The Continental Monthly , Vol. 2 No. 5, November 1862

'Yes, I knows—'iled 'em inside and out, haint ye?'

'No, on my soul—only one glass ter day—true as preachin'.'

'Boy,' I said to the yellow man, 'how much whiskey hev ye drunk ter day? Now, tell the truth.'

'Nary drop, massa; hed a moufful o' sperrets—a berry little moufful—dat's all.'

'Taint 'nough, Larkin! Come, now, doan't be mean with nigs. Give 'em sum more—sum o' thet tall brandy o' your'n; a good swig. They karn't stand it out har in the cold without a little warmin' up.'

'Well, I'm blamed ef I won't. Har, you, Jim,' speaking to a well-dressed darky standing near. 'Har, go ter thet red-headed woodpecker, thar at the cabin, and tell him I'll smash his peepers if he doan't send me sum glasses ter onst—d'ye har? Go.'

The gentlemanly darky went, and soon returned with the glassware; and meanwhile Larkin directed another well-clad negro man to 'bring the jugs.' They were strung across the back of a horse which was tied near, and, uncorking one of them, the trader said: 'I allers carry my own pizen. 'Taint right to give even nigs sech hell-fire as they sell round har; it git's a feller's stumac used ter tophet 'fore the rest on him is 'climated.'

'Well, it does,' I replied; 'it's the devil's own warming pan.'

Each negro received a fair quantity of the needed beverage, and seemed the better for it. A little brandy, 'for the stomach's sake,' is enjoyed by those dusky denizens of the low latitudes.

When they were all supplied, the trader said to me: 'Now, what d'ye say, Kirke? What'll ye give fur the boy?'

'Well, I reckon I doan't want no boys jest now; and I doan't know as I wants ary 'ooman nother; but if ye've got a right likely gal—one thet'll sew, and nuss good—I moight buy her fur a friend o' mine. His wife's hed twins, and he moight use her ter look arter the young 'uns.'

'Young or old?'

'Young and sprightly.'

'They is high, ye knows—but thar's a gal that'll suit. Git up gals;' and a row of five women rose: 'No; git up thar, whar we kin see ye.' They stepped up on the log. 'Now, thar's a gal fur ye,' he continued, pointing to a clean, tidy mulatto woman, not more than nineteen, with a handsome but meek, sorrow-marked face: 'Luk at thet!' and he threw up her dress to her knees, while the poor girl reached down her shackled hands in the vain effort to prevent the indignity. He was about to show off other good points, when I said: 'Never mind—I see what she is. Let 'em git down.'

They resumed their seats, and he continued: 'Thet's jest the gal ye wants, Kirke—good at nussin', wet or dry; good at breedin', too; hed two young 'uns, a'ready. Ye kin * * * * *' [The rest of this discourse will not bear repeating.]

'No, thank you.'

'Well, jest as ye say. She's sound, though; sold fur no fault. Har young massa's ben a-usin' on har—young 'uns are his'n. Old man got pious; couldn't stand sech doin's no how—ter home—so he says ter me, 'Jake, says he, take har ter Orleans—she's jest the sort—ye'll make money sellin' har ter some o' them young bloods. Ha! ha! thet's religion for ye! I doan't know, Kirke, mebbe ye b'long ter the church, and p'raps yer one o' the screamin' sort; but any how, I say, d– sech religion as thet. Jake Larkin's a spec'lator, but he wouldn't do a thing like thet—ef he would, d– him.'

[The dealer in negroes never applies the term 'trader' to himself; he prefers the softer word, 'speculator.' The phrase 'negro trader' is used only by the rest of the community, who are 'holier than he.']

'I doan't b'lieve ye would, Larkin; yer a good fellow, at bottom, I reckon.'

'Well, Kirke, yer a trump. Come, hev another drink.'

'No; excuse me; karn't stand more'n one horn a day: another'd lay me out flatter'n a stewpan. But ter business. How much fur thet gal—cash down? Come, talk it out.'

'Well, at a word—twelve hun'red.'

'Too much; bigger'n my pile; couldn't put so much inter one gal, nohow. Wouldn't give thet money fur ary nig in Car'lina.'

'Oh, buy me, good massa. Mister Larkin'll take less'n dat, I reckon; do buy me,' said the girl, who had been eying me very closely during the preceding dialogue.

'I would, my good girl, if I could; but you'll not exactly suit my friend.'

'Buy har fur yourself, then, Kirke. She'd suit you. She's sound, I tell ye—ye'd make money on har.'

'Not much, I reckon,' I replied, dryly.

'Why not? She'll breed like a rabbit.' * * * * *

'I wouldn't own her for the whole State: if I had her, I'd free her on the spot!' The cool bestiality of the trader disgusted me, and I forgot myself.

He started back surprised; then quietly remarked: 'Ye're a Nutherner, I swar; no corncracker ever held sech doctrines as them.'

'Yes,' I replied, dropping the accent, which my blunder had rendered useless; 'I am a Northerner; but I want a nurse, notwithstanding, for a friend.'

'Whar d'ye live?' asked the trader, in the same free, good-natured tone as before.

'In New York.'

'In York! What! Yer not Mr. Kirke, of Randall, Kirke & Co.? But, blamenation, ye ar! How them whiskers has altered ye! I thort I'd seed ye afore. Haint ye come it over me slick? Tuk in clean, swallered hull. But thar's my hand, Mr. Kirke; I'm right glad ter see ye.'

'Where have you met me, my good fellow? I don't remember you.'

'Down ter Orleans. Seed ye inter Roye, Struthers & Co.'s. The ole man thinks a heap o' you; ye give 'em a pile of business, doan't ye.'

'No, not much of our own. They buy cotton for our English correspondents, and negotiate through us, that is all. Roye is a fine old gentleman.'

'Yes, he ar; I'm in with him.'

'How in with him?'

'Why, in this business—we go snacks; I do the buyin', and he finds the rocks. We use a pile—sometimes a hun'red, sometimes two hun'red thousand.'

'Is it possible! Then you do a large business?'

'Yes, right smart; I handle 'bout a thousand—big and little—ev'ry year.'

'That is large. You do not buy and sell them all, yourself, do you?'

'Oh, no? I hardly ever sells; once in a while I run agin a buyer—like you—ha! ha!—and let one drap; but gin'rally I cage 'em, and when I git 'bout a hun'red together, I take 'em ter Orleans, and auction 'em off. Thar's no fuss and dicker 'bout thet, ye knows.'

'Yes, I know! But how do you manage so large a gang? I should think some would get away.'

'No, they doan't. I put the ribands on 'em; and, 'sides, ye see them boys, thar?' pointing to three splendid specimens of property, loitering near; 'I've hed them boys nigh on ter ten year, and I haint lost nary a nig sense I had 'em. They're cuter and smarter nor I am, any day.'

'Then you pick the negroes up round the country, and send them to a rendezvous, where you put them in jail till you make up your number?'

'Yes, the boys takes 'em down ter the pen. I'm pickin' sum up round har, now, ye see, and I send 'em ter Goldsboro'. When I've toted these down thar, the boys and I'll go up ter Virginny.'

'Why don't you send them on by stage? I should think it would hurt them to camp out at this season.'

'Hurt 'em! Lord bless ye, fresh air never hurt a nig; they're never so happy as sleepin' on the groun', with nothin' over 'em, and thar heels close ter a light-wood fire.'

'But the delicate house women and the children, can they bear it?'

'It do come a trifle hard on them, but it doan't last long. I allers takes ter the railroad when I gets a gang together.'

'Well, come; I want a woman. Show me all you have.'

'Do ye mean so, raally, Mr. Kirke? I thort ye wus a comin' it on me, and I swar ye does do the Suthern like a native. I'm blamed ef I didn't s'pose ye b'longed round har. Ha! ha! How the ole man would larf ter hear it!'

'But I am a native, Larkin; born within sight of Bunker Hill.'

'Yes, thet kind o' native; and them's the sort, too. They make all-fired smart spec'lators. I knows a dozen on 'em, thet hev made thar pile, and haint older'n I am, nother.'

'Is it possible! Yankees in this business?'

'Yes, lots on 'em. Some on yer big folks up ter York and Bostin are in it deep; but they go the 'portin' line, gin'rally, and thet—d—d if I'd do it, anyhow.'

'Well, about the woman. None of these will do; are they all you have?'

'No, I've got one more, but I've sort o' 'lotted har ter a young feller down ter Orleans. He told me ter git him jest sech a gal. She's 'most white, and brought up tender like, and them kind is high prized, ye knows.'

'Yes, I know; but where is she—let me see her?'

'She's in the store;' and rising, he led the way to the shanty.

When we arrived at the part of the ground where the marksmen were stationed, we found an altercation going on between Tom and a young planter. It appeared that the young man had paid for a shot, and insisted on his body servant taking his place in the lists. To that Tom, and the stout yeomen who had entered for the turkey, objected, on account of the yellow man's station and complexion.

The young gentleman was dressed in the highest style of fashion, and, though not more than nineteen, was evidently a 'blood' of 'the very first water.' The body servant was a good-looking quadroon, and sported an enormous diamond pin and a heavy gold watch chain. In his sleek beaver hat, and nicely-brushed suit of black broadcloth, he looked a much better-dressed gentleman than any one on the ground.

As we approached, Tom, every pimple on his red face swelling with virtuous indignation, was delivering himself of the following harangue:

'We doan't put ourselfs on a futtin' with niggers, Mr. Gaston. We doan't keer if they do b'long ter kid-gloved 'ristocrats like ye is; they karn't come in har, no how! Ye'd better go home. Ye orter be in better business then prowlin' round shootin' matches, with yer scented, bedevilled-up buck niggers. Go home, and wash the smell out o' yer cloes. Yer d–d muskmelon (Tom's word for musk) makes ye smell jest like hurt skunks; and ye ar skunks, clar through ter the innards. Whew! Clar eöut, I tell ye!'

The young man's face reddened. The blood of the chivalry was rising. He replied:

'Keep a civil tongue in your head, you thieving scoundrel; if you don't, the next time I catch you trading with my nigs, I'll see you get a hundred lashes; d–d if I don't.'

Tom bade him go to a very warm latitude, and denied trading with negroes.

'You lie, you sneaking whelp; you've got the marks on your back now, for dealing with Pritchett's.'

Tom returned the lie, when the young man's face grew a trifle redder, and his whip rising in the air, it fell across Tom's nose in a very uncomfortable manner—for Tom. The liquor vender reeled, but, recovering himself in a moment, he aimed a heavy blow at the young gentleman's frontispiece. That 'parlor ornament' would have been sadly disfigured, had not the darky caught the stroke on his left arm, and at the same moment planted what the 'profession' call a 'wiper,' just behind Tom's left ear. Tom's private dram shop went down—'caved in'—was 'laid out sprawling;' and two or three minutes elapsed before it got on its legs again. When it did, it frothed at the mouth like a mug of ale with too much head on it.

They were not more than six paces apart, when Tom rose, and drawing a double-barrelled pistol from his pocket, aimed it at the planter. The latter was in readiness for him. His six-shooter was level with Tom's breast, and his hand on the trigger, when, just as he seemed ready to fire, the negro trader coolly stepped before him, and twisted the weapon from his hand. Turning then to Tom, Larkin said, 'Now, you clar out. Make tracks, or I'll lamm ye like blamenation. Be off, I tell ye,' he added as Tom showed an unwillingness to move. 'A sensible man like ye arn't a gwine ter waste good powder on sech a muskrat sort of a thing as this is, is ye? Come, clar!' and he placed his hand on Tom's shoulder, and accelerated his rather slow movements toward the groggery. Returning then to the young man, he said:

'And now you, Mr. Gustavus Adolphus Pocahontas Powhatan Gaston, s'pose you clar out, too?'

'I shall go when I please—not before,' said Mr. Gaston.

'You'll please mighty sudden, then, I reckon. A young man of your edication should be 'bout better business than gittin' inter brawls with low groggery keepers, and 'sultin' decent white folks with your scented-up niggers. Yer a disgrace ter yer good ole father, and them as was afore him. With yer larnin' and money ye moight be doin' suthin' fur them as is below ye; but instead o' thet, yer doin' nothin' but hangin' round bar rooms, gittin' drunk, playin' cards, drivin' fast hosses, and keepin' nigger wimmin. I'm ashamed o' ye. Yer gwine straight ter hell, ye is; and the hull country's gwine thar, too, 'cause it's raisin' a crap of jest sech idle, no-account, blusterin', riproaring young fools as you is. Now, go home. Make tracks ter onst, or I'll hev thet d–d nigger's neck o' your'n stretched fur strikin' a white man, I will! Ye knows me, and I'll do it, as sure's my name's Jake Larkin.'

The young planter listened rather impatiently to this harangue, but said nothing. When it was concluded, he told his servant to bring up the horses; and then turning to the trader, said:

'Well, Right Reverend Mr. Larkin, you'll please to make yourself scarce around the plantation in future. If you come near it, just remember that we keep dogs, and that we use them for chasing—niggers.' The last word was emphasized in a way that showed he classed Larkin with the wares he dealt in.

'Yer father, young man, is a honest man, and a gentleman. He knows I'm one, if I do trade in niggers; and he'll want ter see me when I want ter come.'

The negro by this time had brought up the horses. 'Good evening, Mr. Larkin,' said young Hopeful, as he mounted and rode off.

'Good evenin', replied the trader, coolly, but respectfully.

'Good evenin', Mister Larkin,' said the gentleman's gentleman, as he also mounted to ride off. The emphasis on the 'Mister' was too much for the trader, and taking one spring toward the darky, he laid his stout whip across his face. The scented ebony roared, and just then his horse, a high-blooded animal, reared and threw him. When he had gathered himself up, Larkin made several warm applications of his thick boot to the inexpressible part of the darky's person, and, roaring with pain, that personage made off at a gait faster than that of his runaway horse.

During the affray the occupants of the ground gathered around the belligerents; but as soon as it was over, they went quietly back to 'old-sledge' 'seven-up,' 'pitch-and-toss,' 'chuck-a-luck,' and the 'turkey match.'

As we walked toward the shanty, the trader said: 'Thet feller's a fool. What a chance he's throwin' away! He arn't of no more use than a rotten coon skin or a dead herrin', he arn't. All on our young bucks is jest like him. The country's going to the devil, sure;' and with this choice bit of moralizing, he entered the cabin.

CHAPTER VI

The Squire was pacing to and fro in the upper end of the room, and the woman and children were seated on the low bench near the counter. Phyllis lifted her eyes to my face as I entered, with a hopeful, inquiring expression, but they fell again when the trader said: 'Thet's the gal fur ye, Mr. Kirke; the most perfectest gal in seven States; good at onything, washin', ironin', nussin', breedin'; rig'larly fotched up; worth her weight in gold; d–d if she haint.' Turning then to Preston, he exclaimed: 'Why, Squire, how ar ye?'

'Very well,' replied my friend, coolly.

'How's times?' continued the trader.

'Very well,' said Preston, in a tone which showed a decided distaste for conversation.

'Well, glad on it. I heerd ye were hard put. Glad on it, Squire.'

The Squire took no further notice of him; and, turning to his property, the trader said: 'Stand up, gal, and let me show the gentleman what yer made of. Doan't look so down in the mouth, gal; this gentleman's got a friend thet'll keep ye in the style ye's fotched up ter.'

Phyllis rose and made a strong effort to appear composed.

'Now, Mr. Kirke, luk at thet rig,' said Larkin, seizing her rudely by the arm and turning her half around; 'straight's a rail. Luk at thet ankle and fut—nimble's a squirrel, and healthy!—why, ye couldn't sicken har if ye put har ter hosspetal work.'

'Well, never mind. I see what she is. What's your price?'

'But ye haint seed har, yit! She's puny like, I knows, but she's solid, I reckon; thar haint a pound of loose stuff on har—it's all muscle. See thar—jest look o' thet,' and he stripped the sleeve of her dress to the elbow; 'thar's a arm fur ye—whiter'n buttermilk, and harder'n cheese. Feel on't.'

The poor woman submitted meekly to this rough handling of her person, but I said impatiently:

'I tell you, Larkin, I'm satisfied. Name your price. I've no time to lose: the stage will be along in five minutes.'

'The stage! Lord bless ye, Mr. Kirke, it's broke down—'twon't be har fur an hour—I knows. Now look o' thet,' he continued, drawing the poor woman's thin dress tightly across her limbs, while he proceeded, despite my repeated attempts to interrupt him, with his disgusting exhibitions, which it would be disgraceful even to describe. 'Ye doan't mind, do ye, gal?' he added, chucking her under the chin in a rude, familiar way, and giving a brutal laugh. Phyllis shrank away from him, but made no reply. She had evidently braced her mind to the ordeal, and was prepared to bear anything rather than offend him. I determined to stop any further proceeding, and said to him:

'I tell you, Larkin, I'm satisfied. I cannot waste more time in this manner. Name your price at once.'

'Time! Mr. Kirke? why yer time arn't worth nothin' jest now. The stage won't be 'long till dark. Ye haint seed half on har, yit. I doan't want ter sell ye a damaged article. I want ter show ye she's sound's a nut—ye won't pay my price ef I doan't. Look a thar, now,' and with a quick, dexterous movement, he tore open the front of her dress. * * * * *

The poor girl, unable to use her hands, bent over nearly double, and strained the children to her breast to hide her shame. A movement at the other end of the room made me look at the Squire. With his jaws set, his hands clenched, and his face on fire, he bounded toward the trader. In a moment he would have been upon him. My own blood boiled, but, knowing that an outbreak would be fatal to our purpose, I planted myself firmly in his way, and said, as I took him by the arm and held him by main force:

'Stand back, Preston; this is my affair.'

'Yes, Squire,' added the trader, 'ye'd better be quiet. Ye'll turn trader, yerself, yit. If things is true, ye'll have ter begin on yer own nigs, mighty sudden.'

'If I am brought to that,' replied the Squire, with the calm dignity which was natural to him, 'I shall treat them like human beings—not like brutes.'

'Ye'll show 'em off the best how ye kin; let ye alone fur thet; I know yer hull parson tribe; thar haint nary a honest one among ye.'

Preston turned silently away, as if disdaining to waste words on such a subject; and I said to the trader:

'Mr. Larkin, I've told you I've no time to lose. Name your price at once, or I'll not buy the woman at all.'

'Well, jest as ye say, Mr. Kirke. But ye see she's a rare 'un; would bring two thousand in Orleans, sure's a gun.'

'Pshaw! you know better than that; but, name your price.'

'What, fur the hull, or the 'ooman alone?'

'Either way; I've no particular use for the children, but I'll buy them if cheap.'

'Oh! do buy us,' cried the little girl, taking hold of my coat; 'do buy us—please do, good massa.'

'Shet up, ye young whelp,' said the trader, raising his whip. The little thing slunk back affrighted, and commenced sobbing, but said no more.

'Well, Mr. Kirke, the lot cost me sixteen fifty, hard rocks, and 'twas dirt cheap, 'cause the 'ooman alone'll bring more'n thet. I couldn't hev bought har fur thet, but har owner wus hard up. Ye see he's Gin'ral–, down ter Newbern, one of yer rig'lar 'ristocrats, the raal ole-fashioned sort—keeps a big plantation, house in town; fine wines; fine wimmin; fast hosses; and goes it mighty strong. Well, he's allers a trifle under—ev'ry year 'bout two thousand short; and ev'ry year I buy a couple or so of nigs on him ter make it up. He's a pertickerler friend o' mine, ye see; he thinks a heap o' me—he does. Well, when I gets 'long thar t'other day, he says ter me, says he: 'Lark,' (he allers calls me Lark; thet's the name I goes by 'mong my intimate 'quaintance), well, says he; 'Lark, thar's Phylly. I want ye ter take har. She's the likeliest gal in the world—good old Virginny blood, father one of the raal old stock. Ye knows she's right, good ev'ry way, prays like a camp meetin', and virtuous ter kill; thar ain't none round har thet's up to har at thet—tried ter cum round har myself, but couldn't git nigher'n a rod—won't hev but one man, and'll stick ter him like death; jest the gal fur one o' them New Orleans bloods as wants one thet'll be true ter 'em. Do ye take, Lark?' says he. 'Well, I do, says I, and I knows just the feller fur har; one of yer raal high-flyers—rich's a Jew—twenty thousand a year—lives like a prince—got one or two on 'em now; but he says to me when I comes off, 'Lark,' says he, 'find me a gal, raather pale, tidy, hard's a nut, and not bigger'n a cotton bale.' Wall, says I, 'I will,' and, Gin'ral, Phylly's the gal! She'll hev good times, live like a queen, hev wines, dresses, hosses, operas, and all them sort o' things—ye knows them ar fellers doan't stand fur trifles.' 'Yes, I knows, Lark,' says the Gin'ral, 'and bein' it's so, ye kin take har, Lark; but I wouldn't sell har ter ary nother man livin'—if I would, d–n me. Ye kin hev har, Lark, but ye must take the young 'uns; she's got two, ye knows, and it hain't Christian-like ter sell 'em apart.' 'D–n the young 'uns, Gin'ral,' says I,' I karn't do nary a thing with them. What'll one o' them young bloods want o' them? They goes in fur home manufactures.' 'Yes, I knows, Lark,' says he, 'but ye kin sell 'em off thar—ony planter'll buy 'em—they'll pay ter raise. They're two likely little gals, ye knows; honest born, white father, and'll make han'some wimmin—han'somer'n thar mother, and sell higher when they's grow'd; ye'd better take 'em, Lark. If ye doan't, I'm d–d if I'll sell ye the mother; fur, ye see, I must have the hull vally, now, that's honest.' 'Wall, Gin'ral,' says I, 'ye allers talks right out, that's what I likes in ye. What's the price?' 'Wall,' says he, 'bein' it's ye, and ye've a good master in yer eye for Phylly, I'll say two thousand fur the lot—the gal alone'll fetch twenty-five hun'red down ter Orleans.' 'Whew!' says I, 'Gin'ral, ye've been a takin' suthin'. (But he hadn't; he war soberer than a church clock; 'twarn't more'n 'lev'n, and he's never drunk 'fore evenin'.) Wall,' says I, 'karn't think of it, nohow, Gin'ral.' Then he come down ter eighteen, but I counted out sixteen fifty—good rags of the old State Bank—and I'm blamed if he didn't take it. I'd no idee he wud; but debt, Mr. Kirke, debt's the devil—but it helps us, 'cause, I s'pose (and he laughed his hardened, brutal laugh), we do the devil's own work. But be thet how it may, if these high flyin' planters didn't run inter it, and hev ter pay up, nigger spec'latin' wouldn't be worth follerin'. Well, I took the nig's, and thar they is; and bein' it's you, Mr. Kirke, and yer a friend of the ole man, you shill hev the lot fur a hun'red and fifty more, or the 'ooman alone fur fifteen hun'red; but ary nother white man couldn't toch 'em fur less'n two thousand—if they could, d–n me.'

The stage had not arrived, and I had submitted to this lengthy harangue, because I saw I could more certainly accomplish the purchase by indulging the humor of the trader. The suspense was, no doubt, agony to Phyllis, and the Squire manifested decided impatience, but the delay seemed unavoidable. It was difficult for Preston to control himself. He chafed like a chained tiger. At first he paced up and down the farther side of the apartment, then sat down, then rose and paced the room again, and then again sat down, every now and then glaring upon Larkin with a look of savage ferocity that showed the wild beast was rising in him. The trader once in a while looked toward him with a cool unconcern that indicated two things: nerves of iron, and perfect familiarity with such demonstrations.