A second thought has struck Romescos; the nigger isn't so bad, after all. "Well, reckon how nobody won't have no objection to ya'r thinking just as ya'v mind to; but ya' can't talk ya'r own way, nor ya' can't have ya'r own way with this child. A nigger what puts on parson airs-if it is a progressive age nigger-musn't put on fast notions to a white gentleman of my standing! If he does, we just take 'em out on him by the process of a small quantity of first- rate knockin down," says Romescos, amiably lending him a hand to get up. Graspum and the honourable sheriff are measuredly pacing up and down the yard, talking over affairs of state, and the singular purity of their own southern democracy-that democracy which will surely elect the next President. Stepping aside in one of his sallies, Graspum, in a half whisper, reminds Romescos that, now the nigger has shown symptoms of disobedience, he had better prove the safety of the shackles. "Right! right! all right!" the man of chains responds; he had forgot this very necessary piece of amusement. He places both hands upon the shackles; grasps them firmly; places his left foot against Harry's stomach; and then, uttering a fierce imprecation, makes his victim pull with might and main while he braces against him with full power. The victim, groaning under the pain, begs for mercy. Mercy was not made for him. Freedom and mercy, in this our land of greatness, have been betrayed.
Harry, made willing property, is now placed by the side of his wife, as four small children—the youngest not more than two years old—cling at the skirts of her gown. The children are scarcely old enough to chain; their strong affections for poor chained mother and father are quite enough to guarantee against their running away. Romescos, in his ample kindness, will allow them to toddle their way to market. They are not dangerous property;—they have their feelings, and will go to market to be sold, without running away.
The gang is ready. The gaoler, nearly out of breath, congratulates himself upon the manner of dispatching business at his establishment. Romescos will put them through a few evolutions before marching in the street; so, placing himself at their right, and the gaoler at their left flank, they are made to march and counter-march several times round the yard. This done, the generous gaoler invites the gentlemen into his office: he has a good glass of whiskey waiting their superior tastes.
The ward gates are opened; the great gate is withdrawn; the property, linked in iron fellowship,—the gentlemen having taken their whiskey,—are all ready for the word, march! This significant admonition the sheriff gives, and the property sets off in solemn procession, like wanderers bound on a pilgrimage. Tramp, tramp, tramp, their footsteps fall in dull tones as they sally forth, in broken file, through the long aisles. Romescos is in high glee,—his feelings bound with exultation, he marches along, twirling a stick over his head. They are soon in the street, where he invites them to strike up a lively song—"Jim crack corn, and I don't care, fo'h Mas'r's gone away!" he shouts; and several strike up, the rest joining in the old plantation chorus—"Away! away! away! Mas'r's gone away." Thus, with jingling chorus and seemingly joyous hearts, they march down to the man-market. The two children, Annette and Nicholas, trail behind, in charge of the sheriff, whose better feelings seem to be troubling him very much. Every now and then, as they walk by his side, he casts a serious look at Annette, as if conscience, speaking in deep pulsations, said it wasn't just right to sell such an interesting little creature. Onward they marched, his head and heart warring the while. "There's something about it that does'nt seem to come just right in a fellow's feelins," keeps working itself in his mind, until at length he mutters the words. It is the natural will to do good, struggling against the privileges which a government gives ungovernable men to do wrong.
CHAPTER XX. — LET US FOLLOW POOR HUMAN NATURE TO THE MAN SHAMBLES.
GENTLEMEN dealers in want of human property,—planters in want of a few prime people,—brokers who have large transactions in such articles,—and factors who, being rather sensitive of their dignity, give to others the negotiation of their business,—are assembled in and around the mart, a covered shed, somewhat resembling those used by railroad companies for the storing of coarse merchandise. Marston's negroes are to be sold. Suspicious circumstances are connected with his sudden decline: rumour has sounded her seven-tongued symbols upon it, and loud are the speculations. The cholera has made mighty ravages; but the cholera could not have done all. Graspum has grasped the plantation, quietly and adroitly, but he has not raised the veil of mystery that hangs over the process. There must be long explanations before the obdurate creditors are satisfied.
The irons have been removed from the property, who are crouched round the stand-an elevated platform-in a forlorn group, where sundry customers can scrutinize their proportions. Being little or no fancy among it, the fast young gentlemen of the town, finding nothing worthy their attention and taste, make a few cursory observations, and slowly swagger out of the ring. The children are wonderfully attractive and promising; they are generally admired by the customers, who view them with suspicious glances. Annette's clean white skin and fine features are remarkably promising,—much valued as articles of merchandise,—and will, in time, pay good interest. Her youth, however, saves her from present sacrifice,—it thwarts that spirited competition which older property of the same quality produces when about to be knocked down under the hammer of freedom.
It is a great day, a day of tribulation, with the once happy people of Marston's plantation. No prayer is offered up for them, their souls being only embodied in their market value. Prayers are not known at the man shambles, though the hammer of the vender seals with death the lives of many. No gentleman in modest black cares aught for such death. The dealer will not pay the service fee! Good master is no longer their protector; his familiar face, so buoyant with joy and affection, has passed from them. No more will that strong attachment manifest itself in their greetings. Fathers will be fathers no longer-it is unlawful. Mothers cannot longer clasp their children in their arms with warm affections. Children will no longer cling around their mothers,—no longer fondle in that bosom where once they toyed and joyed.