumed, "and if collateral to the amount of twenty-five dollars be offered and approved, they will be allowed to return, and when they appear tomorrow morning, they will be fined five dollars and cost. If they were caught during the week, it would be ten and cost, and possibly more, depending."

It was at the end of this conversation that they got their surprise.

Murphy came in. He seemed tired and worn; he was a picture, in fact, of the result of such a raid. He sat himself down with a sigh that was not altogether one of relief. All waited, with drawn breath.

"That's the worst place I have seen the inside of," he said, and shook his head in emphasis.

"Where did the wagon pick you fellows up?" inquired Glenview. "I don't recall hearing any."

"No wagon picked us up. We walked all the way. They didn't carry us to the city pen, but to the county jail."

"What!" cried the Mis', while Glenview appeared to regard it with incredulity.

And then all were silent, with a cold feeling creeping through their veins, as the grim reality came upon them. It would now be thirty-seven fifty, and not five dollars, for the county made no exception for Sunday.

All the day through, John Moore raised from his hard seat, and gazed out through the heavy bars that penned him in. "Will they never come, will they never come!" he cried to himself, but only the heat and multitudes of Negroes greeted his gaze, as it eagerly sought the door to freedom.

And all day Glenview walked from one bondman to another.

"No," said the wealthiest Negro doctor, who had bailed out many. "I've quit going anybody's bond. I don't think, from the experience I have had, that I would be justified in going my brother's hereafter." He had a few to jump them, and it cost him a pretty penny, he afterwards told Wyeth, to get them back.

"He's worthless," said the druggist, apparently amused, at least satisfied with his solution for the present. "He owes me two fifty for medicine I sold him, and trusted to my sorrow. But I'll tell you what I will do." He changed his tone to one of thought, then went on. "Now you tell the Mis' if she will come down here and give me seven fifty, five of this is going the bond that'll put the thief on the street, because it is he who has been doing that stealing up there, and all of you don't seem to know it, and the remainder, two fifty, is what he owes me. Tell her to bring it to me in cash, understand, the long green, and out he comes, to go back soon where he ought to be, for he has honestly no right to be free."

Of course, Mis' never had such an amount, so Moore, insofar as this source was concerned, was doomed to stay in the hot place for some time. Glenview went to another.

"That nigga! Hell! Why I wouldn't go his bond to stay in Heaven, he is so crooked and undependable."

That was the end of it for that day, and the night settled down.

It would cost ten dollars cash to secure release through professional bondsmen; and, inasmuch as John had not the tenth part of that, he reposed for several days in his new place of abode, and became very dirty and bedraggled in the meantime. Always so clean and tidy—thus the Mis' kept him, that he was hardly recognizable, when a few days afterward, he returned. It was Murphy who secured bond, and Wyeth came upon him in some surprise that evening. He sat quietly on the porch with the Bible in his hand, so, greeting him, Wyeth asked how he "liked" it. The other said:

"Whew! The worse place I was ever in." He had been in them before, but not this one; but he did not, of course, deem it necessary to make this mention. It had been made by others. "Two hundred nigga's in the room I was in, and God knows how many more elsewhere. And they were one-armed and one-legged, one-eyed and toothless, earless and one-eared; but the whole bunch, every one of them, were filthy. And the place was rotten!"

Yet more than five hundred Negroes, most of them young men, preferred the place to freedom.