"
"And how long have you been thus confined?" said we.
"Better than five months-but it's because there a'n't room up
stairs. They've been promising me some clothes for a long time, but
they don't come," he continued.
"And how much longer have you to stop in this condition?"
"Well, they say 'at court sets in October; it's somethin' like two
months off; the grand jury'll visit the jail then, and maybe they'll
find a bill' against me, and I'll be tried. I dont't care if they
only don't flog me in that fish-market."
"Then you have not been tried yet? Well, may God give that man peace
to enjoy his bounty, who would consign a poor object like thee to
such cruelty!" said we.
"I was raised in Charleston-can neither read nor write-I have no
father, and my mother is crazy in the poor-house, and I work about
the city for a living, when I'm out!" said he. There was food for
reflection in this poor fellow's simple story, which we found to be
correct, as corroborated by the jailer.
"Do you get enough to eat?" we asked.
"Oh no, indeed! I could eat twice as much-that's the worst on't: 't
wouldn't be bad only for that. I git me loaf' in the mornin', and me
soup at twelve, but I don't git nothin' to eat at night, and a
feller's mighty hungry afore it's time to lay down," said he.
We looked around the room, and not seeing any thing to sleep upon,
curiosity led us to ask him where he slept.
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