The next part of the programme consisted in a little darkey coming in
front of our cell with a rudely constructed barber's chair. The cell
door opened, and an officer said to me, as if he would hit me with a
club the next moment, "Git out of there." I went out. Pointing to the
barber's chair, he said, "Squat yourself in that chair." I sat down.
"Throw back your head." I laid it back. It was not long before my
raven mustache was off, and my hair cut rather uncomfortably short for
fly time. After this tonsorial artist had finished his work then came
the command once more, "Git in." I got in. It now came Mr.
Horserider's turn to bid a long farewell to his auburn locks. He took
his place in the chair, and the little darkey, possibly for his own
amusement, cut off the hair on one side of the head and left the other
untouched. He then shaved one side of his face without disturbing the
other. At this moment the bell for dinner rang, and the little colored
fellow broke away and ran to his division, to fall in ranks, so that
he would not miss his noon meal. Once more Mr. Horserider entered his
cell and we were locked in. A more comical object I never beheld; he
did not even possess the beauty of a baboon; he might certainly have
passed for the eighth wonder of the world. When he came in I handed
him the small looking-glass and asked him how he liked his hair-cut.
Remember, one side of his head and face was shaved close, and the
other covered with long sandy hair and beard. Looking into the glass,
he exclaimed: "Holy Moses! and who am I, anyway?" I answered his
question by stating that he favored Mr. What-Is-It. He was very uneasy
for a time, thinking that he was going to be left in that condition.
He wanted to know of me if all horse-thieves of the penitentiary wore
their hair and whiskers in this style. I comforted him all I could by
imparting the information that they did. He was much relieved when the
darkey returned after dinner and finished the shaving.