CHAPTER V.
Judah’s first experience of slave discipline happened in this wise: A man in Kansas City had foolishly paid five hundred dollars for a showy horse, not worth half the amount, a perfect demon whom nobody dared venture near. The purchaser was about to shoot the vicious beast, when Bill Thomson happened along, and offered five hundred even odds that he would take the animal to Magnolia Farm and break him to saddle and bridle in ten days, Thomson being of the opinion that no one knew as much about a horse or a mule as he did, and priding himself on his success with animals.
He soon found that the horse was more than he had bargained for. The beast couldn’t be cajoled or coaxed—not a man daring to go near him or within reach of his head. In order to get him to the farm he was starved and drugged.
“Well, boys, I reckon it ain’t no use; the ugly beast’s beat me, and I lose the bet,” said Thomson to the little group of men gathered at a gate of the enclosure, the next morning after the animal arrived at the farm. It was a rough group made up of gamblers and sporting men, who had heard of the bet and came to Magnolia Farm to witness the battle between the horse-dealer and horse.
“Yes, I’m licked. He’s a reg’lar fiend that hoss is. I’m a done coon this day, an’ the hoss will have to be shot. I invite you all to stop to the shootin’ party.”
“Never know’d you to git beat befo’, Bill,” remarked one, striking the haft of his bowie knife; “an’ to lose five hundred dollars slick off, too; sho!”
“My mettles up, boys. If I can’t break the hoss in, no one can; that’s true, ain’t it?”
“For sartin’ sure!” came from the crowd.
“What’s the good of lettin’ a vicious brute like that live?” and Thomson ended with a volley of oaths.
“Bill’s plum wil’,” said one of the crowd.
“’Nough to make him, I reckon,” returned the first speaker. “Bill allers did swear worse’n a steamboat cap’n. The Foul Fiend himself would be swearin’ to be beat by that tearin’ four-legged....”
The group waited breathlessly for Thomson’s next move as he stood gazing toward the refractory beast. Just at this moment Judah came up and touched his hat respectfully to the group of men.
“Don’t shoot him yet, sir; I can tame that horse and win your bet for you,” he said to Thomson.
It would be difficult to describe the effect produced on the group by those few cool, daring words—a breathless pause, each looking at the other in incredulous amazement; then a murmur of admiration for the speaker went from man to man, Thomson himself, who had recoiled from the boy, staring in open-eyed wonder at his cool assertion.
“You go near the beast! What do you know about breaking hosses? He’d throw you and kill you or trample you to death, an’ I’d be just fifteen hundred dollars more out of pocket by the onery brute.”
It was a picture for an artist,—the Negro passively waiting the verdict of his master, his massive head uncovered in humility. There was not among them all so noble a figure of a man, as he stood in a somewhat theatrical attitude—a living statue of a mighty Vulcan. Into the group Colonel Titus walked with a commanding gesture.
“Let him try, Thomson, for the honor of the farm. I believe he can do it. I’ll stand the loss if there is any.”
A murmur of approval broke from the crowd. At the Colonel’s words, Judah stepped forward and began giving his orders without a shade of servility, seeming to forget in the excitement of the moment his position as a slave. Once more he moved as a free man amidst his fellows and for the time being forgot all else. Thomson watched him with an evil smile upon his wicked face.
“Get me a saddle and bridle ready, Sam,” he called to a stable boy, “and a strong curb, too.” He walked toward the stable at the end of the range which had been given up to the horse, followed by the men of the group.
“Take car’, Jude,” cautioned Sam. “He’ll put his head out an’ bite. He tried to kick de do’ out yes’day!”
Heedless of the warning, Judah kept on, with the remark, “I think he’s feeding.”
“Take car’, thar!” yelled Sam; “He’s comin’ at yer,” as a savage snort came from within. The crowd fell back respectfully, all save Judah.
The horse rushed forwards, butting his chest against the iron bar, as he thrust his head over the top of the half-door. His ears were laid back, his eyes rolling, and his mouth open to bite, showing rows of terrible teeth. Judah did not move or tremble.
“Got grit,” observed one to the other.
“Wish I owned a gang o’ niggers jes’ like him.”
“I don’t,” replied his neighbor. “Them big, knowin’ niggers is dang’rous.”
Judah stretched out his hand and gave a half-pat to the animal’s nose, withdrawing it as he attempted to seize his arm, snapping viciously.
“Stand back, all of you,” commanded the boy, as he moved around, facing the animal. Then began an exhibition of mind over instinct. The power of the hypnotic eye was known and practised among all the Indian tribes of the West. It accounted for their wonderful success in subduing animals. Judah concentrated all the strength of his will in the gaze that he fixed upon the horse. Not a muscle of his powerful face moved for one instant, his glowing eyes never wavered, his eyelids did not quiver, but immovable as a statue he stood pouring the latent force on which he relied upon the vicious brute. And its effect was curious; he stared back at the boy for a few seconds with rolling eyes and grinning teeth, then his eyes wavered, he pawed the ground uneasily, flung up his head with an angry snort, half of fear, and running backwards, reared erect. Still Judah’s gaze did not falter; his eyes were immovably fixed upon the uneasy animal; he dropped again, butted his muzzle on the ground, shook his mane and ran about the shed for five or ten minutes, all to no purpose; when he halted opposite the opening, Judah’s unflinching gaze was still fixed upon him. A half hour must have passed in this way. At the end of that time the horse came to the opening again, trembling, and his coat foam-flecked. The men watched in breathless silence the battle-royal.
“Sugar, Sam,” called Judah, still keeping his eye on the horse, and stroking his muzzle gently. The horse was much subdued, and took the lumps of sugar from his hand without an attempt at biting.
“Wal, I’m blessed!” came from the crowd.
“Hand me the bit and bridle, Sam.”
“You ain’t going inside, Jude?” said the Colonel.
“In a minute, yes.”
With a sleight-of-hand movement a bit of sugar was in the creature’s mouth, together with the bit, and the strap slipped over his head. The animal was bitted, the bridle in his conqueror’s hand.
“Unbolt the door, Sam; open it wide enough for me to get in,” and Judah entered the stable. “Steady, boy, steady. Sh—ho!” talking to, coaxing the half-cowed beast, the boy got the saddle on his back, and tightened the girths. “Now, gentlemen,” called Judah, “Sam will fling open the door the minute I seize the bridle. Stand clear for your lives.”
He gathered curb and snaffle at the loop into his bridle-hand, slid his right down and gripped it close at the bit. Before the animal could bite, rear or kick, the door was flung wide and man and steed dashed out together, Judah letting go his right hand and flinging himself into the saddle instantly, tightening the curb with both hands, and driving his feet into the stirrups.
A buzz of excitement and admiration broke from the crowd of men now too deeply stirred for words. The battle-royal had begun. The horse plunged forward, reared wildly, pawed the air, and whirled around. Judah struck him a sharp blow between the ears with the whip, only to have him kick out behind in a furious attempt to throw the rider over his head. In rapid succession the animal plunged, reared, kicked, ran to and fro, and suddenly made a buck leap into the air. There was an exclamation, followed by a ringing cheer, as the men saw the boy still keeping his seat. The moment the creature’s hoofs touched the ground, Judah drove the spurs into his flanks and they dashed away at a mad gallop. Then followed an exhibition of the most daring horsemanship ever witnessed in Kansas City. Rising in his stirrups, Judah, while keeping perfect control of the animal, converted the four acres of enclosure into a circus-arena, round which the horse was forced at a gallop under the sting of the whip, and in the true style of reckless Indian riding on the Western plains.
“Well done!” “Hurrah for the nigger! he’s beat the hoss into the middle o’ nex’ week!” These and similar exclamations broke from the delighted spectators. Beaten completely, trembling in every limb and flecked with foam, the horse followed his conqueror quietly to the stables.
Colonel Titus was throwing his hat wildly up in the air in the enthusiasm of the moment, but Bill Thomson stood quietly by with an evil look distorting his face into a grin of malice and fury.
“Say, Colonel,” whispered a man in the crowd, “I wudn’t be in that ar nigger’s shoes, not fer no money. Bill’s mad ’cause he’s beat the hoss.”
“Oh, that’s all right. Bill’s square. Come, all hands, let’s go up to the house and liquor. What’ll you have?” The Colonel bore the reputation of being the freest gentleman in Kansas City.
For a number of days after this affair, Thomson went about the farm in a brown study. As the men had said, he was “bilin’ mad ’cause the nigger had got the dead wood on him.” “He’s got to be broken in; he knows too much,” he might have been heard muttering between his clinched teeth.
Judah had received an ovation from the sporting fraternity and bade fair to become a popular idol. Thomson was offered large sums of money for him from several men, but refused them all with the words, “Money won’t buy him till I’m through with him.”
Because of his daughter’s feelings slaves were never whipped on the plantation, but were sent to the slave prison in the city.
About a week later Judah was ordered to take a note to the prison in Kansas City. Being a new comer on the plantation, he was not yet familiar with its ways, and taking the note, suspecting no evil, delivered it at the “bell gate.” The man who received the note after reading it called to a burly Negro: “Pete take this nigger, and strap him down upon the stretcher; get him ready for business.”
“What are you going to do to me?” cried the horrified lad, at the man’s words.
“You’ll know d——d quick! Strip yourself; I don’t want to tear your clothes with my whip. I’m going to tear your black skin.”
Finding that pleading would be in vain, the lad fought madly, until overcome by three sturdy blacks who were called in to assist. They felled him to the ground and bound him with cords.
“Take him to the shed,” commanded the whipper. “String him up to a cross-beam. He’s to have twenty lashes to begin with, then he’s to be whipped until we have orders to stop.”
Strung up by his thumbs to the cross-beams, gashed, bleeding, every blow of the whip was torturing agony. The boy uttered not a groan. He had learned his lesson of endurance in the schools of the Indian stoic, and he bore his punishment without a murmur. But every stroke of the merciless lash was engraved on his heart in bleeding stripes that called for vengeance. In the midst of the scene Thomson strolled in.
“Very good,” he said, after viewing the work a moment. “Let him breathe a minute, boys, then ten more. Now, Judah, this is a taste of wholesome discipline you’re getting. You’ve got to be brung down. I’m going to do it if I have to have you whipped every month for a year. I’m goin’ to break your spirit and teach you a nigger’s place; an’ if your life’s wurth anything to you the quicker you learn your lesson the better. No more high-head carryin’, gentlemanly airs, and dictionary talk; breaking hosses in ain’t wuth a cent to a nigger,” he added with a malicious leer. “All right, boys, give him ten more,” and while they were being administered the monster stood by calmly smoking his cigar.
“Got grit,” said the whipper. “Ain’t whimpered.”
“Now, boys, ease up again while I finish my little speech to the gentleman.”
“You’ve got to learn to say ‘massa.’ It don’ matter what you can do nor how much you know, nor how handsome you think yourself, you ain’t one grain better than any other nigger on the plantation. If you forget this lesson, it’ll be the worse for you. Now, once more, boys,” he continued, turning to the whippers, “make it a dozen and smart ones to wind up with!”
All this had happened in the first year of captivity, and since that time Judah had apparently learned his place.