Eternity Swamp (2 page)

“If a black man committed a crime against a white…well it suffices t’ say no judge and jury was ever called upon, and as the law stood, a white man couldn’t commit a crime against a black, which brings us to the third scenario. If a white man committed a crime against another white it was a matter of honor, to be settled between the two or perhaps their families. In some cases it was little more than a matter of reparation, other crimes, especially those involving the honor of women, well, that was usually settled by a duel, or the like. At any rate this system of justice worked well for the establishment.

“After the war however, with the freedom of the slaves came the dismantling of the status quo. This is when the ‘Jim Crow’ laws came on the books. It became a crime for a black man to whistle at a white woman or be within so many feet of one…countless laws like those were put on books.

“Now, only men sentenced to ten years or less would be placed on work details, you know, ‘hard labor’. So any white man accused of a small crime was simply fined or released. If he committed a serious crime he was sentenced to ten years or more, or put to death; this kept any white man from the misery of hard labor. Blacks, however, were receiving from one to three year sentences every day for the smallest infraction; this insured an endless supply of laborers. A black man would be accused of a crime, found guilty, and then put t’ work.

“The system worked like this. Plantation owners would pay the county or state for so many workers per day or month, however they were needed. The workers were placed on a detail working on a plantation, basically returned back to the work in the fields they thought they had been liberated from, harvesting whatever was in season, clearing farm land, cutting trees, diggin’ ditches, draining the swamps, repairin’ roads, doin’ the same work he and his ancestors had done for centuries, but now he wasn’t property and therefore the plantation owners hadn’t any reason or need to care for the workers. They weren’t fed well and many died from malaria or dysentery, most were simply worked to death.

“This is the world Samuel Lake was born into. I don’t give you the background to absolve Sam of anything. Just to let you know where and what he came from. See, Sam, like so many men who were raised as he was, had a lot of hate in him, he hated most everyone. It didn’t matter the color of their skin. The blacks were easy targets. Sam came from nothin’ and had nothin’. Sam’s problem was he had big dreams, but not the intellect or finances to see them through.

“Sam got himself a job as one of the guards watchin’ over the prisoners on the chain gang. This allowed him a position of authority he so craved. He would like to have had a position that afforded him money and opportunity but as life had dealt him the hand it had, that was as good as he got.

“As you’d expect, Sam was mean and cruel to the prisoners, who suffered under him perhaps a little more than they did with some of the other guards. Oh, not all the guards were sadistic, but most men placed in a similar circumstance fail to rise above it and Sam was no exception. He once beat a prisoner to death for laughing at him.

“A spider had lowered itself down from a tree branch above and crawled down Sam’s back. Well ol’ Sam commenced to hollerin’ and jumpin’ about like he was dancin’ at a hootenanny. A prisoner laughed so hard tears streamed down his face. Oh, the other guards had laughed at him too, but Sam, as all bullies are, was a coward at heart. He took out his wrath on someone who couldn’t fight back. In his mind, Sam pictured the prisoner telling the story to the other prisoners, dancing around and laughing at his expense. That was too much for Sam, so later in the day he told the boy to come with him to haul out a log. Sam tied him to a tree and beat him to death with a chain, then sank the body into the swamp. Sam was good at disposin’ bodies. See, Sam was low man on the totem pole and it was his job to ‘lose’ the remains of those who died from accident, disease, or mistreatment. Sam would weigh down the lifeless corpses and watch them sink into the black waters of the swamp. He figured, in time, the critters would take care of whatever didn’t stay on the bottom.

“Sam’s ambition was mostly kept in check by his low self-esteem and lack of money. The one thing he coveted most was a lovely girl by the name of Sissy Winslow, Judge Talbot’s granddaughter. Without money or means he could plain forget about her, but he lusted after her just the same.

“Well one night, oh, must have been around 1914 or so, on a night much like tonight, Sam was running his coonhounds in this swamp, right here. He heard his dogs choppin’ and knew they had one treed. He followed their chop ’til he comes up on a big ol’ cypress. There he met another feller who was running his dogs.

“It appears suh, we have treed the same coon,” said the man with an aristocratic, piedmont accent. He smiled at Sam.

“Reckon so,” answers Sam cautiously, looking this feller up and down pretty good. The feller’s dressed in a nice black suit like he was goin’ to church. Sam can’t figure out what the hell anybody be doing out in the woods at night in his church clothes. He thinks this feller might be touched in the head and is a tad put off.

“Please…” says the feller, motioning for Sam to take the shot. Sam hoists up his ol’ .22 and pops that coon right in the eye and ‘plunk’, down it falls right at that feller’s feet. The feller picks it up and says, “Excellent shot suh, directly in the eye, not ruining a single hair on the pelt, well done,” and hands Sam the coon.

“Sam takes the coon but continues eyein’ the feller up. “You headed to a bible meetin’?” he asks.

“The feller gives Sam the queerest smile. “Surely, suh, you gest.”

“Not the religious type? Don’t you believe in the Almighty?”

“Oh, indeed I do. As of late, however,” the feller sighed, “He and I do seem to be at odds.”

“I know the feelin’. Like, he’s up there just watchin’ while everything and everyone is out to get’cha.”

“A world riddled with antagonists and interlopers.”

“Inter what?”

“Interloper. Someone who intrudes upon a place or situation, interfering in another’s affairs.”

“George Blanchard…”

“Pardon?”

“Ah…” said Sam wavin’ it off.

“Please, suh, unburden yourself.”

“
I
was next in line for a promotion until this
Blanchard
, started suckin’ up to the boss.

“Tsk, tsk. Pathetic.”

“Well…I’m sure a rich and powerful man like you doesn’t have to deal with stuff like that.”

“Oh, contraire. The more powerful you are, the more powerful your enemies tend to be.”

“Really?”

“It is the sad nature of it all.”

“So you’ve had to deal with interlopers of your own?”

“Of the worst sort. I too was once, ‘next in line’, as you say.”

“And your interloper?” asks Sam.

“Michael,” says the feller, sighing and shaking his head. “We were very close, at one time. And I trusted him, but he betrayed me and led a most…vicious campaign against me, and those who stood with me. From then on, he was…the favored one and I too was…
displaced
.”

“But…you, I mean…you’re not just going to take it lyin’ down, right?”

“Oh, I assure you, suh, I am doing my
utmost
to rectify the situation. At this very moment, I am working on innumerous strategies. It may take some time, but I am confident. Events seemed to be unfolding which, inevitably, will work out in my favor.”

“Sam nodded his approval. “Good for you. I always say if someone strikes you, you hit ’em back twice as hard.”

“You and I seemed to be of like mind, suh,” says the feller, then reaches into his breast pocket revealing a flask. “May I offer you a libation?”

“Well ol’ Sam was never one to offend anyone by refusing such hospitality, so he takes the flask. “Here’s to stickin’ the knife and twistin’ it,” he toasts.

“Well put, suh.”

“Sam takes a nip and well, boy howdy, if it ain’t the best sipping whiskey ol’ Sam ever put his lips to and tells the feller so.

“Cognac,” the feller replies, taking a sip and putting it back into his pocket.

“What?” asks ol’ Sam.

“The fancy feller gives Sam an irritated look but then smiles and repeats, “Cognac, the best actually. I have it imported all the way from France…Cigar?” he asks Sam, pulling two from the other breast pocket and presenting one to Sam. He lights it for Sam and Sam just can’t believe the sweetness and mellowness of the smoke.

“Cuban,” says the feller. Sam looks at this feller’s coonhounds, two of the most magnificent looking redbones he’s ever seen and tells him so.

“Tennessee champion bloodline,” proclaims the feller.

“Well the two of ’em sit down on a cypress stump and chew the fat a while, smokin’ and sippin’ cognac. Sam realizes he’s jawin’ with the man he wants to be, well dressed, well mannered, refined, obviously a man of means, someone who only settles for the best.

“I like you, Mr. Lake. You possess certain qualities I look for in a man,” says the feller. Sam doesn’t remember telling him his name but then again he has been drinking most the night.

“Are you married?” the feller asks.

“Um, no,” says Sam and Sissy comes to mind.

”But you do have your eye on a nice filly?” asks the feller, like he already knows the answer.

“Yes…but…”

“You lack the proper foundation?”

“The what?”

“She comes from a well to do family and you do not. Am I correct?”

“Yeah.”

“I think I might be able to set you off in the proper direction, Mr. Lake.”

“How’s that?” asks Sam. “I realize you are a man with great ambition, however you undoubtedly lack the necessary capital or network.”

“Capital…the proper finances.”

“Oh.”

“And the proper network.”

“What’s that?”

“Network? Well, think of it like a spider web—” “I hate spiders.”

“You do?”

“Absolutely hate ’em. I squish ’em ever’ time I sees one.”

“Indeed? You have a phobia then?”

“A what?”

“Phobia. An exaggerated, inexplicable aversion or intolerance to…in your case, spiders.”

“I…I don’t know about that. I just hate spiders. I really hate ’em.”

“Indeed…Interesting. Well then, let’s concentrate on the web and not the spider, shall we? Your network is a mass of lines of communication. You are the middle of the web and each strand represents a line of communication supplying you with information. Each intersection of the strands is someone who can supply you with information. Understand?”

“Yep,” says Sam noddin’ away.

“This is your network. I know of no more valuable commodity than information, Mr. Lake. A well maintained network is invaluable.”

“And you can help me with a web, uh, network?”

“I believe I can do just that, Mr. Lake.”

“You can help me with…capital?”

“I can point you in the right direction. The rest will be up to you…” The feller eyes Sam up a bit and then continues. “There is a man, named Burris, Joshua Burris. He lives near Elberton on a remote farm. Do you know him?”

“I know Elberton, can’t say I ever heard of Burris.”

“Well, the unfortunate Mr. Burris has suffered a debilitating stroke. He is bed ridden and can’t speak. Mr. Burris was part of a special group of soldiers who served with distinction during the unfortunate misunderstanding between the states some years back. He and his fellow compatriots secured a substantial shipment of gold from one of the Union Army trains during a raid along the Tennessee-Kentucky border. Unbeknownst to them the war was already over. Mr. Burris and his friends hid the gold, fearing Yankee retribution.

“Over the years Mr. Burris and his friends have moved their treasure several times. Over those many years each man was terrified they would be caught and hanged, should it come to light any had participated in the raid, and therefore none, not one of them, ever spent a single cent of it. Mr. Burris is the last remaining member of his troop. All have passed on and poor Burris is, ‘left holding the bag’ as they say. Mr. Burris has no next of kin. When he dies the secret dies with him. The gold is secreted somewhere on the property, I dare say.”

“How much are we talking about?”

“Somewhere in the neighborhood of thirty thousand dollars.”

“Shoooohoooo!”

“Indeed, Mr. Lake. If you were to secure this type of capital I believe I could, through my network, find an appropriate investment venture.”

“How would I go about securing the capital?”

“That, Mr. Lake, is entirely up to you.”

“If I…”

“If, Mr. Lake? You’re not going to waste my time are you?”

“No…I mean
when
I secure the capital, how will I—”

“I’ll be here, Mr. Lake. Right…here.”

“I’m not sure how long this might take.”

“I’ve a patient nature, Mr. Lake. I’ve learned if there is something you simply must acquire, then patience is a necessity. I’ve all the time in the world. I can wait.”