Sketcher.

Wairarapa Standard, Volume XX, Issue 2023, 28 January 1887, Page 2 (Supplement)

Sketcher.

The Prison Barber. Bv V. V. r. I was on duty at New Orleans one day in the summer of 1868, watching a steamer take on the last of her cargo for up river. A great many passengers were going up, and among them a number of colored people. Ono of the latter, who was twothirds white and about '2O years of age, and as trim in figure as .any lady you ever saw, halted for a moment before going aboard to speak to a couple of female friend!. They wore chatting away ot her marriage, winch had occurred a fortnight 'before, when a well-dressed, half drunken middle aged man came along on his way to the gang-plank and the boat. As lie leached the three women ho put his arm around the bride and lifted her off tho ground. Perhaps he only meant it for a joke, but it was a rado one, and she resented it by calling him a white trash loafer. “Eh ? What ’’’ he exclaimed, tiring up at onec. “ Vou arc too eusstsd prond for a nigger, you are ! You need toning down I - '

“You go on!' 1 she replied, drawing away from him.

“ Eli > Wanch : I think I'll d<. the tonmg myself!” With that he threw his arm around her, lifted her on his hip and set out to carry her aboard the steamer, which lay outside of a wharf boat. The woman straggled and screamed, while tho man laughed and chuckled, and everybody's attention was attracted. In carrying her from the wharfboat to the steamer his foot struck some object in the, (path and both went down together, but he fell on tho plank and she between the two boats. The current canghtandcaiTicdherdown and sucked her under the boat, and though tho body was fished out in ten minutes, it was lifeless. Just as it had been brought to the wharfboat tho husband of the dead bride came down the pier. When ho understood what had occurred it seemed as if ho would go raving mad. It was a quarter of an hour before he was calm enough to understand how it had happened. The man who promoted the accident stood by, pretty well sobered, but exhibiting no sorrow, and by and by the husband walked up to him, face as white as snow and revealing his great mental agony, and said : “ You have blighted my life, and I •wear to have your life if I hunt for it a lifetime !”

Ho was hustled away by friends, the steamer blew her whistle and cast off, and that was tho end of chapter first.

How I came to bo sent to a certain Southern State prison in the year 1872 is none of the reader’s business. I went there in the company of a man who had stabbed another over a game of cards. Ho was a full-whiskered, vicious looking chap, and an utter stranger to me. We Mere both received at once. His turn in the chair came first, there being but one barber in the room at that time. I sat on a bench to wait, and while waiting 1 .-tudicd the face of the barber, which had a familiar look to me. Ho was a quadroon, and it took mo abouf fire minutes to identify him as the husband of the woman drowned off the wharf-boat four years before. Little by little his features came back to memory and by and by 1 know that ho was the man. What strange chance had brought us together and in such a place ? Pretty soon I noticed that the bather was gMUIy agitated. Ho was very pale, his hands trembled, and ho paused now and then to draw a long breath. The man in the chair cursed him for his carelessness, and the guard spoke sharply aiyj asked if ho was sick. This seemed to brace him up a bit, and ho went ahead until the man’s face was bare. It was then I looked at it and knew that 1 bad seen it before, though I could not recall time or place. 1 was trying to remember, when the barber stepped back, took a brief survey, and then, with a motion swift as lightning, drew the razor across the prisoner s throat with the exclamation :

“ You are the one ! You killed my wife ami sent we hero

The guard and I started up, but before we could prevent it the barber slashed his own throat and fell to the floor to die inside of three minutes. The man in the chair did not live that long, as the stroke almost severed his head from his body. He was, indeed, the same man. I might not have recognised him, but ho could not escape the keen-eyed vengeance of the husband whose every hour was given up to thoughts of revenge for his desolation.