Our World Or the Slaveholder's Daughter Part 37

"Say, my worthy M'Fadden," interrupts the publican, rising suddenly from his seat, as if some new discovery had just broke forth in his mind, "war'nt that boy sold under a warrant?"

"Warranted-warranted-warranted sound in every particular? That he was. Just think of this, squire; you're a knowin one. It takes you!

I never thought on't afore, and have had all my nervousness for nothin. Warranted sound in every particular, means-"

"A moment!" mine host interposes, suddenly: "there's a keen point of law there; but it might be twisted to some account, if a body only had the right sort of a lawyer to twist it."

The perplexed man rejoins by hoping he may not be interrupted just at this moment. He is just getting the point of it straight in his mind. "You see," he says, "the thing begun to dissolve itself in my philosophy, and by that I discovered the pint the whole thing stands on. Its entirely metaphysical, though," he says, with a significant shake of the head. He laughs at his discovery; his father, long since, told him he was exceedingly clever. Quite a match for the publican in all matters requiring a comprehensive mind, he declares there are few lawyers his equal at penetrating into points. "He warranted him in every particular," he mutters, as mine host, watching his seriousness, endeavours to suppress a smile. M'Fadden makes a most learned motion of the fore finger of the right hand, which he presses firmly into the palm of his left, while contracting his brows. He will soon essay forth the point of logic he wishes to enforce. The property being a certain man endowed with preaching propensities, soundness means the qualities of the man, mental as well as physical; and running away being an unsound quality, the auctioneer is responsible for all such contingencies. "I have him there,--I have!" he holds up his hands exultingly, as he exclaims the words; his face brightens with animation. Thrusting his hands into his trowsers pockets he paces the room for several minutes, at a rapid pace, as if his mind had been relieved of some deep study. "I will go directly into the city, and there see what I can do with the chap I bought that feller of. I think when I put the law points to him, he'll sh.e.l.l out."

Making some preliminary arrangements with Jones of the tavern, he orders a horse to the door immediately, and in a few minutes more is hastening on his way to the city.

Arriving about noon-day, he makes his way through its busy thoroughfares, and is soon in the presence of the auctioneer. There, in wondrous dignity, sits the seller of bodies and souls, his cushioned arm-chair presenting an air of opulence. How coolly that pomp of his profession sits on the hard mask of his iron features, beneath which lurks a contempt of shame! He is an important item in the political hemisphere of the state, has an honourable position in society (for he is high above the minion traders), joined the Episcopal church not many months ago, and cautions Mr. M'Fadden against the immorality of using profane language, which that aggrieved individual allows to escape his lips ere he enters the door.

The office of our man of fame and fortune is thirty feet long by twenty wide, and sixteen high. Its walls are brilliantly papered, and painted with landscape designs; and from the centre of the ceiling hangs a large chandelier, with ground-gla.s.s globes, on which eagles of liberty are inscribed. Fine black-walnut desks, in chaste carving, stand along its sides, at which genteelly-dressed clerks are exhibiting great attention to business. An oil-cloth, with large flowers painted on its surface, spreads the floor, while an air of neatness reigns throughout the establishment singularly at variance with the outer mart, where Mr. Forshou sells his men, women, and little children. But its walls are hung with badly-executed engravings, in frames of gilt. Of the distinguished vender's taste a correct estimation may be drawn when we inform the reader that many of these engravings represented nude females and celebrated racehorses.

"Excuse me, sir! I didn't mean it," Mr. M'Fadden says, in reply to the gentleman's caution, approaching him as he sits in his elegant chair, a few feet from the street door, luxuriantly enjoying a choice regalia. "It's the little point of a very nasty habit that hangs upon me yet. I does let out the swear once in a while, ye see; but it's only when I gets a crook in my mind what won't come straight." Thus M'Fadden introduces himself, surprised to find the few very consistent oaths he has made use of not compatible with the man-seller's pious business habits. He will be cautious the next time; he will not permit such foul breath to escape and wound the gentleman's very tender feelings.

Mr. Lawrence M'Fadden addresses him as squire, and with studious words informs him of the n.i.g.g.e.r preacher property he sold him having actually run away! "Ye warranted him, ye know, squire!" he says, discovering the object of his visit, then drawing a chair, and seating himself in close proximity.

"Can't help that-quality we never warrant!" coolly returns the other, turning politely in his arm-chair, which works in a socket, and directing a clerk at one of the desks to add six months'

interest to the item of three wenches sold at ten o'clock.

"Don't talk that ar way, squire! I trades a deal in your line, and a heap o' times, with you. Now we'll talk over the legal points."

"Make them short, if you please!"

"Well! ye warranted the n.i.g.g.e.r in every particular. There's the advertis.e.m.e.nt; and there's no getting over that! Ye must do the clean thing-no possumin-squire, or there 'll be a long lawsuit what takes the tin. Honour's the word in our trade." He watches the changes that are fast coming over the vender's countenance, folds his arms, places his right foot over his left knee, and awaits a reply. Interrupting the vender just as he is about to give his opinion he draws from his pocket a copy of the paper containing the advertis.e.m.e.nt, and places it in his hand: "If ye'll be good enough to squint at it, ye'll see the hang o' my ideas," he says.

"My friend," returns the vender, curtly, having glanced over the paper, "save me and yourself any further annoyance. I could have told you how far the property was warranted, before I read the paper; and I remember making some very particular remarks when selling that item in the invoice. A n.i.g.g.e.r's intelligence is often a mere item of consideration in the amount he brings under the hammer; but we never warrant the exercise or extension of it. Po'h, man! we might just as well attempt to warrant a n.i.g.g.e.r's stealing, lying, cunning, and all such 'cheating master' propensities. Some of them are considered qualities of much value-especially by poor planters.

Warrant n.i.g.g.e.r property not to run away, eh! Oh! nothing could be worse in our business."

"A minute, squire!" interrupts the appealing Mr. M'Fadden, just as the other is about to add a suspending clause to his remarks. "If warrantin n.i.g.g.e.r proper sound in all partiklers is'nt warrantin it not to run away, I'm no deacon! When a n.i.g.g.e.r's got run-away in him he ain't sound property, no way ye can fix it. Ye may turn all the law and philosophy yer mind to over in yer head, but it won't c.u.m common sense to me, that ye warrant a n.i.g.g.e.r's body part, and let the head part go unwarranted. When ye sells a critter like that, ye sells all his deviltry; and when ye warrants one ye warrants t'other; that's the square rule o' my law and philosophy!"

The vender puffs his weed very coolly the while; and then, calling a negro servant, orders a chair upon which to comfortably place his feet. "Are you through, my friend?" he enquires, laconically; and being answered in the affirmative, proceeds-"I fear your philosophy is common philosophy-not the philosophy upon which n.i.g.g.e.r law is founded. You don't comprehend, my valued friend, that when we insert that negro property will be warranted, we don't include the thinking part; and, of course, running away belongs to that!" he would inform all those curious on such matters. Having given this opinion for the benefit of M'Fadden, and the rest of mankind interested in slavery, he rises from his seat, elongates himself into a consequential posi- tion, and stands biting his lips, and dangling his watch chain with the fingers of his left hand.

"Take ye up, there," the other suddenly interrupts, as if he has drawn the point from his antagonist, and is prepared to sustain the principle, having brought to his aid new ideas from the deepest recesses of his logical mind. Grasping the vender firmly by the arm, he looks him in the face, and reminds him that the runaway part of n.i.g.g.e.rs belongs to the heels, and not to the head.

The vender exhibits some discomfiture, and, at the same time, a decided unwillingness to become a disciple of such philosophy. Nor is he pleased with the familiarity of his importuning customer, whose arm he rejects with a repulsive air.

There has evidently become a very nice and serious question, of which Mr. M'Fadden is inclined to take a commonsense view. His opponent, however, will not deviate from the strictest usages of business. Business mentioned the mental qualities of the property, but warranted only the physical,--hence the curious perplexity.

While the point stands thus nicely poised between their logic, Romescos rushes into the office, and, as if to surprise M'Fadden, extends his hand, smiling and looking in his face gratefully, as if the very soul of friendship incited him. "Mighty glad to see ye, old Buck!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.es, "feared ye war going to kick out."

The appalled man stands for a few seconds as unmoved as a statue; and then, turning with a half-subdued smile, takes the hand of the other, coldly.

"Friends again! ain't we, old boy?" breaks forth from Romescos, who continues shaking his hand, at the same time turning his head and giving a significant wink to a clerk at one of the desks. "Politics makes bad friends now and then, but I always thought well of you, Mack! Now, neighbour, I'll make a bargain with you; we'll live as good folks ought to after this," Romescos continues, laconically.

His advance is so strange that the other is at a loss to comprehend its purport. He casts doubting glances at his wily antagonist, seems considering how to appreciate the quality of such an unexpected expression of friendship, and is half inclined to demand an earnest of its sincerity. At the same time, and as the matter now stands, he would fain give his considerate friend wide s.p.a.ce, and remain within a proper range of etiquette until his eyes behold the substantial.

He draws aside from Romescos, who says tremblingly: "Losing that preacher, neighbour, was a hard case-warn't it? You wouldn't a'

catched this individual buyin' preachers-know too much about 'em, I reckon! It's no use frettin, though; the two hundred dollars 'll bring him. This child wouldn't want a profitabler day's work for his hound dogs." Romescos winks at the vender, and makes grimaces over M'Fadden's shoulder, as that gentleman turns and grumbles out,--"He warranted him in every partikler; and running away is one of a n.i.g.g.e.r's partiklers?"

"My pertinacious friend!" exclaims the vender, turning suddenly towards his dissatisfied customer, "seeing you are not disposed to comprehend the necessities of my business, nor to respect my position, I will have nothing further to say to you upon the subject-not another word, now!" The dignified gentleman expresses himself in peremptory tones. It is only the obtuseness of his innate character becoming unnecessarily excited.

Romescos interposes a word or two, by way of keeping up the zest; for so he calls it. Things are getting crooked, according to his notion of the dispute, but fightin' won't bring back the lost.

"'Spose ye leaves the settlin on't to me? There's nothing like friendship in trade; and seeing how I am up in such matters, p'raps I can smooth it down."

"There's not much friendship about a loss of this kind; and he was warranted sound in every particular!" returns the invincible man, shaking his head, and affecting great seriousness of countenance.

"Stop that harpin, I say!" the vender demands, drawing himself into a pugnacious att.i.tude; "your insinuations against my honour aggravate me more and more."

"Well! just as you say about it," is the cool rejoinder. "But you 'll have to settle the case afore lawyer Sprouts, you will!"

Stupidly inclined to dog his opinions, the sensitive gentleman, claiming to be much better versed in the mode of selling human things, becomes fearfully enraged. M'Fadden contends purely upon contingencies which may arise in the mental and physical complications of property in man; and this the gentleman man-seller cannot bear the reiteration of.

"Romescos thinks it is at best but a perplexin snarl, requiring gentlemen to keep very cool. To him they are both honourable men, who should not quarrel over the very small item of one preacher.

"This warrantin' n.i.g.g.e.rs' heads never amounts to anything,--it's just like warrantin' their heels; and when one gets bad, isn't t'other sure to be movin? Them's my sentiments, gratis!" Stepping a few feet behind M'Fadden, Romescos rubs his hands in great anxiety, makes curious signs to the clerks at the desk, and charges his mouth with a fresh cut of tobacco.

"n.o.body bespoke your opinion," says the disconsolate M'Fadden, turning quickly, in consequence of a sign he detected one of the clerks making, and catching Romescos bestowing a grimace of no very complimentary character, "Your presence and your opinion are, in my estimation, things that may easily be dispensed with."

"I say!" interrupts Romescos, his right hand in a threatening att.i.tude, "not quite so fast"-he drawls his words-"a gentleman don't stand an insult o' that sort. Just draw them ar' words back, like a yard of tape, or this individual 'll do a small amount of bruising on that ar' profile, (he draws his hand backward and forward across M'Fadden's face). 'Twon't do to go to church on Sundays with a broken phiz?" His face reddens with anger, as he works his head into a daring att.i.tude, grates his teeth, again draws his fist across M'Fadden's face; and at length rubs his nasal organ.

"I understand you too well!" replies M'Fadden, with a curt twist of his head. "A man of your cloth can't insult a gentleman like me; you're lawless!" He moves towards the door, stepping sideways, watching Romescos over his left shoulder.

"I say!-Romescos takes his man by the arm-Come back here, and make a gentleman's apology!" He lets go M'Fadden's arm and seizes him by the collar violently, his face in a blaze of excitement.

"n.i.g.g.e.r killer!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.es M'Fadden, "let go there!" He gives his angry antagonist a determined look, as he, for a moment, looses his hold. He pauses, as if contemplating his next move.

The very amiable and gentlemanly man-vender thinks it time he interposed for the purpose of reconciling matters. "Gentlemen!

gentlemen! respect me, if you do not respect yourselves. My office is no place for such disgraceful broils as these; you must go elsewhere." The modest gentleman, whose very distinguished family connexions have done much to promote his interests, would have it particularly understood that his office is an important place, used only for the very distinguished business of selling men, women, and little children. But Romescos is not so easily satisfied. He pushes the amiable gentleman aside, calls Mr. Lawrence M'Fadden a tyrant what kills n.i.g.g.e.rs by the detestably mean process of starving them to death. "A pretty feller he is to talk about n.i.g.g.e.r killin! And just think what our state has come to when such fellers as him can make votes for the next election!" says Romescos, addressing himself to the vender. "The Irish influence is fast destroying the political morality of the country."

Turning to Mr. M'Fadden, who seems preparing for a display of his combativeness, he adds, "Ye see, Mack, ye will lie, and lie crooked too! and ye will steal, and steal dishonourably; and I can lick a dozen on ye quicker nor chain lightnin? I can send the hol batch on ye-rubbish as it is-to take supper t'other side of sundown." To be equal with his adversary, Romescos is evidently preparing himself for the reception of something more than words. Twice or thrice he is seen to pa.s.s his right hand into the left breast pocket of his sack, where commonly his shining steel is secreted. In another moment he turns suddenly towards the vender, pushes him aside with his left hand, and brings his right in close proximity with Mr.

M'Fadden's left listener. That individual exhibits signs of renewed courage, to which he adds the significant warning: "Not quite so close, if you please!"

"As close as I sees fit!" returns the other, with a sardonic grin.

"Why don't you resent it?-a gentleman would!"

Following the word, Mr. M'Fadden makes a pa.s.s at his antagonist, which, he says, is only with the intention of keeping him at a respectful distance. Scarcely has his arm pa.s.sed when Romescos cries out, "There! he has struck me! He has struck me again!" and deals M'Fadden a blow with his clenched fist that fells him lumbering to the floor. Simultaneously Romescos falls upon his prostrate victim, and a desperate struggle ensues.

The vender, whose sacred premises are thus disgraced, runs out to call the police, while the clerks make an ineffectual attempt to separate the combatants. Not a policeman is to be found. At night they may be seen swarming the city, guarding the fears of a white populace ever sensitive of black rebellion.

Like an infuriated tiger, Romescos, nimble as a catamount, is fast destroying every vestige of outline in his antagonist's face, drenching it with blood, and adding ghastliness by the strangulation he is endeavouring to effect.

"Try-try-trying to-kill-me-eh? You-you mad brute!" gutters out the struggling man, his eyes starting from the sockets like b.a.l.l.s of fire, while gore and saliva foam from his mouth and nostrils as if his struggles are in death.

"Kill ye-kill ye?" Romescos rejoins, the s.h.a.ggy red hair falling in tufts about his face, now burning with desperation: "it would be killin' only a wretch whose death society calls for."

At this, the struggling man, like one borne to energy by the last throes of despair, gives a desperate spring, succeeds in turning his antagonist, grasps him by the throat with his left hand, and from his pocket fires a pistol with his right. The report alarms; the shrill whistle calls to the rescue; but the ball has only taken effect in the flesh of Romescos's right arm. Quick to the moment, his arm dripping with gore from the wound, he draws his glittering dirk, and plunges it, with unerring aim, into the breast of his antagonist. The wounded man starts convulsively, as the other coolly draws back the weapon, the blood gushing forth in a livid stream.

"Is not that in self-defence?" exclaims the b.l.o.o.d.y votary, turning his haggard and enraged face to receive the approval of the bystanders. The dying man, writhing under the grasp of his murderer, utters a piercing shriek. "Murdered! I'm dying! Oh, heaven! is this my last-last-last? Forgive me, Lord,--forgive me!" he gurgles; and making another convulsive effort, wrings his body from under the perpetrator of the foul deed. How tenacious of life is the dying man! He grasps the leg of a desk, raises himself to his feet, and, as if goaded with the thoughts of h.e.l.l, in his last struggles staggers to the door,--discharges a second shot, vaults, as it were, into the street, and falls prostrate upon the pavement, surrounded by a crowd of eager lookers-on. He is dead! The career of Mr.

M'Fadden is ended; his spirit is summoned for trial before a just G.o.d.

The murderer (perhaps we abuse the word, and should apply the more southern, term of renconterist), sits in a chair, calling for water, as a few among the crowd prepare to carry the dead body into Graspum's slave-pen, a few squares below.