SePt. 9, tQOS.l 
Early Fall £)ayi; 
The days are growing shOrtfer dnci the fev^nitigs lo’rig 
arid cool, while in . the atmospherfe therfe is h haziness 
thdt dhsenres the distant landscape and seems to’ irtipart 
, to the wholh ebuntry side an appearance of, rest and 
Contentment, for this i§ the seaSoti of abundance: — ^tlie 
merging ,gf summer into fall; — When all nature seems 
to be resting from its recent labors. 
The grain and the hay have been gathered intb stacks 
Of placed under cover; the cOrri stands erect in long 
stately rows as yet unscarred by the harvestirig knife; 
the potato heldr lie brown ahd withered awaiting the 
coming of the farmer’s plow to reveal the rich treasure 
stored beneath. Along the hedgerows the goldenfod 
is assuming a richer hue each day, and the thistle is 
industriously launching its tiny airships with their pre- 
cious burden, and on every hand is heard the incessant 
; chirping of insects. 
Long since the redwing blackbirds have started their 
migration to the southland, and now the kingbirds are 
leisurely following them, drifting along from fencepost 
to dead twig, from dead twig to telegraph wire, but 
ever facing the south; down in the meadows the bobo- 
link is gorging himself from the full ripe heads of the 
-wild grasses, as he sways gently back and forth, up and 
down in seeming unison with the chorus of crickets. 
No longer the woods echo to the bell-like note of 
ithe wood thrush, nor the full rounder song of the 
•robin, a«d we might imagine them deserted but for the 
;subdued call of the chewink and the soft meow of the 
.-eatbird sulking jn the underbrush, while from the tree- 
tops comes the occasional twitter of a small creeper- 
or warbler as ft flits from branch to branch seeking its 
dinner of insects and grubs. 
This is the season when the old hound becomes 
restless and continually whines to be released and al- 
lowed to follow the trail of the f,ox or the rabbit; when 
the staid old house cat deserts the kitchen porch and 
: wanders a-fiteld in search of birds and young rabbits; 
j when the sportsman unpacks his guns and overhauls his 
! stock of shells, for the signs of the coming fall seem 
! to awaken in both man and beast that inherent love of 
! the chase that descends to us from our forefathers. 
This is the time when we look up our old hunting com- 
panions and swap yarns of previous days a-field; of 
! a nice bunch of quail on so and so’s place; of a brood 
^ of woodcock in such and such a swamp; or of a couple 
! of fine partridges we saw in such a clearing. Soon we 
i will get past the talking stage and nothing but a day 
^ a-field will satisfy us, so when the next cool day arrives 
I we call the pointer or setter and start out to. see for 
! ourselves just how the game did make out in the breed- 
I ing season. But how disappointing most of these first 
j rambles are: The vegetation is too dense, the 
I mosquitoes and small flies are murderous, every few 
I steps when in the woods and brush we have to wipe 
!, spider webs from the face or hatbrim, and all the while 
I ithe perspiration is running down our backs in rivulets. 
{Coming to a piece of low swampland near the edge of 
.-a ffdgh woods where we expect to find a few woodcock 
\we #nter and flounder around for half an hour, now 
jpullirig a foot out of the soft black mud, now tearing 
,‘our through a patch of matted briars, until finally 
fOur patience is entirely exhausted and we bolt in a 
(direct line for the nearest highway, vowing that never 
.-again will -we go on such a trip so early in the season, 
fonly to find ourselves doing it all over again the next 
-year. 
But how quick, these early fall days do fly. Over 
bight there comes up a strong northwest wind, and on 
taking a stroll in the morning we find the woods and 
fields literally alive with highholes, and then indeed for 
the first time we realize the fall is at hand, and in an- 
other week or ten days it will be time to look for our 
‘favorite game bird — the- English snipe. Then in quick 
succession comes the open season for other game — 
partridge, ducks, quail, etc. — and almost before we real- 
ize it, comes the first of the year, and sadly we clean 
and oil our guns and stow them away. J. H. H. 
Floating Down the Mississippi. 
A Convict Camp in Lou siaoa Swamps. 
A FEW years ago the Louisiana convicts were farmed 
out to contractors who built levees for the State and 
nation. The contractors were some of them at least 
/.worthy of the name by which they were known — -“nigger 
..drivers.” One of them in particular was a true descend- 
:£int, in spirit at least, of the old-time slave-ship captains 
-.who saw their victims die with no other qualms than the 
{thought of how much money they were losing. It is said 
{that convicts under this contractor committed suicide and 
broke away in spite of buckshot rather than endure the 
awful tasks to which they were subjected under form of 
law. 
The work the contractor did was building levees. “Life 
; men” did not last long under him, and if the unfortu- 
nate’s term was long, it was a life sentence to go to this 
fiend’s camp — and go the convict must if he was so al- 
lotted. The contractor was a big, burly man, having 
mi-xed blood of Spanish, French and white ancestry in his 
veins. Perhaps he was as strong as any man in his 
camps. He carried a rawhide whip, and the long lash 
came down on the shoulders of the toiling victims, espe- 
cially in the late afternoon of a summer day when the life 
had been sweat from all the men by shoveling and wheel- 
ing the barro\vs up the board inclines to the top of the 
levees. 
“The worst camp on the river,” this man’s was said to 
be. Deaths and escapes were more frequent in it than 
in any other in the State. One day the contractor ordered 
a negro who was weak and sickly to pick up a piece of 
iron. The iron was too heavy for the convict’s strength, 
but he work’ed his fingers under the thing and strained 
to lift it, the contractor’s whip coming down on the man’s 
shoulders to encourage him. Time and again the man 
tried to lift the iron, but without avail, and the whip came 
down on him harder than ever. _ 
A big yellow man was breaking up the ground a few 
feet away. He had a pick in his hands for the work. No 
man had turned to see the whipped sick man, but the cries 
iFdkESt AND StREAM. 
tyefe heard for half a mile along the levee. The yellow 
njati suddenly turned and drove the pick down through 
the contractor’s .skull and down into his body. He let the 
handle; of the pick fall as the contractor went over dead 
and said : 
“They’ll hang me, boys, but by God, they’ll treat you 
better dfter this.” 
The yellow mari was Hanghd, of coursqi, But soon after- 
ward the convict fatming out system was stopped, for 
the cruelty to which the yellow man’s emphatic deed 
called attention was too- gross for Louisiana to allow. So 
the iife of the convict whs rendered less desperate, and 
his overseers were changed to the men who have pity in 
their hearts and no such lust for gold as was the con- 
tractor’s. 
Capt. B. L. Bartow was iii Charge bf the Camp t Carrie 
to. He had 163 prisoriefs, fifteen line guards and three 
night guards. Of the convicts two wete white^ one the 
bookkeeper (life) and the other the hospital steward 
(seven years). They were both in for murder. 
Those other whitewashed buildings which I had seen 
were convict camps, one devoted to sugar making and 
the other to cotton, I think. The men with shotguns, 
whom I had seen were simply the grim-jawed guards put 
there to shoot down the men in case they broke for the 
woods, and in one corner of the grounds was a kennel 
where two long-eared, hanging-lipped bloodhounds .lived 
and awaited the time when some man should get past 
the dead line into the wilderness. 
It was no picnic grounds, and however gentle spoken, 
mild-eyed and tender-hearted Captain Barrow appeared 
to be, he was there to keep the malefactors from further 
opportunity to commit crimes against the public, and his 
task was to keep them at work in the useful occupation of 
building levees. 
Captain Barrow was proud of his men. “They send 
ns extra good ones here,” he said, “levee work is extra 
hard work, and these men know they’re picked men. 
They’d much rather come here than go into the shops. 
It’s better living out here in the woods than cooped up 
in the walls of a stone prison.” Not only was I in a con- 
vict camp, but it was an aristocratic one, where the con- 
victs were above the common herd. These negroes walk- 
ing around, or squatting on the bare ground were des- 
perate, long-term men for the most part. They came 
from all walks of negro society, and the genuine razor 
men were there. 
A searching study of the faces did not reveal many of 
the countenances one would associate with horrid crimes. 
Most of the men looked good natured and a large portion 
of them were smiling and engaged in horse play of a 
rough sort — wrestling, boxing and bumping against one 
another. Occasionally the little boxing play becomes 
real fight, upon which the guards step in and break it up. 
This was Sunday, and the day when they could rest. 
One of the men was enough like a lumber camp 
gambler I had seen just below Greenville to have been 
his brother. Below his convict stripes were bright blue 
socks and patent leather shoes, beginning to wear down 
and break apart with the tough lifting of wheelbarrow 
loads of dirt, run up the steep sides of the new levee. 
He hadn’t been in long. Most of the men wore buckle 
shoes from the State shoe factory— shoes of coarse 
leather, and put together in rough fashion by State pro- 
teges with records. At the toes were humps in the leather 
where the weight of the men came as they ran the bar- 
rows up the inclines. 
Several of the convicts were unmistakably roustabouts. 
The roustabouts of the Mississippi have figures unmistak- 
ably different from those of “town men” or from planta- 
tion men. There is a swing and a snap to- their gait, 
their shoulders are broad and their hips narrow, and they 
walk with a half trot which is almost a dance, imported 
from central Africa. They were not mixers with the 
other camp negroes, holding themselves aloof, as befitted 
men whose wages are $90 a month when they are on the 
river. They get into trouble through killing men and 
stealing. Probably not more than thirty of the prisoners 
were up for murder or cutting people. 
The grounds were nearly square. One side was along 
the edge of the water, the other a rod from the swamp 
forest, and the ends were also against the matted wilder- 
ness. At the down stream end, in the rear corner, was 
the dormitory^ — a large white building barred at the win- 
dows and having mosquito netting over the opening in 
order to keep out insects. End on to this building, and 
in the corner toward the bayou, was the dining room, a 
mere peaked roof over long tables with benches beside 
them. Along the bayou side were several officer and 
guard cabins. At the up stream end were the store house, 
a wash house, cook house, and in the rear was the small, 
little used hospital. In the center was the parade ground, 
with a pump in it. The water for use internally is boiled. 
The place is cared for by the convicts. Everything is 
done by them. - Cooks prepared the beef, vegetables, pone, 
bread and^other things eaten. A cup of delicious coffee 
was brought out for the visitor and the others while we 
talked. The pert young negro who served the cups was 
spoken of as “Bridget.” 
“He’s our water boy,” Captain Barrow said. “He car- 
ries water to the_ levee workers. It isn’t the easy task it 
might seem, keeping 170 men from growing thirsty under 
this swamp sun. None of the men have easy tasks. That 
isn’t what they’re here for.” 
One had no difficulty in believing that work was hard, 
hut the men looked healthy. Their cheeks were lean, but 
-they had the unmistakable bearing of working men. Each 
convict had a little box in which he kept his trinkets — 
extra clothes, pipe, tobacco and the like. The boxes are 
always locked, and the convict carries the key. If he 
didn’t things would be stolen instantly. 
After a time Captain Barrow called for Joe. “We’ll 
have some music,” he said. It was some time before Joe 
was located, and then he came. He was one of the few 
melancholy men in the camp. There was no trace of a 
smile on his face, and he came as he was bid with a slow, 
unresisting tread. 
“Let’s have some music, Joe,” Captain Barrow said. 
Joe went to the quarters and returned with a guitar. A 
huge, rough-faced man was summoned from the groups, 
and he, too, secured a guitar. Camp stools were brought 
for them and they sat down, the big fellow protesting 
that he couldn’t play, “I sho’ cayn’t, cap’n, hones’ I cayn’t, 
cap’n — ” 
^07 
Joe tinkled the stHrigs of hls fiistfUirieiit and the coatse 
yellow man finally leaned over his instrument and the 
hum of strings coming to harmony followed. Then they 
played. Joe was listless for a time, but) gradually he stif- 
fened under the inspiration of the harmony, and his 
fingers quickened. One could see the groups of men in 
all corners of the yard straighten out arid begin to draw 
in toward the source of music. They remained at a dis- 
tance, howevet, until Captain Barrow said : “Come up 
closer, boys, where you all can listen.” 
They closed in and stood irt a seini-circle before us, 
patting their feet on the ground and leaning to catch the 
strains. Joe had been a town boy, playing in some negro 
dive for a living. He did murder and was sentenced fof 
life. Music was his only pleasure, and his guitar he kept 
carefully and practiced when he could. The other musi- 
cian was also in for riiurder. The music was thrilling and 
sweet, but the running notes and the fingering of Joe 
were heart breaking, they were so tender and sad, so 
nearly utterly hopeless. 
Then a gray-haired old negro came out and sang — a 
twenty-year man, I believe. His bowed head and tremb- 
ling frame and mournful tones were in keeping with the 
religious hymn he rendered from memory. A quartette 
was picked out by the Captain, and they sang — a murderer 
and three thieves. 
“Give us something livelier — what you singing church 
music for?” Captain Barrow asked. 
“Big Foot Sal” and similar songs followed, but though 
the music was lively, the men were not happy songsters. 
Nevertheless they enjoyed the opportunity, and the mur- 
derer and one thief showed unmistakable pleasure in the 
singing. 
Of the men standing around, one had a tooth brush in 
his hat band, another some toothpicks in his hair, a third 
stubs of pencils, pins and other trinkets. Several had 
cigarettes over their ears. 
“Now let’s have some dancing,” the Captain said. Two 
or three of the onlookers attempted to get out of sight, 
hut they were called back and proved to be the camp 
jiggers. One of them was a red-sweatered thief who 
asked for jig instead of clog music. 
Then they danced in pairs, beginning by lifting them- 
selves on their heels, and then gradually working into 
faster and more energetic stepping. The jiggers were all 
thieves, and the best of them all was a roustabout who 
was able to stand the levee work better than the others 
because he was a hard worker on the river. 
One Pete tried to do a double-shuffle, but compared to 
the performance of the others, his was so miserable a 
failure that the convicts shouted, “Go home, Pete, good- 
bye now.” 
It was a good opportunity to observe the bad men of 
the negro race, and further study of their countenances 
revealed strange mixtures of blood. At least two were 
Mongolian — Chinese? — half-breeds, several were Italian, 
one lank, hooked-nose man was plainly Hebrew ; a very 
comical face was one which had a snub, flat nose, a flat 
face, deep lines new-mooning around the corners of his 
lips, and a broad, incessant smile — a chocolate-faced 
Irishman. 
While the quartette was singing one of the guitar 
strings worked down and out of tune, upon which one 
of the singers tightened it up, while the guitar man 
played on losing no pick. When the Captain asked for 
something “beside that church music” one of the songs 
was, in part: 
“Dago, two-faced man. 
Made some money. 
Now he owns the latf , 
Oh, have a little pity, y 
Open the door an’ let me in.” 
It was the tone and the gesture and the rhythm and the 
place that made the singing memorable. 
The daily allowance of food for the convicts is one 
pound of meat, three-quarters of a pound of flour, corn 
bread, beans, onions, tomatoes, molasses, etc. Beef is 
served twice a week, and occasionally bologna, but this 
is found not to agree with the men. , 
The levee work was some distance from the camp, and 
is done to reclaim some of the deep swamps. A right of 
way is cleared of trees and brush to the width of 300 feet. 
Down the center of this is heaped up the dirt ridge. The 
wheelbarrows are run on plank, and each man has a 
wheelbarrow and a shovel. The plank lead up the side 
of the levee at a gentle slope. Seven men are on each 
run-— line of plank — and the levee is built up from seven 
to^ eighteen feet high, depending on the lay of the land. 
VYhile they work the fifteen line guards are around them, 
with their double-barreled shotguns loaded with small 
buckshot — a size larger than swan shot, I believe. 
“You see,” I was told, “if you shoot small shot it crip- 
ples a man and breaks him down, but big shot either lets 
him get away or kills him, and you don’t want to do 
that.” , 
The spring previous six men made a break for liberty. 
Two of them were “stopped” at the line and were crip- 
pled for a month, and the others got into the swamp. 
The hounds brought two of them to bay, and two gained 
their freedom. One of these was brought back the night 
before I got there. Infractions of the rules mean lost 
good behavior time. .A life man, like Joe the guitar 
player, had one hope. If he was good, at the end of fif- 
teen years he might be set free by the State commission 
appointed to consider the cases of the convicts. Joe had 
been in twelve or thirteen years. 
Minor infractions of rules for fighting, disobedience, 
malingering and the like were punished by whipping and 
bread and water. “He’s got to be a pretty sick nigger 
if he gets out of working” in the convict camp. There 
are one or two deaths a year, which is no more, prob- 
ably, than would happen if the gang was free. The 
prisons are commonly .healthier than the country round- 
about. 
One thing that rather jarred on my nerves was the fact 
that prisoners were the camp barbers. Captain Barrow 
and his guards were shaved regularly by negro barbers 
who had come in contact with the law’s grip. I couldn’t 
help but wonder what would happen if some barber o-ot 
a grudge against one of his customers there in the 
swamps. 
“He’s a glum nigger when he first gets here,” Captain . 
Barrow said. “He sits around pretty close to himself for 
a while, but after a time he gets used to it. Then he set- 
