Never Too Late Read Free

fire spread, ’cause he knows it came on account of that fire of yours and wasn’t no accident. So unless you want whippings all around, he wants to know who it was.”
    He stopped and stared around at the thirty or forty silent black faces with a look that said he secretly hoped no one would speak up so that he could have the pleasure of whipping every one of them.
    A long uncomfortable pause followed. A young black boy of eleven or twelve suddenly stepped forward.
    â€œWell, speak up, Dominique,” demanded the overseer.
    The boy shuffled his feet where he stood.
    â€œSpeak up, boy, unless you want a taste of my strap!” said the overseer.
    â€œIt was dose two,” said Dominique, pointing. “Dat Mose an’ dat Seffie kid what belongs ter Aunt Phoebe. I seen dem sneakin’ roun’ after everybody lef’ las’ night. Dey wuz pokin’ at dat fire till sparks flew up.”
    The overseer glared at the two accused offenders.
    â€œSo it was you two nigger brats,” he said.
    â€œNo, massa, please!” cried Mose. “I didn’t spread no fire! Dominique done tol’ you a lie!”
    The overseer approached and looked down at the girl.
    â€œWere you playing with the fire?” he asked.
    â€œNo, suh,” she said, looking up with wide eyes of dread.
    â€œWhat were you doing, then?”
    â€œJes’ sittin’ watchin’, suh.”
    â€œWas he playing with the fire?” he said, nodding toward the boy.
    â€œHe wuz jes’ roastin’ nuts, suh.”
    â€œWas he stirrin’ up the fire?”
    â€œNot much, suh—jes’ enuff ter git da nuts out.”
    â€œDid he have a stick?”
    â€œJes’ a little one. He didn’t make no fire wiff it.”
    But by now the overseer’s mind was made up. He didn’t care as much for facts as he did that retribution was made. It was the one law of dealing with slaves his boss wanted enforced above all others—that somebody pay for every slightest infraction. It didn’t much matter who. Whether the actual guilty party was the one punished was of but minor concern. Even in a case like this, which was likely just an accident, someone must be punished. Justicedidn’t matter, only retribution—that someone suffer in full view of the rest of the slaves. It was the only way to keep fear as the dominant element of rule on the plantation.
    He stared at them all in silence for several long seconds. Then at last he spoke again.
    â€œStand up, girl!” he said.
    Trembling in terror, Seffie rose to her feet.
    â€œMose, boy,” he growled, “come up here. Come and take your punishment like a man. It will be fifteen strokes for each of you at the whipping post.”
    He grabbed the boy by the arm and reached for the little girl. “Oh, please, massa, no!” screamed Seffie’s mother. She pushed her way through to the front where the overseer stood.
    â€œPlease, massa,” she said desperately, “she didn’t know what she wuz doin’! She’s jes’ wooly-headed. She don’ mean no harm. She’s neber been one ter start trouble afore.”
    The overseer considered a moment. Then he nodded his head slowly. “You have a point. Trouble of this magnitude merits more than a whipping. I can’t keep slaves who may set fire to the master’s house.”
    â€œWhat you gwine do?” cried the child’s mother, clinging to the girl even tighter and suddenly more afraid than before.
    He gave a sudden jerk and wrenched Seffie from her mother’s grasp and pulled her screaming toward the big house.
    â€œI’ll let the master decide,” he said. “He may just tellme to sell these two monkeys for all the trouble they’ve caused.”
    â€œNo!” wailed the woman behind them as he dragged the girl away. Mose followed, compliant but also terrified at what might be waiting for them.

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