New Orleans--The Story of Pauline--Adieu to the St.
Charles's--Description of that Establishment--First Sight of Slaves for
Sale--Texts for Southern Divines--Perilous Picture.
From No. 181 of the "St. Charles's," we descended, after a good night's
rest, to see some of the lions of the place. Here we are (thought I) in
New Orleans--the metropolis of a great slave country,--a town in which
exist many depôts for the disposal of human beings,--the very city
where, a few months ago, poor Pauline was sacrificed as the victim of
lust and cruelty! Unhappy girl! What a tragedy! On the 1st of August
last, I told the horrid tale to my emancipated people in Berbice. Here
it is, as extracted from the _Essex_ (United States) _Transcript_. Read
it, if you please; and then you will have a notion of the feelings with
which I contemplated a city rendered infamous by such a transaction.
"Many of our readers have probably seen a paragraph stating that a
young slave girl was recently hanged at New Orleans for the crime of
striking and abusing her mistress. The religious press of the north has
not, so far as we are aware, made any comments upon this execution. It
is too busy pulling the mote out of the eye of the heathen, to notice
the beam in our nominal Christianity at home. Yet this case, viewed in
all its aspects, is an atrocity which has (God be thanked) no parallel
in heathen lands. It is a hideous offshoot of American Republicanism
and American Christianity! It seems that Pauline--a young and beautiful
girl--attracted the admiration of her master, and being (to use the
words of the law) his "chattel personal to all intents and purposes
whatsoever," became the victim of his lust. So wretched is the
condition of the slave woman, that even the brutal and licentious
regard of her master is looked upon as the highest exaltation of which
her lot is susceptible. The slave girl in this instance evidently so
regarded it; and as a natural consequence, in her new condition,
triumphed over and insulted her mistress,--in other words, repaid in
some degree the scorn and abuse with which her mistress had made her
painfully familiar. The laws of the Christian State of Mississippi
inflict the punishment of death upon the slave who lifts his or her
hand against a white person. Pauline was accused of beating her
mistress,--tried, found guilty, and condemned to die! But it was
discovered on the trial that she was in a condition to become a mother,
and her execution was delayed until the birth of the child. She was
conveyed to the prison cell. There, for many weary months, uncheered by
the voice of kindness, alone, hopeless, desolate, she waited for the
advent of the new and quickening life within her, which was to be the
signal of her own miserable death. And the bells there called to mass
and prayer-meeting, and Methodists sang, and Baptists immersed, and
Presbyterians sprinkled, and young mothers smiled through tears upon
their new-born children,--and maidens and matrons of that great city
sat in their cool verandahs, and talked of love, and household joys,
and domestic happiness; while, all that dreary time, the poor slave
girl lay on the scanty straw of her dungeon, waiting--with what agony
the great and pitying God of the white and black only knows--for the
birth of the child of her adulterous master. Horrible! Was ever what
George Sand justly terms 'the great martyrdom of maternity'--that
fearful trial which love alone converts into joy unspeakable--endured
under such conditions? What was her substitute for the kind voices and
gentle soothings of affection? The harsh grating of her prison
lock,--the mockings and taunts of unfeeling and brutal keepers! What,
with the poor Pauline, took the place of the hopes and joyful
anticipations which support and solace the white mother, and make her
couch of torture happy with sweet dreams? The prospect of seeing the
child of her sorrow, of feeling its lips upon her bosom, of hearing its
feeble cry--alone, unvisited of its unnatural father; and then in a few
days--just when the mother's affections are strongest, and the first
smile of her infant compensates for the pangs of the past--the scaffold
and the hangman! Think of the last terrible scene,--the tearing of the
infant from her arms, the death-march to the gallows, the rope around
her delicate neck, and her long and dreadful struggles, (for,
attenuated and worn by physical suffering and mental sorrow, her slight
frame had not sufficient weight left to produce the dislocation of her
neck on the falling of the drop,) swinging there alive for nearly half
an hour--a spectacle for fiends in the shape of humanity! Mothers of
New England! such are the fruits of slavery. Oh! in the name of the
blessed God, teach your children to hate it, and to pity its victims.
Petty politicians and empty-headed Congress debators are vastly
concerned, lest the 'honour of the country' should be compromised in
the matter of the Oregon Boundary. Fools! One such horrible atrocity as
this murder of poor Pauline 'compromises' us too deeply to warrant any
further display of their patriotism. It would compromise Paradise
itself! An intelligent and philanthropic European gentleman, who was in
New Orleans at the time of the execution, in a letter to a friend in
this vicinity, after detailing the circumstances of the revolting
affair, exclaims, 'God of goodness! God of justice! There must be a
future state to redress the wrongs of this. I am almost tempted to
say--there must be a future state, or no God!'"
On Saturday, the 30th, we set off to seek private lodgings. Led by a
board having on it in large letters the words "Private Boarding," we
"inquired within," found what we wanted, and engaged for eight dollars
per week each. We then went to pay our bill at the "St. Charles's," and
to bring away our carpet-bag. We had been there two nights, had had one
dinner, two teas, and two breakfasts. These meals, as we did not like
to join the hundreds at the "ordinary," were served to us (in a very
_ordinary_ way however) in our bedroom. In fact, the waiting was
miserably done. And yet for this we had the pleasure of paying eleven
dollars,--say _£2. 6s._! We gladly bade adieu to the "St. Charles's."
It suited neither our taste nor our pocket. Nevertheless, it is a
magnificent concern. The edifice was finished in 1838 by a company, and
cost 600,000 dollars. The gentlemen's dining-room is 129 feet by 50,
and is 22 feet high; having four ranges of tables, capable of
accommodating 500 persons. The ladies' dining-room is 52 feet by 36.
The house contains 350 rooms, furnishing accommodation for between 600
and 700 guests; and it was quite full when we were there. The front is
adorned with a projecting portico, supported by six fine Corinthian
columns, resting upon a rustic basement. The edifice is crowned with a
large dome, forty-six feet in diameter, having a beautiful Corinthian
turret on the top. This dome is the most conspicuous object in the
city. Viewed from a distance, it seems to stand in the same relation to
New Orleans as St. Paul's to London. The furniture of this immense
establishment cost 150,000 dollars. A steam-engine, producing a very
disagreeable tremor, is constantly at work in the culinary department.
While on our way to get the remainder of our baggage from the ship, we
came upon a street in which a long row, or rather several rows, of
black and coloured people were exposed in the open air (and under a
smiling sun) for sale! There must have been from 70 to 100, all young
people, varying from 15 to 30 years of age. All (both men and women)
were well dressed, to set them off to the best advantage, as is always
the case at these sales. Several of the coloured girls--evidently the
daughters of white men--had their sewing-work with them, as evidence of
their skill in that department. The whole were arranged under a kind of
verandah, having a foot-bench (about six inches high) to stand upon,
and their backs resting against the wall. None were in any way tied or
chained; but two white men ("soul-drivers," I suppose) were sauntering
about in front of them, each with a cigar in his mouth, a whip under
his arm, and his hands in his pockets, looking out for purchasers. In
its external aspect, the exhibition was not altogether unlike what I
have sometimes seen in England, when some wandering Italian has ranged
against a wall his bronzed figures of distinguished men,--Shakspeare,
Napoleon, Wellington, Nelson, &c. It was between twelve and one in the
day; but there was no crowd, not even a single boy or girl looking
on,--so common and every-day was the character of the scene. As we
moved along in front of this sable row, one of the white attendants
(though my wife had hold of my arm) said to me, with all the
_nonchalance_ of a Smithfield cattle-drover, "Looking out for a few
niggers this morning?" Never did I feel my manhood so insulted. My
indignation burned for expression. But I endeavoured to affect
indifference, and answered in a don't-care sort of tone, "No, I am not
particularly in want of any to-da--." I could scarcely finish the
sentence. Emotion choked my utterance. I passed on, gazing at the troop
of degraded human beings, till my eyes became so filled with tears that
I was compelled to turn my face another way. Though I anticipated such
scenes, and had tried to prepare my mind for them, yet (now that they
were actually before me) I was completely overcome, and was obliged to
seek a place to sit down while I composed my feelings. With what
sentiments my companion beheld the scene, I will leave you to
conjecture!
It was Saturday morning; and with my professional habits, I naturally
thought of the many divines in that very city, who were at that moment
shut up in their studies, preparing their discourses for the morrow. I
wished I had them all before me. I could have given every one of them a
text to preach upon. I would have said, "Gentlemen, see there! and
blush for your fellow-citizens. See there! and never again talk of
American liberty. See there! and lift up your voices like so many
trumpets against this enormity. See there! and in the face of
persecution, poverty, imprisonment, and (if needs be) even death
itself, bear your faithful testimony, and cease not until this foul
stain be wiped away from your national escutcheon. Dr. S----, to-morrow
morning let this be your text,--'Where is Abel, thy brother?' Dr.
II----, let your discourse be founded on Exod. xxi. 16: 'And he that
stealeth a man, and selleth him, or if he be found in his hand, he
shall surely be put to death.' You, the Rev. Mr. C----, let your gay
and wealthy congregation be edified with a solemn and impressive sermon
on Is. lviii. 6: 'Is not this the fast that I have chosen? to loose the
bands of wickedness, to undo the heavy burdens, and to let the
oppressed go free, and that ye break every yoke?' And you, the Rev. Mr.
H----, let your hearers have a full and faithful exposition of that law
which is 'fulfilled in one word, even in this, Thou shalt love thy
neighbour as thyself.'"
In the afternoon of the same day, as I walked along one of the
principal streets, I saw a flag issue from a fine large public building
to invite "ladies and gentlemen" to see "the magnificent picture of the
departure of the Israelites from Egypt,"--the canvas containing 2,000
square feet, and 2,000,000 of figures! How significant! It would have
been still more so, if the number of "figures" had been 3,000,000
instead of 2,000,000. What an "abolition" picture! It must have been
worse than "Jacob and his Sons," which was expunged from a catalogue of
the American Sunday-School Union, because, in reprehending the sale of
Joseph to the merchants, it reflected upon the _internal_ slave-trade!
Surely such exhibitions will affect the safety of the "peculiar
institution!"