University of Virginia Library

12. CHAPTER XII.
SELECT INCIDENT OF LAWFUL TRADE.

Mr. Haley and Tom jogged onward in their wagon, each,
for a time, absorbed in his own reflections. Now, the
reflections of two men sitting side by side are a curious thing,
— seated on the same seat, having the same eyes, ears, hands
and organs of all sorts, and having pass before their eyes the
same objects, — it is wonderful what a variety we shall find
in these same reflections!

As, for example, Mr. Haley: he thought first of Tom's
length, and breadth, and height, and what he would sell for,
if he was kept fat and in good case till he got him into
market. He thought of how he should make out his gang;
he thought of the respective market value of certain supposititious
men and women and children who were to compose it,
and other kindred topics of the business; then he thought of
himself, and how humane he was, that whereas other men
chained their “niggers” hand and foot both, he only put
fetters on the feet, and left Tom the use of his hands, as long
as he behaved well; and he sighed to think how ungrateful
human nature was, so that there was even room to doubt
whether Tom appreciated his mercies. He had been taken
in so by “niggers” whom he had favored; but still he was
astonished to consider how good-natured he yet remained!

As to Tom, he was thinking over some words of an
unfashionable old book, which kept running through his head,

again and again, as follows: “We have here no continuing
city, but we seek one to come; wherefore God himself is not
ashamed to be called our God; for he hath prepared for us a
city.” These words of an ancient volume, got up principally
by “ignorant and unlearned men,” have, through all
time, kept up, somehow, a strange sort of power over the
minds of poor, simple fellows, like Tom. They stir up the
soul from its depths, and rouse, as with trumpet call, courage,
energy, and enthusiasm, where before was only the blackness
of despair.

Mr. Haley pulled out of his pocket sundry newspapers, and
began looking over their advertisements, with absorbed interest.
He was not a remarkably fluent reader, and was in the habit
of reading in a sort of recitative half-aloud, by way of calling
in his ears to verify the deductions of his eyes. In this
tone he slowly recited the following paragraph:

“This yer I must look at,” said he to Tom, for want of
somebody else to talk to.

“Ye see, I 'm going to get up a prime gang to take down
with ye, Tom; it 'll make it sociable and pleasant like, —
good company will, ye know. We must drive right to
Washington first and foremost, and then I 'll clap you into
jail, while I does the business.”

Tom received this agreeable intelligence quite meekly;

simply wondering, in his own heart, how many of these doomed
men had wives and children, and whether they would feel as
he did about leaving them. It is to be confessed, too, that
the naïve, off-hand information that he was to be thrown into
jail by no means produced an agreeable impression on a poor
fellow who had always prided himself on a strictly honest and
upright course of life. Yes, Tom, we must confess it, was
rather proud of his honesty, poor fellow, — not having very
much else to be proud of; — if he had belonged to some of the
higher walks of society, he, perhaps, would never have been
reduced to such straits. However, the day wore on, and
the evening saw Haley and Tom comfortably accommodated
in Washington, — the one in a tavern, and the other in a jail.

About eleven o'clock the next day, a mixed throng was
gathered around the court-house steps, — smoking, chewing
spitting, swearing, and conversing, according to their respective
tastes and turns, — waiting for the auction to commence.
The men and women to be sold sat in a group apart, talking
in a low tone to each other. The woman who had been
advertised by the name of Hagar was a regular African in
feature and figure. She might have been sixty, but was older
than that by hard work and disease, was partially blind, and
somewhat crippled with rheumatism. By her side stood her
only remaining son, Albert, a bright-looking little fellow of
fourteen years. The boy was the only survivor of a large
family, who had been successively sold away from her to a
southern market. The mother held on to him with both her
shaking hands, and eyed with intense trepidation every one
who walked up to examine him.

“Don't be feard, Aunt Hagar,” said the oldest of the
men, “I spoke to Mas'r Thomas 'bout it, and he thought he
might manage to sell you in a lot both together.”

“Dey need n't call me worn out yet,” said she, lifting her
shaking hands. “I can cook yet, and scrub, and scour, — I 'm
wuth a buying, if I do come cheap; — tell em dat ar, — you
tell em,” she added, earnestly.

Haley here forced his way into the group, walked up to
the old man, pulled his mouth open and looked in, felt of his
teeth, made him stand and straighten himself, bend his back,
and perform various evolutions to show his muscles; and then
passed on to the next, and put him through the same trial.
Walking up last to the boy, he felt of his arms, straightened
his hands, and looked at his fingers, and made him jump, to
show his agility.

“He an't gwine to be sold widout me!” said the old
woman, with passionate eagerness; “he and I goes in a
lot together; I 's rail strong yet, Mas'r, and can do heaps o'
work, — heaps on it, Mas'r.”

“On plantation?” said Haley, with a contemptuous
glance. “Likely story!” and, as if satisfied with his examination,
he walked out and looked, and stood with his hands in
his pocket, his cigar in his mouth, and his hat cocked on one
side, ready for action.

“What think of 'em?” said a man who had been following
Haley's examination, as if to make up his own mind
from it.

“Wal,” said Haley, spitting, “I shall put in, I think, for
the youngerly ones and the boy.”

“They want to sell the boy and the old woman together,”
said the man.

“Find it a tight pull; — why, she 's an old rack o' bones, —
not worth her salt.”

“You would n't, then?” said the man.

“Anybody 'd be a fool 't would. She 's half blind, crooked
with rheumatis, and foolish to boot.”

“Some buys up these yer old critturs, and ses there 's a
sight more wear in 'em than a body 'd think,” said the man,
reflectively.

“No go, 't all,” said Haley; “would n't take her for a
present, — fact, — I 've seen, now.”

“Wal, 't is kinder pity, now, not to buy her with her son,
— her heart seems so sot on him, — s'pose they fling her in
cheap.”

“Them that 's got money to spend that ar way, it 's all
well enough. I shall bid off on that ar boy for a plantation-hand;
— would n't be bothered with her, no way, — not if
they'd give her to me,” said Haley.

“She 'll take on desp't,” said the man.

“Nat'lly, she will,” said the trader, coolly.

The conversation was here interrupted by a busy hum in
the audience; and the auctioneer, a short, bustling, important
fellow, elbowed his way into the crowd. The old woman
drew in her breath, and caught instinctively at her son.

“Keep close to yer mammy, Albert, — close, — dey 'll put
us up togedder,” she said.

“O, mammy, I 'm feard they won't,” said the boy.

“Dey must, child; I can't live, no ways, if they don't,”
said the old creature, vehemently.

The stentorian tones of the auctioneer, calling out to clear
the way, now announced that the sale was about to commence.
A place was cleared, and the bidding began. The different
men on the list were soon knocked off at prices which showed
a pretty brisk demand in the market; two of them fell to
Haley.

“Come, now, young un,” said the auctioneer, giving

the boy a touch with his hammer, “be up and show your
springs, now.”

“Put us two up togedder, togedder, — do please, Mas'r,”
said the old woman, holding fast to her boy.

“Be off,” said the man, gruffly, pushing her hands away;
“you come last. Now, darkey, spring;” and, with the word,
he pushed the boy toward the block, while a deep, heavy
groan rose behind him. The boy paused, and looked back; but
there was no time to stay, and, dashing the tears from his
large, bright eyes, he was up in a moment.

His fine figure, alert limbs, and bright face, raised an
instant competition, and half a dozen bids simultaneously met
the ear of the auctioneer. Anxious, half-frightened, he
looked from side to side, as he heard the clatter of contending
bids, — now here, now there, — till the hammer fell. Haley
had got him. He was pushed from the block toward his new
master, but stopped one moment, and looked back, when his
poor old mother, trembling in every limb, held out her shaking
hands toward him.

“Buy me too, Mas'r, for de dear Lord's sake! — buy me,
— I shall die if you don't!”

“You 'll die if I do, that 's the kink of it,” said Haley, —
“no!” And he turned on his heel.

The bidding for the poor old creature was summary. The
man who had addressed Haley, and who seemed not destitute
of compassion, bought her for a trifle, and the spectators began
to disperse.

The poor victims of the sale, who had been brought up in
one place together for years, gathered round the despairing
old mother, whose agony was pitiful to see.

“Could n't dey leave me one? Mas'r allers said I should

have one, — he did,” she repeated over and over, in heart-broken
tones.

“Trust in the Lord, Aunt Hagar,” said the oldest of the
men, sorrowfully.

“What good will it do?” said she, sobbing passionately.

“Mother, mother, — don't! don't!” said the boy. “They
say you 's got a good master.”

“I don't care, — I don't care. O, Albert! oh, my boy!
you 's my last baby. Lord, how ken I?”

“Come, take her off, can't some of ye?” said Haley,
dryly; “don't do no good for her to go on that ar way.”

The old men of the company, partly by persuasion and
partly by force, loosed the poor creature's last despairing
hold, and, as they led her off to her new master's wagon,
strove to comfort her.

“Now!” said Haley, pushing his three purchases together,
and producing a bundle of handcuffs, which he proceeded to
put on their wrists; and fastening each handcuff to a long
chain, he drove them before him to the jail.

A few days saw Haley, with his possessions, safely deposited
on one of the Ohio boats. It was the commencement of his
gang, to be augmented, as the boat moved on, by various
other merchandise of the same kind, which he, or his agent,
had stored for him in various points along shore.

The La Belle Rivière, as brave and beautiful a boat as ever
walked the waters of her namesake river, was floating gayly
down the stream, under a brilliant sky, the stripes and stars
of free America waving and fluttering over head; the guards
crowded with well-dressed ladies and gentlemen walking and
enjoying the delightful day. All was full of life, buoyant
and rejoicing; — all but Haley's gang, who were stored, with
other freight, on the lower deck, and who, somehow, did not

seem to appreciate their various privileges, as they sat in a
knot, talking to each other in low tones.

“Boys,” said Haley, coming up, briskly, “I hope you
keep up good heart, and are cheerful. Now, no sulks, ye
see; keep stiff upper lip, boys; do well by me, and I 'll do
well by you.”

The boys addressed responded the invariable “Yes,
Mas'r,” for ages the watchword of poor Africa; but it 's to
be owned they did not look particularly cheerful; they had
their various little prejudices in favor of wives, mothers, sisters,
and children, seen for the last time, — and though “they
that wasted them required of them mirth,” it was not instantly
forthcoming.

“I 've got a wife,” spoke out the article enumerated as
“John, aged thirty,” and he laid his chained hand on Tom's
knee, — “and she don't know a word about this, poor girl!”

“Where does she live?” said Tom.

“In a tavern a piece down here,” said John; “I wish, now,
I could see her once more in this world,” he added.

Poor John! It was rather natural; and the tears that
fell, as he spoke, came as naturally as if he had been a white
man. Tom drew a long breath from a sore heart, and tried,
in his poor way, to comfort him.

And over head, in the cabin, sat fathers and mothers, husbands
and wives; and merry, dancing children moved round
among them, like so many little butterflies, and everything
was going on quite easy and comfortable.

“O, mamma,” said a boy, who had just come up from
below, “there 's a negro trader on board, and he 's brought
four or five slaves down there.”

“Poor creatures!” said the mother, in a tone between
grief and indignation.

“What 's that?” said another lady.

“Some poor slaves below,” said the mother.

“And they 've got chains on,” said the boy.

“What a shame to our country that such sights are to be
seen!” said another lady.

“O, there 's a great deal to be said on both sides of the
subject,” said a genteel woman, who sat at her state-room door
sewing, while her little girl and boy were playing round her.
“I 've been south, and I must say I think the negroes are
better off than they would be to be free.”

“In some respects, some of them are well off, I grant,”
said the lady to whose remark she had answered. “The
most dreadful part of slavery, to my mind, is its outrages on
the feelings and affections, — the separating of families, for
example.”

“That is a bad thing, certainly,” said the other lady, holding
up a baby's dress she had just completed, and looking
intently on its trimmings; “but then, I fancy, it don't occur
often.”

“O, it does,” said the first lady, eagerly; “I 've lived
many years in Kentucky and Virginia both, and I 've seen
enough to make any one's heart sick. Suppose, ma'am, your
two children, there, should be taken from you, and sold?”

“We can't reason from our feelings to those of this class
of persons,” said the other lady, sorting out some worsteds on
her lap.

“Indeed, ma'am, you can know nothing of them, if you
say so,” answered the first lady, warmly. “I was born and
brought up among them. I know they do feel, just as
keenly, — even more so, perhaps, — as we do.”

The lady said “Indeed!” yawned, and looked out the
cabin window, and finally repeated, for a finale, the remark

with which she had begun, — “After all, I think they are
better off than they would be to be free.”

“It 's undoubtedly the intention of Providence that the
African race should be servants, — kept in a low condition,”
said a grave-looking gentleman in black, a clergyman, seated
by the cabin door. “`Cursed be Canaan; a servant of servants
shall he be,' the scripture says.”

“I say, stranger, is that ar what that text means?” said a
tall man, standing by.

“Undoubtedly. It pleased Providence, for some inscrutable
reason, to doom the race to bondage, ages ago; and we
must not set up our opinion against that.”

“Well, then, we 'll all go ahead and buy up niggers,” said
the man, “if that 's the way of Providence, — won't we,
Squire?” said he, turning to Haley, who had been standing,
with his hands in his pockets, by the stove, and intently listening
to the conversation.

“Yes,” continued the tall man, “we must all be resigned
to the decrees of Providence. Niggers must be sold, and
trucked round, and kept under; it 's what they 's made for.
'Pears like this yer view's quite refreshing, an't it, stranger?”
said he to Haley.

“I never thought on 't,” said Haley. “I could n't have
said as much, myself; I ha'nt no larning. I took up the
trade just to make a living; if 't an't right, I calculated to
'pent on 't in time, ye know.”

“And now you 'll save yerself the trouble, won't ye?”
said the tall man. “See what 't is, now, to know scripture.
If ye 'd only studied yer Bible, like this yer good man, ye
might have know'd it before, and saved ye a heap o' trouble.
Ye could jist have said, `Cussed be' — what 's his name? —
`and 't would all have come right.'” And the stranger,

who was no other than the honest drover whom we introduced
to our readers in the Kentucky tavern, sat down, and began
smoking, with a curious smile on his long, dry face.

A tall, slender young man, with a face expressive of great
feeling and intelligence, here broke in, and repeated the
words, “`All things whatsoever ye would that men should
do unto you, do ye even so unto them.' I suppose,” he
added, “that is scripture, as much as `Cursed be Canaan.'”

“Wal, it seems quite as plain a text, stranger,” said John
the drover, “to poor fellows like us, now;” and John smoked
on like a volcano.

The young man paused, looked as if he was going to say
more, when suddenly the boat stopped, and the company
made the usual steamboat rush, to see where they were
landing.

“Both them ar chaps parsons?” said John to one of the
men, as they were going out.

The man nodded.

As the boat stopped, a black woman came running wildly
up the plank, darted into the crowd, flew up to where the slave
gang sat, and threw her arms round that unfortunate piece
of merchandise before enumerated — “John, aged thirty,”
and with sobs and tears bemoaned him as her husband.

But what needs tell the story, told too oft, — every day told,
— of heart-strings rent and broken, — the weak broken and
torn for the profit and convenience of the strong! It needs
not to be told; — every day is telling it, — telling it, too, in
the ear of One who is not deaf, though he be long silent.

The young man who had spoken for the cause of humanity
and God before stood with folded arms, looking on this
scene. He turned, and Haley was standing at his side.
“My friend,” he said, speaking with thick utterance, “how

can you, how dare you, carry on a trade like this? Look at
those poor creatures! Here I am, rejoicing in my heart that
I am going home to my wife and child; and the same bell
which is a signal to carry me onward towards them will part
this poor man and his wife forever. Depend upon it, God
will bring you into judgment for this.”

The trader turned away in silence.

“I say, now,” said the drover, touching his elbow, “there's
differences in parsons, an't there? `Cussed be Canaan' don't
seem to go down with this 'un, does it?”

Haley gave an uneasy growl.

“And that ar an't the worst on 't,” said John; “mabbe
it won't go down with the Lord, neither, when ye come to
settle with Him, one o' these days, as all on us must, I
reckon.”

Haley walked reflectively to the other end of the boat.

“If I make pretty handsomely on one or two next gangs,”
he thought, “I reckon I 'll stop off this yer; it 's really getting
dangerous.” And he took out his pocket-book, and
began adding over his accounts, — a process which many
gentlemen besides Mr. Haley have found a specific for an
uneasy conscience.

The boat swept proudly away from the shore, and all went
on merrily, as before. Men talked, and loafed, and read, and
smoked. Women sewed, and children played, and the boat
passed on her way.

One day, when she lay to for a while at a small town in
Kentucky, Haley went up into the place on a little matter of
business.

Tom, whose fetters did not prevent his taking a moderate
circuit, had drawn near the side of the boat, and stood listlessly
gazing over the railings. After a time, he saw the

trader returning, with an alert step, in company with a
colored woman, bearing in her arms a young child. She was
dressed quite respectably, and a colored man followed her,
bringing along a small trunk. The woman came cheerfully
onward, talking, as she came, with the man who bore her
trunk, and so passed up the plank into the boat. The bell
rung, the steamer whizzed, the engine groaned and coughed,
and away swept the boat down the river.

The woman walked forward among the boxes and bales of
the lower deck, and, sitting down, busied herself with chirruping
to her baby.

Haley made a turn or two about the boat, and then, coming
up, seated himself near her, and began saying something to
her in an indifferent undertone.

Tom soon noticed a heavy cloud passing over the woman's
brow; and that she answered rapidly, and with great vehemence.

“I don't believe it, — I won't believe it!” he heard her say.
“You 're jist a foolin with me.”

“If you won't believe it, look here!” said the man, drawing
out a paper; “this yer 's the bill of sale, and there 's
your master's name to it; and I paid down good solid cash
for it, too, I can tell you, — so, now!”

“I don't believe Mas'r would cheat me so; it can't be
true!” said the woman, with increasing agitation.

“You can ask any of these men here, that can read writing.
Here!” he said, to a man that was passing by,
“jist read this yer, won't you! This yer gal won't believe
me, when I tell her what 't is.”

“Why, it 's a bill of sale, signed by John Fosdick,” said
the man, “making over to you the girl Lucy and her child.
It 's all straight enough, for aught I see.”

The woman's passionate exclamations collected a crowd
around her, and the trader briefly explained to them the cause
of the agitation.

“He told me that I was going down to Louisville, to hire
out as cook to the same tavern where my husband works, —
that 's what Mas'r told me, his own self; and I can't believe
he 'd lie to me,” said the woman.

“But he has sold you, my poor woman, there 's no doubt
about it,” said a good-natured looking man, who had been
examining the papers; “he has done it, and no mistake.”

“Then it 's no account talking,” said the woman, suddenly
growing quite calm; and, clasping her child tighter in her
arms, she sat down on her box, turned her back round, and
gazed listlessly into the river.

“Going to take it easy, after all!” said the trader.
“Gal 's got grit, I see.”

The woman looked calm, as the boat went on; and a beautiful
soft summer breeze passed like a compassionate spirit
over her head, — the gentle breeze, that never inquires
whether the brow is dusky or fair that it fans. And she saw
sunshine sparkling on the water, in golden ripples, and heard
gay voices, full of ease and pleasure, talking around her
everywhere; but her heart lay as if a great stone had fallen
on it. Her baby raised himself up against her, and stroked
her cheeks with his little hands; and, springing up and down,
crowing and chatting, seemed determined to arouse her. She
strained him suddenly and tightly in her arms, and slowly
one tear after another fell on his wondering, unconscious face;
and gradually she seemed, and little by little, to grow calmer,
and busied herself with tending and nursing him.

The child, a boy of ten months, was uncommonly large and
strong of his age, and very vigorous in his limbs. Never, for

a moment, still, he kept his mother constantly busy in holding
him, and guarding his springing activity.

“That 's a fine chap!” said a man, suddenly stopping
opposite to him, with his hands in his pockets. “How old is
he?”

“Ten months and a half,” said the mother.

The man whistled to the boy, and offered him part of a
stick of candy, which he eagerly grabbed at, and very soon
had it in a baby's general depository, to wit, his mouth.

“Rum fellow!” said the man. “Knows what 's what!”
and he whistled, and walked on. When he had got to the
other side of the boat, he came across Haley, who was smoking
on top of a pile of boxes.

The stranger produced a match, and lighted a cigar, saying,
as he did so,

“Decentish kind o' wench you 've got round there,
stranger.”

“Why, I reckon she is tol'able fair,” said Haley, blowing
the smoke out of his mouth.

“Taking her down south?” said the man.

Haley nodded, and smoked on.

“Plantation hand?” said the man.

“Wal,” said Haley, “I 'm fillin' out an order for a plantation,
and I think I shall put her in. They telled me she was
a good cook; and they can use her for that, or set her at the
cotton-picking. She 's got the right fingers for that; I looked
at 'em. Sell well, either way;” and Haley resumed his cigar.

“They won't want the young 'un on a plantation,” said
the man.

“I shall sell him, first chance I find,” said Haley, lighting
another cigar.

“S'pose you 'd be selling him tol'able cheap,” said the

stranger, mounting the pile of boxes, and sitting down comfortably.

“Don't know 'bout that,” said Haley; “he 's a pretty
smart young 'un, — straight, fat, strong; flesh as hard as a
brick!”

“Very true, but then there 's all the bother and expense
of raisin'.”

“Nonsense!” said Haley; “they is raised as easy as any
kind of critter there is going; they an't a bit more trouble
than pups. This yer chap will be running all round, in a
month.”

“I 've got a good place for raisin', and I thought of takin'
in a little more stock,” said the man. “One cook lost a
young 'un last week, — got drownded in a wash-tub, while she
was a hangin' out clothes, — and I reckon it would be well
enough to set her to raisin' this yer.”

Haley and the stranger smoked a while in silence, neither
seeming willing to broach the test question of the interview.
At last the man resumed:

“You would n't think of wantin' more than ten dollars for
that ar chap, seeing you must get him off yer hand, any
how?”

Haley shook his head, and spit impressively.

“That won't do, no ways,” he said, and began his smoking
again.

“Well, stranger, what will you take?”

“Well, now,” said Haley, “I could raise that ar chap
myself, or get him raised; he 's oncommon likely and healthy,
and he 'd fetch a hundred dollars, six months hence; and, in a
year or two, he 'd bring two hundred, if I had him in the
right spot; — so I shan't take a cent less nor fifty for him
now.”

“O, stranger! that 's rediculous, altogether,” said the
man.

“Fact!” said Haley, with a decisive nod of his head.

“I 'll give thirty for him,” said the stranger, “but not a
cent more.”

“Now, I 'll tell ye what I will do,” said Haley, spitting
again, with renewed decision. “I 'll split the difference, and
say forty-five; and that 's the most I will do.”

“Well, agreed!” said the man, after an interval.

“Done!” said Haley. “Where do you land?”

“At Louisville,” said the man.

“Louisville,” said Haley. “Very fair, we get there
about dusk. Chap will be asleep, — all fair, — get him off
quietly, and no screaming, — happens beautiful, — I like to
do everything quietly, — I hates all kind of agitation and
fluster.” And so, after a transfer of certain bills had passed
from the man's pocket-book to the trader's, he resumed his
cigar.

It was a bright, tranquil evening when the boat stopped at
the wharf at Louisville. The woman had been sitting with
her baby in her arms, now wrapped in a heavy sleep. When
she heard the name of the place called out, she hastily laid
the child down in a little cradle formed by the hollow among
the boxes, first carefully spreading under it her cloak; and
then she sprung to the side of the boat, in hopes that, among
the various hotel-waiters who thronged the wharf, she might
see her husband. In this hope, she pressed forward to the
front rails, and, stretching far over them, strained her eyes
intently on the moving heads on the shore, and the crowd
pressed in between her and the child.

“Now 's your time,” said Haley, taking the sleeping child
up, and handing him to the stranger. “Don't wake him up,

and set him to crying, now; it would make a devil of a fuss
with the gal.” The man took the bundle carefully, and was
soon lost in the crowd that went up the wharf.

When the boat, creaking, and groaning, and puffing, had
loosed from the wharf, and was beginning slowly to strain
herself along, the woman returned to her old seat. The
trader was sitting there, — the child was gone!

“Why, why, — where?” she began, in bewildered surprise.

“Lucy,” said the trader, “your child 's gone; you may
as well know it first as last. You see, I know'd you
could n't take him down south; and I got a chance to sell
him to a first-rate family, that 'll raise him better than you
can.”

The trader had arrived at that stage of Christian and
political perfection which has been recommended by some
preachers and politicians of the north, lately, in which he
had completely overcome every humane weakness and prejudice.
His heart was exactly where yours, sir, and mine
could be brought, with proper effort and cultivation. The
wild look of anguish and utter despair that the woman cast on
him might have disturbed one less practised; but he was
used to it. He had seen that same look hundreds of times.
You can get used to such things, too, my friend; and it is
the great object of recent efforts to make our whole northern
community used to them, for the glory of the Union. So the
trader only regarded the mortal anguish which he saw working
in those dark features, those clenched hands, and suffocating
breathings, as necessary incidents of the trade, and
merely calculated whether she was going to scream, and get
up a commotion on the boat; for, like other supporters of our
peculiar institution, he decidedly disliked agitation.

But the woman did not scream. The shot had passed too
straight and direct through the heart, for cry or tear.

Dizzily she sat down. Her slack hands fell lifeless by her
side. Her eyes looked straight forward, but she saw
nothing. All the noise and hum of the boat, the groaning of
the machinery, mingled dreamily to her bewildered ear; and
the poor, dumb-stricken heart had neither cry nor tear to
show for its utter misery. She was quite calm.

The trader, who, considering his advantages, was almost
as humane as some of our politicians, seemed to feel called on
to administer such consolation as the case admitted of.

“I know this yer comes kinder hard, at first, Lucy,” said
he; “but such a smart, sensible gal as you are, won't give
way to it. You see it 's necessary, and can't be helped!”

“O! don't, Mas'r, don't!” said the woman, with a voice
like one that is smothering.

“You 're a smart wench, Lucy,” he persisted; “I mean to
do well by ye, and get ye a nice place down river; and
you 'll soon get another husband, — such a likely gal as
you —”

“O! Mas'r, if you only won't talk to me now,” said the
woman, in a voice of such quick and living anguish that the
trader felt that there was something at present in the case
beyond his style of operation. He got up, and the woman
turned away, and buried her head in her cloak.

The trader walked up and down for a time, and occasionally
stopped and looked at her.

“Takes it hard, rather,” he soliloquized, “but quiet, tho';
— let her sweat a while; she 'll come right, by and by!”

Tom had watched the whole transaction from first to last,
and had a perfect understanding of its results. To him, it
looked like something unutterably horrible and cruel, because,

poor, ignorant black soul! he had not learned to generalize,
and to take enlarged views. If he had only been instructed
by certain ministers of Christianity, he might have thought
better of it, and seen in it an every-day incident of a lawful
trade; a trade which is the vital support of an institution
which an American divine[1] tells us has “no evils but such
as are inseparable from any other relations in social and
domestic life.” But Tom, as we see, being a poor, ignorant
fellow, whose reading had been confined entirely to the New
Testament, could not comfort and solace himself with views
like these. His very soul bled within him for what seemed
to him the wrongs of the poor suffering thing that lay like a
crushed reed on the boxes; the feeling, living, bleeding, yet
immortal thing, which American state law coolly classes
with the bundles, and bales, and boxes, among which she is
lying.

Tom drew near, and tried to say something; but she only
groaned. Honestly, and with tears running down his own
cheeks, he spoke of a heart of love in the skies, of a pitying
Jesus, and an eternal home; but the ear was deaf with
anguish, and the palsied heart could not feel.

Night came on,— night calm, unmoved, and glorious, shining
down with her innumerable and solemn angel eyes, twinkling,
beautiful, but silent. There was no speech nor language,
no pitying voice or helping hand, from that distant sky.
One after another, the voices of business or pleasure died away;
all on the boat were sleeping, and the ripples at the prow were
plainly heard. Tom stretched himself out on a box, and there,
as he lay, he heard, ever and anon, a smothered sob or cry
from the prostrate creature,— “O! what shall I do? O

Lord! O good Lord, do help me!” and so, ever and anon,
until the murmur died away in silence.

At midnight, Tom waked, with a sudden start. Something
black passed quickly by him to the side of the boat, and he
heard a splash in the water. No one else saw or heard anything.
He raised his head,— the woman's place was vacant!
He got up, and sought about him in vain. The poor bleeding
heart was still, at last, and the river rippled and dimpled just
as brightly as if it had not closed above it.

Patience! patience! ye whose hearts swell indignant at
wrongs like these. Not one throb of anguish, not one tear of
the oppressed, is forgotten by the Man of Sorrows, the Lord
of Glory. In his patient, generous bosom he bears the anguish
of a world. Bear thou, like him, in patience, and labor in
love; for sure as he is God, “the year of his redeemed shall
come.”

The trader waked up bright and early, and came out to see
to his live stock. It was now his turn to look about in perplexity.

“Where alive is that gal?” he said to Tom.

Tom, who had learned the wisdom of keeping counsel, did
not feel called on to state his observations and suspicions, but
said he did not know.

“She surely could n't have got off in the night at any of
the landings, for I was awake, and on the look-out, whenever
the boat stopped. I never trust these yer things to other
folks.”

This speech was addressed to Tom quite confidentially, as
if it was something that would be specially interesting to him.
Tom made no answer.

The trader searched the boat from stem to stern, among

boxes, bales and barrels, around the machinery, by the chimneys,
in vain.

“Now, I say, Tom, be fair about this yer,” he said, when,
after a fruitless search, he came where Tom was standing.
“You know something about it, now. Don't tell me, — I know
you do. I saw the gal stretched out here about ten o'clock,
and ag'in at twelve, and ag'in between one and two; and then
at four she was gone, and you was a sleeping right there all
the time. Now, you know something, — you can't help it.”

“Well, Mas'r,” said Tom, “towards morning something
brushed by me, and I kinder half woke; and then I hearn a
great splash, and then I clare woke up, and the gal was gone.
That 's all I know on 't.”

The trader was not shocked nor amazed; because, as we
said before, he was used to a great many things that you are
not used to. Even the awful presence of Death struck no
solemn chill upon him. He had seen Death many times, —
met him in the way of trade, and got acquainted with him, —
and he only thought of him as a hard customer, that embarrassed
his property operations very unfairly; and so he only
swore that the gal was a baggage, and that he was devilish
unlucky, and that, if things went on in this way, he should
not make a cent on the trip. In short, he seemed to consider
himself an ill-used man, decidedly; but there was no help for
it, as the woman had escaped into a state which never will
give up a fugitive, — not even at the demand of the whole
glorious Union. The trader, therefore, sat discontentedly
down, with his little account-book, and put down the missing
body and soul under the head of losses!

“He 's a shocking creature, is n't he, — this trader? so
unfeeling! It 's dreadful, really!”

“O, but nobody thinks anything of these traders! They

are universally despised, — never received into any decent
society.”

But who, sir, makes the trader? Who is most to blame?
The enlightened, cultivated, intelligent man, who supports the
system of which the trader is the inevitable result, or the poor
trader himself? You make the public sentiment that calls
for his trade, that debauches and depraves him, till he feels
no shame in it; and in what are you better than he?

Are you educated and he ignorant, you high and he
low, you refined and he coarse, you talented and he simple?

In the day of a future Judgment, these very considerations
may make it more tolerable for him than for you.

In concluding these little incidents of lawful trade, we must
beg the world not to think that American legislators are
entirely destitute of humanity, as might, perhaps, be unfairly
inferred from the great efforts made in our national body to
protect and perpetuate this species of traffic.

Who does not know how our great men are outdoing themselves,
in declaiming against the foreign slave-trade. There
are a perfect host of Clarksons and Wilberforces risen up
among us on that subject, most edifying to hear and behold.
Trading negroes from Africa, dear reader, is so horrid! It
is not to be thought of! But trading them from Kentucky,
— that's quite another thing!