No. 71. Fanny, 26 years, both were sold for $1600.
No. 72. James Pegram, field hand, 37 years.
No. 73. Johanna, 16 years.
No. 74. Cornelius, 8 years.
No. 75. Jane, 7 years.
No. 76. Old Maria, 60 years.
Another tableau, which, if Mr. Keller, the celebrated performer of
‘living tableaux,’ should exhibit in the Academy of Music, in the
Athenæum, or in some other public hall of a ‘free city,’ he would
certainly take the house by storm, and every nerve of his justice
and freedom-loving audience would powerfully vibrate with indignation
against the cold-hearted destroyers of family-life and of human rights.
Reader! imagine five persons, standing upon a platform, similar to a
funeral pile erected for martyrs. Their color is darker than that of
the persons sitting in front of the arena. There are eighty-three human
beings, of various colors, and of different ages, bending down their
heads, and looking as if they were condemned to death, and were now to
be executed. Those five ‘articles for sale at auction’ consist of a
father, three children, and their grandmother. Their mother has gone to
bear witness, before the holy tribunal of the great Judge of the world,
and to accuse the tormentors of her unfortunate people.
James, a strong, intelligent-looking man, gazes in utter despair upon
his youngest child, who clings to him in distress. Poor little Jane! At
the youthful age of seven, thou shalt already drink the bitter cup! And
Johanna! O gentle maiden of sixteen summers! How she covers her eyes
with one tip of her head-cloth, grasping her trembling little brother
Cornelius by the hand! And what is their father doing? He is raising
his eyes--there is one flash--a terrible one!
Tremble, O South! Though that slave is but one, and has no power as a
single man, let others join him! Let a million of his brothers rise
against their masters’ reign of terror! Let them break their chains!
Then, South! it shall be too late to repent! Then thy day of judgment
has come!
Old Maria--how pitiful she looks! Poor old grandma! Sixty years have
passed over her gray hairs; she has done her duty--(what duty had she
to do?)--she has done all she could, without murmuring. She has raised
children, nursed grand-children. Never as her own--no, always for her
master! She has been always a very meek, a very quiet, good-natured
soul. But to-day--had she ever such a feeling of approaching evil? She
is not quiet to-day; she trembles every time she glances at her dear
family. She is asking herself, ‘Shall I be permitted to go with them?
or shall I be sold alone?’
Hear! What said he there--that stately man with his white neckcloth,
his gold chain, and large seal thereon? What said he? ‘I do not want
the old woman. Sell her alone!’
Yes! that man had the last bid. He paid $3000 for James, Johanna,
Cornelius, and Jane; but he won’t buy the old woman. No! he only wants
‘young hands.’ And the old mother, the kind grandma, is torn away from
her dear family, and will never see them again. She is sold for $200 to
another, and all her happiness is given in the bargain!
Some people pretend that slaves are indifferent to their being
bought and sold. Upon questioning, I was told by many slaves who had
comparatively kind masters, that their minds are constantly troubled
for fear of being sold. They would rather submit to the most cruel
treatment at the hands of their masters, than to be separated.
A very strong and valuable slave in Mobile assured me, that if his
master should ever attempt to sell him, he would jump into the river.
His idea of hell, he said, was a large platform of red hot iron, where
bad people are to be sold. The auctioneer there is the devil. ‘There
is,’ said he, ‘a good deal more white folks sold there by the devil
than black ones.’ If those poor fellows had no reason like brutes--if
they could not be conscious of their miserable condition--if they had
no rational feeling--they might be less unhappy; but their reason,
their power of intellect, is frequently superior to that of their
brutal and often drunken masters. When slaves, who have been raised by
kind masters, know that they shall be sold to men of ill repute, they
live in a constant state of desperation, until they are sold, when
they submit themselves to their deplorable lot, or look out for some
opportunity to run away.
I shall never forget an awful catastrophe which took place in a large
Southern seaport while I resided there. A beautiful quadroon slave
girl, of about sixteen summers, with a skin such as many a Spanish lady
would be proud of, and with splendid long black curls, was bought at
auction for $1900 by a confirmed dissolute rascal, who forced her in
the same night to stay with him.
Though she was a slave, Raimond Legrand, an honest young Frenchman,
had fallen in love with her. He had sworn to buy her, and to bring
her to ‘la belle France,’ where color of skin is never punished by
imprisonment in the galleys, nor elsewhere. Unfortunately, he was not
in possession of the money which her master asked for her. To procure
it, Raimond went to California. During the time of his absence, the
rather good-natured master of Madeline, (that was her name,) died
suddenly, and his heir put Madeline up at auction. She was bought by
the fellow I mentioned before, and all her happy dreams and hopes were
at once blasted. Her pitiful cries and groans of anguish, in that
horrible night, were heard for several houses from that of her inhuman
new master. But there was no help for her, no salvation for Madeline.
For the law of the State says:--‘A slave has to obey in all cases
his or her master.’ In the following morning, a human chase was seen
down the street towards the wharf. A young and beautiful girl, with
flying curls, crying piteously, and running with all her might, was
followed by a man who shouted, ‘Stop her! stop her!’ That poor girl
was Madeline, and her pursuer was her new master. A man? No, a demon
in human shape! They arrive together upon the wharf above the stream.
He seizes hold of the dress of his victim, exclaiming, ‘Mine again!
curse you!’ But, in an instant, she tears herself from the grasp of her
tormentor--she casts one quick despairing glance upwards--and, uttering
the words, ‘Adieu, cher Raimond!’ she throws herself from the wharf
into the stream, and was seen no more.
No. 77. Scott, field hand, aged about 19, for $1375.
No. 78. Campbell, 22 years, for $1500.
No. 79. Dennis, 26 years, brought $1600.
Three valuable laborers, healthy and strong men. They are condemned
to ‘hard labor for life,’ as a reward for their good behavior and
diligence.
No. 80. Frank, field hand, and excellent gardener, 22 years, for $1425.
No. 81. Gerrard, 24 years, for $1500.
No. 82. John, 18 years, for $1375.
No. 83. Betty, a mild-looking young girl of fifteen summers. But what
kind of summers? ‘Driving’ ones, of course. And what shall be her
winters? We are going to learn it directly.
No. 84 and No. 85 are placed upon the stand. Tom, field hand, about
48 years, and Old Betsy, his wife, three years older than Tom. Tom is
a very honest-looking man. Perhaps he is a cousin to the celebrated
‘Uncle Tom,’ well known by the brilliant pen of that truth-loving
writer, MRS. HARRIET BEECHER STOWE. Tom dares not to look up, for he
feels dreadfully ashamed to be put up at auction, like a mule or a dog.
He suffers from hernia, a complaint which he contracted while catching
a barrel of molasses, which, rolling down from a hill, endangered the
life of a white infant child. Tom is therefore entitled to a reward for
saving human life, and particularly white life. Entitled to a reward?
O, yes! There stands Tom upon the platform of a slave-auction room, and
enjoys his reward--to be sold to the highest bidder for $250!
I have seen a valuable mule, which, by kicking, caused the death of a
child. This animal was afterwards sold at auction for the sum of $375,
fully $125 more than our generous Tom!
No. 85. Who is No. 85? Ay, there we find poor old Betsy, kind old
soul! She labored more than 40 years in her master’s house. She had
sung and cradled the children to sleep, carefully protecting them from
all harm. She watched over those children like a mother; and if there
were some particularly fine, golden oranges hanging over the porch, she
had to get them down for her darling boy, her master’s child. And this
very child, now a full-grown man, is selling her to-day at auction for
$100.
No. 86. John Jones, field hand, (suffers from slight hernia,) 23 years
old, and