Democratic Sentinel, Volume 14, Number 41, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 7 November 1890 — The Battle on the Sands. [ARTICLE]

The Battle on the Sands.

Tho other day one of the waiters a! our hotel made some sudden move in the serving room which brought his elbow against the ivories of another waiter, and the face of the moon was a; once covered with blood. Some of us noticed their belligerent demeanor, and now and then we caught such expressions as: “Yo’ ar’ no gem’lan, sah!” “An’ yo’ is only a nigger!” “I sco’n yo’, sah—sco’n yo’ fur low trash!” “Hu! I’d like to be shet up in a room wid yo’ ’bout two minutes!” We were not, therefore, greatly sur prised when we were waited on by a third party, who was a mutual friend, who asked us to arrange a meeting between the hostiles and see the affait through according to ship-shape rules. It wasn’t to be a duel, but a set-to. with gloves, and as we were tired oi fishing, crabbing, sailing and shooting porpoises, he hailed the new departure with glad relief. “Yo’ white folks dun knows all ’bout it, an’ yo’ go right ahead an’ fix it up,” said the mutual friend. We borrowed gloves, bought rope enough for a ring, made stakes, and the site selected was in the sand behind the scrub. The tip was given, and when the hour came about seventy-five spectators had assembled. The rivals were on hand in good time, but it was noticeable that both were trying hard to look pale, and there was a movement of the chin which betrayed much mental anxiety. They were known only as “Jim” and “Tom,” and while we were putting the gloves on Jim he arose and called across the sands: “Does you ’pologize to me, sah?” “I dun ’pologize if you’pologize, too,” was the reply. “Den I dun ” But we stopped him and braced him up, and two or three minutes later they faced each other in the center of the ring. Each man’s teeth were chattering, each one’s eyes were all white, and there was a wobbling of the knees. “Look out, now, yo’ nigger! I’ze gwine tb bust yo’ head off!” “Look out yo’self! If I hits yo’ in de lung yo’ won’t git over it in two weeks!” “Whydoan’ yo’ hit?” “Why doan’ yo’ hit?” “ Yo’s skeert o’ me 1” “ So’s yo’ skeert 1” They were walking around each other, pushing at arm’s length, and it would have stopped there but for the timekeeper, who shouted to them to go in. “If I hit yo’ in de eye look out!” “If I hit dat nose you’ll be dead!” “I’ze cornin’ fur yo’ purty quick!” “I’ll be right around dar!” The referee shouted again, and, moved to sudden resolution, Jim flung off the gloves and grabbed Tom by the ankles and lifted him off his feet and dumped him on the sand. Tom’s gloves fell off as he rolled over, and he had scarcely struck when Jim made a break through the ring, running like a rabbit. Tom scrambled up with a “Hu !” and broke through the other side, and while one legged it for the hotel the other sought safety behind the sand dunes, and the great match for blood ended in water. As I had acted as Jim’s bottle-holder I felt called upon to reproach him that evening at the kitchen door, and he came out into the moonlight and explained: “ ’Deed, sah, but I didn’t dun mean to do.it. I meant to stan’ right up dar an’ fight dat nigger one millyon rounds ’cordin’ to Miss Quee’sberry rules, but when I got de gloves on my sand went right away, sah—went right off down de coast a flyin’, and afore I knowed it I was back heah in de hotel a-wipin’ spoons an’ a sayin’ dai if I eber caught dat nigger out in de darkl’d smash him, sah—l’d smash him ’till his own mudder wouldn’t dun remember his sad remains!”—New York Sun.