CHAPTER II


On the eastern edge of Hooker's Bend, drawn in a rough semicircle around
the Big Hill, lies Niggertown. In all the half-moon there are perhaps
not two upright buildings. The grimy cabins lean at crazy angles, some
propped with poles, while others hold out against gravitation at a
hazard.

Up and down its street flows the slow negro life of the village. Here
children of all colors from black to cream fight and play; deep-chested
negresses loiter to and fro, some on errands to the white section of the
village on the other side of the hill, where they go to scrub or cook or
wash or iron. Others go down to the public well with a bucket in each
hand and one balanced on the head.

The public well itself lies at the southern end of this miserable
street, just at a point where the drainage of the Big Hill collects. The
rainfall runs down through Niggertown, under its sties, stables, and
outdoor toilets, and the well supplies the negroes with water for
cooking, washing, and drinking. Or, rather, what was once a well
supplies this water, for it is a well no longer. Its top and curbing
caved in long ago, and now there is simply a big hole in the soft,
water-soaked clay, about fifteen feet wide, with water standing at the
bottom.