Go to the slave market in New Orleans, in the Arcade, on days of
Auction sales for slaves and you will see and learn what you cannot
in any other place in the world but a slave market. For it is here
before you in unmistakable character, how completely unfeeling,
inhuman and brutalized a man can become, and yet be a “_gentleman_ and
_respectable_.” And surely it would be _unkind_ and _ungenerous_ in
the extreme, to say that those _fine looking_, _rich_ and _generous
hearted_ men who stand there daily and _only_ sell slaves, are not
“_gentlemen_ and _respectable_.” And notwithstanding all the brutality
which you see them exhibit, they claim to have in a large degree, the
common sympathies of our nature, as well as _moral sensibilities_. But
an astonishment amounting to amazement comes over you when you view
these men as they are truly exhibited here. You see before you an
hundred men, women and children of all ages, colors and complexions,
and many of them as white and even whiter than the auctioneer or the
purchaser. You hear their rude jokes and loud laugh, while describing
the qualities and condition of some female, and you can see her shrink
back and drop her head with the true feelings and sense of female
delicacy; and yet this just rebuke upon them only calls out another
rude joke as evidence of greater brutality, while the delicacy and
blush of shame, which their rudeness has brought upon the brow of a
slave, should teach them even in a slave market to observe the common
rules of decency, while treating with females, although they may be
slaves. For certainly man should never forget that modesty is one of
the natural impulses of the female heart, and never can be invaded in
the broad light of day, without changing the warm current of her blood
into a blush of shame upon her brow.
When slaves are put upon the block to be sold, their age is told,
their capabilities for different kinds of labor are described, their
disposition, their perfections and imperfections all come out in
detail, and if they are healthy and in good condition, the Auctioneer
proclaims that “they are fully guarantied against all the vices and
maladies prescribed by law,” and “now, how much is bid for him!” and
while the sale is progressing, the slave usually stands like a statue,
not a muscle in his countenance moves, nor an expression other than a
wandering gaze. And yet you can see that there is an agony and struggle
with the feelings of the soul, deeper than tears can call up, or groans
express. Here they stand as cold and chilled as the speechless marble,
awaiting their doom and destiny. And while all this is going on, you
can hear in the crowd of slaves, in low whispers, the mother pleading
with the inhuman slave-dealer, and begging and beseeching him in all
the agony of a mother’s heart, that her child may not be torn from her.
And in return for this she gets the blasphemous curse and a look of
more than demon’s glare, that bid her be silent, and tells her that the
child is not her own.
And now of such scenes as are here witnessed, I only ask that the
people of this LIBERTY-loving land, that fathers and mothers, those
whose impulses have never been chilled by avarice and the desire of
ease, and the blighting and deadly influence of long familiar custom;
let them stand in the slave Auction, in the city of New Orleans, for
one hour only, and then let them answer whether they have nothing to do
as _moral beings_, as _Christians_, and as American citizens, with this
outrage upon humanity--this mountain of shame and disgrace that bears
down upon the soul of every American--this libel upon the genius of our
institutions. If they must go away with sealed lips from such scenes
as are here presented, and never raise their voice against them, then
may all the accumulated wrongs of the earth be set upon this land, and
never be rebuked, nor resisted by the moral sense of community.
The number of slaves sold here at auction is very great, and it is
the only place in the city for such sales. There are a large number
of traders’ pens, where slaves are received on consignment, and sold
on commission. The traders also buy for speculation. The largest of
these establishments is in Esplenard Street. They are a long row of
low buildings, and on the front step, on the side-walk, the slaves
are made to stand for exhibition from 9 o’clock in the morning till 4
o’clock in the afternoon. There are often in these slave-pens, arranged
in a line on the side-walk, from five to eight hundred, and these are
all fine-looking, robust, stout young men and girls, from the age of
sixteen to twenty-five. There are also, in rear of the public sale-room
in the Arcade, a number of small rooms, occupied by negro traders and
speculators, who bring the negroes from their pens every day, and keep
them here for exhibition. This depot in the Arcade is the largest slave
market in New Orleans.
To satisfy curiosity, in the fall of 1848, I stepped into one of the
rooms, in which were about thirty slaves, principally girls from the
age of fifteen to twenty. I observed a fine-looking mulatto girl, about
seventeen years old, and enquired her qualities. The trader called her
up, and replied, that “she was an excellent sewer, and a first-rate
dress-maker--good body-servant and lady’s waiting-maid and nurse--good
disposition, kind and careful with children, and perfectly healthy,
and without a fault or blemish of any kind.” After this description,
he said to her--“Put out your foot and pull up your clothes. See what
a fine foot and ancle she has got.” He then bid her turn round, and
putting his hands on her waist and hips, said--“See what a beautiful
form.” And then removing the slight covering from her neck, he
remarked--“And what fine full breasts she has: she will raise at least
eight children.” And during all this _common place_ exhibition, I
closely watched the blood course through her veins, and could discover
a deep tinge of crimson flash over her cheek, and her eyes fell to the
floor, as evidence that she involuntarily shrunk from the rudeness
that was thus being forced upon her, while the trafficker in human
flesh stood there as brutal and unfeeling as though every heart was as
callous to moral sensibility as his own. I turned away with a shudder
from the scene before me, ashamed of the curiosity that had prompted
me to make this invasion upon female delicacy, and call out such an
exhibition of human depravity as this trader presented, while her sense
of propriety and delicacy had not even the privilege of covering her
face, nor the apology of temptation.