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Slave
Auction in the South |
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Slave
Auction in the South |
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On page 442 we publish a picture of a Slave
Auction at the South, from a sketch by Mr. Davis, our special artist, who lately traveled
through the South in company with W. H. Russell, Esq., LL.D., Correspondent of the London
Times. Mr. Russell thus describes slave auctions in a letter from Montgomery, Alabama:
The crowd was small. Three or four idle men in rough, homespun, makeshift uniforms leaned against the iron
rails inclosing a small pond of foul, green-looking water, surrounded by brick-work, which decorates the space in
front of the Exchange Hotel. The speaker stood on an empty deal packing-case. A man in a cart was listening
with a lack luster eye to the address. Some three or four others, in a sort of vehicle which might either be a hearse
or a piano-van, had also drawn up for the benefit of the address. Five or six other men, in long black coats and
high hats, some whittling sticks and chewing tobacco, and discharging streams of discolored saliva, completed the
group. "N-i-n-e h-hun-nerd and fifty dollars! Only nine h-hun-nerd and fifty dollars offered for him!" exclaimed
the man, in the tone of injured dignity, remonstrance, and surprise, which can be insinuated by all true
auctioneers into the dryest numerical statements. "Will no one make any advance on nine hundred and fifty dollars?"
A man near me opened his mouth, spat, and said,
"Twenty-five." "Only nine hundred and seventy-five dollars
offered for him! Why, at's radaklous -- only nine hundred and seventy-five dollars! Will no one," etc.
Beside the orator auctioneer stood a stout young man of five-and-twenty years of age, with a bundle in his hand. He
was a muscular fellow, broad-shouldered, narrow-flanked, but rather small in stature; he had on a broad, greasy,
old wide-awake, a blue jacket, a coarse cotton shirt, loose and rather ragged trowsers, and broken shoes. The
expression of his face was heavy and sad, but it was by no means disagreeable, in spite of his thick lips, broad
nostrills, and high cheek bones. On his head was wool instead of hair. I am neither sentimentalist nor Black
Republican, nor negro-worshiper, but I confess the sight caused a strange thrill through my heart. I tried in vain
to make myself familiar with the fact that I could, for the sum of $975, become as absolutely the owner of that mass
of blood, bones, sinew, flesh, and brains as of the horse which stood by my side. There was no sophistry which
could persuade me the man was not a man -- he was, indeed, by no means my brother, but assuredly he was a
fellow-creature. I have seen slave markets in the East, but somehow or other the Orientalism of the scene cast a
coloring over the nature of the sales there which deprived them of the disagreeable harshness and matter-of-fact
character of the transaction before me. For Turk, or Smyrniote, or Egyptian to buy and sell slaves seemed
rather suited to the eternal fitness of things than to otherwise. The turbaned, shawled, loose-trowsered,
pipe-smoking merchants, speaking an unknown tongue, looked as if
they were engaged in a legitimate business. One knew that their slaves would not be condemned to any very
hard labor, and that they would be in some sort the inmates of the family and members of it. Here it grated
on my ear to listen to the familiar tones of the English tongue as the medium by which the transfer was effected,
and it was painful to see decent-looking men in European garb engaged in the work before me. Perchance these
impressions may wear off, for I meet many English people who are the most strenuous advocates of the slave
system, although it is true that their perceptions may be quickened to recognize its beauties by their participation
in the profits. The negro was sold to one of the by-standers, and walked off with his bundle God knows where. "Niggers is cheap," was the only remark of the
by-standers.
As I was returning to the hotel there was another small crowd at the fountain. Another auctioneer, a fat, flabby,
perspiring, puffy man, was trying to sell a negro girl who stood on the deal box beside him. She was dressed pretty
much like a London servant girl of the lower order, out of place, except that her shoes were mere shreds of leather
patches, and her bonnet would have scarce passed muster in the New Cut. She, too, had a little bundle in her hand,
and looked out at the buyers from a pair of large sad eyes.
"Niggers were cheap;" still here was this young woman going for an upset price of $610, but no one would bid, and
the auctioneer, after vain attempts to raise the price and excite competition, said, "Not sold to-day, Sally; you
may get down." |
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