In this position, a petition was despatched to the Executive, asking that the man might be released, on the faith of the British Government that all expenses be paid, and he immediately sent beyond the limits of the State.
But we must return and take leave of Captain Thompson, before we receive the answer to the petition. The day fixed for his departure had arrived. He had all his papers collected, and arose early to take his accustomed walk through the market. It was a little after seven o'clock, and as he approached the singular piece of wood-work that we have described in a previous chapter as the Charleston Whipping-post, he saw a crowd collected around it, and negroes running to the scene, crying out, “Buckra gwine to get whip! buckra get 'e back scratch!” &c. &c. He quickened his pace, and, arriving at the scene, elbowed his way through an immense crowd until he came to where he had a fair view. Here, exposed to view, were six respectably dressed white men, to be whipped according to the laws of South Carolina, which flog in the market for petty theft. Five of them were chained together, and the other scientifically secured to the machine, with his bare back exposed, and Mr. Grimshaw (dressed with his hat and sword of office to make the dignity of the punishment appropriate) laying on the stripes with a big whip, and raising on tip-toe at each blow to add force, making the flesh follow the lash. Standing around were about a dozen huge constables with long-pointed tipstaffs in their hands, while two others assisted in chaining and unchaining the prisoners. The spectacle was a barbarous one, opening a wide field for reflection. It was said that this barbarous mode of punishment was kept up as an example for the negroes. It certainly is a very singular mode of inspiring respect for the laws.
He had heard much of T. Norman Gadsden, whose fame sounded for being the greatest negro-seller in the country, yet he had not seen him, though he had witnessed several negro-sales at other places. On looking over the papers after breakfast, his eye caught a flaming advertisement with “T. Norman Gadsden's sale of negroes” at the head. There were plantation negroes, coachmen, house-servants, mechanics, children of all ages, with descriptions as various as the kinds. Below the rest, and set out with a glowing delineation, was a description of a remarkably fine young sempstress, very bright and very intelligent, sold for no fault. The notice should have added an exception, that the owner was going to get married.
He repaired to the place at the time designated, and found them selling an old plantation-negro, dressed in ragged, gray clothes, who, after a few bids, was knocked down for three hundred and fifty dollars. “We will give tip-top titles to everything we sell here to-day; and, gentlemen, we shall now offer you the prettiest wench in town. She is too well-known for me to say more,” said the notorious auctioneer.
A number of the first citizens were present, and among them the Captain recognised Colonel S—, who approached and began to descant upon the sale of the woman. “It's a d—d shame to sell that girl, and that fellow ought to be hung up,” said he, meaning the owner; and upon this he commenced giving a history of the poor girl.
“Where is she? Bring her along! Lord! gentlemen, her very curls are enough to start a bid of fifteen hundred,” said the auctioneer.
“Go it, Gadsden, you're a trump,” rejoined a number of voices.
The poor girl moved to the stand, pale and trembling, as if she was stepping upon the scaffold, and saw her executioners around her. She was very fair and beautiful-there was something even in her graceful motions that enlisted admiration. Here she stood almost motionless for a few moments.
“Gentlemen, I ought to charge all of you sevenpence a sight for looking at her,” said the auctioneer. She smiled at the remark, but it was the smile of pain.
“Why don't you sell the girl, and not be dogging her feelings in this manner?” said Colonel S—.