let us follow poor human nature to the man shambles

gentlemen dealers in want of human property,--planters in want of a few prime people,--brokers who have large transactions in such articles,--and factors who, being rather sensitive of their dignity, give to others the negotiation of their business,--are assembled in and around the mart, a covered shed, somewhat resembling those used by railroad companies for the storing of coarse merchandise. marston's negroes are to be sold. suspicious circumstances are connected with his sudden decline: rumour has sounded her seven-tongued symbols upon it, and loud are the speculations. the cholera has made mighty ravages; but the cholera could not have done all. graspum has grasped the plantation, quietly and adroitly, but he has not raised the veil of mystery that hangs over the process. there must be long explanations before the obdurate creditors are satisfied.

the irons have been removed from the property, who are crouched round the stand-an elevated platform-in a forlorn group, where sundry customers can scrutinize their proportions. being little or no fancy among it, the fast young gentlemen of the town, finding nothing worthy their attention and taste, make a few cursory observations, and slowly swagger out of the ring. the children are wonderfully attractive and promising; they are generally admired by the customers, who view them with suspicious glances. annette's clean white skin and fine features are remarkably promising,--much valued as articles of merchandise,--and will, in time, pay good interest. her youth, however, saves her from present sacrifice,--it thwarts that spirited competition which older property of the same quality produces when about to be knocked down under the hammer of freedom.

it is a great day, a day of tribulation, with the once happy people of marston's plantation. no prayer is offered up for them, their souls being only embodied in their market value. prayers are not known at the man shambles, though the hammer of the vender seals with death the lives of many. no gentleman in modest black cares aught for such death. the dealer will not pay the service fee! good master is no longer their protector; his familiar face, so buoyant with joy and affection, has passed from them. no more will that strong attachment manifest itself in their greetings. fathers will be fathers no longer-it is unlawful. mothers cannot longer clasp their children in their arms with warm affections. children will no longer cling around their mothers,--no longer fondle in that bosom where once they toyed and joyed.

the articles murmur among themselves, cast longing glances at each other, meet the gaze of their purchasers, with pain and distrust brooding over their countenances. they would seem to trace the character-cruel or gentle-of each in his look.

was it that god ordained one man thus to doom another? no! the very thought repulsed the plea. he never made one man's life to be sorrow and fear-to be the basest object, upon which blighting strife for gold fills the passions of tyrants. he never made man to be a dealer in his own kind. he never made man after his own image to imprecate the wrath of heaven by blackening earth with his foul deeds. he never made man to blacken this fair portion of earth with storms of contention, nor to overthrow the principles that gave it greatness. he never made man to fill the cup that makes the grim oppressor fierce in his triumphs over right.

come reader-come with us: let us look around the pale of these common man shambles. here a venerable father sits, a bale of merchandise, moved with the quick pulsation of human senses. he looks around him as the storm of resentment seems ready to burst forth: his wrinkled brow and haggard face in vain ask for sympathy. a little further on, and a mother leans over her child,--tremblingly draws it to her side; presses it nearer and nearer to her bosom. near her, feeding a child with crumbs of bread, is a coarse negro, whose rough exterior covers a good heart. he gives a glance of hate and scorn at those who are soon to tear from him his nearest and dearest. a gloomy ring of sullen faces encircle us: hope, fear, and contempt are pictured in each countenance. anxious to know its doom, the pent-up soul burns madly within their breasts; no tears can quench the fire-freedom only can extinguish it. but, what are such things? mere trifles when the soul loves only gold. what are they to men who buy such human trifles? who buy and sell mankind, with feelings as unmoved as the virgin heart that knows no guilt?

various are the remarks made by those who are taking a cursory view of the people; very learned in nigger nature are many; their sayings evince great profoundness. a question seems to be the separating of wenches from their young 'uns. this is soon settled. graspum, who has made his appearance, and is very quaintly and slowly making his apprehensions known, informs the doubting spectators that romescos, being well skilled, will do that little affair right up for a mere trifle. it takes him to bring the nonsense out of nigger wenches. this statement being quite satisfactory, the gentlemen purchasers are at rest on that point.

the hour of sale has arrived,--the crier rings his bell, the purchasers crowd up to the stand, the motley group of negroes take the alarm, and seem inclined to close in towards a centre as the vender mounts the stand. the bell, with the sharp clanking sound, rings their funeral knell; they startle, as with terror; they listen with subdued anxiety; they wait the result in painful suspense. how little we would recognise the picture from abroad. the vender, an amiable gentleman dressed in modest black, and whose cheerful countenance, graced with the blandest smile, betokens the antipodes of his inhuman traffic, holding his hat in his left hand, and a long paper in his right, makes an obsequious bow to those who have honoured him with their company. he views them for a few moments, smiles, casts his eye over the paper again,--it sets forth age and quality--and then at his marketable people. the invoice is complete; the goods correspond exactly. the texture and quality have been appraised by good judges. being specified, he commences reading the summons and writs, and concludes with other preliminaries of the sale.

"now, gentlemen," says mr. forshou--for such is his name--as he adjusts his hat, lays the document on the desk at his right hand, pulls up the point of his shirt-collar, sets his neatly-trimmed whiskers a point forward, and smooths his well-oiled hair: "we-will-proceed-with-the-sale-of this lot of negroes, according to the directions of the sheriff of the county. and if no restrictions are imposed, gentlemen can make their selection of old or young to suit their choice or necessities! gentlemen, however, will be expected to pay for separating." mr. forshou, by way of interpolation, reminds his friends that, seeing many of his very best customers present, he expects sharp and healthy bids. he will further remind them (smiling and fretting his hands, as if to show the number of diamond rings he can afford to wear), that the property has been well raised, is well known, and ranges from the brightest and most interesting, to the commonest black field hand. "yes, gentlemen," he adds, "by the fortune of this unfortunate sale we can accommodate you with anything in the line of negro property. we can sell you a church and a preacher-a dance-house and a fiddler-a cook and an oyster-shop. anything! all sold for no fault; and warranted as sound as a roach. the honourable sheriff will gives titles-that functionary being present signifies his willingness-and every man purchasing is expected to have his shiners ready, so that he can plunk down cash in ten days. i need not recount the circumstances under which this property is offered for sale; it is enough to say that it is offered; but, let me say, gentlemen, to enlarge upon it would be painful to my feelings. i will merely read the schedule, and, after selling the people, put up the oxen, mules, and farming utensils." mr. forshou, with easy contentment, takes up the list and reads at the top of his voice. the names of heads of families are announced one by one; they answer the call promptly. he continues till he reaches annette and nicholas, and here he pauses for a few moments, turning from the paper to them, as if he one minute saw them on the paper and the next on the floor. "here, gentlemen," he ejaculates, in a half guttural voice-something he could not account for touched his conscience at the moment-holding the paper nearer his eye-glass, "there is two bits of property bordering on the sublime. it dazzles-seems almost too interesting to sell. it makes a feller's heart feel as if it warn't stuck in the right place." mr. forshou casts another irresistible look at the children; his countenance changes; he says he is very sensitive, and shows it in his blushes. he might have saved his blushes for the benefit of the state. the state is careful of its blushes; it has none to sell-none to bestow on a child's sorrow!

annette returns his somewhat touching manifestation of remorse with a childlike smile.

"well! i reckon how folks is gettin' tenderish, now a' days. who'd thought the major had such touchy kind a' feelins? anything wrong just about yer goggler?" interrupts romescos, giving the vender a quizzical look, and a "half-way wink." then, setting his slouch hat on an extra poise, he contorts his face into a dozen grimaces. "keep conscience down, and strike up trade," he says, very coolly, drawing a large piece of tobacco from his breast-pocket and filling his mouth to its utmost capacity.

"feelings are over all things," responds the sheriff, who stands by, and will speak for the vender, who is less accustomed to speaking for himself. "feelings bring up recollections of things one never thought of before,--of the happiest days of our happiest home. 'tain't much, no, nothing at all, to sell regular black and coloured property; but there's a sort of cross-grained mythology about the business when it comes to selling such clear grain as this."

the vender relieves the honourable sheriff from all further display of sympathy, by saying that he feels the truth of all the honourable and learned gentleman has said, "which has 'most made the inward virtue of his heart come right up." he leans over the desk, extends his hand, helps himself to a generous piece of romescos' tobacco.

romescos rejoins in a subdued voice-"he thinks a man what loves dimes like the major cannot be modest in nigger business, because modesty ain't trade commodity. it cannot be; the man who thinks of such nonsense should sell out-should go north and join the humane society. folks are all saints, he feels sure, down north yander; wouldn't sell nigger property;--they only send south right smart preachers to keep up the dignity of the institution; to do the peculiar religion of the very peculiar institution. no objection to that; nor hain't no objection to their feelin' bad about the poor niggers, so long as they like our cash and take our cotton. that's where the pin's drove in; while it hangs they wouldn't be bad friends with us for the world."

"you may, mr. romescos, suspend your remarks," says the vender, looking indignant, as he thrusts his right hand into his bosom, and attempts a word of introduction.

romescos must have his last word; he never says die while he has a word at hand. "the major's love must be credited, gentlemen; he's a modest auctioneer,--a gentleman what don't feel just right when white property's for sale," he whispers, sarcastically.

another pause, then a hearty laughing, and the man commences to sell his people. he has uttered but a few words, when marston's attorney, stepping into the centre of the ring, and near the vender, draws a paper from his pocket, and commences reading in a loud tone. it is a copy of the notice he had previously served on the sheriff, setting forth in legal phraseology the freedom of the children, "and therfo'h this is t' stay proceedings until further orders from the honourable court of common pleas," is audible at the conclusion. the company are not much surprised. there is not much to be surprised at, when slave law and common law come in contact. with marston's sudden decline and unfathomable connection with graspum, there is nothing left to make the reading of the notice interesting.

"you hear this, gentlemen?" says the vender, biting his lips: "the sale of this very interesting portion of this very interesting property is objected to by the attorney for the defendant at law. they must, therefore, be remanded to the custody of the sheriff, to await the decision of court." that court of strange judgments! the sheriff, that wonderful medium of slaveocratic power, comes forward, muttering a word of consolation; he will take them away. he passes them over to an attendant, who conducts them to their dark chilly cells.

"all right!" says graspum, moving aside to let the children pass out. "no more than might have been expected; it's no use, though. marston will settle that little affair in a very quiet way." he gives the man-vender a look of approval; the very celebrated mr. graspum has self-confidence enough for "six folks what don't deal in niggers." a bystander touching him on the arm, he gives his head a cunning shake, crooks his finger on his red nose. "just a thing of that kind," he whispers, making some very delicate legal gesticulations with the fore-finger of his right hand in the palm of his left; then, with great gravity, he discusses some very nice points of nigger law. he is heard to say it will only be a waste of time, and make some profitable rascality for the lawyers. he could have settled the whole on't in seven minutes. "better give them up honourably, and let them be sold with the rest. property's property all over the world; and we must abide by the laws, or what's the good of the constitution? to feel bad about one's own folly! the idea of taking advantage of it at this late hour won't hold good in law. how contemptibly silly! men feeling fatherly after they have made property of their own children! poor, conscientious fools, how they whine at times, never thinking how they would let their womanish feelings cheat their creditors. there's no honour in that."

"gentlemen!" interrupts the vender, "we have had enough discussion, moral, legal, and otherwise. we will now have some selling."

the honourable sheriff desires to say a word or two upon points not yet advanced. "the sheriff! the sheriff!" is exclaimed by several voices. he speaks, having first adjusted his spectacles, and relieved himself of three troublesome coughs. "the institution-i mean, gentlemen, the peculiar institution-must be preserved; we cannot, must not, violate statutes to accommodate good-feeling people. my friend graspum is right, bob and sinker; we'd get ourselves into an everlasting snarl, if we did. i am done!" the sheriff withdraws his spectacles, places them very carefully in a little case, wipes his mouth modestly, and walks away humming an air.

"now, gentlemen," says the vender, bristling with renewed animation "seeing how you've all recovered from a small shock of conscience, we will commence the sale."

aunt rachel is now placed upon the stand. her huge person, cleanly appearance-auntie has got her bandana tied with exquisite knot-and very motherly countenance excite general admiration, as on an elevated stand she looms up before her audience. mr. forshou, the very gentlemanly vender, taking up the paper, proceeds to describe aunt rachel's qualities, according to the style and manner of a celebrated race-horse. auntie doesn't like this,--her dignity is touched; she honours him with an angry frown. then she appeals to the amiable gentleman; "come, mas'r, sell 'um quick; don' hab no nonsense wid dis child! sell 'um to some mas'r what make i housekeeper. old mas'r,--good old boss,--know i fus' rate at dat. let 'um done gone, mas'r, fo'h soon." rachel is decidedly opposed to long drawn-out humbuggery.

the bids now commence; rachel, in mute anxiety, tremblingly watches the lips they fall from.

"give you a first best title to this ar' old critter, gentlemen!" says the vender, affecting much dignity, as he holds up his baton of the trade in flesh. "anybody wanting a good old mother on a plantation where little niggers are raised will find the thing in the old institution before you. the value is not so much in the size of her, as in her glorious disposition." aunt rachel makes three or four turns, like a peacock on a pedestal, to amuse her admirers. again, mr. wormlock intimates, in a tone that the vender may hear, that she has some grit, for he sees it in her demeanour, which is assuming the tragic. her eyes, as she turns, rest upon the crispy face of romescos. she views him for a few moments-she fears he will become her purchaser. her lip curls with contempt, as she turns from his gaze and recognises an old acquaintance, whom she at once singles out, accosts and invites beseechingly to be her purchaser, "to save her from dat man!" she points to romescos.

her friend shakes his head unwillingly. fearing he may become an object of derision, he will not come forward. poor old slave! faithful from her childhood up, she has reached an age where few find it profitable to listen to her supplications. the black veil of slavery has shut out the past good of her life,--all her faithfulness has gone for nothing; she has passed into that channel where only the man-dealer seeks her for the few dollars worth of labour left in a once powerful body. oh! valuable remnant of a life, how soon it may be exhausted-forgotten!

bidders have some doubts about the amount of labour she can yet perform; and, after much manifest hesitancy, she is knocked down to romescos for the sum of two hundred and seventy dollars. "there! 'tain't a bad price for ye, nohow!" says the vender, laconically. "get down, old woman." rachel moves to the steps, and is received by romescos, who, taking his purchase by the arm, very mechanically sets it on one side. "come, auntie, we'll make a corn-cracker a' you, until such time as we can put yer old bones in trim to send south. generousness, ye see, made me gin more nor ye war' worth-not much work in ye when ye take it on the square;--but a feller what understands the trimmin' a' niggers like i can do ye up young, and put an honest face on while he's cheatin' some green chap with yer old bones." romescos, very clever in his profession, is not quite sure that his newly-purchased property will "stay put." he turns about suddenly, approaches rachel-crouched in a corner-mumbling over some incomprehensible jargon, evidently very much disturbed in her feelings, saying, "i kind a' think i see devil in yer eye, old woman." rachel turns her head aside, but makes no answer. mr. romescos will make everything certain; so, drawing a cord, similar to a small sized clothes line, from his pocket, she holds up her hands at his bidding: he winds it several times round her wrists, then ties it securely. "the property's all safe now," he whispers, and returns to attend the bidding arrangements.

one by one-mothers, fathers, and single property, old and young, as may be-are put upon the stand; sold for the various uses of manifest democracy. harry,--the thinking property, whose sense-keeping has betrayed the philosophy of profound democracy,--is a preacher, and, by the value of his theological capacity, attracts more than ordinary attention. but his life has been a failure,--a mere experiment in divinity struggling with the sensitive power of model democracy. he now seems impatient to know that doom to which the freedom of an enlightened age has consigned him. one minute some cheering hope of his getting a good master presents itself in a familiar face; then it turns away, and with it vanishes his hope. another comes forward, but it is merely to view his fine proportions.

harry has feelings, and is strongly inclined to cling to the opinion that those who know his character and talents, will be inclined to purchase. will they save him from the cruelties of ordinary plantation life?

"now for the preacher!"-mr. forshou touches his hat, politely. "gentlemen purchasing, and wanting a church can be accommodated with that article to-morrow. come, boy, mount up here!" the preaching article draws his steps reluctantly, gets up, and there stands,--a black divine: anybody may look at him, anybody may examine him, anybody may kick him; anybody may buy him, body, soul, and theology. how pleasing, how charmingly liberal, is the democracy that grants the sweet privilege of doing all these things! harry has a few simple requests to make, which his black sense might have told him the democracy could not grant. he requests (referring to his position as a minister of the gospel) that good master-the vender-will sell him with his poor old woman, and that he do not separate him from his dear children. in support of his appeal he sets forth, in language that would be impressive were it from white lips, that he wants to teach his little ones in the ways of the lord. "do, mas'r! try sell us so we live together, where my heart can feel and my eyes see my children," he concludes, pointing to his children (living emblems of an oppressed race), who, with his hapless wife, are brought forward and placed on the stand at his feet. harry (the vender pausing a moment) reaches out his hand (that hand so feared and yet so harmless), and affectionately places it on the head of his youngest child; then, taking it up, he places it in the arms of his wife,--perhaps not long to be so,--who stands trembling and sobbing at his side. behold how picturesque is the fruit of democracy! three small children, clinging round the skirts of a mother's garment, casting sly peeps at purchasers as if they had an instinctive knowledge of their fate. they must be sold for the satisfaction of sundry debts held by sundry democratic creditors. how we affect to scorn the tyranny of russia, because of her serfdom! would to god there were truth and virtue in the scorn!

mr. forshou, the very sensitive and gentlemanly vender-he has dropped the title of honourable, which was given him on account of his having been a member of the state senate-takes harry by the right hand, and leads him round, where, at the front of the tribune, customers may have a much better opportunity of seeing for themselves.

"yes! he's a swell-a right good fellow." mr. forshou turns to his schedule, glancing his eye up and down. "i see; it's put down here in the invoice: a minister-warranted sound in every respect. it does seem to me, gentlemen, that here 's a right smart chance for a planter who 'tends to the pious of his niggers, giving them a little preaching once in a while. now, let the generous move; shake your dimes; let us turn a point, and see what can be done in the way of selling the lot,--preacher, wife, and family. the boy, harry, is a preacher by nature; has by some unknown process tumbled into the profession. he's a methodist, i reckon! but there's choice field property in him; and his wife, one of the primest wenches in the gang, never says die when there's plenty of cotton to pick. as for the young uns, they are pure stock. you must remember, gentlemen, preachers are not in the market every day; and when one's to be got that'll preach the right stripe, there's no knowing the value of him-"

"we don't want so much of this," interrupts a voice in the crowd.

"rather anxious to buy the feller," mr. forshou replies, affecting much indifference. he will say a few words more. "think the matter over, upon strict principles of political economy, and you'll find, gentlemen, he's just the article for big planters. i am happy to see the calm and serene faces of three of my friends of the clergy present; will they not take an interest for a fellow-worker in a righteous cause?" the vender smiles, seems inclined to jocularity, to which the gentlemen in black are unwilling to submit. they have not been moving among dealers, and examining a piece of property here and there, with any sinecure motive. they view the vender's remarks as exceedingly offensive, return a look of indignation, and slowly, as if with wounded piety, walk away. the gentlemen in black are most sensitive when any comparison is made between them and a black brother. how horible shocked they seem, as, with white neckerchiefs so modest, they look back as they merge from the mart into the street!

it is a question whether these sensitive divines were shocked at the affectation and cold indifference manifested by legitimate dealers, or at the vender's very impertinent remarks. we will not charge aught against our brethren of the clergy: no, we will leave the question open to the reader. we love them as good men who might labour for a better cause; we will leave them valiant defenders of southern chivalry, southern generosity, southern affability, and southern injustice. to be offended at so small an affair as selling a brother clergyman,--to make the insinuation that they are not humane, cause of insult,--is, indeed, the very essence of absurdity.

the vender makes a few side-motions with his thumbs, winks to several of his customers, and gives a significant nod, as the gentlemen in black pass out of the insulting establishment. "well, gentlemen, i'm sorry if i've offended anybody; but there's a deep-rooted principle in what i've said, nor do i think it christian for the clergy to clear out in that shape. however, god bless 'em; let 'em go on their way rejoicing. here's the boy-he turns and puts his hand kindly on harry's shoulder-and his wench, and his young uns,--a minister and family, put down in the invoice as genuine prime. our worthy sheriff's a good judge of deacons-the sheriff-high functionary-acknowledges the compliment by respectfully nodding-and my opinion is that the boy'll make a good bishop yet: he only wants an apron and a fair showing." he touches harry under the chin, laughing heartily the while.

"yes, master," replies harry-he has little of the negro accent-quieting his feelings; "what i larn is all from the bible, while master slept. sell my old woman and little ones with me; my heart is in their welfare-"

"don't trifle with the poor fellow's feelings; put him up and sell him to the best advantage. there's nobody here that wants a preacher and family. it's only depreciating the value of the property to sell it in the lot," says graspum, in a firm voice. he has been standing as unmoved as a stoic, seeing nothing but property in the wretch of a clergyman, whose natural affections, pictured in his imploring looks, might have touched some tender chord of his feelings.

after several attempts, it is found impossible to sell the minister and his family in one lot. hence, by the force of necessity, his agonising beseechings pouring forth, he is put up like other single bales of merchandise, and sold to mr. m'fadden, of a--district. the minister brought eleven hundred dollars, ready money down! the purchaser is a well-known planter; he has worked his way up in the world, is a rigid disciplinarian, measuring the square inches of labour in his property, and adapting the best process of bringing it all out.

"he's all i want," says m'fadden, making a move outward, and edging his way through the crowd.

"a moment with my poor old woman, master, if you please?" says harry, turning round to his wife.

"none of your black humbugging; there's wives enough on my place, and a parson can have his choice out of fifty," returns m'fadden, dragging him along by the arm. the scene that here ensues is harrowing in the extreme. the cries and sobs of children,--the solicitude and affection of his poor wife, as she throws her arms about her husband's neck,--his falling tears of sorrow, as one by one he snatches up his children and kisses them,--are painfully touching. it is the purest, simplest, holiest of love, gushing forth from nature's fountain. it were well if we could but cherish its heavenly worth. that woman, the degraded of a despised race, her arms round a fond husband's neck, struggling with death-like grasp, and imploring them not to take him from her. the men who have made him merchandise,--who have trodden his race in the dust,--look on unmoved as the unfeeling purchaser drags him from the embrace of all that is near and dear to him on earth. here, in this boasted freest country the sun shines on-where freedom was bequeathed by our brave forefathers,--where the complex tyranny of an old world was overthrown,--such scenes violate no law. when will the glorious, the happy day of their death come? when shall the land be free?

m'fadden, having paid the price of his clergyman, drags him to the door. "once more, master," mutters the victim, looking back with fear and hope pictured on his imploring face. m'fadden has no patience with such useless implorings, and orders him to move along. "i will see them once more!" the man exclaims, "i will! good bye! may heaven bless you on earth, my little ones!-god will protect us when we meet again!" the tears course down his cheeks.

"none of that ar' kind of nonsense! shut down yer tear-trap," says m'fadden, calling an attendant, and, drawing a pair of irons from his pocket, placing them about harry's hands. mr. m'fadden's property shows signs of being somewhat belligerent: to obviate any further nonsense, and to make short work of the thing, mr. m'fadden calls in aid, throws his property on the ground, ties its legs with a piece of rope, places it upon a drag, and orders it to be conveyed to the depot, from whence it will be despatched by rail for a new home.

this little ceremony over, the wife and children (romescos and m'fadden, not very good friends, were competitors for the preacher property) are put up and sold to romescos. that skilful and very adroit gentleman is engaged to do the exciting business of separating, which he is progressing with very coolly and cleverly. the whole scene closes with selling the animal property and farming utensils. happy christian brothers are they who would spread the wings of their christianity over such scenes!