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Title: The slave-auction

Author: John Theophilus Kramer

Release date: July 8, 2022 [eBook #68472]

Language: English

Original publication: United States: Robert F. Wallcut, 1859

Credits: David E. Brown and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SLAVE-AUCTION ***





  THE

  SLAVE-AUCTION.

  BY DR. JOHN THEOPHILUS KRAMER,

  LATE OF NEW ORLEANS, LA.

                    ‘Blush ye not
  To boast your equal laws, your just restraints,
  Your rights defined, your liberties secured,
  Whilst, with an iron hand, ye crush to earth
  The helpless African, and bid him drink
  That cup of sorrow which yourselves have dashed,
  Indignant, from Oppression’s fainting grasp?’

  BOSTON:
  ROBERT F. WALLCUT, 21 CORNHILL.
  1859.




PREFACE.


The Nineteenth Century is generally believed to be an enlightened one.
Great discoveries have been made in the fields of science. Countries
which were almost unknown a century ago are now competing in art and
wealth with the mother countries. Civilization has made a decided step
forward; but in some countries, civilization has made, in one respect,
no progress; on the contrary, it has made a step backward.

There is an institution, which is called by many civilized men a
‘lawful one,’ but which is in reality an institution of ancient
barbarity. It is the institution of slavery! If we take for truth, that
civilization and Christianity go hand in hand, we are astonished to see
a civilized and Christian people violating the laws of civilization
and of Christianity, by adhering to and nursing said institution of
barbarity. Christianity and barbarity will always oppose each other,
and if a nation is trying to make a mixture of both, civilization as
well as Christianity will suffer extensively.

The motive of my present writing is not a political one. I have been
plainly trying to answer the question, ‘Can slavery and Christianity
go hand in hand together?’ by giving a faithful picture of what I have
seen with my own eyes, while residing in some of the slave States for
more than ten years. If the glorious redemption through the crucified
Nazarene shall be of equal blessing to every Christian, how can a white
Christian treat a Christian of color like a beast? How can the former
have a right to sell his black or yellow brother or sister at public
auction for money or approved paper?

I have no personal ill feeling against the owners of slaves in the
slave States of this Union, but to their institution of slavery, and
particularly to their slave-auctions and to their slave-markets,
I am a decided enemy. As a man and a Christian, I am obliged to
protest solemnly against an institution which is a burning shame to
Christianity, which is a backsliding from civilization to barbarism, a
destroyer of family-life, a crime against virtue, and a blasphemy to
the cross of the Redeemer!

                                                                J. T. K.




THE SLAVE-AUCTION.

_They were born as slaves, through the iniquity of men. They are
redeemed to be free men, through Christ Jesus._


There is a broad hall, situated in one of the most frequented streets
of a large and well-known city in the South. You will be astonished
when you shall find, in place of a lion’s den or a man-trap, a
nicely-fitted up refreshing-place. Nothing formidable is presented to
your eyes. Several corpulent and richly dressed gentlemen are helping
themselves to fine liquors and delicacies, profusely spread out before
you, and placed upon an elegantly shaped bar. Beautiful pictures,
ornamenting the walls, attract the eyes of some amateurs of art; while
others, preferring nice lots and buildings, are studying the designs of
several large maps, showing various city lots and splendid buildings,
advertised ‘for sale at auction.’ In the vicinity of said maps is a
platform, whereupon a table is placed, together with a writing-desk
and a few chairs. Two colored waiters are busy placing several hundred
commodious chairs, facing the platform. The doors of the hall open
frequently, for there are many gentlemen entering, and soon is gathered
a large assemblage, by whom the chairs are occupied. There you will
see the elegantly dressed dandy, smoking his sweet-scented Havana,
while examining, through his richly gilded eye-glass, the designs of
building lots. Next to his chair you will perceive and admire the
athletic form of a Kentucky trader, with his plain frock, and with his
boots reaching over his knees. There you will also see the rich and
proud planter from Mississippi, reasoning with his fierce-looking, but
now, before his employer, creeping overseer.

The doors are opened again. Four ladies, splendidly dressed in black
silk and satin, and glittering with precious jewels, are entering the
hall. Eight or ten gentlemen, who were already comfortably seated next
to the platform, jump up from their chairs, and politely offer their
seats to the fair guests.

But, you will ask, for what reason is all this going on? What are the
ladies and gentlemen waiting for? Perhaps it is court-day, and the
people are waiting for the Judge. It cannot be, for the court-house
is opposite the Square. Is it perhaps a prayer-meeting? Pshaw!
Prayer-meeting and liquor-bar--would that do?

But what can it be? Who is that jolly round gentleman, placing a large
book upon the writing-desk, and looking like a bird which has never
seen a cage, but which has its three meals per diem in the middle of a
ripe wheat field? Is it not a pleasure to take a glance at his face,
radiant with contentment and plenty? If that man were a pastor, should
we not like to pasture with his flock? See there! he hands now to the
waiters a large package of bills. We shall soon learn what kind of a
concern all this is. It will be, most probably, neither a session of a
court, nor a prayer-meeting.

A SLAVE AUCTION! Great God in heaven! a SLAVE AUCTION! And that man
upon the platform is the auctioneer!

What a noise is going on outside of the doors! There will, surely,
enter a troop of men, women and children. How will they find places
amongst the spectators of the tragedy which will soon commence?--for
every chair is occupied, and many men are leaning upon the bar. There
is room in front of the table, and near to the walls of the hall.

A gentleman is entering. The auctioneer hastens to receive him with
distinction, and conducts him to the chair behind the desk. The
stranger is an American gentleman, and owner of the slaves who are
now to be sold at auction. He owns a beautiful plantation, about
forty miles from the city, near the railroad. He intends to run as a
political candidate; he needs, therefore, money. He says he is ‘truly
sorry’ to be obliged to sell his slaves at auction. Why sorry? Because
his father raised most of them. They are ‘family slaves,’ and ‘very
likely indeed.’ He is a young man of about thirty years. He has a high
forehead, and an intelligent, upright face.

But why can he not take a glance at the assembled audience? What is the
matter with him, that he always bends his face over the desk, and that
he will not look up? Has he not a right to be proud, and shall not the
multitude envy the happy owner of a gang of one hundred and forty-nine
slaves? But we comprehend what is the matter with him. He pretends to
be a good Christian, and he is acquainted with the gospel; he therefore
knows what is right, and what is wrong. It is his conscience that
troubles him. His inner man is well aware that he is doing a heinous
crime to sell at auction one hundred and forty-nine fellow-beings,
redeemed by his Savior upon the Cross!

While we were regarding the man behind the desk, we never perceived
that the doors were re-opened, and that a large number of people had
entered the hall. There are men, women and children, and some babies
upon their mothers’ arms. Their color differs from that of the ladies
and gentlemen sitting upon the chairs. Some are black as ebony, some
brown, some yellow. There is also a beautiful young girl, nearly
white, and you would readily infer that she is of Spanish or French
blood. Not one among all of these poor creatures will raise his or
her head and eyes, to take a glance at the sitting assemblage. Some
poor girls are weeping audibly, and all are looking sad--sad--sad!
Reader, if you should happen to be of a gentle nature, take a glance
at the little babies upon the arms of their poor and distressed
mothers! Can babies feel their misery? Yes, indeed, they can. Every
mother will endorse my words. I shall never forget those looks of
deep sorrow, which I perceived in the faces of all those poor little
children upon the auction-stand. I know that they participated in
the distress of their mothers; I believe that they were conscious of
their horrible fate in that awful hour--to be sold for money to the
highest bidder! You, who have human feelings--you, who are no figures
of cold marble--contemplate each of these one hundred and forty-nine
descendants of Africa’s sons and daughters! Will you be still
indifferent towards that ‘institution’ which degrades men to beasts,
which is the deepest pit of barbarity?

But, you will say, are they not tolerably well dressed? And who would
say that their bodies have been worn out by hard labor, or by the
effect of hunger? No; it seems rather that their master had treated
them kindly, that they have seen but little trouble, but few hard
times. Why then are they looking grave and distressed, as if some heavy
misfortune had befallen them? Their knees tremble, as if they had the
foreboding of some awful calamity!

Yes, indeed, they have cause to tremble--they will not do wrong if they
cover their eyes (which are not their own)--they may bend down their
heads in deep mourning; for--reader! these one hundred and forty-nine
human souls shall be sold to-day as so many heads of cattle!

They have been taught the religion of freedom, the gospel of the only
Master in heaven and upon earth. They know that they ought to be free,
because they are Christians. They believe that the Son of God has
abolished slavery by his death upon the accursed tree. They were told
by their own master that they were made free through the merits of
the blood of Jesus Christ, and that they have a right to claim their
freedom for themselves and for their children.

Such are the teachings of the slaveholders in the slave States, but
they must themselves surely believe in a very different gospel from the
gospel of freedom, as given by the Nazarene!

To excuse themselves, they say that, through the curse of the patriarch
Noah, a whole race of men were made slaves forever. They are deaf to
the great truth, that, thousands of years after the death of Noah, the
great Liberator, JESUS CHRIST, appeared, and that he broke, by his
death upon the Cross, all chains of slavery forever!

Let us return to the table of barbarity, and we will follow the course
of proceedings at the public auction sale of one hundred and forty-nine
of our fellow-men.

The auctioneer stands upon the platform: he is ready to sell any of
these to the highest bidder for gold, silver, or approved paper. He
calls himself a Christian. He seems to have no idea that he is going
to perform an act which is the greatest blasphemy towards his Lord and
Master. Is not any man, pretending to be a Christian, and selling his
Christian brothers like horses, mules or dogs, a hypocrite? And is any
man, calling himself a disciple of Christ, but favoring and seconding
slave auctions, any better?

We will listen to the reading of the auctioneer, who is holding a paper
in his right hand:--‘I am authorized,’ he begins, ‘to sell at auction,
one hundred and forty-nine plantation negroes, comprising carpenters,
bricklayers, blacksmiths, coopers, drivers, house and field-hands.
Families will be sold in block. These slave have been raised, and the
larger portion of them were born on the estate of Minor R., Esq., who
is retiring from the plantation interest on the Beau-Bosquet Place. The
slaves are considered as one of the most valuable and healthy gangs
in the South. They will be guaranteed only in title. Terms of sale,
one-third cash, balance at one and two years’ credit, with interest
of six per cent. per annum, until final payment. If the terms of sale
are not completed within four days from date of sale, the slaves will
be resold, for account and risk of former purchasers, after two days’
advertisement in two of the city papers, without further notice of
legal default.’

No. 1. Harvey, field hand, about twenty years old. ‘Come up here, my
boy! There you are--bon! A capital boy! Ladies and gentlemen, look
here at this healthy child! Can any darkey upon God’s beautiful earth
beat him? Wouldn’t he whip Hercules, if that personage should happen
to be present? What a splendid fellow he is! The gentleman who will
buy Harvey will draw a lucky number. Who is going to bid? Go ahead,
gentlemen! Here is a capital opportunity.’

‘Eight hundred dollars.’

‘Pshaw! Eight hundred dollars? Why, twice as much shall never buy him;
he is fully worth two thousand dollars. Who will bid more?’

‘Nine hundred.’

‘Nine hundred dollars is no money for such a fellow, and if you will
pay every picayune twice, you can’t get him! Nine hundred for Harvey?
Gentlemen, you have had, probably, bad news to-day; or is the news
confirmed, and has the California steamer foundered? They say so, but
do not believe a word of it. I say it is safe! Nine hundred dollars for
Harvey!’

‘And fifty.’

‘Nine hundred and fifty dollars for Harvey, the most likely boy in the
noble and fair State of Louisiana! Ain’t it too bad? Who bids more?’

‘One thousand!’

‘Well, a little better! Go on, gentlemen, if you please. One
thousand--one thousand--one thousand dollars.’

‘And fifty.’

‘And fifty! My dear sir, do me a favor, and say at once two thousand.
And fifty--and fifty! Ten hundred and fifty dollars!’

‘Eleven hundred.’

‘Eleven hundred! Too little yet.’

‘Twenty dollars more.’

‘Sir? Twenty dol----. Pardon, excuse me, if I am truly astonished to
hear a gentleman bid twenty dollars for Harvey, the American Hercules!
Twenty hundred I would like it better.’

‘Twelve hundred and fifty.’

‘There is a generous gentleman! Sir, take my best wishes for your
welfare! Twelve hundred and fifty dollars----’

‘And fifty.’

‘Still better! And fifty! One thousand three hundred dollars!’

‘Fourteen hundred.’

‘Fourteen--thank you, sir, thank you! Fourteen hundred dollars!
Fourteen hundred! Fourteen---- Gentlemen, bid more, if you please!
Fourteen hundred dollars for Harvey are nothing. Fourteen----’

‘And fifty.’

‘Fourteen hundred and fifty dollars for a boy who is worth two
thousand! Gentlemen, here is a good chance to improve property!
Whoever will buy Harvey, shall own a fortune. Who is going to bid
more? Fourteen--fourteen hundred and fifty dollars--going? One
thousand four hundred and fifty dollars--dollars--dollars! Who
will bid more? Nobody? Nobody more? Fourteen hundred and fifty
dollars for the negro boy Harvey, the best field hand and the most
gentle boy amongst all the darkeys in the United States! Going--for
the first--second--who will say more? Fourteen hundred and fifty
dollars--going--going--going--gone!’

‘Go off, Harvey! Hurry yourself! Don’t believe your bones are made of
sugar and eggs.’

No. 2. Joseph, field hand, aged about seventeen.

‘Gentlemen, there is a young blood, and a capital one! He is a great
boy, a hand for almost every thing. Besides, he is the best dancer in
the whole lot, and he knows also how to pray--oh! so beautifully, you
would believe he was made to be a minister! How much will you bid for
him?’

‘One thousand dollars.’

‘Good--but that is not half the price he is really worth. Gentlemen,
if you will bid two thousand at once, it may not suffice to buy him.
One thousand dollars for a boy, who will be worth in three years
fully twenty-five hundred dollars cash down. Who is going to bid two
thousand?’

‘Twelve hundred dollars.’

‘Twelve hundred dollars! Sir, I did say, he would soon bring two
thousand. I am always pretty near certain of what I say. Twelve hundred
for Joseph! Splendid fellow that! Eleven hundred and eighty dollars
more than for his namesake of old in the land of Egypt. Twelve hundred
dollars! Gentlemen, bid more!’

‘Twelve hundred and fifty dollars.’

‘One thousand two hundred and fifty dollars! All right; but more! more!
more!’

‘And fifty.’

‘And fifty--and fifty--and fifty for Joseph--not the Hebrew.’

‘Thirteen hundred.’

‘Thirteen hundred--a bad number, gentlemen--don’t let him rest at
thirteen hundred.’

‘And fifty.’

‘Thirteen hundred and fifty is said to be a lucky number in lotteries.
I don’t know as it is true, but I do know that thirteen hundred and
fifty dollars will not buy Joseph.’

‘Fourteen hundred.’

‘Well, no ticket of any lottery will cost that much; but Joseph must
bring more. Fourteen hundred dollars!’

‘And fifty.’

‘One thousand four hundred and fifty dollars. It looks like rain; for
cash will not out, and I am unable to procure a magnet which will
draw gold for value received. Fourteen hundred and fifty dollars! Too
small an amount for Joseph. Seventeen years only--a strong, healthy,
fine-looking, intelligent boy. Fourteen hundred and fifty dollars!
Gentlemen, Joseph is worth more than Harvey--upon my word! One
thousand, four hundred and fifty--going! Fourteen hundred and fifty for
the first--second--going? Fourteen hundred and fifty dollars--going!
going! going! and last--gone! He is sold to you, sir! Please state your
name.’

No. 3. John Dowson, a carpenter, thirty-five years old, (afflicted with
slight hernia,) an intelligent-looking man, stands upon the platform.

But as the reader would get tired of listening to every word that the
auctioneer of human souls says, we will stay with some of the poor
creatures, merely giving the names, age, and the price of sale of the
rest. The above named John Dowson was sold for $1200.

No. 4. Alfred, cooper, (injured in left leg,) 19 years of age, a
strong and very honest-looking boy, brings $1550; a very small price
for a first-rate cooper, but surely the price of blood for a man and a
Christian!

No. 5. George Bedford, field hand, 30 years, sold

No. 6. Jim Ludlow, field hand, 30 years old, brings $1400.

No. 7. Chap, field hand, 34 years, brings the round sum of $1000.

No. 8. Henry Wood, 23 years old, for $1375.

No. 9. Charles Longback, plowman and harness maker, age 35, value
received, $1300.

No. 10. March, field hand, 26 years old, fine-looking fellow, splendid
eyes, teeth white like ivory. That dandy there, who is lighting his
cigar with a fashionable Parisian silver-match, would be glad to give
his gold watch with chain, and his diamond breastpin in the bargain,
for March’s beautiful set of spotless teeth. But how can we see them?
Is March so much pleased as to show all his teeth? No, reader! he is
very, very far from laughing. His eyes are cast down; they are fixed
upon the floor of the hall. But tell me why March shows his teeth? Out
of rage? Yes, indeed, out of rage. Why?

There is a poor young woman at his side; they call her Caroline. A
Christian minister gave her that name when she was christened. She is
bitterly crying; she casts a look of extreme sorrow upon her husband.
Why?

Caroline is the lawful wife, (lawful, indeed? lawful in a Slave State?)
of March, and the ‘gentleman’ who bought him for $1250 will not buy
Caroline. She is twenty-two years of age, and the auctioneer calls
her a splendid washer and ironer, a very likely girl. She has always
conducted herself well; she is a member of the Methodist Church; she
is one of the most gentle persons in the South; she calls March her
husband, and she loves him dearly. And now, gentle reader, tell me why
Caroline shall be torn from her husband? Why shall she belong to a
tyrant? Because that man has money--because he bought her for $1100.

Friends of humanity! take another glance at No. 10½. There stands
Caroline, crying for her husband in a manner to move a heart of stone;
but she is not crying loud enough to move pretended ‘Christians,’
who are going to church every Sunday, there to adore the Redeemer of
mankind, the Savior upon the Cross!

No. 11. Abraham Arkansas, plowman and carter, 28 years of age; he
brings $1350.

No. 12. Michael, carter and plowman, 29 years, sold for $1300.

No. 13. Booker, plowman, 28 years, brings $1375.

No. 14. Lucy, a young girl of 14, yet nearly a child. Her color is
black, but her features are handsome. She stands upon the platform like
a lamb, doomed to be sold to a wolf. See those long, silky eyelids;
how the large full drops are falling upon the table! Look at the
sad, silent face of a poor lovely girl of dark color, innocent like
the blossom of a fair nightly flower! Her crime is, that she is a
descendant from African blood. Look, how her full, red lips open with
untold agony, showing a string of pearls rarely to be met with. Her
dark but soft eyes are fixed upon the man who has already bid twice for
her. She casts them down in despairing hopelessness, as he is bidding
for her $1025 for the last time. She belongs to him! Her whole body
belongs to the man with the lustful countenance; to the very man who
whispered in her ear when she was entering the hall of perdition, ‘Thou
art mine, black little dove! Thou art mine, even though God and all his
holy angels should defend thee!’ Does not that man look like one of the
fiends? But he has paid for her, one thousand and fifty dollars in gold
and approved paper; he takes her away--and hell solemnizes its triumph!

No. 15. The boy Clifford, a field hand, fourteen years of age, is sold
for $1000.

No. 16. Sam, twenty-one years, truly as honest a boy as could be
found south of Mason and Dixon’s line. A gentleman behind my chair is
exclaiming, ‘What a splendid jet black animal he is!’ Sam brings the
nice round sum of $1500.

No. 17. Little Henry, plowman, twenty-four years, brings $1325.

No. 18. Titus, blacksmith, cooper and engineer, ‘extra,’ 23 years. Of
course, he must be ‘extra,’ for he is able to work for his master at
the rate of $5 a day. Now, suppose he could work for himself at the
rate of only $3 a day, it would take him only two years five months
and seventeen days to produce the money for which he is now sold at
auction. But his master will be a wise man, (though he is a prominent
member in his church)--he will let him have no time to work for
himself; no, not one hour!

The kind reader will give me permission to retreat, for a short time,
from the auction hall, in order to relate an event which happened at
the time of my stay in the same city where our auction takes place. A
certain citizen of said city had a very honest and diligent slave, a
blacksmith by trade. The slave agreed with his master to pay him two
dollars and a half a day, but the money which he should earn besides,
should belong to himself. He diligently worked by day and night, hardly
allowing himself any rest. By so doing, he made two dollars and a half
a day for his master, and one for himself. After five years of the
hardest toil, the slave had collected the required sum of money to buy
himself free--say $1800. He--poor honest fellow!--not suspecting the
rascality of his ‘Christian’ master, had given to him, at the end of
every week, $24.50; all of his very hard earned money; and after the
lapse of five years, he demanded his freedom from that master. But
the hardened wretch laughed at him, and told him to go to h--ll, and
to his work again. Now, could not the slave find justice in the court
of justice? No, never--for the laws of the Slave States provide that
no slave shall bear witness against any white person. No ‘Christian’
judge nor ‘Christian’ jury could help the poor slave; for the laws of a
‘Christian’ State regard a fellow-man of color as a tool, belonging to
any rascal who happens to possess a sufficient quantity of money to buy
that human tool!

No. 19. Rosa, field hand, 16 years of age, a capital girl, well built,
good-natured and intelligent. There she stands upon the platform,
gazed at by several hundred men. She has to submit, without a murmur,
to be examined by the hand of a rough fellow, a slave-driver--a name
which I consider equivalent to ‘human butcher.’ Her fine teeth are
touched by his bloody fingers; so are her beautiful eyelashes; and
when he is handling her beating bosom, oh, reader! mark the just
indignation expressed in all her features! Poor Rosa! there is no help
for you; there is no salvation. She knows it, and the awful conviction
of so crushing a calamity casts her down,--down into the abyss of
utter despair. She is sold at last to the highest bidder--to the
slave-driver--to the tiger in frock-coat and pants, for $1250.

No. 20. Ben, field hand, 30 years old, for $1150.

No. 21. Isam, a field hand, 40 years old, is not able to bring more
than $700, because his youth has gone. Of course, a mule of 18 is worth
less than one of 6 years. It is certainly very reasonable to sell an
old animal for less than a young one. But, let us see what kind of
an animal Isam is? Isam is not a strong man; his health is rather
delicate; but his mind is sound. He has not only an inclination toward
religion, he is himself a Christian, and he acts on Sundays among his
unfortunate fellow-men as a minister of the gospel.

What! A minister of the gospel a brute--to be sold at auction for $700!
Is not that a shameful untruth? No barbarian, in whatever part of the
globe, will sell at public auction the priest of his faith for any
money! Behold, ye nations of Christendom! There is a country which is
called a Christian one, in which a minister of the gospel of Jesus
Christ is sold at public auction like a brute! Will that time never
come when such as he shall be sold no more to the highest bidder by the
pretended disciples of that Savior who came to break every yoke, and to
set every captive free?

No. 22. Yellow Charles, carter and plowman, (has a short leg from
infancy,) 27 years of age, is sold for $950,--a very trifling sum. Yes,
indeed, trifling for his own natural father--the rich banker--the man
of refinement--the gallant ‘defender of liberty.’

No. 23. Sam Bayou, field hand, 32 years old, for $1075.

No. 24. Brown, field hand, 28 years, brings $1200.

No. 25. George, the valorous, 26 years old, strong enough to be a rival
to his celebrated namesake, the dragon-killing knight of the middle
ages. At least, he is able to kill two alligators in five minutes.
George (not the knight) is sold for $1400.

No. 26. Etienne, carter and plowman, 29, sold for $1150.

No. 27. Quacco, plowman and carpenter, a young man of 23, brings $1275.

No. 28. Bob, blind of one eye, plowman and carter, aged 35, brings
$850. Why only $850? Because he has but one eye. How did he lose the
other? When he was a little boy, he had a sister, a very kind and
gentle little girl, whom he dearly loved. One Sunday, they were walking
together near the plantation to which they belonged. Beneath an orange
tree, covered with red, beautiful, juicy fruits, they sat down upon
the grass. Nancy, which was the name of the little girl, dropped
silently her head; not a word came from her lips, but large drops fell
from her eyes upon the grass. Bob took her hands in his, asking her
tenderly, ‘Sis, what is the matter with you? Why will you cry?’ ‘O
Bob,’ sobbed she, ‘I am very unhappy--I wish to die.’ ‘Why, Nancy?’ But
Nancy gave no answer--all her limbs trembled--her eyes stared in agony
towards the sugar-house. A big white boy came running towards them,
holding in his hand a large whip. It was Peter, the overseer’s oldest
son--the most malicious and cruel young rascal in the parish--the
terror of the poor slaves on the plantation.

‘Ay! you black little grasshopper, have I caught you at last!’ cried
the young loafer, grasping her by the neck, and throwing her upon the
grass. ‘You shall know that I am master, and you are my slave.’ The
terror-struck girl made no reply; she only uttered a long, painful
groan. Bob, in great excitement, placed himself between his sister and
the boy, crying, ‘Oh, master Peter, don’t hurt my sister! No! you shall
not hurt my sister!’ At once, the young overseer got into a terrible
rage, and crying, ‘Hie, dog of a nigger!’ he struck Bob with the heavy
handle of his whip in the face, and the poor boy fell with a single
piercing cry to the ground. From that day, Bob had but one eye, and the
stripes made by the whip of the overseer upon Bob’s back can be still
seen to-day.

No. 29. Charles Yellabusha, field hand, 24 years old, price $1525.

No. 30. Allrick, field hand, age 45. He looks very good-natured; twenty
years ago, he was worth $2100, but is sold now for $1025.

No. 31. Jake, good cooper, sugar-maker, and vacuum boiler, 32 years of
age. His color is a mingling of yellow and white. His forehead is high,
his face intelligent. There is no mistake--plenty of Anglo-Saxon blood
is running through his veins. If he had been born in Massachusetts, or
in one of the other Free States, in Canada or in Europe, I would bet
a hundred dollars against one, he would be a professor, a minister, a
doctor, or some kind of a savan, now. If his star had cast him into
the empire of France, I should by no means be surprised to see in him
a second Alexander Dumas; and if, in that case, he would not be able
to write as admirable a story as is ‘The Count of Monté Christo,’ I
should despair of finding any sense in a Gall or a Lavater. Well, this
second Alexander Dumas is sold at auction for $2625, a sum which he
could realize for himself in less than one year, if he were not born in
a Slave State.

Who was Jake’s mother? Of course, a mulatto woman, and a slave. Most
probably, she has gone to that land where the master and the slave
enjoy ‘equal rights.’

But who was her father? There we have a problem, which even the
discoverer of the quadrature of the circle can never solve. Perhaps
Jake’s grandfather was a ‘rising man,’ and his white grand-children are
now celebrated senators and lawgivers.

And who was the father of Jake? Don’t know. But may it not be possible
that he was a Governor, or some other big personage? Perhaps, while
Jake is being sold at auction to the highest bidder, his natural
brothers and sisters are sitting in splendid parlors, or in the
drawing-room of some fashionable hotel, ‘up North.’ May not one of
Jake’s natural brothers be a Judge of the Supreme Court, and the other
a learned minister of the gospel? How does it happen that, while one of
the children of the same father is a rich and high-standing favorite of
the people, the other child is sold at public auction, like a valuable
mule? Can it be the little difference in their color? Well, let the
former brother stay for some years in South America, or in some other
warm climate, and I am sure his color would show no great difference
from that of his brother who is sold at auction. Why, then, shall
the one brother be treated as a beast, and the other brother as a
gentleman? Can any one of my learned readers solve this problem for me?

No. 32. Willis, field hand, 24 years, sold for $1350--and

No. 32½. Lucy Scott, field hand, 25. She is not placed upon the
platform. Why? We cannot say; but the distressed face of the poor woman
tells us that she has been sold privately to a personage, of whom they
say that he is a member of the church, but who in reality may prove to
be a demon.

No’s 33, 34, 35, 36 and 37.

A very good-looking pair is first put upon the platform. Davy, a good
vegetable-gardener, 50 years old, and his wife Harriet, about 45,
together with their daughters, Cassy and Scilla, twins, 14 years, and
Amy, 12 years. Really, I would give something if you could see the
daguerreotype of this family standing upon the platform, to be sold at
auction. But, no--I recall the wish. Thank God that you cannot see that
picture, because it would haunt you like a dreadful vision.

I remember an event which I heard related while I was in France. A
young French lady had occasion to visit a picture gallery. Her eyes
fell upon a large picture, representing the martyrs thrown before wild
beasts, at the time of the Roman Emperor Dioclesian. The expression
of agony in the features of the bleeding Christians was so fearfully
given, that the maiden fell into hysterics, and she never recovered
from the effect of her terror.

I will not attempt to imagine the anguish and horror that my fair
female readers would have felt, if they could have witnessed the
picture of that poor distressed family--the despairing features of
those three innocent girls upon that slaughter-bench, like three
faultless lambs offered for sacrifice! All five were sold for $3000.

No. 38. Big Bill, cooper, 55 years, and

No. 39. Winey, his wife--(to sell a wife at auction!--what a sacrilege
of the sacred name!) 54 years old. Both together were sold for $1850.

No. 40. Tom, field hand, 28 years, and

No. 41. Matilda, 25 years. For both, $2250. One family.

No. 42. Shad, field hand, 38 years--

No. 43. Rachel, 29--and

No. 44. James, their son, 6 years of age--all were sold at $2275. Dear
family that! But how much dearer shall he pay at the day of judgment,
who sells the ‘bodies and souls of men’ for gold, silver, and approved
paper, like cattle!

No. 45. Louis Mare, bricklayer, 42 years.

No. 46. Yellow Mary, 23 years of age. For both was offered $1750.

Kind reader, I must make your heart sad again--sad with compassion
for your unfortunate and oppressed fellow-men. But I will speak the
truth, only the truth, and nothing but the truth. God has given me a
feeling heart; and, certainly, I suffered, while being present at the
slave auction, of which I am giving you a faint description. But I had
to stay, and my face had to be as stern as any of the slave-buyers
present, while my heart mourned. Is it not a vision? There stands a
girl upon the platform, to be sold to the highest bidder; perhaps to
a cruel, low and dissolute fellow, who, a day or two since, won a few
thousand dollars by his playing tricks at the faro table. She is nearly
white; she is not yellow, as they call her. She has a fair waist, her
hair is black and silky, and falling down in ringlets upon her full
shoulders. Her eyes are large, soft, and languishing. She seeks in
vain to hide the streaming tears with her small and delicate hands.
Her features are fair, like those of the girls of the Caucassian race;
they remind me of those of the highland girls of my native country,
Switzerland. Who in all the world can have anything against her color?
In England, she would be called a ‘star’; in France, a ‘belle’; in
Germany, a ‘nice little woman’; and in the free States of the Union,
she would pass, when fashionably dressed, for a ‘fair French lady.’
But, in the Slave States, she is openly sold, as though she were
nothing more than a ‘beautiful mare’ or a ‘splendid cow’!

They say, in the Slave States, that they are Christians; yet they
consider a fair Christian girl as a brute, because she is not of pure
white blood! Why do they not make company with the fishes in the lower
Mississippi? Have they not ‘white blood’?

If Mary’s father, who is, perhaps, a very much honored gentleman, ‘one
of the best members of his church’--if that great man could see his
only daughter, his own flesh and blood, standing upon the platform,
with tearful eyes, and sighing in untold misery to be sold like a
quadruped--surely, his blood would turn ‘white’ for shame and terror!

No. 47. Josephus, accomplished blacksmith, 35 years old--and

No. 48. Catharine, field hand, 30 years old. Catharine is a very strong
and healthy-looking woman. If this pair of giants had the liberty to
keep the earnings of their own labor for themselves, they would surely
make the money for which they are sold now,--those $2800,--in less than
three years. But their bodies belong to another, because the laws of
the Slave States regard men and women of color as beasts of burden.

No. 49. Dennis, field hand, (suffers from hernia,) fifty-five years--

No. 50. Isabella, thirty-one years. Price for these poor human beings,
$1350.

No. 51. Amos, field hand, a very smart and intelligent-looking boy of
sixteen, brings $1450, or one hundred dollars more than the poor couple
sold before him.

No. 52. Fielding, field hand, 26 years, and--

No. 53. Nelly, also a field hand, 30 years, both bring $2200.

No. 54. George Sunday, field hand, age 22, for $1400.

No. 55. Gay, 30, and

No. 56. Hannah, 35, together with

No. 57. Ellen, her daughter, a young girl of 13 years. Both Hannah and
Ellen are crying very hard, because they are perhaps to be sold to a
ruffian who made his fortune by swindling, and who will pay now $2300
for honest people, who have never done the least harm to anybody, who
are faithful Christians, and whose hearts are to be broken by an act
worthy of any blood-thirsty barbarians!

No. 58. Quash, field hand, aged 17. A black skin he has, like polished
ebony, but no doubt his heart is white. How much whiter than the
‘man-driver’ who is going to buy him for the sum of $1400!

No. 60. John Louis, field hand, 24 years, and

No. 61. Fine, his wife--(wife? yes, as long as her master will permit
her to remain such!) age 19, and

No. 62. Collar, a plump, little boy of 3 years. The last bid for
them is $3050. Hear what the man behind my chair says to his
companion:--‘Splendid family that! Very likely girl--fine child--but he
paid a good deal of cash for them three black animals.’

‘Yes, Bob,’ says the other, ‘he spends plenty of money, but he will
make ’em work! Holy Tschoupitoulas! they will get more lickings than
tomatoes and bacon.’

Collar’s mother presses her little boy to her bosom; she casts her
tearful eyes towards heaven. But even heaven seems to be closed to her
prayers and to her tears. Shall she doubt that there is a just God
above the clouds? Must her faith in the precious redemption of mankind,
through the Savior, be destroyed in this dreadful hour? Can she still
believe in the Lord and Master of her soul, when her tormentors call
themselves disciples of this same Lord? Christian reader, will you not
mourn while so many thousands of your humble fellow-men are groaning in
chains? Can you sing and pray with a joyful heart in the house of the
Lord, when you know that the cross of your Savior is trodden upon by
the feet of ‘Christian slave-drivers’?

Nations, mourn! for justice is dead, and crime is triumphant!

Let us return to the ‘hall of perdition,’ in mourning apparel.

No. 63. Squire, 28 years, and

No. 64. Gertrude, cook, washer and ironer, age about 21. This fine but
sad-looking pair bring $2600.

No. 65. Richard, field hand, age 19, sold for exactly $1000.

No. 66. John, plowman, 32 years, and

No. 67. Nancy, field hand, about 30. Highest bid for both, $1750.

No. 68. Davy, 58 years, and

No. 69. Polly, 50 years old, both sold for $500.

Five hundred dollars is a fair price for a horse, or for a valuable
mule. But here we can perceive neither horses nor mules, but human
beings, who, without regard to color or standing, await, like us, the
hour of their call from this world to the judgment seat. Those two
grey heads, of very humble looking persons, have been placed upon the
auction-stand or platform. For forty years they have devoted their
strength to the father of their master, and to him. They have gathered
forty harvests for him--yes, for him who is now selling them for $500!
They brought him ten times as much as he is now getting for their
worn-out bodies.

No. 70. Frank Fortier, field hand, 36 years, and

No. 71. Fanny, 26 years, both were sold for $1600.

No. 72. James Pegram, field hand, 37 years.

No. 73. Johanna, 16 years.

No. 74. Cornelius, 8 years.

No. 75. Jane, 7 years.

No. 76. Old Maria, 60 years.

Another tableau, which, if Mr. Keller, the celebrated performer of
‘living tableaux,’ should exhibit in the Academy of Music, in the
Athenæum, or in some other public hall of a ‘free city,’ he would
certainly take the house by storm, and every nerve of his justice
and freedom-loving audience would powerfully vibrate with indignation
against the cold-hearted destroyers of family-life and of human rights.

Reader! imagine five persons, standing upon a platform, similar to a
funeral pile erected for martyrs. Their color is darker than that of
the persons sitting in front of the arena. There are eighty-three human
beings, of various colors, and of different ages, bending down their
heads, and looking as if they were condemned to death, and were now to
be executed. Those five ‘articles for sale at auction’ consist of a
father, three children, and their grandmother. Their mother has gone to
bear witness, before the holy tribunal of the great Judge of the world,
and to accuse the tormentors of her unfortunate people.

James, a strong, intelligent-looking man, gazes in utter despair upon
his youngest child, who clings to him in distress. Poor little Jane! At
the youthful age of seven, thou shalt already drink the bitter cup! And
Johanna! O gentle maiden of sixteen summers! How she covers her eyes
with one tip of her head-cloth, grasping her trembling little brother
Cornelius by the hand! And what is their father doing? He is raising
his eyes--there is one flash--a terrible one!

Tremble, O South! Though that slave is but one, and has no power as a
single man, let others join him! Let a million of his brothers rise
against their masters’ reign of terror! Let them break their chains!
Then, South! it shall be too late to repent! Then thy day of judgment
has come!

Old Maria--how pitiful she looks! Poor old grandma! Sixty years have
passed over her gray hairs; she has done her duty--(what duty had she
to do?)--she has done all she could, without murmuring. She has raised
children, nursed grand-children. Never as her own--no, always for her
master! She has been always a very meek, a very quiet, good-natured
soul. But to-day--had she ever such a feeling of approaching evil? She
is not quiet to-day; she trembles every time she glances at her dear
family. She is asking herself, ‘Shall I be permitted to go with them?
or shall I be sold alone?’

Hear! What said he there--that stately man with his white neckcloth,
his gold chain, and large seal thereon? What said he? ‘I do not want
the old woman. Sell her alone!’

Yes! that man had the last bid. He paid $3000 for James, Johanna,
Cornelius, and Jane; but he won’t buy the old woman. No! he only wants
‘young hands.’ And the old mother, the kind grandma, is torn away from
her dear family, and will never see them again. She is sold for $200 to
another, and all her happiness is given in the bargain!

Some people pretend that slaves are indifferent to their being
bought and sold. Upon questioning, I was told by many slaves who had
comparatively kind masters, that their minds are constantly troubled
for fear of being sold. They would rather submit to the most cruel
treatment at the hands of their masters, than to be separated.

A very strong and valuable slave in Mobile assured me, that if his
master should ever attempt to sell him, he would jump into the river.
His idea of hell, he said, was a large platform of red hot iron, where
bad people are to be sold. The auctioneer there is the devil. ‘There
is,’ said he, ‘a good deal more white folks sold there by the devil
than black ones.’ If those poor fellows had no reason like brutes--if
they could not be conscious of their miserable condition--if they had
no rational feeling--they might be less unhappy; but their reason,
their power of intellect, is frequently superior to that of their
brutal and often drunken masters. When slaves, who have been raised by
kind masters, know that they shall be sold to men of ill repute, they
live in a constant state of desperation, until they are sold, when
they submit themselves to their deplorable lot, or look out for some
opportunity to run away.

I shall never forget an awful catastrophe which took place in a large
Southern seaport while I resided there. A beautiful quadroon slave
girl, of about sixteen summers, with a skin such as many a Spanish lady
would be proud of, and with splendid long black curls, was bought at
auction for $1900 by a confirmed dissolute rascal, who forced her in
the same night to stay with him.

Though she was a slave, Raimond Legrand, an honest young Frenchman,
had fallen in love with her. He had sworn to buy her, and to bring
her to ‘la belle France,’ where color of skin is never punished by
imprisonment in the galleys, nor elsewhere. Unfortunately, he was not
in possession of the money which her master asked for her. To procure
it, Raimond went to California. During the time of his absence, the
rather good-natured master of Madeline, (that was her name,) died
suddenly, and his heir put Madeline up at auction. She was bought by
the fellow I mentioned before, and all her happy dreams and hopes were
at once blasted. Her pitiful cries and groans of anguish, in that
horrible night, were heard for several houses from that of her inhuman
new master. But there was no help for her, no salvation for Madeline.
For the law of the State says:--‘A slave has to obey in all cases
his or her master.’ In the following morning, a human chase was seen
down the street towards the wharf. A young and beautiful girl, with
flying curls, crying piteously, and running with all her might, was
followed by a man who shouted, ‘Stop her! stop her!’ That poor girl
was Madeline, and her pursuer was her new master. A man? No, a demon
in human shape! They arrive together upon the wharf above the stream.
He seizes hold of the dress of his victim, exclaiming, ‘Mine again!
curse you!’ But, in an instant, she tears herself from the grasp of her
tormentor--she casts one quick despairing glance upwards--and, uttering
the words, ‘Adieu, cher Raimond!’ she throws herself from the wharf
into the stream, and was seen no more.

No. 77. Scott, field hand, aged about 19, for $1375.

No. 78. Campbell, 22 years, for $1500.

No. 79. Dennis, 26 years, brought $1600.

Three valuable laborers, healthy and strong men. They are condemned
to ‘hard labor for life,’ as a reward for their good behavior and
diligence.

No. 80. Frank, field hand, and excellent gardener, 22 years, for $1425.

No. 81. Gerrard, 24 years, for $1500.

No. 82. John, 18 years, for $1375.

No. 83. Betty, a mild-looking young girl of fifteen summers. But what
kind of summers? ‘Driving’ ones, of course. And what shall be her
winters? We are going to learn it directly.

No. 84 and No. 85 are placed upon the stand. Tom, field hand, about
48 years, and Old Betsy, his wife, three years older than Tom. Tom is
a very honest-looking man. Perhaps he is a cousin to the celebrated
‘Uncle Tom,’ well known by the brilliant pen of that truth-loving
writer, MRS. HARRIET BEECHER STOWE. Tom dares not to look up, for he
feels dreadfully ashamed to be put up at auction, like a mule or a dog.
He suffers from hernia, a complaint which he contracted while catching
a barrel of molasses, which, rolling down from a hill, endangered the
life of a white infant child. Tom is therefore entitled to a reward for
saving human life, and particularly white life. Entitled to a reward?
O, yes! There stands Tom upon the platform of a slave-auction room, and
enjoys his reward--to be sold to the highest bidder for $250!

I have seen a valuable mule, which, by kicking, caused the death of a
child. This animal was afterwards sold at auction for the sum of $375,
fully $125 more than our generous Tom!

No. 85. Who is No. 85? Ay, there we find poor old Betsy, kind old
soul! She labored more than 40 years in her master’s house. She had
sung and cradled the children to sleep, carefully protecting them from
all harm. She watched over those children like a mother; and if there
were some particularly fine, golden oranges hanging over the porch, she
had to get them down for her darling boy, her master’s child. And this
very child, now a full-grown man, is selling her to-day at auction for
$100.

No. 86. John Jones, field hand, (suffers from slight hernia,) 23 years
old, and

No. 87. Anna Kentuck, 22 years, and

No. 88. Her little boy, Armstead, 3 years. All together were sold for
$1950. But the stranger who had the last bid is not able to give the
requisite security, nor is he in possession of cash; and the poor
family is placed again upon the platform, to be resold. The torture
begins anew; they have again to feel the mortification of being placed
in the same category with cattle. Armstead, the poor little boy, will
give you the best proof that even little children can feel the atrocity
of being thus sold. He begins to cry most pitifully, and hides his face
under the white apron of his weeping mother.

No. 89. Louisa, and

No. 90. Her child, a babe.

Louisa is a splendid young woman, of about 21. Her stately form and
noble features will make you believe that she is a descendant of pure
royal African blood. She is, perhaps, the grand-daughter of some
princess, who was stolen from her native country by some pirate
who called himself a Christian! Her splendid black eyes are proudly
surveying the sitting assemblage, as if scorning the power of those
dealers in human souls. But, suddenly, their flashing light is gone;
she casts them down, and large drops are falling upon her darling
babe in her arms. Picture a sleeping babe and its mother for sale at
auction! To you, gentle mothers of darling babes, I am now addressing
my simple words. If the heart of man should be cast of iron, or carved
out of granite, a loving mother’s heart is soft, like pure melted
wax, and always susceptible to every impression of goodness and of
compassion. She alone can tell how great is the pain to see her
darling babe suffer. She alone can understand the sufferings of other
unfortunate mothers.

Mothers! which among you could bear to see your own dear babe torn
from your arms? But poor Louisa is forced to see it! Can she bear the
dreadful thought? Why is she a Christian? Can that faith be a true
one--can it be a just one--when they who sell her and her babe call
themselves Christians? Can she still believe in the Savior of mankind?

But, be silent, and take a glance at that poor mother! Though sold for
$1275, she presses her babe closer to her beating bosom; she raises her
large tearful eyes towards heaven, from whence salvation shall come;
for she believes in her Savior upon the Cross, in that Savior who shed
his blood for the everlasting freedom of all human beings.

Reader, a loving mother is a prophetess; and although she foresees the
dangers that shall befall her darling babe, she also recognizes its
deliverance, and its final happiness, through the almighty hand of the
Lord, who is the Savior of little babes, as well as the Savior of men
and women.

No. 91. Yellow John, field hand, 28 years, and his companion in his
life of misery--

No. 92. Martha. Both were sold for $1800.

The kind reader will please enter a magnificent castle, situated in a
romantic province, upon the charming borders of the river Seine. The
noble Count is sitting upon a richly gilded fauteuil, leaning with his
arms upon a small table of rosewood. A golden goblet and two sealed
bottles of the first quality of old ‘Chateau-Haut-Briou’ are placed
before him upon the table. A footman, dressed in glittering livery,
is awaiting his orders. But the Count remains silent; his eyes are
wandering out through the arched window, until they are fixed upon
the sublime scenery before them. The setting sun is casting its mild
rays upon the beautiful landscape. The soft waves of the river are
reflecting the light with the brilliancy of an ocean of diamonds. The
deep blue sky is partly painted with purple, green and violet, shining
with a celestial splendor. Droves of cows and flocks of sheep are
descending the fair hills, and are making for home. Bright and lovely
maidens, wearing upon their black, curled hair beautiful wreaths of
flowers, are dancing like so many fairies upon the green, flowery turf
of the pasture ground, above the stream.

Sir Count! do you not enjoy the lovely scene before your eyes? Are you
not a happy man, to be the owner of so much beauty?

But the Count hears nothing--sees nothing; his mind is absent; he is
dreaming of by-gone days. Suddenly, his face seems to be troubled
with a strange thought--his lips are audibly uttering the words, ‘La
Louisiane! Mon Dieu, que j’étais fou! Pauvre Jeannette! Comment? Non,
non, c’est impossible! Ça se ne peut pas!’

What is he saying? Is he not speaking of Louisiana? He says: ‘My God,
what a fool I was! Poor Jane! How? No, no, it is not possible--it
cannot be so!’

What cannot be so? Who is Jane? Didn’t they call John’s mother
Jeannette, or Jane? Yes, Count! Indeed, it can be! Noble Count, while
you are living in riches and plenty, master of a proud and magnificent
castle, your son--yes, Count! your only son, is a miserable slave! He
is standing, this very hour, upon the platform of a slave-auction room!
He, your own flesh and blood! Listen, O Count! listen to the terrible
story! He--your son--is sold to the highest bidder like a brute!

Count! if your heart is able to feel--if you are not a lump of ice,
like the heart of yonder unfeeling slave-driver--fly from your splendid
castle, and go to parts unknown; for the terrible vision of the
dreadful calamity that awaits your only son will haunt you from the
saloon to the sleeping apartment, and from the garden to the pinnacle
of the tower.

But John, the young Count of Chateau-Brillant, is forced to await the
orders of his new master--for he is a slave!

No. 93. Moses, field hand, 35;

No. 94. Matilda, 30;

No. 95. Richard, 9;

No. 96. Mike, a bright little boy of 6.

Again a splendid family, all the members of which are ‘very likely’;
so says the auctioneer. ‘Superior to all sold heretofore.’ Moses, a
strong, healthy and intelligent-looking man, is standing upon the
platform, with the feelings of a father whose dear ones and himself
are disposed of like dogs. See, he is strong; he is able to fight
for his freedom, and no doubt could overpower half a dozen of those
sickly-looking slave-drivers. Well, why don’t he fight to gain his
liberty, and, consequently, be regarded as a man, and not as a mule?
Because he is well aware that he has no power as a single man, and
that he cannot combine with his other unfortunate brothers to break
the yoke, as did his great namesake of old several thousand years
ago. Is he afraid of death? O no, for he knows perfectly well that
his body is not his own; that the bodies of his beloved ones do not
belong to themselves. Who then would suffer, in case of his death,
but his money-making master? But Moses has two reasons for not
avenging himself. The first is, he is sure that the attempt to excite
his brothers in bondage to revolt against their masters, would not
only imperil their lives, but in all probability subject them to
an awful death upon the burning wood-pile. Moses is not afraid of
any wood-pile, whether burning or not; but he has a good-natured
disposition, and therefore shrinks from involving his brethren in so
awful a catastrophe. He will continue to suffer under the whip, rather
than cause the death of his fellows upon the funeral pile.

His second reason is, because he is a Christian.

Every slaveholder knows perfectly well that a Christian slave is worth
much more than one who has no faith at all. Many of them are sagacious
enough to teach their slaves the gospel, and particularly those words
of the apostle Paul: ‘Servants, be obedient to them that are your
masters, according to the flesh, with fear and trembling.’ Ephes. vi.
5. Here and there, a slaveholder will forbid his slaves to attend
religious exercises; but he is a fool, and he will surely suffer for it.

I happened once to get acquainted with a Frenchman, an owner of slaves,
who said to me, ‘Doctor, I will be obliged to you if you will teach my
slaves your religious opinions; for though they are to me ridiculous, I
know very well that my slaves, once believing in your nonsense, will be
worth more to me than they are now.’

Alas! poor Moses will remain a slave until death shall break his
chains! But, no! His chains shall be broken before! God grant it!

No. 94. Matilda, wife of Moses, (though she is never regarded as a
wife by the slave code,) seems to be a very good creature. While she
is weeping silently, she presses her last-born, her darling boy, her
Mike, close to her bosom. Poor child! Bitter, yes, very bitter are the
tears thy unfortunate mother is weeping over thee! Alas! she fears that
thou mayest be sold to a man whose gospel is ‘money.’ O Mike! will he
order you to his infamous gambling saloon? Will you learn his tricks,
and will he poison your pure innocent heart with his blasphemies? Is it
his intention to make you a deceiver, a thief, a robber, a murderer?
Dreadful thought! that child of affliction and of prayers shall perhaps
become a candidate for the gallows! And why? For money’s sake! Yes, to
fill a villain’s pockets with money!

And Richard--the noble, the smart, the truth-loving boy, with those
clear innocent eyes--what shall become of him when his new master shall
prove to be man of dissolute habits?

Mourn again, reader! for virtue and justice shall succumb, and crime
shall be triumphant. That family brings a good price. These Christians
are sold for $3000; and with them their hope, their virtue, their
faith, all that they possess in this world. The curtain falls--the
tragedy closes.

No. 97. Jerry, field hand, 42 years, and

No. 98. Molly, 40 years. An old looking couple, but a kind, a
true-hearted one.

‘Gentlemen,’ says the auctioneer----. But before I proceed, the reader
will give me permission to mention that the four ladies, present at the
commencement of this auction sale, did not bid, nor did they remain
for more than half an hour. For the honor of their sex, I am bound to
mention that they (though most probably themselves owners of slaves,)
seemed to feel very uneasy while present. I believe that there is a
certain natural feeling with the great majority of the gentler sex,
which is more just, and more open to the truths of the gospel, than we
of the masculine race are able to comprehend.

‘Gentlemen,’ says the auctioneer, ‘Jerry and Molly are the last couple
to be sold to-day; for it is late, and we have to close. To-morrow at
12 M., the rest of the slaves, belonging to this gang, fifty-one very
valuable, sound and likely negroes, will be sold to the highest bidder
for cash and approved paper.’

I intend,--_Deo volente_,--to delineate at some future time the
proceedings of ‘the sale of to-morrow.’ Let us close, for the present,
with poor Jerry and unfortunate Molly, who were sold to a not very kind
looking man for $1125.

The chattels are sold. There were ninety-eight large and small
articles--Christian goods--bringing to their former owner the snug
little sum of $80,890. Will that sum be sufficient to buy ninety-eight
souls of men, baptized in the name of the Father, of the Son, and of
the Holy Spirit? Friends! eighty millions will never buy them from
their Father in heaven, for they have been ‘bought with a price’--with
the precious blood of the Son of God!

Surely, if we are convinced that the institution of slavery is a great
wrong against humanity, and a heavy curse to Christianity, we shall
seek to abolish it without delay.

But how can we do it? By what means can we induce the slaveholders
in the South to give up their ‘property,’ their ‘wealth,’ their
‘merchandise,’ their ‘valuable goods?’ Shall we invade the Slave States
with a large army, and liberate the slaves by means of revolvers,
knives, swords, and Sharp’s or Minnie rifles? I know the Southerners
too well, not to be convinced that every one of them would fight to
the death--that they would lose every drop of their blood, rather than
consent to give up their slaves. The Southerner is no coward; he is
brave in battle, and faces death without fear. But, suppose that the
whole body of the oppressed slaves should rise as one man, and strike
for their liberty--would not their victory be certain? Yes, but what
a victory! Streams of blood would stain the ever-blooming soil of the
South, and legions of corpses would become a prey to the vultures. And
whose blood would flow? That only of mean and cruel slave-drivers?
Oh, no! Many thousand corpses of innocent babes would point up to
heaven for vengeance! Thousands of blooming young maidens would be
slaughtered, causing the blood-stained soil to remain a curse for many
centuries!

No, my friends! No revolver, no rifle, no knife, no bloodshed nor
slaughter shall be necessary to metamorphose slaves into freemen. No
war is able to abolish the institution of slavery. There is a standard
which is bound to be victorious in the hottest of battles--a standard,
before the glory of which, the most stubborn of slave-drivers shall
be forced to fall upon his knees, crying, ‘Lord! what shall I do to
be saved?’ That standard is the Cross of the Redeemer of mankind!
If the slaveholders will truly believe in the powerful supremacy of
that standard, it will be impossible for them to keep any longer
their colored brethren in so shameful a bondage as Slavery. If the
slaveholder of the South would call himself a Christian, without being
a hypocrite, he will be obliged to do away with Slave laws, Slave
markets, and Slave auctions--in fact, TO ABOLISH SLAVERY.




THE CHRISTIAN SLAVE.

BY J. G. WHITTIER.

[In a publication of L. F. TASISTRO, ‘Random Shots and Southern
Breezes,’ is a description of a slave auction at New Orleans, at
which the auctioneer recommended the woman on the stand as ‘A GOOD
CHRISTIAN!’]


        A Christian! going, gone!
  Who bids for God’s own image?--for His grace
  Which that poor victim of the market-place
        Hath in her suffering won?

        My God! can such things be?
  Hast thou not said that whatsoe’er is done
  Unto Thy weakest and Thy humblest one,
        Is even done to Thee?

        In that sad victim, then,
  Child of Thy pitying love, I see Thee stand,
  Once more the jest-word of a mocking band,
        Bound, sold, and scourged again!

        A Christian up for sale!
  Wet with her blood your whips--o’ertask her frame,
  Make her life loathsome with your wrong and shame,
        _Her_ patience shall not fail!

        Cheers for the turbaned Bey
  Of robber-peopled Tunis! he hath torn
  The dark slave-dungeons open, and hath borne
        Their inmates into day:

        But our poor slave in vain
  Turns to the Christian shrine her aching eyes--
  Its rites will only swell her market price,
        And rivet on her chain.

        God of all right! how long
  Shall priestly robbers at Thine altar stand,
  Lifting in prayer to Thee the bloody hand
        And haughty brow of wrong!

        O, from the fields of cane,
  From the low rice-swamp, from the trader’s cell--
  From the black slave-ship’s foul and loathsome hell,
        And coffle’s weary chain--

        Hoarse, horrible, and strong,
  Rises to heaven that agonizing cry,
  Filling the arches of the hollow sky,
        HOW LONG, O LORD, HOW LONG!




THE SLAVE MINGO’S POEM.


_To the Editor of the Boston Journal_:

[The following remarkable poem was sent me from the South by a friend,
who informs me that the author of it was a slave named Mingo, a man of
wonderful talents, and on that account oppressed by his master. While
in the slave-prison, he penciled this poetic gem on one of the beams,
which was afterwards found and copied. My friend adds that Mingo did
escape, at night, but was recaptured and destroyed by the bloodhounds.
My friend promises to send other poems of his, which, he says, are in
possession of Mingo’s aged wife.]

                                                                   C. W.

  Good God! and must I leave them now--
  My wife, my children, in their woe?
  ’Tis mockery to say I’m sold--
  But I forget these chains so cold,
  Which goad my bleeding limbs, though high
  My reason mounts above the sky.
  Dear wife, they cannot sell the rose
  Of love, that in my bosom glows.
  Remember, as your tears may start,
  They cannot sell th’ immortal part!
  Thou sun, which lightest bond and free,
  Tell me, I pray, is liberty
  The lot of those who noblest feel,
  And oftest to Jehovah kneel?
  Then I may say, but not with pride,
  I feel the rushings of the tide
  Of reason and of eloquence,
  Which strive and yearn for eminence.
  I feel high manhood on me now,
  A spirit-glory on my brow;
  I feel a thrill of music roll,
  Like angel harpings, through my soul,
  While poesy, with rustling wings,
  Upon my spirit rests and sings;
  _He_ sweeps my heart’s deep throbbing lyre,
  Who touched Isaiah’s lips with fire.

  To Plymouth Rock, ye breezes, bear
  These words from me, as I would dare,
  If I were free: Is not our God
  Our common Father?--from the sod
  He formed us all; then brothers--yes;
  We’re brothers all, though some oppress,
  And grind their equals in the dust.
  O Heaven! tell me, is this just?
  ’Tis fiendish. No! I will not go,
  And leave my children here in woe!
  God help me! Out, bright dagger! gleam,
  And find the coward’s heart, and stream
  With fiendish blood! This night, this night,
  Or I am free, or it shall smite
  The master and his slave, and we
  Will seek the heavenly liberty!
  There will my master’s bloody lash
  No longer lacerate    *    *    *

NOTE. The last line was, from some cause, incomplete; perhaps his
feelings overcame him at the conception. I concluded to give it as it
was.      C. W.




TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:


  Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.

  Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

  Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.

  Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.

  The cover image for this eBook was created by the transcriber
    and is entered into the public domain.



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