_A Room in Mrs. Peyton's house; entrances,_ R. U. E. _and_
L. U. E.--_An Auction Bill stuck up,_ L.--_chairs,_ C., _and tables,_
R. _and_ L.
Solon _and_ Grace _discovered._
_Pete._ [_Outside,_ R. U. E.] Dis way--dis way.
_Enter_ Pete, Pointdexter, Jackson, Lafouche, _and_ Caillou, R. U. E.
_Pete._ Dis way, gen'l'men; now Solon--Grace--dey's hot and
tirsty--sangaree, brandy, rum.
_Jackson._ Well, what d'ye say, Lafouche--d'ye smile?
_Enter_ Thibodeaux _and_ Sunnyside, R. U. E.
_Thibo._ I hope we don't intrude on the family.
_Pete._ You see dat hole in dar, sar. [R. U. E.] I was raised on dis
yar plantation--neber see no door in it--always open, sar, for
stranger to walk in.
_Sunny._ And for substance to walk out.
_Enter_ Ratts, R. U. E.
_Ratts._ Fine southern style that, eh!
_Lafouche._ [_Reading bill._] "A fine, well-built old family mansion,
replete with every comfort."
_Ratts._ There's one name on the list of slaves scratched, I see.
_Lafouche._ Yes; No. 49, Paul, a quadroon boy, aged thirteen.
_Sunny._ He's missing.
_Point._ Run away, I suppose.
_Pete._ [_Indignantly._] No, sar; nigger nebber cut stick on
Terrebonne; dat boy's dead, sure.
_Ratts._ What, Picayune Paul, as we called, him, that used to come
aboard my boat?--poor little darkey, I Hope not; many a picayune he
picked up for his dance and nigger-songs, and he supplied our table
with fish and game from the Bayous.
_Pete._ Nebber supply no more, sar--nebber dance again. Mas'r Ratts,
you hard him sing about de place where de good niggers go, de last
time.
_Ratts._ Well!
_Pete._ Well, he gone dar hisself; why, I tink so--'cause we missed
Paul for some days, but nebber tout nothin' till one night dat Injiun
Wahnotee suddenly stood right dar 'mongst us--was in his war paint,
and mighty cold and grave--he sit down by de fire. "Whar's Paul?" I
say--he smoke and smoke, but nebber look out ob de fire; well knowing
dem critters, I wait a long time--den he say, "Wahnotee, great
chief;" den I say nothing--smoke anoder time--last, rising to go, he
turn round at door, and say berry low--O, like a woman's voice, he
say, "Omenee Pangeuk,"--dat is, Paul is dead--nebber see him since.
_Ratts._ That red-skin killed him.
_Sunny._ So we believe; and so mad are the folks around, if they
catch the red-skin they'll lynch him sure.
_Ratts._ Lynch him! Darn his copper carcass, I've got a set of Irish
deck-hands aboard that just loved that child; and after I tell them
this, let them get a sight of the red-skin, I believe they would eat
him, tomahawk and all. Poor little Paul!
_Thibo._ What was he worth?
_Ratts._ Well, near on five hundred dollars.
_Pete._ [_Scandalized._] What, sar! You p'tend to be sorry for Paul,
and prize him like dat. Five hundred dollars!--[_To_ Thibodeaux.]
Tousand dollars, Massa Thibodeaux.
_Enter_ Scudder, L. U. E.
_Scud._ Gentlemen, the sale takes place at three. Good morning,
Colonel. It's near that now, and there's still the sugar-houses to be
inspected. Good day, Mr. Thibodeaux--shall we drive down that way?
Mr. Lafouche, why, how do you do, sir? you're looking well.
_Lafouche._ Sorry I can't return the compliment.
_Ratts._ Salem's looking a kinder hollowed out.
_Scud._ What, Mr. Ratts, are you going to invest in swamps?
_Ratts._ No; I want a nigger.
_Scud._ Hush.
_Pete._ [R.] Eh! wass dat?
_Scud._ Mr. Sunnyside, I can't do this job of showin' round the
folks; my stomach goes agin it. I want Pete here a minute.
_Sunny._ I'll accompany them certainly.
_Scud._ [_Eagerly._] Will ye? Thank ye; thank ye.
_Sunny._ We must excuse Scudder, friends. I'll see you round the
estate.
_Enter_ George _and_ Mrs. Peyton, L. U. E.
_Lafouche._ Good morning, Mrs. Peyton. [_All salute._]
_Sunny._ This way, gentlemen.
_Ratts._ [_Aside to_ Sunnyside.] I say, I'd like to say summit soft
to the old woman; perhaps it wouldn't go well, would it?
_Thibo._ No; leave it alone.
_Ratts._ Darn it, when I see a woman in trouble, I feel like selling
the skin off my back. [_Exit_ Thibodeaux, Sunnyside, Ratts,
Pointdexter, Grace, Jackson, Lafouche, Caillou, Solon, R. U. E.
_Scud._ [_Aside to_ Pete.] Go outside, there; listen to what you
hear, then go down to the quarters and tell the boys, for I can't do
it. O, get out.
_Pete._ He said I want a nigger. Laws, mussey! What am goin' to cum
ob us! [_Exit slowly, as if concealing himself,_ R. U. E.
_George._ [C.] My dear aunt, why do you not move from this painful
scene? Go with Dora to Sunnyside.
_Mrs. P._ [R.] No, George; your uncle said to me with his dying
breath, "Nellie, never leave Terrebonne," and I never will leave it,
till the law compels me.
_Scud._ [L.] Mr. George, I'm going to say somethin' that has been
chokin' me for some time. I know you'll excuse it. Thar's Miss
Dora--that girl's in love with you; yes, sir, her eyes are startin'
out of her head with it; now her fortune would redeem a good part of
this estate.
_Mrs. P._ Why, George, I never suspected this!
_George._ I did, aunt, I confess, but--
_Mrs. P._ And you hesitated from motives of delicacy?
_Scud._ No, ma'am; here's the plan of it. Mr. George is in love with
Zoe.
_George._ Scudder!
_Mrs. P._ George!
_Scud._ Hold on now! things have got so jammed in on top of us, we
ain't got time to put kid gloves on to handle them. He loves Zoe, and
has found out that she loves him. [_Sighing._] Well, that's all
right; but as he can't marry her, and as Miss Dora would jump at
him--
_Mrs. P._ Why didn't you mention this before?
_Scud._ Why, because I love Zoe, too, and I couldn't take that young
feller from her; and she's jist living on the sight of him, as I saw
her do; and they so happy in spite of this yer misery around them,
and they reproachin' themselves with not feeling as they ought. I've
seen it, I tell you; and darn it, ma'am, can't you see that's what's
been a hollowing me out so--I beg your pardon.
_Mrs. P._ O, George,--my son, let me call you,--I do not speak for my
own sake, nor for the loss of the estate, but for the poor people
here; they will be sold, divided, and taken away--they have been born
here. Heaven has denied me children; so all the strings of my heart
have grown around and amongst them, like the fibres and roots of an
old tree in its native earth. O, let all go, but save them! With them
around us, if we have not wealth, we shall at least have the home
that they alone can make--
_George._ My dear mother--Mr. Scudder--you teach me what I ought to
do; if Miss Sunnyside will accept me as I am, Terrebonne shall be
saved; I will sell myself, but the slaves shall be protected.
_Mrs. P._ _Sell_ yourself, George! Is not Dora worth any man's--
_Scud._ Don't say that, ma'am; don't say that to a man that loves
another gal. He's going to do an heroic act; don't spile it.
_Mrs. P._ But Zoe is only an Octoroon.
_Scud._ She's won this race agin the white, anyhow; it's too late now
to start her pedigree.
_Enter_ Dora, L. U. E.
_Scud._ [Seeing Dora.] Come, Mrs. Peyton, take my arm. Hush! here's
the other one; she's a little too thoroughbred--too much of the
greyhound; but the heart's there, I believe. [_Exit_ Scudder _and_
Mrs. Peyton, R. U. E.
_Dora._ Poor Mrs. Peyton.
_George._ Miss Sunnyside, permit me a word; a feeling of delicacy has
suspended upon my lips an avowal, which--
_Dora._ [_Aside._] O, dear, has he suddenly come to his senses?
_Enter_ Zoe, L. U. E., _she stops at back._
_George._ In a word, I have seen and admired you!
_Dora._ [_Aside._] He has a strange way of showing it. European, I
suppose.
_George._ If you would pardon the abruptness of the question, I would
ask you, Do you think the sincere devotion of my life to make yours
happy would succeed?
_Dora._ [_Aside._] Well, he has the oddest way of making love.
_George._ You are silent?
_Dora._ Mr. Peyton, I presume you have hesitated to make this avowal
because you feared, in the present condition of affairs here, your
object might be misconstrued, and that your attention was rather to
my fortune than myself. [_A pause._] Why don't he speak?--I mean, you
feared I might not give you credit for sincere and pure feelings.
Well, you wrong me. I don't think you capable of anything else than--
_George._ No, I hesitated because an attachment I had formed before I
had the pleasure of seeing you had not altogether died out.
_Dora._ [_Smiling._] Some of those sirens of Paris, I presume,
[_Pause._] I shall endeavor not to be jealous of the past; perhaps I
have no right to be. [_Pause._] But now that vagrant love is--eh?
faded--is it not? Why don't you speak, sir?
_George._ Because, Miss Sunnyside, I have not learned to lie.
_Dora._ Good gracious--who wants you to?
_George._ I do, but I can't do it. No, the love I speak of is not
such as you suppose,--it is a passion that has grown up here since I
arrived; but it is a hopeless, mad, wild feeling, that must perish.
_Dora._ Here! since you arrived! Impossible; you have seen no one;
whom can you mean?
_Zoe._ [_Advancing,_ C.] Me.
_George._ [L.] Zoe!
_Dora._ [R.] You!
_Zoe._ Forgive him, Dora; for he knew no better until I told him.
Dora, you are right. He is incapable of any but sincere and pure
feelings--so are you. He loves me--what of that? You know you can't
be jealous of a poor creature like me. If he caught the fever, were
stung by a snake, or possessed of any other poisonous or unclean
thing, you could pity, tend, love him through it, and for your gentle
care he would love you in return. Well, is he not thus afflicted now?
I am his love--he loves an Octoroon.
_George._ O, Zoe, you break my heart!
_Dora._ At college they said I was a fool--I must be. At New Orleans,
they said, "She's pretty, very pretty, but no brains." I'm afraid
they must be right; I can't understand a word of all this.
_Zoe._ Dear Dora, try to understand it with your heart. You love
George; you love him dearly; I know it; and you deserve to be loved
by him. He will love you--he must. His love for me will pass away--it
shall. You heard him say it was hopeless. O, forgive him and me!
_Dora._ [_Weeping._] O, why did he speak to me at all then? You've
made me cry, then, and I hate you both! [_Exit_ L., _through room._
_Enter_ Mrs. Peyton _and_ Scudder, M'Closky _and_ Pointdexter, R.
_M'Closky._ [C.] I'm sorry to intrude, but the business I came upon
will excuse me.
_Mrs. Pey._ Here is my nephew, sir.
_Zoe._ Perhaps I had better go.
_M'Closky._ Wal, as it consarns you, perhaps you better had.
_Scud._ Consarns Zoe?
_M'Closky._ I don't know; she may as well hear the hull of it. Go on,
Colonel--Colonel Pointdexter, ma'am--the mortgagee, auctioneer, and
general agent.
_Point._ [R. C.] Pardon me, madam, but do you know these papers?
[_Hands papers to_ Mrs. Peyton.]
_Mrs. Pey._ [_Takes them._] Yes, sir; they were the free papers of
the girl Zoe; but they were in my husband's secretary. How came they
in your possession?
_M'Closky._ I--I found them.
_George._ And you purloined them?
_M'Closky._ Hold on, you'll see. Go on, Colonel.
_Point._ The list of your slaves is incomplete--it wants one.
_Scud._ The boy Paul--we know it.
_Point._ No, sir; you have omitted the Octoroon girl, Zoe.
[_Together._] _Mrs. Pey._ Zoe!
_Zoe._ Me!
_Point._ At the time the judge executed those free papers to his
infant slave, a judgment stood recorded against him; while that was
on record he had no right to make away with his property. That
judgment still exists; under it and others this estate is sold
to-day. Those free papers ain't worth the sand that's on 'em.
_Mrs. Pey._ Zoe a slave! It is impossible!
_Point._ It is certain, madam; the judge was negligent, and doubtless
forgot this small formality.
_Scud._ But the creditors will not claim the gal?
_M'Closky._ Excuse me; one of the principal mortgagees has made the
demand. [_Exit_ M'Closky _and_ Pointdexter, R. U. E.
_Scud._ Hold on yere, George Peyton; you sit down there. You're
trembling so, you'll fall down directly. This blow has staggered me
some.
_Mrs. Pey._ O, Zoe, my child! don't think too hardly of your poor
father.
_Zoe._ I shall do so if you weep. See, I'm calm.
_Scud._ Calm as a tombstone, and with about as much life. I see it in
your face.
_George._ It cannot be! It shall not be!
_Scud._ Hold your tongue--it must. Be calm--darn the things; the
proceeds of this sale won't cover the debts of the estate. Consarn
those Liverpool English fellers, why couldn't they send something by
the last mail? Even a letter, promising something--such is the
feeling round amongst the planters. Darn me, if I couldn't raise
thirty thousand on the envelope alone, and ten thousand more on the
post-mark.
_George._ Zoe, they shall not take you from us while I live.
_Scud._ Don't be a fool; they'd kill you, and then take her, just as
soon as--stop; Old Sunnyside, he'll buy her! that'll save her.
_Zoe._ No, it won't; we have confessed to Dora that we love each
other. How can she then ask her father to free me?
_Scud._ What in thunder made you do that?
_Zoe._ Because it was the truth; and I had rather be a slave with a
free soul, than remain free with a slavish, deceitful heart. My
father gives me freedom--at least he thought so. May Heaven bless him
for the thought, bless him for the happiness he spread around my
life. You say the proceeds of the sale will not cover his debts. Let
me be sold then, that I may free his name. I give him back the
liberty he bestowed upon me; for I can never repay him the love he
bore his poor Octoroon child, on whose breast his last sigh was
drawn, into whose eyes he looked with the last gaze of affection.
_Mrs. Pey._ O, my husband! I thank Heaven you have not lived to see
this day.
_Zoe._ George, leave me! I would be alone a little while.
_George._ Zoe! [_Turns away overpowered._]
_Zoe._ Do not weep, George. Dear George, you now see what a miserable
thing I am.
_George._ Zoe!
_Scud._ I wish they could sell me! I brought half this ruin on this
family, with my all-fired improvements. I deserve to be a nigger this
day--I feel like one, inside. [_Exit_ Scudder, L. U. E.
_Zoe._ Go now, George--leave me--take her with you. [_Exit_ Mrs.
Peyton _and_ George, L. U. E.] A slave! a slave! Is this a dream--for
my brain reels with the blow? He said so. What! then I shall be
sold!--sold! and my master--O! [_falls on her knees, with her face in
her hands_] no--no master, but one. George--George--hush--they come!
save me! No, [_looks off,_ R.] 'tis Pete and the servants--they come
this way. [_Enters inner room,_ R. U. E.]
_Enter_ Pete, Grace, Minnie, Solon, Dido, _and all_ Niggers, R. U. E.
_Pete._ Cum yer now--stand round, cause I've got to talk to you
darkies--keep dem chil'n quiet--don't make no noise, de missus up dar
har us.
_Solon._ Go on, Pete.
_Pete._ Gen'l'men, my colored frens and ladies, dar's mighty bad news
gone round. Dis yer prop'ty to be sold--old Terrebonne--whar we all
been raised, is gwine--dey's gwine to tak it away--can't stop here no
how.
_Omnes._ O-o!--O-o!
_Pete._ Hold quiet, you trash o' niggers! tink anybody wants you to
cry? Who's you to set up screching?--be quiet! But dis ain't all.
Now, my culled brethren, gird up your lines, and listen--hold on yer
bref--it's a comin. We tought dat de niggers would belong to de ole
missus, and if she lost Terrebonne, we must live dere allers, and we
would hire out, and bring our wages to ole Missus Peyton.
_Omnes._ Ya! ya! Well--
_Pete._ Hush! I tell ye, 't'ain't so--we can't do it--we've got to be
sold--
_Omnes._ Sold!
_Pete._ Will you hush? she will har you. Yes! I listen dar jess
now--dar was ole lady cryin'--Mas'r George--ah! you seen dem big
tears in his eyes. O, Mas'r Scudder, he didn't cry zackly; both ob
his eyes and cheek look like de bad Bayou in low season--so dry dat I
cry for him. [_Raising his voice._] Den say de missus, "'Tain't for
de land I keer, but for dem poor niggars--dey'll be sold--dat wot
stagger me." "No," say Mas'r George, "I'd rather sell myself fuss;
but dey shan't suffer, nohow,--I see 'em dam fuss."
_Omnes._ O, bless um! Bless Mas'r George.
_Pete._ Hole yer tongues. Yes, for you, for me, for dem little ones,
dem folks cried. Now, den, if Grace dere wid her chil'n were all
sold, she'll begin screechin' like a cat. She didn't mind how kind
old judge was to her; and Solon, too, he'll holler, and break de ole
lady's heart.
_Grace._ No, Pete; no, I won't. I'll bear it.
_Pete._ I don't tink you will any more, but dis here will; 'cause de
family spile Dido, dey has. She nebber was 'worth much 'a dat nigger.
_Dido._ How dar you say dat, you black nigger, you? I fetch as much
as any odder cook in Louisiana.
_Pete._ What's de use of your takin' it kind, and comfortin' de
missus heart, if Minnie dere, and Louise, and Marie, and Julie is to
spile it?
_Minnie._ We won't, Pete; we won't.
_Pete._ [_To the men._] Dar, do ye hear dat, ye mis'able darkies, dem
gals is worth a boat load of kinder men dem is. Cum, for de pride of
de family, let every darky look his best for the judge's sake--dat
ole man so good to us, and dat ole woman--so dem strangers from New
Orleans shall say, Dem's happy darkies, dem's a fine set of niggars;
every one say when he's sold, "Lor' bless dis yer family I'm gwine
out of, and send me as good a home."
_Omnes._ We'll do it, Pete; we'll do it.
_Pete._ Hush! hark! I tell ye dar's somebody in dar. Who is it?
_Grace._ It's Missy Zoe. See! see!
_Pete._ Come along; she har what we say, and she's cryin' for us.
None o' ye ign'rant niggars could cry for yerselves like dat. Come
here quite; now quite. [_Exit_ Pete _and all the_ Negroes, _slowly,_
R. U. E.
_Enter_ Zoe [_supposed to have overheard the last scene_], L. U. E.
_Zoe._ O! must I learn from these poor wretches how much I owed, how
I ought to pay the debt? Have I slept upon the benefits I received,
and never saw, never felt, never knew that I was forgetful and
ungrateful? O, my father! my dear, dear father! forgive your poor
child. You made her life too happy, and now these tears will be. Let
me hide them till I teach my heart. O, my--my heart! [Exit, with a
low, wailing, suffocating cry, L. U. E.
_Enter_ M'Closky, Lafouche, Jackson, Sunnyslde, _and_ Pointdexter,
R. U. E.
_Point._ [_Looking at watch._] Come, the hour is past. I think we may
begin business. Where is Mr. Scudder? Jackson, I want to get to
Ophelensis to-night.
_Enter_ Dora, R.
_Dora._ Father, come here.
_Sunny._ Why, Dora, what's the matter? Your eyes are red.
_Dora._ Are they? thank you. I don't care, they were blue this
morning, but it don't signify now.
_Sunny._ My darling! who has been teasing you?
_Dora._ Never mind. I want you to buy Terrebonne.
_Sunny._ Buy Terrebonne! What for?
_Dora._ No matter--buy it!
_Sunny._ It will cost me all I'm worth. This is folly, Dora.
_Dora._ Is my plantation at Comptableau worth this?
_Sunny._ Nearly--perhaps.
_Dora._ Sell it, then, and buy this.
_Sunny._ Are you mad, my love?
_Dora._ Do you want me to stop here and bid for it?
_Sunny._ Good gracious! no.
_Dora._ Then I'll do it, if you don't.
_Sunny._ I will! I will! But for Heaven's sake go--here comes the
crowd. [_Exit_ Dora, L. U. E.] What on earth does that child mean or
want?
_Enter_ Scudder, George, Ratts, Caillou, Pete, Grace, Minnie, _and
all the Negroes. A large table is in the_ C., _at back._ Pointdexter
mounts the table with his hammer, his Clerk sits at his feet. The
Negro mounts the table from behind_ C. _The Company sit._
_Point._ Now, gentlemen, we shall proceed to business. It ain't
necessary for me to dilate, describe, or enumerate; Terrebonne is
known to you as one of the richest bits of sile in Louisiana, and its
condition reflects credit on them as had to keep it. I'll trouble you
for that piece of baccy, Judge--thank you--so, gentlemen, as life is
short, we'll start right off. The first lot on here is the estate in
block, with its sugar-houses, stock, machines, implements, good
dwelling-houses and furniture. If there is no bid for the estate and
stuff, we'll sell it in smaller lots. Come, Mr. Thibodeaux, a man has
a chance once in his life--here's yours.
_Thib._ Go on. What's the reserve bid?
_Point._ The first mortgagee bids forty thousand dollars.
_Thib._ Forty-five thousand.
_Sunny._ Fifty thousand.
_Point._ When you have done joking, gentlemen, you'll say one hundred
and twenty thousand. It carried that easy on mortgage.
_Lafouche._ [R.] Then why don't you buy it yourself, Colonel?
_Point._ I'm waiting on your fifty thousand bid.
_Caillou._ Eighty thousand.
_Point._ Don't be afraid; it ain't going for that, Judge.
_Sunny._ [L.] Ninety thousand.
_Point._ We're getting on.
_Thib._ One hundred--
_Point._ One hundred thousand bid for this mag--
_Caillou._ One hundred and ten thousand--
_Point._ Good again--one hundred and--
_Sunny._ Twenty.
_Point._ And twenty thousand bid. Squire Sunnyside is going to sell
this at fifty thousand advance to-morrow.--[_Looks round._] Where's
that man from Mobile that wanted to give one hundred and eighty
thousand?
_Thib._ I guess he ain't left home yet, Colonel.
_Point._ I shall knock it down to the Squire--going--gone--for one
hundred and twenty thousand dollars. [_Raises hammer._] Judge, you
can raise the hull on mortgage--going for half its value. [_Knocks._]
Squire Sunnyside, you've got a pretty bit o' land, Squire. Hillo,
darkey, hand me a smash dar.
_Sunny._ I got more than I can work now.
_Point._ Then buy the hands along with the property. Now, gentlemen,
I'm proud to submit to you the finest lot of field hands and house
servants that was ever offered for competition; they speak for
themselves, and do credit to their owners.--[_Reads._] "No. 1, Solon,
a guess boy, and good waiter."
_Pete._ [R. C.] That's my son--buy him, Mas'r Ratts; he's sure to
sarve you well.
_Point._ Hold your tongue!
_Ratts._ [L.] Let the old darkey alone--eight hundred for that boy.
_Caillou._ Nine.
_Ratts._ A thousand.
_Solon._ Thank you, Mas'r Ratts; I die for you, sar; hold up for me,
sar.
_Ratts._ Look here, the boy knows and likes me, Judge; let him come
my way?
_Caillou._ Go on--I'm dumb.
_Point._ One thousand bid. [_Knocks._] He's yours, Captain Ratts,
Magnolia steamer. [Solon _goes down and stands behind_ Ratts.] "No.
2, the yellow girl Grace, with two children--Saul, aged four, and
Victoria five." [_They get on table._]
_Scud._ That's Solon's wife and children, Judge.
_Grace._ [_To_ Ratts.] Buy me, Mas'r Ratts, do buy me, sar?
_Ratts._ What in thunder should I do with you and those devils on
board my boat?
_Grace._ Wash, sar--cook, sar--anyting.
_Ratts._ Eight hundred agin, then--I'll go it.
_Jackson._ Nine.
_Ratts._ I'm broke, Solon--I can't stop the Judge.
_Thib._ What's the matter, Ratts? I'll lend you all you want. Go it,
if you're a mind to.
_Ratts._ Eleven.
_Jackson._ Twelve.
_Sunny._ O, O!
_Scud._ [_To_ Jackson.] Judge, my friend. The Judge is a little deaf.
Hello! [_Speaking in his ear-trumpet._] This gal and them children
belong to that boy Solon there. You're bidding to separate them,
Judge.
_Jackson._ The devil I am! [_Rises._] I'll take back my bid, Colonel.
_Point._ All right, Judge; I thought there was a mistake. I must keep
you, Captain, to the eleven hundred.
_Ratts._ Go it.
_Point._ Eleven hundred--going--going--sold! "No. 3, Pete, a house
servant."
_Pete._ Dat's me--yer, I'm comin'--stand around dar. [_Tumbles upon
the table._]
_Point._ Aged seventy-two.
_Pete._ What's dat? A mistake, sar--forty-six.
_Point._ Lame.
_Pete._ But don't mount to nuffin--kin work cannel. Come, Judge, pick
up. Now's your time, sar.
_Jackson._ One hundred dollars.
_Pete._ What, sar? me! for me--look ye here! [_Dances._]
_George._ Five hundred.
_Pete._ Mas'r George--ah, no, sar--don't buy me--keep your money for
some udder dat is to be sold. I ain't no count, sar.
_Point._ Five hundred bid--it's a good price. [_Knocks._] He's yours,
Mr. George Peyton. [_Pete goes down._] "No. 4, the Octoroon girl,
Zoe."
_Enter_ Zoe, L. U. E., _very pale, and stands on table._--M'Closky
_hitherto has taken no interest in the sale, now turns his chair._
_Sunny._ [_Rising._] Gentlemen, we are all acquainted with the
circumstances of this girl's position, and I feel sure that no one
here will oppose the family who desires to redeem the child of our
esteemed and noble friend, the late Judge Peyton.
_Omnes._ Hear! bravo! hear!
_Point._ While the proceeds of this sale promises to realize less
than the debts upon it, it is my duty to prevent any collusion for
the depreciation of the property.
_Ratts._ Darn ye! You're a man as well as an auctioneer, ain't ye?
_Point._ What is offered for this slave?
_Sunny._ One thousand dollars.
_M'Closky._ Two thousand.
_Sunny._ Three thousand.
_M'Closky._ Five thousand.
_George._ [R.] Demon!
_Sunny._ I bid seven thousand, which is the last dollar this family
possesses.
_M'Closky._ Eight.
_Thibo._ Nine.
_Omnes._ Bravo!
_M'Closky._ Ten. It's no use, Squire.
_Scud._ Jacob M'Closky, you shan't have that girl. Now, take care what
you do. Twelve thousand.
_M'Closky._ Shan't I! Fifteen thousand. Beat that any of ye.
_Point._ Fifteen thousand bid for the Octoroon.
_Enter_ Dora, L. U. E.
_Dora._ Twenty thousand.
_Omnes._ Bravo!
_M'Closky._ Twenty-five thousand.
_Omnes._ [Groan.] O! O!
_George._ [L.] Yelping hound--take that. [_Rushes on_
M'Closky--M'Closky _draws his knife._]
_Scud._ [_Darts between them._] Hold on, George Peyton--stand back.
This is your own house; we are under your uncle's roof; recollect
yourself. And, strangers, ain't we forgetting there's a lady present.
[_The knives disappear._] If we can't behave like Christians, let's
try and act like gentlemen. Go on, Colonel.
_Lafouche._ He didn't ought to bid against a lady.
_M'Closky._ O, that's it, is it? Then I'd like to hire a lady to go
to auction and buy my hands.
_Point._ Gentlemen, I believe none of us have two feelings about the
conduct of that man; but he has the law on his side--we may regret,
but we must respect it. Mr. M'Closky has bid twenty-five thousand
dollars for the Octoroon. Is there any other bid? For the first time,
twenty-five thousand--last time! [_Brings hammer down._] To Jacob
M'Closky, the Octoroon girl, Zoe, twenty-five thousand dollars.
[_Tableaux._]
END OF ACT THIRD.