"Lot 1. _Scipio, 48. Able-bodied black, 5 foot 11 inches, understands
house-work, and the management of horses. Sound and without blemish_.
"Lot 2. _Hannibal, 40. Dark mulatto, 5 foot 9 inches, good coachman,
sound and steady_.
"Lot 3. _Cesar, 43. Black field-hand. Sound_," etcetera, etcetera.
My eyes could not wait for the disgusting details. They ran down the
column in search of that name. They would have lit upon it sooner, but
that my hands trembled, and the vibratory motion of the sheet almost
prevented me from reading. It was there at length--_last upon the
list_! "Why last?" No matter--her "description" was there.
Can I trust myself to read it? Down, burning heart, still your wild
throbbings!
"Lot 65. _Aurore. 19. Quadroon. Likely_--_good housekeeper, and
sempstress_."
Portrait sketched by refined pen--brief and graphic.
"Likely," ha! ha! ha! "Likely," ha! ha! The brute who wrote that
paragraph would have described Venus as a likely gal.
'Sdeath! I cannot jest--this desecration of all that is lovely--all
that is sacred--all that is dear to my heart, is torture itself. The
blood is boiling in my veins--my bosom is wrung with dire emotions!
The journal fell from my hands, and I bent forward over the table, my
fingers clutching each other. I could have groaned aloud had I been
alone. But I was not. I sat in the great refectory of the hotel. Men
were near who would have jeered at my agony had they but known its
cause.
Some minutes elapsed before I could reflect on what I had read. I sat
in a kind of stupor, brought on by the violence of my emotions.
Reflection came at length, and my first thought was of action. More
than ever did I now desire to become the purchaser of the beautiful
slave--to redeem her from this hideous bondage. I should buy her. I
should set her free. True or false to me, I should accomplish this all
the same. I should make no claim for gratitude. She should choose for
herself. She should be free, if not in the disposal of her gratitude,
at least in that of her love. A love based only on gratitude would not
content me. Such could not last. Her heart should freely bestow
itself. If I had already won it, well. If not, and it had fixed its
affection upon another--mine be the grief. Aurore, at all events, shall
be happy.
My love had elevated my soul--had filled it with such noble resolves.
And now to set her free.
When was this hideous exhibition--this "Important Sale," to come off?
When was my betrothed to be sold, and I to assist at the spectacle?
I took up the paper again to ascertain the time and place. The place I
knew well--the Rotundo of the Saint Louis exchange--adjoining the hotel,
and within twenty yards of where I sat. That was the slave-market. But
the time--it was of more importance--indeed of all importance. Strange
I did not think of this before! Should it be at an early date, and my
letter not have arrived! I dared not trust myself with such a
supposition. Surely it would be a week--several days, at the least--
before a sale of so much importance would take place. Ha! it may have
been advertised for some days. The negroes may have been brought down
only at the last moment!
My hands trembled, as my eyes sought the paragraph. At length they
rested upon it. I read with painful surprise:--
"_To-morrow at twelve_!"
I looked to the date of the journal. All correct. It was the issue of
that morning. I looked to the dial on the wall. The clock was on the
stroke of _twelve_! Just one day to elapse.
"O God! if my letter should not have arrived!"
I drew forth my purse, and mechanically told over its contents. I knew
not why I did so. I knew it contained but a hundred dollars. The
"sportsmen" had reduced it in bulk. When I had finished counting it, I
could not help smiling at the absurdity of the thing. "A hundred
dollars _for the quadroon! Likely_--_good housekeeper, etcetera! a
hundred dollars bid_!" The auctioneer would not be likely to repeat the
bid.
All now depended on the English mail. If it had not arrived already, or
did not before the morning, I would be helpless. Without the letter on
my New Orleans banker, I could not raise fifty pounds--watch, jewels,
and all. As to borrowing, I did not think of such a thing. Who was to
lend me money? Who to an almost perfect stranger would advance such a
sum as I required? No one I felt certain. Reigart could not have
helped me to so large an amount, even had there been time to communicate
with him. No--there was no one who _would_, that _could_ have favoured
me. No one I could think of.
"Stop:"--the banker himself! Happy thought, the banker Brown! Good,
generous Brown, of the English house, Brown and Co., who, with smiling
face, has already cashed my drafts for me. He will do it! The very
man! Why did I not think of him sooner? Yes; if the letter have not
reached him I shall tell him that I expect it every day, and its amount.
He will advance the money.
"Twelve o'clock gone. There is no time to be lost. He's in his
counting-house by this. I shall at once apply to him."
I seized my hat, and hastening out of the hotel, took my way through the
streets towards the banking-house of Brown and Co.