Jeffrey, chattel No. 319, marked as a "prime cotton hand," aged 23
years, was put up. Jeffrey being a likely lad, the competition was
high. The first bid was $1,100, and he was finally sold for $1,310.
Jeffrey was sold alone; he had no incumbrance in the shape of an aged
father or mother, who must necessarily be sold with him; nor had he
any children, for Jeffrey was not married. But Jeffrey, chattel No.
319, being human in his affections, had dared to cherish a love for
Dorcas, chattel No. 278; and Dorcas, not having the fear of her master
before her eyes, had given her heart to Jeffrey. Whether what followed
was a just retribution on Jeffrey and Dorcas, for daring to take such
liberties with their master's property as to exchange hearts, or
whether it only goes to prove that with black as with white the saying
holds, that "the course of true love never did run smooth," cannot now
be told. Certain it is that these two lovers were not to realize the
consummation of their hopes in happy wedlock. Jeffrey and Dorcas had
told their loves, had exchanged their simple vows, and were betrothed,
each to the other as dear, and each by the other as fondly beloved as
though their skins had been of fairer color. And who shall say that, in
the sight of Heaven and all holy angels, these two humble hearts were
not as closely wedded as any two of the prouder race that call them
slaves?
Be that as it may, Jeffrey was sold. He finds out his new master;
and, hat in hand, the big tears standing in his eyes, and his voice
trembling with emotion, he stands before that master and tells his
simple story, praying that his betrothed may be bought with him. Though
his voice trembles, there is no embarrassment in his manner; his fears
have killed all the bashfulness that would naturally attend such a
recital to a stranger, and before unsympathizing witnesses; he feels
that he is pleading for the happiness of her he loves, as well as for
his own, and his tale is told in a frank and manly way.
"I loves Dorcas, young Mas'r; I loves her well an' true; she says she
loves me, and I know she does; de good Lord knows I loves her better
than I loves any one in de wide world--never can love another woman
half so well. Please buy Dorcas, Mas'r. We're be good sarvants to you
long as we live. We're be married right soon, young Mas'r, and de
chillun will be healthy and strong, Mas'r, and dey'll be good sarvants,
too. Please buy Dorcas, young Mas'r. We loves each other a heap--do,
really true, Mas'r."
Jeffrey then remembers that no loves and hopes of his are to enter into
the bargain at all, but in the earnestness of his love he has forgotten
to base his plea on other ground till now, when he bethinks him and
continues, with his voice not trembling now, save with eagerness to
prove how worthy of many dollars is the maiden of his heart:
"Young Mas'r, Dorcas prime woman--A1 woman, sa. Tall gal, sir; long
arms, strong, healthy, and can do a heap of work in a day. She is one
of de best rice hands on de whole plantation; worth $1,200 easy, Mas'r,
an' fus'rate bargain at that."
The man seems touched by Jeffrey's last remarks, and bids him fetch out
his "gal, and let's see what she looks like."
Jeffrey goes into the long room, and presently returns with
Dorcas, looking very sad and self-possessed, without a particle of
embarrassment at the trying position in which she is placed. She makes
the accustomed curtsy, and stands meekly with her hands clasped across
her bosom, waiting the result. The buyer regards her with a critical
eye, and growls in a low voice that the "gal has good p'ints." Then
he goes on to a more minute and careful examination of her working
abilities. He turns her around, makes her stoop, and walk; and then he
takes off her turban to look at her head that no wound or disease be
concealed by the gay handkerchief; he looks at her teeth, and feels
of her arms, and at last announces himself pleased with the result of
his observations, whereat Jeffrey, who has stood near, trembling with
eager hope, is overjoyed, and he smiles for the first time. The buyer
then crowns Jeffrey's happiness by making a promise that he will buy
her, if the price isn't run up too high. And the two lovers step aside
and congratulate each other on their good fortune. But Dorcas is not
to be sold till the next day, and there are twenty-four long hours of
feverish expectation.
Early next morning is Jeffrey alert, and, hat in hand, encouraged to
unusual freedom by the greatness of the stake for which he plays, he
addresses every buyer, and of all who will listen he begs the boon of a
word to be spoken to his new master to encourage him to buy Dorcas. And
all the long morning he speaks in his homely way with all who know him,
that they will intercede to save his sweetheart from being sold away
from him forever. No one has the heart to deny a word of promise and
encouragement to the poor fellow, and, joyous with so much kindness,
his hopes and spirits gradually rise until he feels almost certain that
the wish of heart will be accomplished. And Dorcas, too, is smiling,
for is not Jeffrey's happiness her own?
At last comes the trying moment, and Dorcas steps up on the stand.
But now a most unexpected feature in the drama is for the first time
unmasked: _Dorcas is not to be sold alone_, but with a family of four
others. Full of dismay, Jeffrey looks to his master, who shakes his
head, for, although he might be induced to buy Dorcas alone, he has no
use for the rest of the family. Jeffrey reads his doom in his master's
look, and turns away, the tears streaming down his honest face.
So Dorcas is sold, and her toiling life is to be spent in the cotton
fields of South Carolina, while Jeffrey goes to the rice plantation of
the Great Swamp.
And to-morrow, Jeffrey and Dorcas are to say their tearful farewell,
and go their separate ways in life, to meet no more as mortal beings.
But didn't Mr. Pierce Butler give them a silver dollar a-piece? Who
shall say there is no magnanimity in slave-owners?
In another hour I see Dorcas in the long room, sitting motionless as a
statue, with her head covered with a shawl. And I see Jeffrey, who goes
to his new master, pulls off his hat and says: "I'se very much obliged,
Mas'r, to you for tryin' to help me. I knows you would have done it if
you could--thank you, Mas'r--thank you--but--its--berry--hard"--and
here the poor fellow breaks down entirely and walks away, covering his
face with his battered hat, and sobbing like a very child.
He is soon surrounded by a group of his colored friends, who, with an
instinctive delicacy most unlooked for, stand quiet, and with uncovered
heads, about him.
Anson and Violet, chattels Nos. 111 and 112, were sold for $250 each,
both being old, and Anson being down in the catalogue as "ruptured and
as having one eye." Violet was sold as being sick. Her disease was
probably consumption, which supposition gave rise to the following
feeling conversation between two buyers:
"Cheap gal, that, Major!"
"Don't think so. They may talk about her being sick; it's no easy
sickness she's got. She's got consumption, and the man that buys her'll
have to be a doctrin' her all the time, and she'll die in less than
three months. I won't have anything to do with her--don't want any half
dead niggers about me."