“Oh! as to expense, Geo’ge. Dey don’t go to none. You see, we hab no end ob slabes here, ob all kinds, an’ trades an’ purfessions, what cost nuffin but a leetle black bread to keep ’em alibe, an’ a whackin’ now an’ den to make ’em work. Bress you! dem marble fountains an’ t’ings cost the pirits nuffin. Now we’s goin’ up to see the Kasba.”
“What is that, Peter?”
“What! you not know what de Kasba am? My, how ignorant you is! De Kasba is de citad’l—de fort—where all de money an’ t’ings—treasure you call it—am kep’ safe. Strong place, de Kasba—awrful strong.”
“I’ll be glad to see that,” said Foster.
“Ho yes. You be glad to see it wid me,” returned the negro significantly, “but not so glad if you go dere wid chains on you legs an’ pick or shovel on you shoulder. See—dere dey go!”
As he spoke a band of slaves was seen advancing up the narrow street. Standing aside in a doorway to let them pass, Foster saw that the band was composed of men of many nations. Among them he observed the fair hair and blue eyes of the Saxon, the dark complexion and hair of the Spaniard and Italian, and the black skin of the negro—but all resembled each other in their looks and lines of care, and in the weary anxiety and suffering with which every countenance was stamped,—also in the more or less dejected air of the slaves, and the soiled ragged garments with which they were covered.
But if some of the resemblances between these poor creatures were strong, some of their differences were still more striking. Among them were men whose robust frames had not yet been broken down, whose vigorous spirits had not been quite tamed, and whose scowling eyes and compressed lips revealed the fact that they were “dangerous.” These walked along with clanking chains on their limbs—chains which were more or less weighty, according to the strength and character of the wearer. Others there were so reduced in health, strength, and spirit, that the chain of their own feebleness was heavy enough for them to drag to their daily toil. Among these were some with hollow cheeks and sunken eyes, whose weary pilgrimage was evidently drawing to a close; but all, whether strong or weak, fierce or subdued, were made to tramp smartly up the steep street, being kept up to the mark by drivers, whose cruel whips cracked frequently on the shoulders of the lagging and the lazy.
With a heart that felt as if ready to burst with conflicting emotions, the poor midshipman looked on, clenching his teeth to prevent unwise exclamations, and unclenching his fists to prevent the tendency to commit assault and battery!
“This is dreadful,” he said, in a low voice, when the gang had passed.
“Yes, Geo’ge, it is drefful—but we’s used to it, you know. Come, we’ll foller dis gang.”