CHAPTER III

THE SLAVE SPECULATOR.

Dick Jennings the slave-speculator, was one of the few Northern men,

who go to the South and throw aside their honest mode of obtaining a

living and resort to trading in human beings. A more repulsive looking

person could scarcely be found in any community of bad looking men.

Tall, lean and lank, with high cheek-bones, face much pitted with the

small-pox, gray eyes with red eyebrows, and sandy whiskers, he indeed

stood alone without mate or fellow in looks. Jennings prided himself

upon what he called his goodness of heart and was always speaking of

his humanity. As many of the slaves whom he intended taking to the New

Orleans market had been raised in Richmond, and had relations there, he

determined to leave the city early in the morning, so as not to witness

any of the scenes so common the departure of a slave-gang to the far

South. In this, he was most successful; for not even Isabella, who had

called at the prison several times to see her mother and sister, was

aware of the time that they were to leave.

The slave-trader started at early dawn, and was beyond the confines of

the city long before the citizens were out of their beds. As a slave

regards a life on the sugar, cotton, or rice plantation as even worse

than death, they are ever on the watch for an opportunity to escape.

The trader, aware of this, secures his victims in chains before he sets

out on his journey. On this occasion, Jennings had the men chained in

pairs, while the women were allowed to go unfastened, but were closely

watched.

After a march of eight days, the company arrived on the banks of the

Ohio River, where they took a steamer for the place of their

destination. Jennings had already advertised in the New Orleans papers,

that he would be there with a prime lot of able-bodied slaves, men and

women, fit for field-service, with a few extra ones calculated for

house servants,--all between the ages of fifteen and twenty-five years;

but like most men who make a business of speculating in human beings,

he often bought many who were far advanced in years, and would try to

pass them off for five or six years younger than they were. Few persons

can arrive at anything approaching the real age of the negro, by mere

observation, unless they are well acquainted with the race. Therefore,

the slave-trader frequently carried out the deception with perfect

impunity.

After the steamer had left the wharf and was fairly out on the bosom of

the broad Mississippi, the speculator called his servant Pompey to him;

and instructed him as to getting the negroes ready for market. Among

the forty slaves that the trader had on this occasion, were some whose

appearance indicated that they had seen some years and had gone through

considerable service. Their gray hair and whiskers at once pronounced

them to be above the ages set down in the trader's advertisement.

Pompey had long been with Jennings, and understood his business well,

and if he did not take delight in the discharge of his duty, he did it

at least with a degree of alacrity, so that he might receive the

approbation of his master.

Pomp, as he was usually called by the trader, was of real negro blood,

and would often say, when alluding to himself, "Dis nigger am no

counterfeit, he is de ginuine artikle. Dis chile is none of your

haf-and-haf, dere is no bogus about him."

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 were large, lips thick, and hair short and woolly.

Pompey had been with Jennings so long, and had seen so much of buying

and selling of his fellow-creatures, that he appeared perfectly

indifferent to the heart-rending scenes which daily occurred in his

presence. Such is the force of habit:--

"Vice is a monster of such frightful mien,

That to be hated, needs but to be seen;

But seen too oft, familiar with Its face,

We first endure, then pity, then embrace."

It was on the second day of the steamer's voyage, that Pompey selected

five of the oldest slaves, took them into a room by themselves, and

commenced preparing them for the market.

"Now," said he, addressing himself to the company, "I is de chap dat is

to get you ready for de Orleans market, so dat you will bring marser a

good price. How old is you?" addressing himself to a man not less than

forty.

"If I live to see next sweet-potato-digging time, I shall be either

forty or forty-five, I don't know which."

"Dat may be," replied Pompey; "but now you is only thirty years

old,--dat's what marser says you is to be."

"I know I is more den dat," responded the man.

"I can't help nuffin' about dat," returned Pompey; "but when you get

into de market and any one ax you how old you is, and you tell um you

is forty or forty-five, marser will tie you up and cut you all to

pieces. But if you tell urn dat you is only thirty, den he won't. Now

remember dat you is thirty years old and no more."

"Well den, I guess I will only be thirty when dey ax me."

"What's your name?" said Pompey, addressing himself to another.

"Jeems."

"Oh! Uncle Jim, is it?"

"Yes."

"Den you must have all them gray whiskers shaved off, and all dem gray

hairs plucked out of your head." This was all said by Pompey in a

manner which showed that he know what he was about.

"How old is you?" asked Pompey of a tall, strong-looking man. "What's

your name?"

"I am twenty-nine years old, and my name is Tobias, but they calls me

Toby."

"Well, Toby, or Mr. Tobias, if dat will suit you better, you are now

twenty-three years old; dat's all,--do you understand dat?"

"Yes," replied Toby.

Pompey now gave them all to understand how old they were to be when

asked by persons who were likely to purchase, and then went and

reported to his master that the old boys were all right.

"Be sure," said Jennings, "that the niggers don't forget what you have

taught them, for our luck this time in the market depends upon their

appearance. If any of them have so many gray hairs that you cannot

pluck them out, take the blacking and brush, and go at them."

Clotelle: A Tale of the Southern States · 第 3 / 35 章