Place yourself in my position, and you will surely acknowledge it a
difficult one. First, I was in love with this beautiful quadroon--in
love beyond redemption. Secondly, she, the object of my passion, was
for _sale_, and by _public auction_! Thirdly, I was jealous--ay
jealous, of that which might be sold and bought like a bale of cotton,--
a barrel of sugar! Fourthly, I was still uncertain whether I should
have it in my power to become the purchaser. I was still uncertain
whether my banker's letter had yet reached New Orleans. Ocean steamers
were not known at this period, and the date of a European mail could not
be relied upon with any degree of certainty. Should that not come to
hand in due time, then indeed should my misery reach its culminating
point. Some one else would become possessed of all I held dear on
earth--would be her lord and master--with power to do aught--oh God! the
idea was fearful. I could not bear to dwell upon it.
Again, even should my letter reach me in time, would the amount I
expected be enough? Five hundred pounds sterling--five times five--
twenty-five hundred dollars! Would twenty-five hundred be the price of
that which was priceless?
I even doubted whether it would. I knew that a thousand dollars was at
that time the "average value" of a slave, and it was rare when one
yielded twice that amount. It must be a strong-bodied man--a skilful
mechanic, a good blacksmith, an expert barber, to be worth such a sum!
But for Aurore. Oh! I had heard strange tales of "fancy prices," for
such a "lot"--of brisk competition in the bidding--of men with long
purses and lustful thoughts eagerly contending for such a prize.
Such thoughts might harrow the soul even under the most ordinary
circumstances! what was their effect upon me? I cannot describe the
feelings I experienced.
Should the sum reach me in time--should it prove enough--should I even
succeed in becoming the _owner_ of Aurore, what then? What if my
jealousy were well founded? What if she loved me not? Worse dilemma
than ever. I should only have her body--then her heart and soul would
be another's. I should live in exquisite torture--the slave of a slave!
Why should I attempt to purchase her at all? Why not make a bold
effort, and free myself from this delirious passion? She is not worthy
of the sacrifice I would make for her. No--she has deceived me--surely
she has deceived me. Why not break my promise, plighted though it be in
words of fervid love? Why not flee from the spot, and endeavour to
escape the torture that is maddening both my heart and brain? Oh! why
not?
In calmer moments, such questions might be thought worthy of an answer.
I could not answer them. I did not even entertain them,--though, like
shadows, they flitted across my mind. In the then state of my feelings,
prudence was unknown. Expediency had no place. I would not have
listened to its cold counsels. You who have passionately loved can
alone understand me. I was resolved to risk fortune, fame, life--all--
to possess the object I so deeply adored.