THE SLAVE SALE.
At twelve o'clock upon the day after that on which Gerald Leslie and
his daughter had been parted by the pitiless attorney, the slave
auction commenced.
The sale was to take place in a public auction room in New Orleans; an
apartment capable of containing upward of a hundred people.
At one end of this room stood the rostrum of the auctioneer, while
immediately before his desk was stretched a long table of rough
deal, upon which one by one the slaves took their places, while the
auctioneer expatiated upon their merits.
Round this table was placed benches, on which the buyers and lookers-on
lounged during the auction.
The plantation hands were the first to be sold, and the sale had lasted
for some hours when Toby, the mulatto, slowly mounted the table, and
took his stand before the eager eyes of the buyers.
The countenance of the slave was sad and care-worn; and, as he ascended
the table, he looked anxiously round the room as if seeking among all
those eager faces for some one he expected to see there.
But it was evident that he looked in vain, for, after a long and
earnest scrutiny of that varied crowd, he sighed heavily, and his head
sank upon his breast with a gesture of despair.
The bidding lasted for some time, and the most persevering bidder was
Silas Craig himself, who sat on a bench close to the table, and amused
himself by whittling a stick with his bowie knife.
One by one the other purchasers gave way, and the mulatto fell to the
attorney.
As the hammer of the auctioneer descended upon the desk, thus
proclaiming that the bargain was complete, a singular expression
illuminated the face of the slave, Toby.
That expression seemed one of mingled hate and triumph; and, as he
descended from the platform, the hand of the mulatto mechanically
sought for some object hidden in his breast.
That object was the knife with which Francilia had stabbed herself--the
knife which Toby had offered the day before to Gerald Leslie.
The mulatto slowly withdrew into a corner where some other slaves
purchased by Silas Craig were huddled together, awaiting the
termination of the sale.
For some moments there was a pause. Several among the crowd asked what
the next lot was to be. The voice of the auctioneer responded from his
rostrum, "The Octoroon girl, Cora!"
Again there was a pause. There were few there who did not know the
story of Gerald Leslie and his daughter, and every one present seemed
to draw a long breath.
The Octoroon emerged from a group of slaves, behind whom she had been
hidden, and slowly ascended the platform.
Never in her happiest day--never, when surrounded by luxury, when
surfeited by adulation and respect, had Cora Leslie looked more lovely
than to-day.
Her face was whiter than marble, her large dark eyes were shrouded
beneath their dropping lids, fringed with long and silken lashes; her
rich wealth of raven hair had been loosened by the rude hands of an
overseer, and fell in heavy masses far below her waist; her slender
yet rounded figure was set off by the soft folds of her simple cambric
dress, which displayed her shoulders and arms in all their statuesque
beauty.
One murmur of admiration spread through the assembly as the Octoroon
took her place at the table.
All there had heard of the loveliness of Gerald Leslie's daughter, yet
few had expected to see her so lovely.
Eyeglasses were raised, spectacles put on, and looks of insolent
admiration were fixed upon the unhappy girl.
But she saw them not--the center of every eye, she was scarcely
conscious of how much she had to endure. Her whole being was absorbed
in one thought. Her father; would he come, would he rescue her?
When for one brief instant she lifted her eyes, the crowd of faces swam
before her, as if hidden from her by a veil of mist.
The sounds of the many voices fell as confused murmurs upon her ears.
She was listening for the voice which should announce to her that help
was near.
But that longed-for voice did not come, and she heard instead the harsh
accents of the auctioneer dwelling upon the charms which were to be
sold to the highest bidder.
At that moment two men entered the building from opposite doors.
One of these was Augustus Horton, the other Gilbert Margrave.
Gerald Leslie and the engineer had passed a night of utter wretchedness.
All the ready money that the ruined planter could command consisted of
a few thousand dollars, and Gilbert Margrave had only the sum which he
had brought with him for his traveling expenses.
To communicate with England was impossible, though the young man had
ample resources there; he had also letters of credit on a banking-house
in New York, but he well knew that nothing but ready money could save
Cora from her infamous persecutors.
The entire sum at his command was a little over twenty thousand dollars.
Gilbert Margrave was the first to bid.
"Five thousand dollars!"
"Six thousand!" cried Augustus Horton.
A laugh circulated among the assembly. "I guess you begun a bit too
low, stranger," said one of the planters.
"Seven thousand."
"Ten!" cried Augustus.
"Guess we'll teach you what a slave sale is, Britisher," said another
man near Gilbert, cutting a lump of tobacco and thrusting it into his
mouth.
Gilbert Margrave's cheek grew pale; he felt that the man he had to deal
with was not to be beaten.
"Twelve thousand," "fifteen," "twenty."
For a moment there was a pause; Gilbert drew his breath. For one brief
instant he thought that the planter's caprice might be less powerful
than his avarice. He knew not that Augustus Horton's love for Cora was
full of passionate determination.
"Five-and-twenty thousand dollars," cried the planter.
Gilbert was silent. Throughout this scene the Octoroon had never once
lifted her eyes from the ground; but, at this ominous silence, she
slowly raised them, and looked imploringly at her lover.
It was a glance of despair which answered this mute appeal. All hope
was over.
"Strikes me your pretty well cleaned out, siree," said one of the men
who had spoken before.
The bidding continued, the excitement of the scene had become intense.
Thirty, five-and-thirty, forty thousand dollars were bid; forty-five,
fifty thousand.
The last bid came from Augustus Horton, and the auctioneer's hammer
descended with an ominous sound.
Cora was his.
Gilbert Margrave sprang forward, as if he would have struck the
planter, but a friendly hand was laid upon his shoulder, and he was
dragged back by a group of Americans.
"Better keep your dander down, stranger," one of the men whispered in
his ear, "our folks are not over fond of your countrymen just now, and
they wouldn't make much work of taking out their bowie knives. Let him
have the gal. Was there ever such a noise about a handsome slave?"
Augustus Horton walked up to the place where Gilbert was standing,
surrounded by these men.
"I've beaten you before to-day, Mr. Margrave," he said, with a sneer,
"and I think I've had the pleasure of giving you a second licking this
afternoon."
Again Gilbert would have sprung upon him, but again he was restrained
by those about him.
"We've another duel to fight yet, Mr. Horton," said the Englishman,
"and in that you may not come off so easily."
"We citizens of New Orleans don't fight about colored gals," answered
the planter, turning upon his heel, contemptuously, and walking toward
the spot where Cora stood, side by side with Toby and the other slaves.
Gilbert Margrave released himself from the arms of those who held him.
"I must follow him," he said, "I must speak to him. I pledge you my
honor that I will attempt no violence, but I tell you I must speak to
him. Life and death hang on this matter. How can I go back to Gerald
Leslie, and tell the broken-hearted father that I was powerless to save
his only child?"
Gilbert found Augustus standing at a little distance from the group
of slaves contemplating Cora with the insolently admiring glance with
which the master surveys his property.
She was no longer the woman who had scorned and defied him. She was
his slave, his purchased slave, over whom the law gave him full and
indisputable authority.
"Mr. Horton," said Gilbert, in a voice rendered hoarse by emotion, "let
me speak to you a few moments?"
The planter bowed superciliously. "Well, sir?" he said, as they
withdrew to a solitary corner of the auction room.
"You are aware that had my means enabled me, I would have outbid you
just now in the purchase of Miss Leslie."
Augustus Horton laughed aloud.
"Miss Leslie!" he repeated scornfully; "we don't call the slaves Miss
and Mr. down south. I guess you would like to outbid me for this
Octoroon girl, Cora, but I'm happy to say you weren't able to do it.
Had you bid a hundred thousand dollars, I'd have outbid you, and if
you'd doubled that I'd have outbid you still. No man comes cheaply
between Augustus Horton and his will."
"Tell me," said Gilbert, "tell me, what do you want with Mr. Leslie's
daughter. Why do you want to become her master?"
Again Augustus laughed, and the hot blood mounted to Gilbert's cheek as
he heard the mocking laughter.
"If it comes to that," said the planter, "why do you want her?"
"Because I love her."
"Then one answer will do for both of us," said Augustus. "I want her
because I love her."
"No," cried Gilbert, "no, Mr. Horton. Do not sully the pure and holy
name of Love by so base a blasphemy. Yours is the low passion of the
profligate who seeks to destroy that which he pretends to love. Mine
is the honorable sentiment of the man who seeks to bestow upon her he
adores the sacred name of wife."
"You Britishers have another way of thinking to what we have in
Louisiana," answered Augustus; "we don't marry our slaves. However,
I've no wish to quarrel with other folks' opinions; the girl's mine and
I don't mean to part with her, so good day to you, Mr. Margrave."
Gilbert laid his hand upon the planter's shoulder.
"One moment," he said. "The sum which I offered just now for Miss
Leslie was the extent of the ready money I possess; but it was not
one-twentieth part of what I can command; communication with London, or
even with New York, will bring me the funds I require. I ask you--as a
gentleman appealing to a gentleman, upon a subject that is dearer to
him than life--I ask you to do a great and generous action. Accept my
note of hand for a hundred thousand dollars;--double the sum you have
just given--and let me restore Cora Leslie to her father?"
Augustus Horton shrugged his shoulders.
"I would be very glad to oblige you, Mr. Margrave," he said; "but as I
don't happen to want money just now, and as I've a fancy for keeping
the Octoroon, I beg to decline your liberal offer."
Gilbert Margrave glanced at him with a scornful smile.
"I appealed to you as a gentleman," he said. "I was mistaken. You shall
hear from me to-night."