The Continental Monthly, Vol. III, No. V, May, 1863. Various
I saw your store was closed, as I came along.'
'Yas; th' durned 'ristocrats driv me out uv thet nigh a yar ago.'
'And where are you now?'
'Up ter Trenton. I'm doin' right smart thar. Me an' Mulock—thet used ter b'long yere—is in partenship. But war moight ye hev seed me, stranger?'
'At your store, over ten years since. I bought a woman there. You were having a turkey match at the time.'
'Oh, yas! I 'call ye now. An' th' pore gal's dead! Thet d—d Yankee 'ooman shud pull hemp fur thet.'
'Yes; but the devil seldom gets his due in this world.'
'Thet ar's a fact, stranger. Come, hev a drink; I woan't ax ye a red.'
'No, excuse me, Tom; it's before breakfast;' and, walking off, I entered the mansion.
Shortly after breakfast the people from the neighboring plantations began to gather to the sale, and, by the hour appointed for it to commence, about five hundred men and women had collected on the ground. Some were on horseback, some in carriages, but the majority were seated on the grass, or on benches improvised for the occasion.
A few minutes before the 'exercises' commenced, the negroes were marched upon the lawn. No seats had been provided for them, and they huddled together inside a small area staked off for their reception. They were of all colors and ages. Husbands and wives, parents and children, grandparents and grandchildren, aunts, uncles, and cousins, gathered in little family groups, and breathlessly awaited the stroke of the hammer which was to decide their destiny. They were all clad in their Sunday clothes, and looked clean and tidy; but on every face except Joe's was depicted an ill-defined feeling of dread and consternation. Husbands held their wives in their arms, and mothers hugged their children to their bosoms, as if they might soon part forever; but when old Joe passed among them, saying a low word to this one and the other, their cloudy visages brightened, and a heavy load seemed to roll off their hearts. Joe was as radiant as a summer morning, and walked about with a quiet dignity and unconcern that might have led one to think him the owner of the entire 'invoice of chattels.'
As the auctioneer—a spruce importation from Newbern—mounted the bench, a splendid carriage, drawn by two magnificent grays, and driven by a darky in livery, made its way through the crowd, and drew up opposite the stand. In it were Dawsey and his wife!
The salesman's hammer came down. 'Gentlemen and ladies,' he said, 'the sale has commenced. I am about to offer you one hundred and sixty-one likely negro men and women, belonging to the estate of Robert Preston, Esq., deceased. Each one will be particularly described when put up, and all will be warranted as represented. They will be sold in families; that is, husbands and wives, and parents and young children, will not be separated. The terms are, one quarter cash, the balance in one year, secured by an approved indorsed note. Persons having claims against the estate will be allowed to pay by authenticated accounts and duebills. The first lot I shall offer you will be the mulatto man Joe and his wife Agnes. Joe is known through all this region as a negro of uncommon worth and intelligence. He is'—
Here he was interrupted by Dawsey, who exclaimed, in a hurried manner:
'I came here expecting this sale would be conducted according to custom—that each hand would be put up separately. I protest against this innovation, Mr. Auctioneer.'
The auctioneer made no reply; but the administrator, a small, self-possessed man, mounted the bench, and said:
'Sir, I regulate this sale. If you are not satisfied with its conditions, you are not obliged to bid.'
Dawsey made a passionate reply. In the midst of it, Joe sprang upon the stand, and, in a clear, determined voice, called out:
'Mr. Sheriff, do your duty.'
A large, powerful man, in blue coat and brass buttons, stepped to the side of the carriage, and coolly opening the door, said:
'Catharine Dawsey, you are charged with aiding and abetting in the murder of Phyllis Preston. I arrest you. Please come with me.'
'By –, sir!' cried Dawsey; 'this lady is my wife!'
'It makes no difference whose wife she is, sir. She is my prisoner.'
'She must not be touched by you, or any other man!' yelled Dawsey, drawing his pistol. Before he could fire, he rolled on the ground, insensible. The sheriff had struck him a quick blow on the head with a heavy cane.
As her husband fell, Mrs. Dawsey sprang upon the driver's seat, and, seizing the reins from the astonished negro, applied the lash to the horses. They reared and started. The panic-stricken crowd parted, like waves in a storm, and the spirited animals bounded swiftly down the avenue. They had nearly reached the cluster of liveoaks which borders the small lake, when a man sprang at their heads. He missed them, fell, and the carriage passed over him; but the horses shied from the road into the trees, and in an instant the splendid vehicle was a mass of fragments, and Mrs. Dawsey and the negro were sprawling on the ground.
The lady was taken up senseless, and badly hurt, but breathing. The driver was dead!
The crowd hurried across the green to the scene of disaster. Joe and I reached the man in the road at the same instant. It was Ally! We took him up, bore him to the edge of the pond, and bathed his forehead with water. In a few minutes he opened his eyes.
'Are you much hurt, Ally?' asked Joe, with almost breathless eagerness.
'I reckon not, massa Joe,' said Ally; 'my head, yere, am sore, an' dis ankle p'raps am broke. Leff me see;' and he rose to his feet, and tried his leg. 'No, massa Joe; it'm sound's a pine knot. I hain't done fur dis time.'
'Thank God!' exclaimed Joe, with an indescribable expression of relief.
Mrs. Dawsey was borne to the mansion, the negro carried off to the quarters, and, in a few moments, the crowd once more gathered around the auctioneer's stand. Dawsey, by this time recovered from the sheriff's blow, was cursing and swearing terribly over the disaster of his wife and—his property.
'Twenty-five hundred dollars gone at a blow! D—n the woman; didn't she know better than that?'
As he followed his wife into the house, the sheriff said to the administrator, who was a justice of the peace:
'Make me out a warrant for that man—obstructing the execution of the law.'
The warrant was soon made out, and in fifteen minutes, Dawsey, raving like a wild animal, was driven off to jail at Trenton. Mrs. Dawsey, too much injured to be removed, was left under guard at the mansion, and the sale proceeded.
Boss Joe and Aggy ascended the block, and 'Master Joe' took a stand beside them.
'How much is said for these prime negroes?' cried the auctioneer. Everybody knows what they are, and there's no use preaching a sermon over them. Boss Joe might do that, but I can't. He can preach equal to any white man you ever hard. Come, gentlemen, start a bid. How much do you say?'
'A thousand,' said a voice in the crowd.
'Eleven hundred,' cried another.
'It's a d—d shame to bid on them, gentlemen. Boss Joe has been saving money to buy himself; and I think no white man should bid against him,' cried a man at my elbow.
It was Gaston, who had just arrived on the ground.
'Thet's a fact.' 'Them's my sentiments.' 'D—n th' man thet'll bid agin a nigger.' 'Thet's so, Gaston,' echoed from all directions.
'But I yere th' darky's got a pile—some two thousan'; thet gwoes 'long with him, uv course,' yelled one of the crowd.
'Of course it don't!' said young Joe, from the stand. 'He's saved about three thousand out of a commission his master allowed him; but he gave that to me, long before my father died. It is mine—not his. I bid twelve hundred for him and his wife; and I will say to the audience, that I shall advance on whatever sum may be offered for them. So fire away, gentlemen; I ask no favors.'
'Is there any more bid for this excellent couple?' cried the auctioneer. 'It is my duty to cry them, and to tell you they're worth twice that money.'
There