_Scene 1._—PARLOR.
_DR. GAINES at a table, letters and papers before him._
_Enter SAMPEY, L._
_Sampey._ Dar’s a gemman at de doe, massa, dat wants to see you, seer.
_Dr. Gaines._ Ask him to walk in, Sampey.
[_Exit SAMPEY, L._
_Enter WALKER._
_Walker._ Why, how do you do, Dr. Gaines? I em glad to see you, I’ll
swear.
_Dr. G._ How do you do, Mr. Walker? I did not expect to see you up here
so soon. What has hurried you?
_Walk._ Well, you see, doctor, I comes when I em not expected. The price
of niggers is up, and I em gwine to take advantage of the times. Now,
doctor, ef you’ve got any niggers that you wants to sell, I em your man.
I am paying the highest price of any body in the market. I pay cash down,
and no grumblin’.
_Dr. G._ I don’t know that I want to sell any of my people now. Still,
I’ve got to make up a little money next month, to pay in bank; and
another thing, the doctors say that we are likely to have a touch of the
cholera this summer, and if that’s the case, I suppose I had better turn
as many of my slaves into cash as I can.
_Walk._ Yes, doctor, that is very true. The cholera is death on slaves,
and a thousand dollars in your pocket is a great deal better than a
nigger in the field, with cholera at his heels. Why, who is that coming
up the lane? It’s Mr. Wildmarsh, as I live! Jest the very man I wants to
see.
_Enter MR. WILDMARSH._
Why, how do you do, Squire? I was jest a thinkin’ about you.
_Wildmarsh._ How are you, Mr. Walker? and how are you, doctor? I am glad
to see you both looking so well. You seem in remarkably good health,
doctor?
_Dr. G._ Yes, Squire, I was never in the enjoyment of better health. I
hope you left all well at Licking?
_Wild._ Yes, I thank you. And now, Mr. Walker, how goes times with you?
_Walk._ Well, you see, Squire, I em in good spirits. The price of niggers
is up in the market, and I am lookin’ out for bargains; and I was jest
intendin’ to come over to Lickin’ to see you, to see if you had any
niggers to sell. But it seems as ef the Lord knowed that I wanted to see
you, and directed your steps over here. Now, Squire, ef you’ve got any
niggers you wants to sell, I em your man. I am payin’ the highest cash
price of any body in the market. Now’s your time, Squire.
_Wild._ No, I don’t think I want to sell any of my slaves now. I sold a
very valuable gal to Mr. Haskins last week. I tell you, she was a smart
one. I got eighteen hundred dollars for her.
_Walk._ Why, Squire, how you do talk! Eighteen hundred dollars for one
gal? She must have been a screamer to bring that price. What sort of a
lookin’ critter was she? I should like to have bought her.
_Wild._ She was a little of the smartest gal I’ve ever raised; that she
was.
_Walk._ Then she was your own raising, was she?
_Wild._ Oh, yes; she was raised on my place, and if I could have kept
her three or four years longer, and taken her to the market myself, I
am sure I could have sold her for three thousand dollars. But you see,
Mr. Walker, my wife got a little jealous, and you know jealousy sets
the women’s heads a teetering, and so I had to sell the gal. She’s got
straight hair, blue eyes, prominent features, and is almost white.
Haskins will make a spec, and no mistake.
_Walk._ Why, Squire, was she that pretty little gal that I saw on your
knee the day that your wife was gone, when I was at your place three
years ago?
_Wild._ Yes, the same.
_Walk._ Well, now, Squire, I thought that was your daughter; she looked
mightily like you. She was your daughter, wasn’t she? You need not be
ashamed to own it to me, for I am mum upon such matters.
_Wild._ You know, Mr. Walker, that people will talk, and when they talk,
they say a great deal; and people did talk, and many said the gal was my
daughter; and you know we can’t help people’s talking. But here comes the
Rev. Mr. Pinchen; I didn’t know that he was in the neighborhood.
_Walk._ It is Mr. Pinchen, as I live; jest the very man I wants to see.
_Enter MR. PINCHEN, R._
Why, how do you do, Mr. Pinchen? What in the name of Jehu brings you down
here to Muddy Creek? Any camp-meetins, revival meetins, death-bed scenes,
or any thing else in your line going on down here? How is religion
prosperin’ now, Mr. Pinchen? I always like to hear about religion.
_Mr. Pin._ Well, Mr. Walker, the Lord’s work is in good condition every
where now. I tell you, Mr. Walker, I’ve been in the gospel ministry
these thirteen years, and I am satisfied that the heart of man is full
of sin and desperately wicked. This is a wicked world, Mr. Walker, a
wicked world, and we ought all of us to have religion. Religion is a good
thing to live by, and we all want it when we die. Yes, sir, when the
great trumpet blows, we ought to be ready. And a man in your business of
buying and selling slaves needs religion more than any body else, for it
makes you treat your people as you should. Now, there is Mr. Haskins,—he
is a slave-trader, like yourself. Well, I converted him. Before he got
religion, he was one of the worst men to his niggers I ever saw; his
heart was as hard as stone. But religion has made his heart as soft as
a piece of cotton. Before I converted him, he would sell husbands from
their wives, and seem to take delight in it; but now he won’t sell a man
from his wife, if he can get anyone to buy both of them together. I tell
you, sir, religion has done a wonderful work for him.
_Walk._ I know, Mr. Pinchen, that I ought to have religion, and I feel
that I am a great sinner; and whenever I get with good pious people like
you and the doctor, and Mr. Wildmarsh, it always makes me feel that I
am a desperate sinner. I feel it the more, because I’ve got a religious
turn of mind. I know that I would be happier with religion, and the first
spare time I get, I am going to try to get it. I’ll go to a protracted
meeting, and I won’t stop till I get religion. Yes, I’ll scuffle with the
Lord till I gets forgiven. But it always makes me feel bad to talk about
religion, so I’ll change the subject. Now, doctor, what about them thar
niggers you thought you could sell me?
_Dr. Gaines._ I’ll see my wife, Mr. Walker, and if she is willing to part
with Hannah, I’ll sell you Sam and his wife, Hannah. Ah! here comes my
wife; I’ll mention it.
_Enter MRS. GAINES, L._
Ah! my dear, I am glad you’ve come. I was just telling Mr. Walker, that
if you were willing to part with Hannah, I’d sell him Sam and Hannah.
_Mrs. G._ Now, Dr. Gaines, I am astonished and surprised that you should
think of such a thing. You know what trouble I’ve had in training up
Hannah for a house servant, and now that I’ve got her so that she
knows my ways, you want to sell her. Haven’t you niggers enough on the
plantation to sell, without selling the servants from under my very nose?
_Dr. G._ Oh, yes, my dear; but I can spare Sam, and I don’t like to
separate him from his wife; and I thought if you could let Hannah go, I’d
sell them both. I don’t like to separate husbands from their wives.
_Mrs. G._ Now, gentlemen, that’s just the way with my husband. He thinks
more about the welfare and comfort of his slaves, than he does of himself
or his family. I am sure you need not feel so bad at the thought of
separating Sam from Hannah. They’ve only been married eight months,
and their attachment can’t be very strong in that short time. Indeed, I
shall be glad if you do sell Sam, for then I’ll make Hannah _jump the
broomstick_ with Cato, and I’ll have them both here under my eye. I never
will again let one of my house servants marry a field hand—never! For
when night comes on, the servants are off to the quarters, and I have to
holler and holler enough to split my throat before I can make them hear.
And another thing: I want you to sell Melinda. I don’t intend to keep
that mulatto wench about the house any longer.
_Dr. Gaines._ My dear, I’ll sell any servant from the place to suit you,
except Melinda. I can’t think of selling her—I can’t think of it.
_Mrs. G._ I tell you that Melinda shall leave this house, or I’ll go.
There, now you have it. I’ve had my life tormented out of me by the
presence of that yellow wench, and I’ll stand it no longer. I know you
love her more than you do me, and I’ll—I’ll—I’ll write—write to my
father. [_Weeps._]
[_Exit MRS. GAINES, L._
_Walk._ Why, doctor, your wife’s a screamer, ain’t she? Ha, ha, ha. Why,
doctor, she’s got a tongue of her own, ain’t she? Why, doctor, it was
only last week that I thought of getting a wife myself; but your wife has
skeered the idea out of my head. Now, doctor, if you wants to sell the
gal, I’ll buy her. Husband and wife ought to be on good terms, and your
wife won’t feel well till the gal is gone. Now, I’ll pay you all she’s
worth, if you wants to sell.
_Dr. G._ No, Mr. Walker; the girl my wife spoke of is not for sale. My
wife does not mean what she says; she’s only a little jealous. I’ll get
brother Pinchen to talk to her, and get her mind turned upon religious
matters, and then she’ll forget it. She’s only a little jealous.
_Walk._ I tell you what, doctor, ef you call that a little jealous, I’d
like to know what’s a heap. I tell you, it will take something more than
religion to set your wife right. You had better sell me the gal; I’ll pay
you cash down, and no grumblin’.
_Dr. G._ The girl is not for sale, Mr. Walker; but if you want two
good, able-bodied servants, I’ll sell you Sam and Big Sally. Sam is
trustworthy, and Sally is worth her weight in gold for rough usage.
_Walk._ Well, doctor, I’ll go out and take a look at ’em, for I never
buys slaves without examining them well, because they are sometimes
injured by over-work or under-feedin’. I don’t say that is the case with
yours, for I don’t believe it is; but as I sell on honor, I must buy on
honor.
_Dr. G._ Walk out, sir, and you can examine them to your heart’s content.
Walk right out, sir.
_Scene 2._—VIEW IN FRONT OF THE GREAT HOUSE.
_Examination of SAM and BIG SALLY.—DR. GAINES, WILDMARSH, MR.
PINCHEN and WALKER present._
_Walk._ Well, my boy, what’s your name?
_Sam._ Sam, sir, is my name.
_Walk._ How old are you, Sam?
_Sam._ Ef I live to see next corn plantin’ time, I’ll be 27, or 30, or
35, or 40—I don’t know which, sir.
_Walk._ Ha, ha, ha. Well, doctor, this is rather a green boy. Well, mer
feller, are you sound?
_Sam._ Yes, sir, I spec I is.
_Walk._ Open your mouth and let me see your teeth. I allers judge a
nigger’s age by his teeth, same as I dose a hoss. Ah! pretty good set of
grinders. Have you got a good appetite?
_Sam._ Yes, sir.
_Walk._ Can you eat your allowance?
_Sam._ Yes, sir, when I can get it.
_Walk._ Get out on the floor and dance; I want to see if you are supple.
_Sam._ I don’t like to dance; I is got religion.
_Walk._ Oh, ho! you’ve got religion, have you? That’s so much the better.
I likes to deal in the gospel. I think he’ll suit me. Now, mer gal,
what’s your name?
_Sally._ I is Big Sally, sir.
_Walk._ How old are you, Sally?
_Sally._ I don’t know, sir; but I heard once dat I was born at sweet
pertater diggin’ time.
_Walk._ Ha, ha, ha. Don’t know how old you are! Do you know who made you?
_Sally._ I hev heard who it was in de Bible dat made me, but I dun forget
de gentman’s name.
_Walk._ Ha, ha, ha. Well, doctor, this is the greenest lot of niggers
I’ve seen for some time. Well, what do you ask for them?
_Dr. Gaines._ You may have Sam for $1000, and Sally for $900. They are
worth all I ask for them. You know I never banter, Mr. Walker. There they
are; you can take them at that price, or let them alone, just as you
please.
_Walk._ Well, doctor, I reckon I’ll take ’em; but it’s all they are
worth. I’ll put the handcuffs on ’em, and then I’ll pay you. I likes to
go accordin’ to Scripter. Scripter says ef eatin’ meat will offend your
brother, you must quit it; and I say, ef leavin’ your slaves without the
handcuffs will make ’em run away, you must put the handcuffs on ’em. Now,
Sam, don’t you and Sally cry. I am of a tender heart, and it allers makes
me feel bad to see people cryin’. Don’t cry, and the first place I get
to, I’ll buy each of you a great big _ginger cake_,—that I will. Now,
Mr. Pinchen, I wish you were going down the river. I’d like to have your
company; for I allers likes the company of preachers.
_Mr. Pinchen._ Well, Mr. Walker, I would be much pleased to go down the
river with you, but it’s too early for me. I expect to go to Natchez in
four or five weeks, to attend a camp-meetin’, and if you were going down
then, I’d like it. What kind of niggers sells best in the Orleans market,
Mr. Walker?
_Walk._ Why, field hands. Did you think of goin’ in the trade?
_Mr. P._ Oh, no; only it’s a long ways down to Natchez, and I thought I’d
just buy five or six niggers, and take ’em down and sell ’em to pay my
travellin’ expenses. I only want to clear my way.
_Scene 3._—SITTING-ROOM—TABLE AND ROCKING-CHAIR.
_Enter MRS. GAINES, R., followed by SAMPEY._
_Mrs. Gaines._ I do wish your master would come; I want supper. Run to
the gate, Sampey, and see if he is coming.
[_Exit SAMPEY, L._
That man is enough to break my heart. The patience of an angel could not
stand it.
_Enter SAMPEY, L._
_Samp._ Yes, missis, master is coming.
_Enter DR. GAINES, L._
[_The Doctor walks about with his hands under his coat, seeming
very much elated._
_Mrs. Gaines._ Why, doctor, what is the matter?
_Dr. Gaines._ My dear, don’t call me _doctor_.
_Mrs. G._ What should I call you?
_Dr. G._ Call me Colonel, my dear—Colonel. I have been elected Colonel of
the Militia, and I want you to call me by my right name. I always felt
that Providence had designed me for something great, and He has just
begun to shower His blessings upon me.
_Mrs. G._ Dear me, I could never get to calling you Colonel; I’ve called
you Doctor for the last twenty years.
_Dr. G._ Now, Sarah, if you will call me Colonel, other people will, and
I want you to set the example. Come, my darling, call me Colonel, and
I’ll give you any thing you wish for.
_Mrs. G._ Well, as I want a new gold watch and bracelets, I’ll commence
now. Come, Colonel, we’ll go to supper. Ah! now for my new shawl.
[_Aside._] Mrs. Lemme was here to-day, Colonel, and she had on, Colonel,
one of the prettiest shawls, Colonel, I think, Colonel, that I ever
saw, Colonel, in my life, Colonel. And there is only one, Colonel, in
Mr. Watson’s store, Colonel; and that, Colonel, will do, Colonel, for a
Colonel’s wife.
_Dr. G._ Ah! my dear, you never looked so much the lady since I’ve known
you. Go, my darling, get the watch, bracelets and shawl, and tell them
to charge them to Colonel Gaines; and when you say “Colonel,” always
emphasize the word.
_Mrs. G._ Come, Colonel, let’s go to supper.
_Dr. G._ My dear, you’re a jewel,—you are!
[_Exit, R._
_Enter CATO, L._
_Cato._ Why, whar is massa and missis? I tought dey was here. Ah! by
golly, yonder comes a mulatter gal. Yes, it’s Mrs. Jones’s Tapioca. I’ll
set up to dat gal, dat I will.
_Enter TAPIOCA, R._
Good ebenin’, Miss Tappy. How is your folks?
_Tapioca._ Pretty well, I tank you.
_Cato._ Miss Tappy, dis wanderin’ heart of mine is yours. Come, take a
seat! Please to squze my manners; love discommodes me. Take a seat. Now,
Miss Tappy, I loves you; an ef you will jess marry me, I’ll make you a
happy husband, dat I will. Come, take me as I is.
_Tap._ But what will Big Jim say?
_Cato._ Big Jim! Why, let dat nigger go to Ginny. I want to know,
now, if you is tinkin’ about dat common nigger? Why, Miss Tappy, I
is surstonished dat you should tink ’bout frowin’ yousef away wid a
common, ugly lookin’ cuss like Big Jim, when you can get a fine lookin’,
suspectable man like me. Come, Miss Tappy, choose dis day who you have.
Afore I go any furder, give me one kiss. Come, give me one kiss. Come,
let me kiss you.
_Tap._ No you shan’t—dare now! You shan’t kiss me widout you is stronger
den I is; and I know you is dat. [_He kisses her._]
_Enter DR. GAINES, R., and hides._
_Cato._ Did you know, Miss Tappy, dat I is de head doctor ’bout dis
house? I beats de ole boss all to pieces.
_Tap._ I hev hearn dat you bleeds and pulls teef.
_Cato._ Yes, Miss Tappy; massa could not get along widout me, for massa
was made a doctor by books; but I is a natral doctor. I was born a
doctor, jess as Lorenzo Dow was born a preacher. So you see I can’t be
nuffin’ but a doctor, while massa is a bunglin’ ole cuss at de bissness.
_Dr. Gaines_, (in a low voice.) Never mind; I’ll teach you a lesson, that
I will.
_Cato._ You see, Miss Tappy, I was gwine to say—— Ah! but afore I forget,
jess give me anudder kiss, jess to keep company wid de one dat you give
me jess now,—dat’s all, [_Kisses her._] Now, Miss Tappy, duse you know de
fuss time dat I seed you?
_Tap._ No, Mr. Cato, I don’t.
_Cato._ Well, it was at de camp-meetin’. Oh, Miss Tappy, dat pretty red
calliker dress you had on dat time did de work for me. It made my heart
flutter—
_Dr. G._ (low voice.) Yes, and I’ll make your black hide flutter.
_Cato._ Didn’t I hear some noise? By golly, dar is teves in dis house,
and I’ll drive ’em out.
[_Takes a chair and runs at the Doctor, and knocks him down.
The Doctor chases Cato round the table._
_Cato._ Oh, massa, I didn’t know ’twas you!
_Dr. G._ You scoundrel! I’ll whip you well. Stop! I tell you.
[_Curtain falls._