All God's Dangers (64 page)

When I got in the field to give em water, Billy Joe Spooner was the first man I watered. He said, “Papa Nate, the devil been to play out here this mornin.”

I said, “Billy Joe, what's the matter? What caused it?”

Said, “Some of em told Captain Locke—”

I never did ask Billy Joe who told the boss man what happened in the cell, it could have been one of several in the crowd. Captain Locke found out about it and he called that John Barbour up. All of em stood and listened when Captain Locke told him, “Uh-huh, I hear you and Nate got into it and you wanted to jump on him last night in the cell.” And from that word on, Billy Joe told me, Captain Locke cussed him like he'd cuss a dog. And he had a great big old hickory walkin stick, up at the end it had a handle hold and it sloped on down gradually. It was hard and seasoned and they told me that Captain Locke threatened, “If I hear talk about you messin with Nate again, I'll beat the cow-walkin hell out of you.”

So, after all of it was over, I was good and hot still, the way that nigger talked to me that night and I knowed I was innocent of doin any evil against any of them boys in camp. I went around givin em all water that mornin, time I got around to him—he dropped his head and asked me to pardon him. I said, “Well, friend, I'm very sorry that you talked to me like you did; and them boys that stays with me and you, they knows I'm no peacebreaker, no fussmaker, no snitcher. Them boys takes me to be a friend to em. All I ask you, take me for what I am. You was wrong; I hate that anybody look at me in suchaway as that. And I know that you know I didn't report you this mornin.”

They soon transferred his ass away from there. Sent him to Wilcox County, road camp, and he kept up a uproar there. One night a fellow got him down and stabbed him—these is true facts and I aint sayin it because he talked rough to me and insulted me; he couldn't hurt me with his mouth—so some fellow stabbed him with a dirk and cut him all in his thighs and it took close attention to save his life. So they transferred him again, right out of there. And I heard before I got out of prison, he died, died in prison. Last I'd heard before that he couldn't walk; that dirk done poisoned his legs and the poison spread, the way they told it, to his whole body. Well, that ruint him; he just caused his death by his way of life.

C
APTAIN
L
OCKE
would stand and talk with me bout many a subject, just like I'd been a white man. We was standin by a fire one cold mornin, way out here this side of Wetumpka; he had his squad out there and I was a water boy. The squad was all out in the pine thickets cuttin timber, four-foot wood pieces for them big prison ovens. And they was cuttin at that time on a colored man's territory right close to a colored people's church and school in New Style community. We was standin there by the fire talkin and he said to me, “Nate, they electrocuted two Negroes at Kilby last night.”

He always read the news and heard the quotations. I looked at him and said, “Captain, what's that all about?”

He said, “Well, rapin a white woman.”

I dropped my head.

He said, “It's hard to testify the facts about it.”

I weren't goin to betray myself by talkin against the white race of people. I said, “As many colored women as there is in the country, they'd be wrong to do that, they ought to go to their own color with that game. Furthermore, a man aint got no right to overpower no woman, run over her thataway about her nature, regardless to her color. But tell me, Captain, did they really do like they was accused of doin?”

“Aw hell, Nate”—dropped his head when he spoke—“I'll tell you the way that goes. Niggers and white women has been doin that for the longest and runnin together. Whenever a white woman, if she been foolin with a nigger, as soon as she finds out that she's in a little danger of bein found out, she goin to jump up and squall and holler. Nigger's burnt up then”—I knew it and I let him speak—“They goes with em until they gets tired of em or somebody walks down on em, then they squeal. Been doin it for years.” Talkin that subject to me—he knowed it well, he knowed how such things as that run.

I come to find out that Captain Locke would take them colored gals out from the prison department—and there was nothin to a white man but to do that. When they'd check them colored women out there for farm work—choppin cotton and hoein cotton and rakin out ditches—this fellow Locke would take a chance with some of em. The way they runned it there, if there was any way in the world for the plow squad to get out of field work by havin other
jobs like cuttin that cord wood, why, the colored men was put between the low handles and that farm labor was put on the colored women. The white women there at Wetumpka didn't go out in the field to work at all; they'd work in the garden squad right there at the prison department—that's as far as they'd trust a white woman. Anything to do out in the field, put the colored women to it. Well, that gived this man Captain Malcolm Locke a chance to be amongst em. Whenever he announced to the warden what he wanted done out in the field, right soon you'd see that prison truck come out from there with a load of colored women. And them colored women belonged to Captain Noyes' squad—Captain Noyes and Captain Locke was buddies, Captain Noyes was a older man than Captain Locke.

Well, I heard the subject whispered under the cover. Captain Locke at that time had a colored man in his squad that would holler and raise the devil when he discovered anything like that. That was a brave nigger, in his way, and a bit of a fool. Captain Locke soon found out what this fellow was singin and had him transferred out of the squad and away from Wetumpka. But commenced a little secret talk around—Captain Locke was runnin with them colored women. And in that, rolled along and rolled along until the deputy warden caught it; no doubt it was sung around there by some loud enough for all to hear. I was goin around totin water, hush-mouthed—I could hear it.

So, Captain Locke fooled around and let Captain Evans catch his crookedness—I never did see Captain Evans have too much talk with ary a colored woman. And it got to where Captain Evans wouldn't take Captain Locke's word for hog slops. He'd take a colored man's word before he'd take his.

B
Y
me bein a man out in the field when Captain Locke would order Captain Noyes' squad to be out there, many a day I'd tote water hand in hand with them colored women. The water girls in that crowd, me and them went to and fro. Well, that was a fixed thing between Captain Noyes and Captain Locke. They caucused out in the field one day and they agreed, “Let Nate tote water with them girls, right along with em, hand and hand.” So they put me at it and me and them water girls went into the swamps, into the woods, to the
springs at every field place we worked at. How come they put me with them girls? Them colored girls would go out, they said, and they had a knack of free men meetin em out at them springs, so them two officers put me out there to watch over em. They gived me orders to keep my eyes on em. Said, “Nate, we goin to hold you responsible for what wrongness goes on. If any free men—” Them colored men in the squad had to stay busy, they couldn't run out with em, but I was a water boy and I was supposed to report it if any free men come along to tamper with them colored women at the springs. But if there was ary a free man out in them bushes, Christ aint a Christian.

There'd be two water gals totin water for that squad of women and only me totin for the men. And I toted two reasonable-sized buckets; didn't bother me to tote em at all. Many a time me and them girls had been to the spring over yonder and we'd come out on route to the field, Captain Locke would meet us. I toted his water in a long flask, separate from the water for the squad. I'd fill up that bottle, screw the lead down on it, hook the neck wire over the side of one of my buckets. My buckets bein smaller than the girls' was, I'd give one of em one of my light buckets—each of em carried only one bucket, but it was heavier than ary one of mine—and I'd tote her heavy bucket and one of my light buckets. And with Captain Locke's bottle, the wire of it, over the mouth of that fight bucket, that made it sort of equal up with the girl's bucket, in the weight. I had sympathy for them gals because they was my color—of course, I'd a done it for white women just thataway, but I didn't tote no water with them white girls.

Many a time we'd meet Captain Locke. I'd look ahead and see him comin on his horse, makin his rounds through the fields. He'd say, “Nate, I really need some water.” Set that girl's bucket, heavy bucket, down, and take the light bucket with his jar hangin to it, hand it up to him on his horse. Never did forbid me from totin the heavier buckets for them women. In that regard he was a decent man.

So, lingered along, lingered along, no troubles comin out of the fields, nowhere we went. And at that present time we was travelin down to a two-hundred-acre field, across the river bridge and through the heart of Wetumpka city—called it the river bottoms field. Had a place there on the prison side of the river, called
it the body labor field. Had a place southeast, called the Whitman field. Had a place, before you crossed the river, called the river bend. O, we worked a territory, we prisoners did; four different fields we worked in.

O
NE
day Captain Locke had his squad of colored men down on the river cuttin cord wood. And right about twelve o'clock, I went out to a house where there was a well of water—I was totin water for the squad. I got to the well and was drawin the water, I looked around and here come Captain Carter and Captain Evans drivin up. They soon stopped their car before they got to where I was, got out and started walkin out through a open place on the way into the woods to Captain Locke and the squad. Seemed like Captain Evans was stickin everything against Captain Locke he could—I caught that from many angles, the weakness between Captain Evans and Captain Locke. I started walkin back to the squad with my buckets and Captain Carter and Captain Evans walked out to meet me. Well, we talked there for a minute and Captain Evans asked me, “Nate, how is everything goin on out here?”

I said, “Everything apparently seem to be goin on all right, Captain.”

But he proved to me in the subject that they didn't have no use for Captain Locke. They walked back towards the squad and left me halfway between the squad and the well. I heard the conversation between em as they walked away. Captain Carter told Captain Evans, “Well, Nate aint goin to tell you nothin bout what goes on out here less'n you ask him directly.”

What did Captain Evans want to learn from me that day? Them wardens questioned some of the other fellows about Captain Locke but I didn't catch what they wanted at that time. I was a little hanky at Captain Locke myself since I'd heard about him runnin at a certain colored woman. That didn't go well with me.

The more dope they got on Captain Locke, the further and further out it put him—till he were gone. Lingered along, lingered along, first political pull that come up, it was very pleasin to Captain Evans to get shed of Captain Locke. He transferred the shit out of that white man. Captain Locke done spoke too close with some of the colored men—I knowed that from my own experience—and he
runned with them colored women. They sent him to where there weren't no women, and well do I know it. Sent him to Four Spots, county camp, over men strictly.

I had milked cows two or three years for Malcolm Locke and after they sent him away from there I commenced milkin for Captain Noyes—had two nice milk cows. And Captain Noyes let Captain Carter have one of his cows for milk purposes. Captain Carter put me to milkin for him, and the cow was with calf, and as usual, most anybody that knows about milk cows, if the cow gets with calf, why, you milk her right on; it's very necessary to.

I milked animals there at Wetumpka for four different white men: milked a goat for Captain Oliver Cook, doctor put him on goat milk and he went and got him a milk goat and I milked it; milked cows for Captain Locke, milked cows for Captain Noyes, then milked a cow for Captain Carter, one of Captain Noyes' milk cows. Anything had milk, I was the milker for it. If one man got dispossessed of his milk animal, that other one, if he had anything to milk, he'd put me to milkin for him.

Well, I noticed while I was milkin for Captain Carter that Captain Noyes was runnin around there every few mornins to the back of the prison department where I milked at to check on that cow. I'd found out the cow was with calf, I could see the calf kickin her after it got far enough advanced in the cow. So, one mornin I caught Captain Noyes there, dutifully checkin on that cow. She was near bout ready to birth the calf, the way it kicked in her, I'd watched it—I'd watched my cows, I knowed the nature of em when it come to breedin calves. So, I hailed Captain Noyes, “Good mornin, Captain.”

“Good mornin, Nate.”

“Well, you lookin after your cow, the condition of her? Her time's about ready—”