Our World Or the Slaveholder's Daughter Part 32

"That's precisely what we should like, gentlemen; any bidder of that description would get them on more favourable terms than a trader, he would," he returns, quickly. The man of feeling, now wealthy from the sale of human beings, hopes gentlemen will pardon his nervousness on this occasion. He never felt the delicacy of his profession so forcibly-never, until now! His countenance changes with the emotions of his heart; he blushes as he looks upon the human invoice, glances slily over the corner at the children, and again at his customers. The culminating point of his profession has arrived; its unholy character is making war upon his better feelings. "I am not speaking ironically, gentlemen: any bidder of the description I have named will get these children at a satisfactory figure. Remember that, and that I am only acting in my office for the honourable sheriff and the creditors," he concludes.

"If that be the case," Mr. Seabrook thinks to himself, "it's quite as well. Our good lady friend will be fully satisfied. She only wants to see them in good hands: deacons are just the fellows." He very politely steps aside, lights his choice habanero, and sends forth its curling fumes as the bidding goes on.

A person having the appearance of a country gentleman, who has been some time watching the proceedings, is seen to approach Graspum: this dignitary whispers something in his ear, and he leaves the mart.

"I say, squire!" exclaims Romescos, addressing himself to the auctioneer, "do you a.s.sume the responsibility of making special purchasers? perhaps you had better keep an eye to the law and the creditors, you had!" (Romescos's little red face fires with excitement.) "No objection t' yer sellin' the gal to deacons and elders,--even to old Elder Pemberton Praiseworthy, who's always singing, 'I know that my Redeemer cometh!' But the statutes give me just as good a right to buy her, as any first-cla.s.s deacon. I knows law, and got lots o' lawyer friends."

"The issue is painful enough, without any interposition from you, my friend," rejoins the vender, interrupting Romescos in his conversation. After a few minutes pause, during which time he has been watching the faces of his customers, he adds: "Perhaps, seeing how well mated they are, gentlemen will not let them be separated.

They have been raised together."

"Certainly!" again interrupts Romescos, "it would be a pity to separate them, 'cos it might touch somebody's heart."

"Ah, that comes from Romescos; we may judge of its motive as we please," rejoins the man of feeling, taking Annette by the arm and leading her to the extreme edge of the stand. "Make us a bid, gentlemen, for the pair. I can see in the looks of my customers that n.o.body will be so hard-hearted as to separate them. What do you offer? say it! Start them; don't be bashful, gentlemen!"

"Rather cool for a hard-faced n.i.g.g.e.r-seller! Well, squire, say four hundred dollars and the treats,--that is, sposin' ye don't double my bid cos I isn't a deacon. Wants the boy t' make a general on when he grows up; don't want the gal at all. Let the deacon here (he points to the man who was seen whispering to Graspum) have her, if he wants." The deacon, as Romescos calls him, edges his way through the crowd up to the stand, and looks first at the vender and then at the children. Turning his head aside, as if it may catch the ears of several bystanders, Romescos whispers, "That's deacon Staggers, from Pineville."

"Like your bid; but I'm frank enough to say I don't want you to have them, Romescos," interposes the auctioneer, with a smile.

"Four hundred and fifty dollars!" is sounded by a second bidder. The vender enquires, "For the two?"

"Yes! the pair on 'em," is the quick reply.

"Four hundred and fifty dollars!" re-echoes the man of feeling.

"What good democrats you are! Why, gentlemen, it's not half the value of them. You must look upon this property in a social light; then you will see its immense value. It's intelligent, civil, and promisingly handsome; sold for no fault, and here you are hesitating on a small bid.

"Only four hundred and fifty dollars for such property, in this enlightened nineteenth century!"

"Trade will out, like murder. Squire wouldn't sell 'em to n.o.body but a deacon a few minutes ago!" is heard coming from a voice in the crowd. The vender again pauses, blushes, and contorts his face: he cannot suppress the zest of his profession; it is uppermost in his feelings.

Romescos says it is one of the squire's unconscious mistakes. There is no use of humbugging; why not let them run off to the highest bidder?

"The deacon has bid upon them; why not continue his advance?" says Mr. Seabrook, who has been smoking his cigar the while.

"Oh, well! seein' how it's the deacon, I won't stand agin his bid.

It's Deacon Staggers of Pineville; n.o.body doubts his generosity,"

e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.es Romescos, in a growling tone. The bids quicken,--soon reach six hundred dollars.

"Getting up pretty well, gentlemen! You must not estimate this property upon their age: it's the likeliness and the promise."

"Six hundred and twenty-five!" mutters the strange gentleman they call Deacon Staggers from Pineville.

"All right," rejoins Romescos; "just the man what ought to have 'em.

I motion every other bidder withdraw in deference to the deacon's claim," rejoins Romescos, laughing.

The clever vender gets down from the stand, views the young property from every advantageous angle, dwells upon the bid, makes further comments on its choiceness, and after considerable bantering, knocks them down to-"What name, sir?" he enquires, staring at the stranger vacantly.

"Deacon Staggers," replies the man, with a broad grin. Romescos motions him aside,--slips a piece of gold into his hand; it is the price of his pretensions.

The clerk enters his name in the sales book: "Deacon Staggers, of Pineville, bought May 18th, 18-.

"Two children, very likely: boy, prime child, darkish hair, round figure, intelligent face, not downcast, and well outlined in limb.

Girl, very pretty, bluish eyes, flaxen hair, very fair and very delicate. Price 625 dollars. Property of Hugh Marston, and sold per order of the sheriff of the county, to satisfy two fi fas issued from the Court of Common Pleas, &c. &c. &c."

An attendant now steps forward, takes the children into his charge, and leads them away. To where? The reader may surmise to the gaol.

No, reader, not to the gaol; to Marco Graspum's slave-pen,--to that pent-up h.e.l.l where the living are tortured unto death, and where yearning souls are sold to sink!

Thus are the beauties of this our democratic system ill.u.s.trated in two innocent children being consigned to the miseries of slave life because a mother is supposed a slave: a father has acknowledged them, and yet they are sold before his eyes. It is the majesty of slave law, before which good men prostrate their love of independence. Democracy says the majesty of that law must be carried out; creditors must be satisfied, even though all that is generous and n.o.ble in man should be crushed out, and the rights of free men consigned to oblivion. A stout arm may yet rise up in a good cause; democrats may stand ashamed of the inhuman traffic, and seek to cover its poisoning head with artifices and pretences; but they write only an obituary for the curse.

"A quaint-faced, good-looking country deacon has bought them. Very good; I can now go home, and relieve Mrs. Rosebrook's very generous feelings," says the very distinguished Mr. Seabrook, shrugging his shoulders, lighting a fresh cigar, and turning toward home with a deliberate step, full of good tidings.

CHAPTER x.x.x.

THE VISION OF DEATH HAS PAST.

MR. SEABROOK returns to the mansion, and consoles the anxious lady by a.s.suring her the children have been saved from the hands of obnoxious traders-sold to a good, country deacon. He was so delighted with their appearance that he could not keep from admiring them, and does not wonder the good lady took so great an interest in their welfare. He knows the ministerial-looking gentleman who bought them is a kind master; he has an acute knowledge of human nature, and judges from his looks. And he will further a.s.sure the good lady that the auctioneer proved himself a gentleman-every inch of him! He wouldn't take a single bid from a trader, not even from old Graspum (he dreads to come in contact with such a brute as he is, when he gets his eye on a good piece o' n.i.g.g.e.r property), with all his money. As soon as he heard the name of a deacon among the bidders, something in his heart forbade his bidding against him.

"You were not as good as your word, Mr. Seabrook," says the good lady, still holding Mr. Seabrook by the hand. "But, are you sure there was no disguise about the sale?"

"Not the least, madam!" interrupts Mr. Seabrook, emphatically.

"Bless me, madam, our people are too sensitive not to detect anything of that kind; and too generous to allow it if they did discover it. The children-my heart feels for them-are in the very best hands; will be brought up just as pious and morally. Can't go astray in the hands of a deacon-that's certain!" Mr. Seabrook rubs his hands, twists his fingers in various ways, and gives utterance to words of consolation, most blandly. The anxious lady seems disappointed, but is forced to accept the a.s.surance.

We need scarcely tell the reader how intentionally Mr. Seabrook contented himself with the deception practised at the mart, nor with what freedom he made use of that blandest essence of southern a.s.surance,--extreme politeness, to deceive the lady. She, however, had long been laudably engaged in behalf of a down-trodden race; and her knowledge of the secret workings of an inst.i.tution which could only cover its monstrosity with sophistry and fraud impressed her with the idea of some deception having been practised. She well knew that Mr. Seabrook was one of those very contented gentlemen who have strong faith in the present, and are willing to sacrifice the future, if peace and plenty be secured to their hands. He had many times been known to listen to the advice of his confidential slaves, and even to yield to their caprices. And, too, he had been known to decry the ill-treatment of slaves by brutal and inconsiderate masters; but he never thinks it worth while to go beyond expressing a sort of rain-water sympathy for the maltreated. With those traits most prominent in his character, Annette and Nicholas were to him mere merchandise; and whatever claims to freedom they might have, through the acknowledgments of a father, he could give them no consideration, inasmuch as the law was paramount, and the great conservator of the south.

Our worthy benefactress felt the force of the above, in his reluctance to execute her commands, and the manner in which he faltered when questioned about the purchase. Returning to her home, weighing the circ.u.mstances, she resolves to devise some method of ascertaining the true position of the children. "Women are not to be outdone," she says to herself.

We must again beg the reader's indulgence while accompanying us in a retrograde necessary to the connection of our narrative. When we left Mr. M'Fadden at the crossing, more than two years ago, he was labouring under the excitement of a wound he greatly feared would close the account of his mortal speculations.

On the morning following that great political gathering, and during the night Harry had so singularly disappeared, the tavern was rife with conjectures. On the piazza and about the "bar-room" were a few stupefied and half-insensible figures stretched upon benches, or reclining in chairs, their coa.r.s.e garments rent into tatters, and their besotted faces resembling as many florid masks grouped together to represent some demoniacal scene among the infernals; others were sleeping soundly beside the tables, or on the lawn. With filthy limbs bared, they snored with painful discord, in superlative contempt of everything around. Another party, reeking with the fumes of that poisonous drug upon which candidates for a people's favours had built their high expectations, were leaning carelessly against the rude counter of the "bar-room," casting wistful glances at the fascinating bottles so securely locked within the lattice-work in the corner. Oaths of touching horror are mingling with loud calls for slave attendants, whose presence they wait to quench their burning thirst. Reader! digest the moral. In this human menagerie-in this sink of besotted degradation-lay the nucleus of a power by which the greatest interests of state are controlled.

A bedusted party of mounted men have returned from a second ineffectual attempt to recover the lost preacher: the appearance of responsibility haunts mine host. He a.s.sured Mr. Lawrence M'Fadden that his property would be perfectly secure under the lock of the corn-shed. And now his anxiety exhibits itself in the readiness with which he supplies dogs, horses, guns, and such implements as are necessary to hunt down an unfortunate minister of the gospel.

What makes the whole thing worse, was the report of M'Fadden having had a good sleep and awaking much more comfortable; that there was little chance of the fortunate issue of his death. In this, mine host saw the liability increasing two-fold.

He stands his important person, (hat off, face red with expectancy, and hands thrust well down into his breeches pocket), on the top step of the stairs leading to the veranda, and hears the unfavourable report with sad discomfiture. "That's what comes of making a preacher of a slave! Well! I've done all I can. It puts all kinds of deviltry about runnin' away into their heads," he ventures to a.s.sert, as he turns away, re-enters the "bar-room," and invites all his friends to drink at his expense.

"Mark what I say, now, Squire Jones. The quickest way to catch that ar' n.i.g.g.e.r 's just to lay low and keep whist. He's a pious n.i.g.g.e.r; and a n.i.g.g.e.r can't keep his pious a'tween his teeth, no more nor a blackbird can his chattering. The feller 'll feel as if he wants to redeem somebody; and seeing how 'tis so, if ye just watch close some Sunday ye'll nab the fellow with his own pious bait. Can catch a pious runaway n.i.g.g.e.r 'most any time; the brute never knows enough to keep it to himself," says a flas.h.i.+ly dressed gentleman, as he leaned against the counter, squinted his eye with an air of ponderous satisfaction, and twirled his tumbler round and round on the counter. "'Pears to me," he continues, quizzically, "Squire, you've got a lot o' mixed cracker material here, what it'll be hard to manufactor to make dependable voters on, 'lection day:" he casts a look at the medley of sleepers.

"I wish the whole pack on 'em was sold into slavery, I do! They form six-tenths of the voters in our state, and are more ignorant, and a great deal worse citizens, than our slaves. Bl-'em, there is'nt one in fifty can read or write, and they're impudenter than the Governor."

"Hus.h.!.+ hus.h.!.+ squire. 'Twon't do to talk so. There ain't men nowhere stand on dignity like them fellers; they are the very bone-and-siners of the unwashed, hard-fisted democracy. The way they'd pull this old tavern down, if they heard reflections on their honour, would be a caution to storms. But how's old iron-sided M'Fadden this morning? Begins to think of his n.i.g.g.e.rs, I reckon,"

interrupts the gentleman; to which mine host shakes his head, despondingly. Mine host wishes M'Fadden, n.i.g.g.e.r, candidates and all, a very long distance from his place.