Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1899-06-17
IN A CURIOUS WAY.
killing of a Georgetown Negro Many
Years Ago.

THAT account in The Star last week OF
how an old Washingtonian was surprised
into witnessing a broadsword duel reminds
me of a bit of impromptu knife play thaI
L saw myself over in Georgetown over nifty
wears ago." said another old resident to
Star man the other day. 1T was the quick
est and deadliest piece of knife work ever
saw, and has made me very charltable ever
since in judging stage tragedy anu spanish
romances 1t happened, as l say, fully nifty
years back when Georgetown was the
court end of Washington and when there
was a large majority of slaves over the
very few free persons of color, as they
were called further north.
THE old Georgetown market stood where
the present one now is, at the foot OF 70
tonac street overlooking the then new Ches-
apeake and Ohio canal. The 1lsh STANDS
were where they are now, at the rear emo
of the building, and | was quite small
boy, carrying the family market basket Tor
nv father on Saturday mornings when L
did not have to go to school. One morning
We went down to the market, as usual ana
stopped at the fish stand. A man named
Scott. who kept one of the stands, was
cleaning fish, and my father asked him if
he had any good fish.
Yes, sir said he. Here's some good
perch
There was a colored man, free negro,
named Benz never knew of his having
any other name-sorting over some more
fish at an opposite stall. and he picked up
bunch and called out to my father, 'Yere's
some heap bettr'n dem, Mister Mason.
Desc yere wuZ ketched las night.
Scott said, Shut up, niger, and turn
ing to father, said, Don't pay no attention
TO him, sir. These here is fresh fish, and
| know Ben caught his day before yester-
day
The negro was nettled, but in those days
it did not do to talk too freely to a white
man, and Ben only muttered remonstrat-
ingly, Don't lie bout my fish, Mars Bob.
Scott swung around with his knife in
his hand and shouted, Did you call me a
liar, Niger?
".Yas you lies eff you say desc yere fish
wuz ketched day befo' Yesterday growled
the black fisherman.
Scott did not say a word, but dropped his
fish knife into the palm of his right hand,
with the heavy handle resting against his
wrist and the knife lying lengthwise in
the trough of his fingers. Then he gave
his forearm a vicious smack with his left
hand and the knife flew through the air
as if 1t had been shot out of a gun The
negro was standing fully thirty feet away
at his own stall. He had nothing on the
upper part of his body but a thin cotton
shirt and the knife, striking him on the
left breast, went in up to the hilt. l think
from the way it flew it would have gone
through an ordinary door panel just as
we'll
The negro never uttered word, but
dropped as dead as If he had been shot with
a rifle. L hardly think Scott intended to
kill him, for killing even a free negro in
those days was not a lawful amusement
Anyhow, Scott escaped in the excitement
and was not heard of again for twenty
years. As Ben was not a slave, and there
fore nobody was financially injured by his
death, there was no effort, so far as
know. to capture his slayer, but the incl
dent has always remained wildly in my
memory as the most remarka BILE example
OF knife play have ever SEEN