University of Virginia Library

6. CHAPTER VI.
THE SLAVE-MARKET.

Not far from Canal Street, in the city of New Orleans, stands a large
two-story, flat building, surrounded by a stone wall some twelve feet
high, the top of which is covered with bits of glass, and so constructed
as to prevent even the possibility of any one's passing over it without
sustaining great injury. Many of the rooms in this building resemble
the cells of a prison, and in a small apartment near the “office” are to
be seen any number of iron collars, hobbles, handcuffs, thumbscrews,
cowhides, chains, gags, and yokes.

A back-yard, enclosed by a high wall, looks something like the playground
attached to one of our large New England schools, in which are
rows of benches and swings. Attached to the back premises is a good-sized
kitchen, where, at the time of which we write, two old negresses
were at work, stewing, boiling, and baking, and occasionally wiping the
perspiration from their furrowed and swarthy brows.

The slave-trader, Jennings, on his arrival at New Orleans, took up his
quarters here with his gang of human cattle, and the morning after, at
10 o'clock, they were exhibited for sale. First of all came the beautiful
Marion, whose pale countenance and dejected look told how many sad
hours she had passed since parting with her mother at Natchez. There,
too, was a poor woman who had been separated from her husband; and
another woman, whose looks and manners were expressive of deep
anguish, sat by her side. There was “Uncle Jeems,” with his whiskers
off, his face shaven clean, and the gray hairs plucked out, ready to
be sold for ten years younger than he was. Toby was also there, with
his face shaven and greased, ready for inspection.

The examination commenced, and was carried on in such a manner
as to shock the feelings of any one not entirely devoid of the milk of
human kindness.

“What are you wiping your eyes for?” inquired a fat, red-faced
man, with a white hat set on one side of his head and a cigar in his
mouth, of a woman who sat on one of the benches.

“Because I left my man behind.”

“Oh, if I buy you, I will furnish you with a better man than you
left. I've got lots of young bucks on my farm.”

“I don't want and never will have another man,” replied the woman.

“What's your name?” asked a man in a straw hat of a tall negro
who stood with his arms folded across his breast, leaning against the
wall.

“My name is Aaron, sar.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-five.”

“Where were you raised?”

“In ole Virginny, sar.”

“How many men have owned you?”

“Four.”

“Do you enjoy good health?”

“Yes, sar.”

“How long did you live with your first owner?”

“Twenty years.”

“Did you ever run away?”

“No, sar.”

“Did you ever strike your master?”

“No, sar.”

“Were you ever whipped much?”

“No, sar; I s'pose I didn't desarve it, sar.”

“How long did you live with your second master?”

“Ten years, sar.”

“Have you a good appetite?”

“Yes, sar.”

“Can you eat your allowance?”

“Yes, sar,—when I can get it.”

“Where were you employed in Virginia?”

“I worked de tobacker fiel'.”

“In the tobacco field, eh?”

“Yes, sar.”

“How old did you say you was?”

“Twenty-five, sar, nex' sweet-'tater-diggin' time.”

“I am a cotton-planter, and if I buy you, you will have to work in

the cotton-field. My men pick one hundred and fifty pounds a day,
and the women one hundred and forty pounds; and those who fail to
perform their task receive five stripes for each pound that is wanting.
Now, do you think you could keep up with the rest of the hands?”

“I don't know, sar, but I' spees I d have to.”

“How long did you live with your third master?”

“Three years, sar.”

“Why, that makes you thirty-three. I thought you told me you were
only twenty-five?”

Aaron now looked first at the planter, then at the trader, and seemed
perfectly bewildered. He had forgotten the lesson given him by Pompey
relative to his age; and the planter's circuitous questions—doubtless to
find out the slave's real age—had thrown the negro off his guard.

“I must see your back, so as to know how much you have been
whipped, before I think of buying.”

Pompey, who had been standing by during the examination, thought
that his services were now required, and, stepping forth with a degree
of officiousness, said to Aaron,—

“Don't you hear de gemman tell you he wants to 'zamia you. Cum,
unharness yo'seff, ole boy, and don't be standin' dar.”

Aaron was soon examined, and pronounced “sound;” yet the conflicting
statement about his age was not satisfactory.

Fortunately for Marion, she was spared the pain of undergoing such
an examination. Mr. Cardney, a teller in one of the banks, had just
been married, and wanted a maid-servant for his wife, and, passing
through the market in the early part of the day, was pleased with the
young slave's appearance, and his dwelling the quadroon found a much
better home than often falls to the lot of a slave sold in the New Orleans
market.