The Autobiography of a Super-TrampDavies, W. H. (William Henry)
General
The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp
Davies, W. H. (William Henry)
Davies, W. H. (William Henry), 1871-1940; Poets, English -- 20th century -- Biography; Tramps -- Biography
We put ashore at one place where a number of negroes and white men had
assembled in expectation of work, when man again proposed putting
forth his puny strength against the Mississippi, where we decided to
wait a day or two and take our chance of being employed. Unfortunately
the ill feeling which invariably exists between these two colours came
to a climax on the first day of our arrival. The negroes, insulting
and arrogant, through their superiority of numbers, became at last
unbearable. On which the white men, having that truer courage that
scorned to count their own strength, assembled together, and after a
few moments' consultation, resolved to take advantage of the first
provocation. This came sooner than was expected. A negro, affecting to
be intoxicated, staggered against a white man, and was promptly
knocked down for his trouble. The negroes, whose favourite weapon is
the razor, produced these useful blades from different parts of
concealment, stood irresolute, waiting for a leader, and then came
forward in a body, led by a big swaggerer in bare feet, whose apparel
consisted of a red shirt and a pair of patched trousers held up by a
single brace. These white men, who were so far outnumbered, said
little, but the negroes were loud in their abuse. This soon led to
blows and in the ensuing fight, knives, razors and fists were freely
used. Only one shot was fired, and that one told. When the negroes,
whose courage had failed at such a determined resistance, were in full
flight, the tall swaggerer was left behind with a bullet in his heart.
Several men were wounded, with gashes on necks, arms, and different
parts of the body. Small fights continued throughout the day, but it
was left for the night to produce a deed of foul murder. A white man
was found next morning with his body covered with blood from
thirty-nine wounds. Half a dozen razors must have set to work on him
in the dark. The razor is a sly, ugly-looking weapon, but is far less
dangerous than a knife, a poker, or even a short heavy piece of wood;
and as it cannot pierce to the heart or brain, that is why this man
took so long in the killing. This deed roused the sheriff and his
marshal, and they followed the black murderers to the adjoining state,
but returned next day without them.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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