The Autobiography of a Super-TrampDavies, W. H. (William Henry)
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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
Some days after leaving Memphis, I arrived at a small town, where I
was surprised to see an unusual amount of bustle, the surrounding
country for miles having sent in all its able bodied men. Every man
was armed with a gun, and they stood in small groups talking outside
the various stores. It seemed as though there had been rumours of an
invasion, and that these men were organising to defend their homes and
country, but I had not the least idea of what had really happened. The
small groups now began to join together into larger ones, and the
larger groups joined until they became one large body of men. This one
body then shouldered guns and moved quickly along the main street, the
men's faces being drawn and pale. I followed on, perhaps the one
unarmed man among them, curious to know the meaning of it all. They
came at last to a halt, and, to see the reason for this, I stepped
across the way, and saw that they had halted before a large building,
which, by its barred windows, I had no difficulty in recognising as
the jail. One man had curled around his shoulders a long rope, and
this man with two others knocked loudly with the butt ends of their
guns on the prison door. Almost in an instant the door was flung wide
open, and the sheriff stood in the open way to know their wants. The
men must have demanded the prison keys, for I saw the sheriff at once
produce them, which he handed to these men without the least show of
resistance. This man with the rope and several others then entered
the jail, and the silent crowd without cast their eyes in that
direction. Up to the present time I had not heard a distinct voice,
nothing but the buzz of low whispering. But suddenly from the jail's
interior there came a loud shriek and a voice crying for mercy. Men
now appeared in the open doorway, dragging after them a negro at the
end of a rope. This unfortunate wretch was possessed of a terror that
is seldom seen in a human being. He fell on his knees to pray, but was
jerked to his feet ere he could murmur the first words, O Lord. He
staggered to and fro and sideways, at the same time howling and
jabbering, foaming at the mouth, and showing the horrible white of his
eyes. I can well understand a man screaming, trembling and crying for
mercy, when actually enduring bodily pain, but that one should show
such a terror at the thought of it, filled me more with disgust than
pity. That this prisoner should have been so brutal and unfeeling in
inflicting pain on another, and should now show so much cowardice in
anticipation of receiving punishment inadequate to his offence, dried
in me the milk of human kindness, and banished my first thoughts,
which had been to escape this horrible scene without witnessing its
end. For it was now I remembered reading of this man's offence, and it
was of the most brutal kind, being much like the work of a wild beast.
They now marched him from the jail, their strong arms supporting his
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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