NATURE SHAMES ITSELF.
MRS. ROSEBROOK sits in Mrs. Pringle's parlour. Mrs. Pringle is
thought well of in the city of Charleston, where she resides, and
has done something towards establishing a church union for the
protection of orphan females. They must, however, be purely white,
and without slave or base blood in their veins, to entitle them to
admittance into its charitable precincts. This is upon the principle
that slave blood is not acceptable in the sight of Heaven; and that
allowing its admittance into this charitable earthly union would
only be a sad waste of time and Christian love. Mrs. Pringle,
however, feels a little softened to the good cause, and does hope
Mrs. Rosebrook may succeed at least in rescuing the little girl. She
has counselled Mr. Seabrook, commonly called Colonel Seabrook, a
very distinguished gentleman, who has a very distinguished opinion
of himself, having studied law to distinguish himself, and now and
then merely practises it for his own amusement. Mr. Seabrook never
gives an opinion, nor acts for his friends, unless every thing he
does be considered distinguished, and gratuitously rendered.
"What will you do with such property, madam?" inquires the
gentleman, having listened profoundly to her request.
"To save them from being sold into the hands of such men as Graspum
and Romescos; it's the only motive I have" she speaks, gently: "I
love the child; and her mother still loves her: I am a mother."
"Remember, my dear lady, they are adjudged property by law; and all
that you can do for them won't save them, nor change the odour of
negro with which it has stamped them."
"Of that I am already too well aware, Mr. Seabrook; and I know, too,
when once enslaved, how hard it is to unslave. Public sentiment is
the worst slave we have; unslave that, and the righteousness of
heaven will give us hearts to save ourselves from the
unrighteousness of our laws.
"Go, Mr. Seabrook, purchase the children for me, and you will soon
see what ornaments of society I will make them!"
"Ornaments to our society!" interrupts Mr. Seabrook, pausing for a
moment, as he places the fore-finger of his right hand upon his
upper lip. "That would be a pretty consummation-at the south! Make
ornaments of our society!" Mr. Seabrook turns the matter over and
over and over in his mind. "Of such things as have been pronounced
property by law! A pretty fix it would get our society into!" he
rejoins, with emphasis. Mr. Seabrook shakes his head doubtingly, and
then, taking three or four strides across the room, his hands well
down in his nether pockets, relieves himself of his positive
opinion. "Ah! ah! hem! my dear madam," he says, "if you undertake
the purchase of all that delicate kind of property-I mean the amount
total, as it is mixed up-your head'll grow grey afore you get all
the bills of sale paid up,--my word for it! That's my undisguised
opinion, backed up by all the pale-faced property about the city."
"We will omit the opinion, Mr. Seabrook; such have kept our society
where it now is. I am resolved to have those children. If you
hesitate to act for me, I'll brave-"
"Don't say that, my dear lady. Let me remind you that it ill becomes
a lady of the south to be seen at a slave-mart; more especially when
such delicate property is for sale. Persons might be present who did
not understand your motive, and would not only make rude advances,
but question the propriety of your proceedings. You would lose
caste, most surely."
Mrs. Rosebrook cares little for Mr. Seabrook's very learned opinion,
knowing that learned opinions are not always the most sensible ones,
and is seen arranging her bonnet hastily in a manner betokening her
intention to make a bold front of it at the slave-mart. This is
rather too much for Mr. Seabrook, who sets great value on his
chivalrous virtues, and fearing they may suffer in the esteem of the
softer sex, suddenly proffers his kind interposition, becomes
extremely courteous, begs she will remain quiet, assuring her that
no stone that can further her wishes shall be left unturned. Mr.
Seabrook (frequently called the gallant colonel) makes one of his
very best bows, adjusts his hat with exquisite grace, and leaves to
exercise the wisest judgment and strictest faith at the man-market.
"Such matters are exceedingly annoying to gentlemen of my standing,"
says Mr. Seabrook, as deliberately he proceeds to the fulfilment of
his promise. He is a methodical gentleman, and having weighed the
matter well over in his legal mind, is deeply indebted to it for the
conclusion that Mrs. Rosebrook has got a very unsystematised
crotchet into her brain. "The exhibition of sympathy for
'niggers'-they're nothing else" says Mr. Seabrook-"much adds to that
popular prejudice which is already placing her in an extremely
delicate position." He will call to his aid some very nice legal
tact, and by that never-failing unction satisfy the good lady.
When Mr. Seabrook enters the mart (our readers will remember that we
have already described it) he finds the children undergoing a very
minute examination at the hands of several slave-dealers. As Mr.
Forshou, the very polite man-seller, is despatching the rougher
quality of human merchandise, our hero advances to the children,
about whose father he asks them unanswerable questions. How
interesting the children look!-how like a picture of beauty
Annette's cherub face glows forth! Being seriously concerned about
the child, his countenance wears an air of deep thought. "Colonel,
what's your legal opinion of such pretty property?" enquires
Romescos, who advances to Mr. Seabrook, and, after a minute's
hesitation, takes the little girl in his arms, rudely kissing her as
she presses his face from her with her left hand, and poutingly
wipes her mouth with her right.
"Pretty as a picture"-Romescos has set the child down-"but I
wouldn't give seven coppers for both; for, by my faith, such
property never does well." The gentleman shakes his head in return.
"It's a pity they're made it out nigger, though,--it's so handsome.
Sweet little creature, that child, I declare: her beauty would be
worth a fortune on the stage, when she grows up."
Romescos touches Mr. Seabrook on the arm; remarks that such things
are only good for certain purposes; although one can make them pay
if they know how to trade in them. But it wants a man with a capable
conscience to do the business up profitably. "No chance o' your
biddin' on 'um, is there, colonel?" he enquires, with a significant
leer, folding his arms with the indifference of a field-marshal.
After a few minutes' pause, during which Mr. Seabrook seems
manufacturing an answer, he shrugs his shoulders, and takes a few
pleasing steps, as if moved to a waltzing humour. "Don't scare up
the like o' that gal-nigger every day," he adds. Again, as if moved
by some sudden idea, he approaches Annette, and placing his hand on
her head, continues: "If this ain't tumbling down a man's affairs by
the run! Why, colonel, 'taint more nor three years since old Hugh
Marston war looked on as the tallest planter on the Ashley; and he
thought just as much o' these young 'uns as if their mother had
belonged to one of the first families. Now-I pity the poor
fellow!-because he tried to save 'em from being sold as slaves,
they-his creditors-think he has got more property stowed away
somewhere. They're going to cell him, just to try his talent at
putting away things."
The "prime fellows" and wenches of the darker and coarser quality
have all been disposed of; and the vender (the same gentlemanly man
we have described selling Marston's undisputed property) now orders
the children to be brought forward. Romescos, eagerly seizing them
by the arms, brings them forward through the crowd, places them upon
the stand, before the eager gaze of those assembled. Strangely
placed upon the strange block, the spectators close in again,
anxious to gain the best position for inspection: but little
children cannot stand the gaze of such an assemblage: no; Annette
turns toward Nicholas, and with a childish embrace throws her tiny
arms about his neck, buries her face on his bosom. The child of
misfortune seeks shelter from that shame of her condition, the
evidence of which is strengthened by the eager glances of those who
stand round the shambles, ready to purchase her fate. Even the
vender,--distinguished gentleman that he is, and very respectably
allied by marriage to one of the "first families,"-is moved with a
strange sense of wrong at finding himself in a position somewhat
repugnant to his feelings. He cannot suppress a blush that indicates
an innate sense of shame.
"Here they are, gentlemen! let no man say I have not done my duty.
You have, surely, all seen the pedigree of these children set forth
in the morning papers; and, now that you have them before you, the
living specimen of their beauty will fully authenticate anything
therein set forth," the vender exclaims, affecting an appearance in
keeping with his trade. Notwithstanding this, there is a faltering
nervousness in his manner, betraying all his efforts at
dissimulation. He reads the invoice of human property to the
listening crowd, dilates on its specific qualities with powers of
elucidation that would do credit to any member of the learned
profession. This opinion is confirmed by Romescos, the associations
of whose trade have gained for him a very intimate acquaintance with
numerous gentlemen of that very honourable profession.
"Now, gentlemen," continues the vender, "the honourable high sheriff
is anxious, and so am I-and it's no more than a feelin' of deserving
humanity, which every southern gentleman is proud to exercise-that
these children be sold to good, kind, and respectable owners; and
that they do not fall into the hands, as is generally the case, of
men who raise them up for infamous purposes. Gentlemen, I am
decidedly opposed to making licentiousness a means of profit."
"That neither means you nor me," mutters Romescos, touching Mr.
Seabrook on the arm, shaking his head knowingly, and stepping aside
to Graspum, in whose ear he whispers a word. The very distinguished
Mr. Graspum has been intently listening to the outpouring of the
vender's simplicity. What sublime nonsense it seems to him! He
suggests that it would be much more effectual if it came from the
pulpit,--the southern pulpit!
"Better sell 'um to some deacon's family," mutters a voice in the
crowd.
"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 assume 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-class 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
nobody 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 nigger-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 nobody 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; nobody doubts his generosity,"
ejaculates 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 hell where the living are tortured unto death, and where
yearning souls are sold to sink!
Thus are the beauties of this our democratic system illustrated 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 noble 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.