They were taken to the county jail and locked up. It was a ramshackle, old affair. A good wind coming in from the bay could have knocked it over, and a very small fire would have wiped it out in short order. But it was prison enough for the six. Henry, John, and Frederick were placed in one cell and Sandy, the Hamilton boy, and Handy in another. They had plenty of space, since the cells really were rooms of the building. They were fed immediately and were left completely alone throughout the night. They were thankful for this respite.
Early Easter morning they were at them—a swarm of slave-traders and agents of slave-traders who, hearing of the “catch” in the county jail at Easton, hurried over to ascertain if the masters wanted to rid themselves of dangerous “troublemakers.” Good bargains could often be picked up under such circumstances. Rebellious slaves were usually strong and vigorous. Properly manacled, they were rendered helpless. And there was a demand for them on the great plantations where they were beginning to grow enormous crops of cotton. Word had gone out that these captured slaves were young and in unusually good condition.
The sheriff willingly obliged the traders. So they fell upon the prisoners like a bunch of vultures, feeling their arms and legs, shaking them by the shoulders to see if they were sound and healthy, making them jump up and down on one foot, examining their teeth, examining their testicles.
“This one, now,”—the trader was “going over” Frederick—“he’d go fine with a piece I picked up last week. She’s swellin’ with heat. They’d make a litter!”
The two men laughed.
“How’d you like to go with me, buck boy?” He kicked him lightly.
Frederick, his rage choking him, did not answer.
“Um—no tongue,” the second trader grunted.
“Look at his eyes!” the first man said. “If I had ’im, I’d cut the devil out of him pretty quick!”
This went on for several days, with no further questions nor any beatings. The suspense was terrible. The dream of freedom faded.