----His head was with his heart,
And that was far away!
_Childe Harold._
Just upon the edge of the great road from Petersburg, Virginia, to
Richmond, and only about fifteen miles from the latter place, there
stands a somewhat ancient and famous public tavern, quite notorious
in its better days, as being the grand resort for most of the leading
gamblers, horse-racers, cock-fighters, and slave-traders from all the
country round about. This old rookery, the nucleus of all sorts of
birds, mostly those of ill omen, has, like everything else peculiar
to Virginia, lost much of its ancient consequence and splendor; yet
it keeps up some appearance of gaiety and high life, and is still
frequented, even by respectable travellers, who are unacquainted with
its past history and present condition. Its fine old portico looks well
at a distance, and gives the building an air of grandeur. A nearer
view, however, does little to sustain this pretension. The house is
large, and its style imposing, but time and dissipation, unfailing in
their results, have made ineffaceable marks upon it, and it must, in
the common course of events, soon be numbered with the things that
were. The gloomy mantle of ruin is, already, outspread to envelop it,
and its remains, even but now remind one of a human skull, after the
flesh has mingled with the earth. Old hats and rags fill the places
in the upper windows once occupied by large panes of glass, and the
moulding boards along the roofing have dropped off from their places,
leaving holes and crevices in the rented wall for bats and swallows
to build their nests in. The platform of the portico, which fronts
the highway is a rickety affair, its planks are loose, and in some
places entirely gone, leaving effective man-traps in their stead for
nocturnal ramblers. The wooden pillars, which once supported it, but
which now hang as encumbrances, are all rotten, and tremble with the
touch. A part of the stable, a fine old structure in its day, which
has given comfortable shelter to hundreds of the noblest steeds of
“the Old Dominion” at once, was blown down many years ago, and never
has been, and probably never will be, rebuilt. The doors of the barn
are in wretched condition; they will shut with a little human strength
to help their worn out hinges, but not otherwise. The side of the
great building seen from the road is much discolored in sundry places
by slops poured from the upper windows, rendering it unsightly and
offensive in other respects. Three or four great dogs, looking as
dull and gloomy as the mansion itself, lie stretched out along the
door-sills under the portico; and double the number of loafers, some
of them completely rum-ripe, and others ripening, dispose themselves
like so many sentinels about the front of the house. These latter
understand the science of scraping acquaintance to perfection. They
know every-body, and almost every-body knows them. Of course, as their
title implies, they have no regular employment. They are (to use an
expressive phrase) _hangers on_, or still better, they are what sailors
would denominate _holders-on to the slack, in every-body’s mess, and
in nobody’s watch_. They are, however, as good as the newspaper for
the events of the day, and they sell their knowledge almost as cheap.
Money they seldom have; yet they always have capital the most reliable.
They make their way with a succeeding traveller by intelligence gained
from a preceding one. All the great names of Virginia they know by
heart, and have seen their owners often. The history of the house is
folded in their lips, and they rattle off stories in connection with
it, equal to the guides at Dryburgh Abbey. He must be a shrewd man, and
well skilled in the art of evasion, who gets out of the hands of these
fellows without being at the expense of a treat.
It was at this old tavern, while on a second visit to the State of
Virginia in 1841, that Mr. Listwell, unacquainted with the fame of the
place, turned aside, about sunset, to pass the night. Riding up to the
house, he had scarcely dismounted, when one of the half dozen bar-room
fraternity met and addressed him in a manner exceedingly bland and
accommodating.
“Fine evening, sir.”
“Very fine,” said Mr. Listwell. “This is a tavern, I believe?”
“O yes, sir, yes; although you may think it looks a little the worse
for wear, it was once as good a house as any in Virginy. I make no
doubt if ye spend the night here, you’ll think it a good house yet; for
there aint a more accommodating man in the country than you’ll find the
landlord.”
_Listwell._ “The most I want is a good bed for myself, and a full
manger for my horse. If I get these, I shall be quite satisfied.”
_Loafer._ “Well, I alloys like to hear a gentleman talk for his horse;
and just becase the horse can’t talk for itself. A man that don’t care
about his beast, and don’t look arter it when he’s travelling, aint
much in my eye anyhow. Now, sir, I likes a horse, and I’ll guarantee
your horse will be taken good care on here. That old stable, for all
you see it looks so shabby now, once sheltered the great _Eclipse_,
when he run here agin _Batchelor_ and _Jumping Jemmy_. Them was fast
horses, but he beat ’em both.”
_Listwell._ “Indeed.”
_Loafer._ “Well, I rather reckon you’ve travelled a right smart
distance to-day, from the look of your horse?”
_Listwell._ “Forty miles only.”
_Loafer._ “Well! I’ll be darned if that aint a pretty good _only_.
Mister, that beast of yours is a singed cat, I warrant you. I never
see’d a creature like that that wasn’t good on the road. You’ve come
about forty miles, then?”
_Listwell._ “Yes, yes, and a pretty good pace at that.”
_Loafer._ “You’re somewhat in a hurry, then, I make no doubt? I reckon
I could guess if I would, what you’re going to Richmond for? It
wouldn’t be much of a guess either; for it’s rumored hereabouts, that
there’s to be the greatest sale of niggers at Richmond to-morrow that
has taken place there in a long time; and I’ll be bound you’re a going
there to have a hand in it.”
_Listwell._ “Why, you must think, then, that there’s money to be made
at that business?”
_Loafer._ “Well, ’pon my honor, sir, I never made any that way myself;
but it stands to reason that it’s a money making business; for almost
all other business in Virginia is dropped to engage in this. One thing
is sartain, I never see’d a nigger-buyer yet that hadn’t a plenty of
money, and he wasn’t as free with it as water. I has known one on ’em
to treat as high as twenty times in a night; and, ginerally speaking,
they’s men of edication, and knows all about the government. The fact
is, sir, I alloys like to hear ’em talk, bekase I alloys can learn
something from them.”
_Listwell._ “What may I call your name, sir?”
_Loafer._ “Well, now, they calls me Wilkes. I’m known all around by the
gentlemen that comes here. They all knows old Wilkes.”
_Listwell._ “Well, Wilkes, you seem to be acquainted here, and I see
you have a strong liking for a horse. Be so good as to speak a kind
word for mine to the hostler to-night, and you’ll not lose anything by
it.”
_Loafer._ “Well, sir, I see you don’t say much, but you’ve got an
insight into things. It’s alloys wise to get the good will of them
that’s acquainted about a tavern; for a man don’t know when he goes
into a house what may happen, or how much he may need a friend.” Here
the loafer gave Mr. Listwell a significant grin, which expressed a sort
of triumphant pleasure at having, as he supposed, by his tact succeeded
in placing so fine appearing a gentleman under obligations to him.
The pleasure, however, was mutual; for there was something so
insinuating in the glance of this loquacious customer, that Mr.
Listwell was very glad to get quit of him, and to do so more
successfully, he ordered his supper to be brought to him in his private
room, private to the eye, but not to the ear. This room was directly
over the bar, and the plastering being off, nothing but pine boards
and naked laths separated him from the disagreeable company below,--he
could easily hear what was said in the bar-room, and was rather glad
of the advantage it afforded, for, as you shall see, it furnished him
important hints as to the manner and deportment he should assume during
his stay at that tavern.
Mr. Listwell says he had got into his room but a few moments, when he
heard the officious Wilkes below, in a tone of disappointment, exclaim,
“Whar’s that gentleman?” Wilkes was evidently expecting to meet with
his friend at the bar-room, on his return, and had no doubt of his
doing the handsome thing. “He has gone to his room,” answered the
landlord, “and has ordered his supper to be brought to him.”
Here some one shouted out, “Who is he, Wilkes? Where’s he going?”
“Well, now, I’ll be hanged if I know; but I’m willing to make any man
a bet of this old hat agin a five dollar bill, that that gent is as
full of money as a dog is of fleas. He’s going down to Richmond to buy
niggers, I make no doubt. He’s no fool, I warrant ye.”
“Well, he acts d--d strange,” said another, “anyhow. I likes to see a
man, when he comes up to a tavern, to come straight into the bar-room,
and show that he’s a man among men. Nobody was going to bite him.”
“Now, I don’t blame him a bit for not coming in here. That man knows
his business, and means to take care on his money,” answered Wilkes.
“Wilkes, you’re a fool. You only say that, becase you hope to get a few
coppers out on him.”
“You only measure my corn by your half-bushel, I won’t say that you’re
only mad becase I got the chance of speaking to him first.”
“O Wilkes! you’re known here. You’ll praise up any body that will give
you a copper; besides, ’tis my opinion that that fellow who took his
long slab-sides up stairs, for all the world just like a half-scared
woman, afraid to look honest men in the face, is a _Northerner_, and as
mean as dishwater.”
“Now what will you bet of that,” said Wilkes.
The speaker said, “I make no bets with you, ’kase you can get that
fellow up stairs there to say anything.”
“Well,” said Wilkes, “I am willing to bet any man in the company that
_that_ gentleman is a _nigger_-buyer. He didn’t tell me so right down,
but I reckon I knows enough about men to give a pretty clean guess as
to what they are arter.”
The dispute as to _who_ Mr. Listwell was, what his business, where he
was going, etc., was kept up with much animation for some time, and
more than once threatened a serious disturbance of the peace. Wilkes
had his friends as well as his opponents. After this sharp debate, the
company amused themselves by drinking whiskey, and telling stories.
The latter consisting of quarrels, fights, _rencontres_, and duels,
in which distinguished persons of that neighborhood, and frequenters
of that house, had been actors. Some of these stories were frightful
enough, and were told, too, with a relish which bespoke the pleasure
of the parties with the horrid scenes they portrayed. It would not
be proper here to give the reader any idea of the vulgarity and dark
profanity which rolled, as “a sweet morsel,” under these corrupt
tongues. A more brutal set of creatures, perhaps, never congregated.
Disgusted, and a little alarmed withal, Mr. Listwell, who was not
accustomed to such entertainment, at length retired, but not to sleep.
He was _too_ much wrought upon by what he had heard to rest quietly,
and what snatches of sleep he got, were interrupted by dreams which
were anything than pleasant. At eleven o’clock, there seemed to be
several hundreds of persons crowding into the house. A loud and
confused clamour, cursing and cracking of whips, and the noise of
chains startled him from his bed; for a moment he would have given
the half of his farm in Ohio to have been at home. This uproar was
kept up with undulating course, till near morning. There was loud
laughing,--loud singing,--loud cursing,--and yet there seemed to be
weeping and mourning in the midst of all. Mr. Listwell said he had
heard enough during the forepart of the night to convince him that a
buyer of men and women stood the best chance of being respected. And
he, therefore, thought it best to say nothing which might undo the
favorable opinion that had been formed of him in the bar-room by at
least one of the fraternity that swarmed about it. While he would not
avow himself a purchaser of slaves, he deemed it not prudent to disavow
it. He felt that he might, properly, refuse to cast such a pearl before
parties which, to him, were worse than swine. To reveal himself, and to
impart a knowledge of his real character and sentiments would, to say
the least, be imparting intelligence with the certainty of seeing it
and himself both abused. Mr. Listwell confesses, that this reasoning
did not altogether satisfy his conscience, for, hating slavery as he
did, and regarding it to be the immediate duty of every man to cry out
against it, “without compromise and without concealment,” it was hard
for him to admit to himself the possibility of circumstances wherein a
man might, properly, hold his tongue on the subject. Having as little
of the spirit of a martyr as Erasmus, he concluded, like the latter,
that it was wiser to trust the mercy of God for his soul, than the
humanity of slave-traders for his body. Bodily fear, not conscientious
scruples, prevailed.
In this spirit he rose early in the morning, manifesting no surprise
at what he had heard during the night. His quondam friend was soon
at his elbow, boring him with all sorts of questions. All, however,
directed to find out his character, business, residence, purposes,
and destination. With the most perfect appearance of good nature and
carelessness, Mr. Listwell evaded these meddlesome inquiries, and
turned conversation to general topics, leaving himself and all that
specially pertained to him, out of discussion. Disengaging himself
from their troublesome companionship, he made his way towards an old
bowling-alley, which was connected with the house, and which, like all
the rest, was in very bad repair.
On reaching the alley Mr. Listwell saw, for the first time in his life,
a slave-gang on their way to market. A sad sight truly. Here were one
hundred and thirty human beings,--children of a common Creator--guilty
of no crime--men and women, with hearts, minds, and deathless spirits,
chained and fettered, and bound for the market, in a christian
country,--in a country boasting of its liberty, independence, and high
civilization! Humanity converted into merchandise, and linked in iron
bands, with no regard to decency or humanity! All sizes, ages, and
sexes, mothers, fathers, daughters, brothers, sisters,--all huddled
together, on their way to market to be sold and separated from home,
and from each other _forever_. And all to fill the pockets of men
too lazy to work for an honest living, and who gain their fortune by
plundering the helpless, and trafficking in the souls and sinews of
men. As he gazed upon this revolting and heart-rending scene, our
informant said he almost doubted the existence of a God of justice!
And he stood wondering that the earth did not open and swallow up such
wickedness.
In the midst of these reflections, and while running his eye up and
down the fettered ranks, he met the glance of one whose face he thought
he had seen before. To be resolved, he moved towards the spot. It was
MADISON WASHINGTON! Here was a scene for the pencil! Had Mr. Listwell
been confronted by one risen from the dead, he could not have been
more appalled. He was completely stunned. A thunderbolt could not have
struck him more dumb. He stood, for a few moments, as motionless as one
petrified; collecting himself, he at length exclaimed, “_Madison! is
that you?_”
The noble fugitive, but little less astonished than himself, answered
cheerily, “O yes, sir, they’ve got me again.”
Thoughtless of consequences for the moment, Mr. Listwell ran up to his
old friend, placing his hands upon his shoulders, and looked him in the
face! Speechless they stood gazing at each other as if to be doubly
resolved that there was no mistake about the matter, till Madison
motioned his friend away, intimating a fear lest the keepers should
find him there, and suspect him of tampering with the slaves.
“They will soon be out to look after us. You can come when they go to
breakfast, and I will tell you all.”
Pleased with this arrangement, Mr. Listwell passed out of the alley;
but only just in time to save himself, for, while near the door, he
observed three men making their way to the alley. The thought occurred
to him to await their arrival, as the best means of diverting the ever
ready suspicions of the guilty.
While the scene between Mr. Listwell and his friend Madison was going
on, the other slaves stood as mute spectators,--at a loss to know what
all this could mean. As he left, he heard the man chained to Madison
ask, “Who is that gentleman?”
“He is a friend of mine. I cannot tell you now. Suffice it to say he is
a friend. You shall hear more of him before long, but mark me! whatever
shall pass between that gentleman and me, in your hearing, I pray you
will say nothing about it. We are all chained here together,--ours is a
common lot; and that gentleman is not less _your_ friend than _mine_.”
At these words, all mysterious as they were, the unhappy company gave
signs of satisfaction and hope. It seems that Madison, by that mesmeric
power which is the invariable accompaniment of genius, had already won
the confidence of the gang, and was a sort of general-in-chief among
them.
By this time the keepers arrived. A horrid trio, well fitted for
their demoniacal work. Their uncombed hair came down over foreheads
“_villainously low_,” and with eyes, mouths, and noses to match.
“Hallo! hallo!” they growled out as they entered. “Are you all there!”
“All here,” said Madison.
“Well, well, that’s right! your journey will soon be over. You’ll be in
Richmond by eleven to-day, and then you’ll have an easy time on it.”
“I say, gal, what in the devil are you crying about?” said one of them.
“I’ll give you something to cry about, if you don’t mind.” This was
said to a girl, apparently not more than twelve years old, who had been
weeping bitterly. She had, probably, left behind her a loving mother,
affectionate sisters, brothers, and friends, and her tears were but the
natural expression of her sorrow, and the only solace. But the dealers
in human flesh have _no_ respect for such sorrow. They look upon it as
a protest against their cruel injustice, and they are prompt to punish
it.
This is a puzzle not easily solved. _How_ came he here? what can I do
for him? may I not even now be in some way compromised in this affair?
were thoughts that troubled Mr. Listwell, and made him eager for the
promised opportunity of speaking to Madison.
The bell now sounded for breakfast, and keepers and drivers, with
pistols and bowie-knives gleaming from their belts, hurried in, as if
to get the best places. Taking the chance now afforded, Mr. Listwell
hastened back to the bowling-alley. Reaching Madison, he said, “Now
_do_ tell me all about the matter. Do you know me?”
“Oh, yes,” said Madison, “I know you well, and shall never forget you
nor that cold and dreary night you gave me shelter. I must be short,”
he continued, “for they’ll soon be out again. This, then, is the
story in brief. On reaching Canada, and getting over the excitement
of making my escape, sir, my thoughts turned to my poor wife, who had
well deserved my love by her virtuous fidelity and undying affection
for me. I could not bear the thought of leaving her in the cruel jaws
of slavery, without making an effort to rescue her. First, I tried to
get money to buy her; but oh! the process was _too slow_. I despaired
of accomplishing it. She was in all my thoughts by day, and my dreams
by night. At times I could almost hear her voice, saying, ‘O Madison!
Madison! will you then leave me here? can you leave me here to die? No!
no! you will come! you will come!’ I was wretched. I lost my appetite.
I could neither work, eat, nor sleep, till I resolved to hazard my
own liberty, to gain that of my wife! But I must be short. Six weeks
ago I reached my old master’s place. I laid about the neighborhood
nearly a week, watching my chance, and, finally, I ventured upon the
desperate attempt to reach my poor wife’s room by means of a ladder.
I reached the window, but the noise in raising it frightened my wife,
and she screamed and fainted. I took her in my arms, and was descending
the ladder, when the dogs began to bark furiously, and before I could
get to the woods the white folks were roused. The cool night air soon
restored my wife, and she readily recognized me. We made the best of
our way to the woods, but it was now _too_ late,--the dogs were after
us as though they would have torn us to pieces. It was all over with
me now! My old master and his two sons ran out with loaded rifles, and
before we were out of gunshot, our ears were assailed with ‘_Stop!
stop! or be shot down_.’ Nevertheless we ran on. Seeing that we gave no
heed to their calls, they fired, and my poor wife fell by my side dead,
while I received but a slight flesh wound. I now became desperate, and
stood my ground, and awaited their attack over her dead body. They
rushed upon me, with their rifles in hand. I parried their blows, and
fought them ’till I was knocked down and overpowered.”
“Oh! it was madness to have returned,” said Mr. Listwell.
“Sir, I could not be free with the galling thought that my poor wife
was still a slave. With her in slavery, my body, not my spirit, was
free. I was taken to the house,--chained to a ring-bolt,--my wounds
dressed. I was kept there three days. All the slaves, for miles around,
were brought to see me. Many slave-holders came with their slaves,
using me as proof of the completeness of their power, and of the
impossibility of slaves getting away. I was taunted, jeered at, and
berated by them, in a manner that pierced me to the soul. Thank God, I
was able to smother my rage, and to bear it all with seeming composure.
After my wounds were nearly healed, I was taken to a tree and stripped,
and I received sixty lashes on my naked back. A few days after, I was
sold to a slave-trader, and placed in this gang for the New Orleans
market.”
“Do you think your master would sell you to me?”
“O no, sir! I was sold on condition of my being taken South. Their
motive is revenge.”
“Then, then,” said Mr. Listwell, “I fear I can do nothing for you. Put
your trust in God, and bear your sad lot with the manly fortitude which
becomes a man. I shall see you at Richmond, but don’t recognize me.”
Saying this, Mr. Listwell handed Madison ten dollars; said a few words
to the other slaves; received their hearty “God bless you,” and made
his way to the house.
Fearful of exciting suspicion by too long delay, our friend went to the
breakfast table, with the air of one who half reproved the greediness
of those who rushed in at the sound of the bell. A cup of coffee was
all that he could manage. His feelings were too bitter and excited, and
his heart was too full with the fate of poor Madison (whom he loved
as well as admired) to relish his breakfast; and although he sat long
after the company had left the table, he really did little more than
change the position of his knife and fork. The strangeness of meeting
again one whom he had met on two several occasions before, under
extraordinary circumstances, was well calculated to suggest the idea
that a supernatural power, a wakeful providence, or an inexorable fate,
had linked their destiny together; and that no efforts of his could
disentangle him from the mysterious web of circumstances which enfolded
him.
On leaving the table, Mr. Listwell nerved himself up and walked firmly
into the bar-room. He was at once greeted again by that talkative
chatter-box, Mr. Wilkes.
“Them’s a likely set of niggers in the alley there,” said Wilkes.
“Yes, they’re fine looking fellows, one of them I should like to
purchase, and for him I would be willing to give a handsome sum.”
Turning to one of his comrades, and with a grin of victory, Wilkes
said, “Aha, Bill, did you hear that? I told you I know’d that gentleman
wanted to buy niggers, and would bid as high as any purchaser in the
market.”
“Come, come,” said Listwell, “don’t be too loud in your praise, you are
old enough to know that prices rise when purchasers are plenty.”
“That’s a fact,” said Wilkes, “I see you knows the ropes--and there’s
not a man in old Virginy whom I’d rather help to make a good bargain
than you, sir.”
Mr. Listwell here threw a dollar at Wilkes, (which the latter caught
with a dexterous hand,) saying, “Take that for your kind good will.”
Wilkes held up the dollar to his right eye, with a grin of victory,
and turned to the morose grumbler in the corner who had questioned the
liberality of a man of whom he knew nothing.
Mr. Listwell now stood as well with the company as any other occupant
of the bar-room.
We pass over the hurry and bustle, the brutal vociferations of the
slave-drivers in getting their unhappy gang in motion for Richmond;
and we need not narrate every application of the lash to those who
faltered in the journey. Mr. Listwell followed the train at a long
distance, with a sad heart; and on reaching Richmond, left his horse at
a hotel, and made his way to the wharf in the direction of which he saw
the slave-coffle driven. He was just in time to see the whole company
embark for New Orleans. The thought struck him that, while mixing with
the multitude, he might do his friend Madison one last service, and
he stept into a hardware store and purchased three strong _files_.
These he took with him, and standing near the small boat, which lay in
waiting to bear the company by parcels to the side of the brig that lay
in the stream, he managed, as Madison passed him, to slip the files
into his pocket, and at once darted back among the crowd.
All the company now on board, the imperious voice of the captain
sounded, and instantly a dozen hardy seamen were in the rigging,
hurrying aloft to unfurl the broad canvas of our Baltimore built
American Slaver. The sailors hung about the ropes, like so many
black cats, now in the round-tops, now in the cross-trees, now on the
yard-arms; all was bluster and activity. Soon the broad fore topsail,
the royal and top gallant sail were spread to the breeze. Round went
the heavy windlass, clank, clank went the fall-bit,--the anchors
weighed,--jibs, mainsails, and topsails hauled to the wind, and the
long, low, black slaver, with her cargo of human flesh, careened and
moved forward to the sea.
Mr. Listwell stood on the shore, and watched the slaver till the last
speck of her upper sails faded from sight, and announced the limit of
human vision. “Farewell! farewell! brave and true man! God grant that
brighter skies may smile upon your future than have yet looked down
upon your thorny pathway.”
Saying this to himself, our friend lost no time in completing his
business, and in making his way homewards, gladly shaking off from his
feet the dust of Old Virginia.