Selecting a suitable spot for the purpose, the negroes placed the rostrum on the ground, with one chair in and the other in front of it; the shrivelled-up Spaniard mounted into position, his clerk seated himself in front, a negro perambulated the square, ringing a large hand-bell, and the sale began.
The blacks were offered first, and of these a large proportion had evidently been landed very recently from a slaver. For the most part they were a tall, fine-looking set of men and women; that is to say, they had been; but disease and privation had done almost their worst upon them; and as they took their places upon the block, one by one, their forms showed gaunt and spare as so many skeletons. In spite, however, of their poor condition, competition ran high; the bidding was brisk, and they were rapidly “knocked down,” one after the other, until the whole of the cargo was cleared.
Then came a gang of negroes—slaves already—belonging to the estate of a tobacco planter, recently deceased, whose heir was disposing of everything prior to a trip to Europe.
Most of these poor wretches had been born on the estate; others had been on it long enough to form family connections upon it; and now husbands and wives, parents and children, were in many cases about to be ruthlessly torn from each other for ever. It was pitiful—it was heart-breaking—to those unaccustomed to such a scene to witness the expression of utter despair on the faces of these poor creatures. Then, as the sale proceeded, this expression would sometimes give way to one of feverish hope as the purchaser of a husband or parent would become a bidder for the wife or child. In one or two rare cases the hope was realised; and as husband and wife, or parent and child, found themselves once more reunited—once more the property of the same man—their joy was enough to wring tears from the heart of a stone. But in most cases the families were utterly broken up, no two members becoming the property of the same purchaser; and then their dreadful misery, their heart-broken anguish, was simply indescribable, and must be left to the imagination of the reader.
At length it came to the turn of the Aurora’s crew, and Mr Bowen was selected as the first man to be “put up.” On being released from the chain, instead of at once stepping up on the block, as he was signed to do, he turned to George, whose arms were still bound behind him, and, extending his hand, touched the latter lightly on the head by way of farewell, exclaiming—
“Well, cap’n, the moment of parting’s come at last, and a sorrowful enough parting it is! Battle, storm, fire, or shipwreck I was prepared for; but when we sailed out of London, I never dreamed that I was on the highway to slavery. Well, God’s will be done! Here we are, and I s’pose we must make the best of it while it lasts, which won’t be a minute longer than either of us can help, if I know anything of you or myself. If I get clear first, I vow never to steer to the east’ard until you’ve joined company; and if you should happen to be off first, I hope—”
An impatient exclamation from the Spaniard in charge of the party, with a savage lash of the whip, and a gesture of command to mount the block at once, here cut short the rest of poor Bowen’s farewell speech.
The mate fairly reeled under the force of the blow, but he steadied himself in an instant, and turned upon his assailant with eyes literally blazing with fury; the veins on his forehead stood out like cords, the muscles of his arms and legs swelled, as he gathered himself together, and his body quivered like that of a tiger crouching to the leap. In another instant he would have had the presumptuous Spaniard in a death-grip, but a cry from Leicester stopped him just in time.
“Steady, Bowen!” exclaimed George eagerly; “steady, dear old friend; resistance is worse than useless just now. It is their turn to-day; but ours will come, it shall come, some day; and then we will repay them with interest for all our present sufferings.”
“Right you are, cap’n,” was Bowen’s reply, as he stepped quietly up on the block; “but,” turning to the Spaniard, “if ever you and I meet on blue water—well, you shall rue this day, that’s all.”