GOING TO THE SOUTH
"My country, shall thy honoured name,
Be as a bye-word through the world?
Rouse! for, as if to blast thy fame,
This keen reproach is at thee hurled;
The banner that above the waves,
Is floating o'er three million slaves."
DICK WALKER, the slave speculator, who had purchased Currer and
Althesa, put them in prison until his gang was made up, and then,
with his forty slaves, started for the New Orleans market. As
many of the slaves had been brought up in Richmond, and had
relations residing there, the slave trader determined to leave
the city early in the morning, so as not to witness any of those
scenes so common where slaves are separated from their relatives
and friends, when about departing for the Southern market. This
plan was successful; for not even Clotel, who had been every day
at the prison to see her mother and sister, knew of their
departure. A march of eight days through the interior of the
state, and they arrived on the banks of the Ohio river, where
they were all put on board a steamer, and then speedily sailed
for the place of their destination.
Walker had already advertised in the New Orleans papers, that he
would be there at a stated time with "a prime lot of able bodied
slaves ready for field service; together with a few extra ones,
between the ages of fifteen and twenty-five." But, like most who
make a business of buying and selling slaves for gain, he often
bought some who were far advanced in years, and would always try
to sell them for five or ten years younger than they actually
were. Few persons can arrive at anything like the age of a Negro,
by mere observation, unless they are well acquainted with the
race. Therefore the slave-trader very frequently carried out this
deception with perfect impunity. After the steamer had left the
wharf, and was fairly on the bosom of the Father of Waters,
Walker called his servant Pompey to him, and instructed him as to
"getting the Negroes ready for market." Amongst the forty Negroes
were several whose appearance indicated that they had seen some
years, and had gone through some services. Their grey hair and
whiskers at once pronounced them to be above the ages set down in
the trader's advertisement. Pompey had long been with the trader,
and knew his business; and if he did not take delight in
discharging his duty, he did it with a degree of alacrity, so
that he might receive the approbation of his master. "Pomp," as
Walker usually called him, was of real Negro blood, and would
often say, when alluding to himself, "Dis nigger is no countefit;
he is de genewine artekil." Pompey was of low stature, round
face, and, like most of his race, had a set of teeth, which for
whiteness and beauty could not be surpassed; his eyes large, lips
thick, and hair short and woolly. Pompey had been with Walker so
long, and had seen so much of the buying and selling of slaves,
that he appeared perfectly indifferent to the heartrending scenes
which daily occurred in his presence. It was on the second day of
the steamer's voyage that Pompey selected five of the old slaves,
took them in a room by themselves, and commenced preparing them
for the market. "Well," said Pompey, addressing himself to the
company, "I is de gentman dat is to get you ready, so dat you
will bring marser a good price in de Orleans market. How old is
you?" addressing himself to a man who, from appearance, was not
less than forty.
"If I live to see next corn-planting time I will either be
forty-five or fifty-five, I don't know which."
"Dat may be," replied Pompey; "But now you is only thirty years
old; dat is what marser says you is to be."
"I know I is more den dat," responded the man.
"I knows nothing about dat," said Pompey; "but when you get in de
market, an anybody axe you how old you is, an you tell 'em
forty-five, marser will tie you up an gib you de whip like smoke.
But if you tell 'em dat you is only thirty, den he wont."
"Well den, I guess I will only be thirty when dey axe me,"
replied the chattel.
"What your name?" inquired Pompey.
"Geemes," answered the man.
"Oh, Uncle Jim, is it?"
"Yes."
"Den you must have off dem dare whiskers of yours, an when you
get to Orleans you must grease dat face an make it look shiney."
This was all said by Pompey in a manner which clearly showed that
he knew what he was about.
"How old is you?" asked Pompey of a tall, strong-looking man.
"I was twenty-nine last potato-digging time," said the man.
"What's your name?"
"My name is Tobias, but dey call me 'Toby.'"
"Well, Toby, or Mr. Tobias, if dat will suit you better, you is
now twenty-three years old, an no more. Dus you hear dat?"
"Yes," responded Toby.
Pompey gave each to understand how old he was to be when asked by
persons who wished to purchase, and then reported to his master
that the "old boys" were all right. At eight o'clock on the
evening of the third day, the lights of another steamer were seen
in the distance, and apparently coming up very fast. This was a
signal for a general commotion on the Patriot, and everything
indicated that a steamboat race was at hand. Nothing can exceed
the excitement attendant upon a steamboat race on the Mississippi
river. By the time the boats had reached Memphis, they were side
by side, and each exerting itself to keep the ascendancy in point
of speed. The night was clear, the moon shining brightly, and the
boats so near to each other that the passengers were calling out
from one boat to the other. On board the Patriot, the firemen
were using oil, lard, butter, and even bacon, with the wood, for
the purpose of raising the steam to its highest pitch. The blaze,
mingled with the black smoke, showed plainly that the other boat
was burning more than wood. The two boats soon locked, so that
the hands of the boats were passing from vessel to vessel, and
the wildest excitement prevailed throughout amongst both
passengers and crew. At this moment the engineer of the Patriot
was seen to fasten down the safety-valve, so that no steam should
escape. This was, indeed, a dangerous resort. A few of the boat
hands who saw what had taken place, left that end of the boat for
more secure quarters.
The Patriot stopped to take in passengers, and still no steam was
permitted to escape. At the starting of the boat cold water was
forced into the boilers by the machinery, and, as might have been
expected, one of the boilers immediately exploded. One dense fog
of steam filled every part of the vessel, while shrieks, groans,
and cries were heard on every hand. The saloons and cabins soon
had the appearance of a hospital. By this time the boat had
landed, and the Columbia, the other boat, had come alongside to
render assistance to the disabled steamer. The killed and scalded
(nineteen in number) were put on shore, and the Patriot, taken in
tow by the Columbia, was soon again on its way.
It was now twelve o'clock at night, and instead of the passengers
being asleep the majority were ambling in the saloons. Thousands
of dollars change hands during a passage from Louisville or St.
Louis to New Orleans on a Mississippi steamer, and many men, and
even ladies, are completely ruined.
"Go call my boy, steward," said Mr. Smith, as he took his cards
one by one from the table. In a few moments a fine looking,
bright-eyed mulatto boy, apparently about fifteen years of age,
was standing by his master's side at the table. "I will see you,
and five hundred dollars better," said Smith, as his servant
Jerry approached the table.
"What price do you set on that boy?" asked Johnson, as he took a
roll of bills from his pocket.
"He will bring a thousand dollars, any day, in the New Orleans
market," replied Smith.
"Then you bet the whole of the boy, do you?"
"Yes."
"I call you, then," said Johnson, at the same time spreading his
cards out upon the table.
"You have beat me," said Smith, as soon as he saw the cards.
Jerry, who was standing on top of the table, with the bank notes
and silver dollars round his feet, was now ordered to descend
from the table.
"You will not forget that you belong to me," said Johnson, as the
young slave was stepping from the table to a chair.
"No, sir," replied the chattel.
"Now go back to your bed, and be up in time to-morrow morning to
brush my clothes and clean my boots, do you hear?"
"Yes, sir," responded Jerry, as he wiped the tears from his eyes.
Smith took from his pocket the bill of sale and handed it to
Johnson; at the same time saying, "I claim the right of redeeming
that boy, Mr. Johnson. My father gave him to me when I came of
age, and I promised not to part with him."
"Most certainly, sir, the boy shall be yours, whenever you hand me
over a cool thousand," replied Johnson. The next morning, as the
passengers were assembling in the breakfast saloons and upon the
guards of the vessel, and the servants were seen running about
waiting upon or looking for their masters, poor Jerry was
entering his new master's stateroom with his boots.
"Who do you belong to?" said a gentleman to an old black man, who
came along leading a fine dog that he had been feeding.
"When I went to sleep last night, I belonged to Governor Lucas;
but I understand dat he is bin gambling all night, so I don't
know who owns me dis morning." Such is the uncertainty of a
slave's position. He goes to bed at night the property of the man
with whom he has lived for years, and gets up in the morning the
slave of some one whom he has never seen before! To behold five
or six tables in a steamboat's cabin, with half-a-dozen men
playing at cards, and money, pistols, bowie-knives, all in
confusion on the tables, is what may be seen at almost any time
on the Mississippi river.
On the fourth day, while at Natchez, taking in freight and
passengers, Walker, who had been on shore to see some of his old
customers, returned, accompanied by a tall, thin-faced man,
dressed in black, with a white neckcloth, which immediately
proclaimed him to be a clergyman. "I want a good, trusty woman
for house service," said the stranger, as they entered the cabin
where Walker's slaves were kept.
"Here she is, and no mistake," replied the trader.
"Stand up, Currer, my gal; here's a gentleman who wishes to see if
you will suit him."
Althesa clung to her mother's side, as the latter rose from her
seat.
"She is a rare cook, a good washer, and will suit you to a T, I am
sure."
"If you buy me, I hope you will buy my daughter too," said the
woman, in rather an excited manner.
"I only want one for my own use, and would not need another," said
the man in black, as he and the trader left the room. Walker and
the parson went into the saloon, talked over the matter, the bill
of sale was made out, the money paid over, and the clergyman left,
with the understanding that the woman should be delivered to him
at his house. It seemed as if poor Althesa would have wept
herself to death, for the first two days after her mother had
been torn from her side by the hand of the ruthless trafficker in
human flesh. On the arrival of the boat at Baton Rouge, an
additional number of passengers were taken on board; and, amongst
them, several persons who had been attending the races. Gambling
and drinking were now the order of the day. Just as the ladies and
gentlemen were assembling at the supper-table, the report of a
pistol was heard in the direction of the Social Hall, which caused
great uneasiness to the ladies, and took the gentlemen to that
part of the cabin. However, nothing serious had occurred. A man
at one of the tables where they were gambling had been seen
attempting to conceal a card in his sleeve, and one of the party
seized his pistol and fired; but fortunately the barrel of the
pistol was knocked up, just as it was about to be discharged, and
the ball passed through the upper deck, instead of the man's
head, as intended. Order was soon restored; all went on well the
remainder of the night, and the next day, at ten o'clock, the
boat arrived at New Orleans, and the passengers went to the
hotels and the slaves to the market!
"Our eyes are yet on Afric's shores,
Her thousand wrongs we still deplore;
We see the grim slave trader there;
We hear his fettered victim's prayer;
And hasten to the sufferer's aid,
Forgetful of our own 'slave trade.'
"The Ocean 'Pirate's' fiend-like form
Shall sink beneath the vengeance-storm;
His heart of steel shall quake before
The battle-din and havoc roar:
The knave shall die, the Law hath said,
While it protects our own 'slave trade.'
"What earthly eye presumes to scan
The wily Proteus-heart of man?--
What potent hand will e'er unroll
The mantled treachery of his soul!--
O where is he who hath surveyed
The horrors of our own 'slave trade?'
"There is an eye that wakes in light,
There is a hand of peerless might;
Which, soon or late, shall yet assail
And rend dissimulation's veil:
Which will unfold the masquerade
Which justifies our own 'slave trade.'"