THE TRADER—A TERRIBLE FRIGHT—POWER OF PRAYER—GRIEF OF THE HELPLESS.

About noon a gaudily-dressed and rough-looking man rode up to the gate, and alighted from a fine bay horse. With that free and easy sort of way so peculiar to a certain class of mankind, he walked up the avenue to the front door.

"Gal," he said, addressing me, "whar's yer master?"

"In the house. Will you walk in?"

"No, it is skersely worth while; jist tell him that me, Bill Tompkins, wants to see him; but stay," he added, as I was turning to seek my master, "is you the gal he sold to me yesterday?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Wal, you is devilish likely. Put out yer foot. Wal, it is nice enuff to belong to a white 'ooman. You is a bright-colored mulatto. I must have you."

"Heavens! I hope not," was my half-uttered expression, as I turned away, for I had caught the meaning of that lascivious eye, and shrank from the threatened danger. Though I had been cruelly treated, yet had I been allowed to retain my person inviolate; and I would rather, a thousand-fold, have endured the brutality of Mr. Peterkin, than those loathsome looks which I felt betokened ruin.

"Master, a man, calling himself Bill Tompkins, wishes to see you," said I, as I entered his private apartment.

"Can't yer say Mr. Tompkins?"

"He told me to tell you Bill Tompkins; I only repeat his words."

"Whar is he?"

"At the front door."

"Didn't yer ax him in, hussy?"

"Yes, sir, but he refused, saying it was not worth while."

"Oh," thought I, when left alone, "am I sold to that monster? Am I to become so utterly degraded? No, no; rather than yield my purity I will give up my life, and trust to God to pardon the suicide."

In this state of mind I wandered up and down the yard, into the kitchen, into the cabin, into the room where young master lay sleeping, into the presence of the young ladies, and out again into the air; yet my curious, feverish restlessness, could not be allayed. A trader was in the house—a bold, obscene man, and into his possession I might fall! Oh, happy indeed must be those who feel that he or they have the exclusive custody of their own persons; but the poor negro has nothing, not even—save in rare cases—the liberty of choosing a home.

I had not dared, since daylight, to go near the "lock-up," for a fearful punishment would have been due the one whom Mr. Peterkin found loitering there.

I was so tortured by apprehension, that my eyes burned and my head ached. I had heard master say that the unlooked-for death of Aunt Polly would force him to sell some of the other slaves, in order to realize a certain sum of money, and Tompkins had expressed a desire for me. It was likely that he would offer a good price; then should I be lost. Oh, heavenly Virtue! do not desert me! Let me bear up under the fiercest trials!

I had wandered about, in this half-crazed manner, never daring to venture within "ear-shot" of master and Mr. Tompkins, fearing that the latter might, upon a second sight of me, have the fire of his wicked passions aroused, and then my fate would be sealed.

I determined to hide in the cabin, to pray there, in the room that had been hallowed by the presence of God's angel of Death; but there, cowering on the old brick hearth, like a hen with her brood of chickens, I found, to my surprise, Amy, with little Ben in her arms, and the two girls crouched close to her side, evidently feeling that her presence was sufficient to protect them.

"Lor', Ann," said Amy, her wide eyes stretched to their utmost tension, "thar is a trader talkin' wid Masser; I won'er whose gwine to be sole. I hope tain't us."

I didn't dare reply to her. I feared for myself, and I feared for her.

Kneeling down in the corner of the cabin, I besought mercy of the All-merciful; but somehow, my prayers fell back cold upon my heart. God seemed a great way off, and I could not realize the presence of angels. "Oh," I cried, "for the uplifting faith that hath so often blest me! oh for the hopefulness, the trustingness of times past! Why, why is the gate of heaven shut against me? Why am I thus self-bound? Oh, for a wider, broader and more liberal view!" But I could not pray. Great God! had that last and only soul-stay been taken from me? With a black hopelessness gathering at my heart, I arose from my knees, and looked round upon those desolate orphans, shrinking terror-stricken, hiding away from the merciless pursuit of a giant; and then I bethought me of my own desolation, and I almost arraigned the justice of Heaven. Most wise Father! pardon me! Thou, who wast tempted by Satan, and to whom the cup of mortality was bitter, pity me and forgive!

Turning away from the presence of those pleading children I entered the kitchen, and there were Jake and Dan, terror written on their strong, hard faces; for, no matter how hard is the negro's present master, he always regards a change of owners as entailing new dangers; and no wonder that, from education and experience, he is thus suspicious, for so many troubles have come and do come upon him, that he cannot imagine a change whereby he is to be benefited.

"Has you hearn anything, Ann?" asked Dan, with his great flabby lips hanging loosely open, and his eyes considerably distended.

"Nothing."

"Who's gwine to be sole?" asked Jake.

"I don't know?"

"Hope tisn't me."

"And hope tisn't me," burst from the lips of both of them, and to this my heart gave a fervent though silent echo.

"He is de one dat's bought Lindy," said old Nace, who now entered, "and Masser's gwine to sell some de rest ob yer."

"Why do yer say de rest ob yer? Why mayn't it be you?" asked Dan.

"Bekase he ain't gwine to sell me, ha! ha! I sarved him too long fur dat."

Ginsy and Sally came rushing in, frightened, like all the rest, exclaiming,

"Oh, we's in danger; a nigger-trader is talkin' wid master."

We had no time for prolonged speculation, for the voice of Mr. Peterkin was heard in the entry, and, throwing open the door, he entered, followed by Tompkins.

"Here's the gang, and a devilish good-lookin' set they is."

"Yes, but let me fust see the one I have bought."

"Here, Nace," said master, "take this key, and tell Lindy to dress herself and come here." The last part of this sentence was said in an under-tone.

In terror I fled from the kitchen. Scarcely knowing what I did, I rushed into the young ladies' room, into which Nace had conducted Lindy, upon whom they were placing some of their old finery. A half-worn calico dress, gingham apron and white collar, completed the costume. I never shall forget the expression of Lindy's face, as she looked vacantly around her, hunting for sympathy, yet finding none, from the cold, haughty faces that gazed upon her.

"Now go," said Miss Jane, "and try to behave yourself in your new home."

"Good-bye, Miss Jane," said the humbled, weeping negro.

"Good-bye," was coldly answered; but no hand was extended to her.

"Good-bye, Miss Tildy."

Miss Tildy, who was standing at the glass arranging her hair, never turned round to look upon the poor wretch, but carelessly said,

"Good-bye."

She looked toward me; her lip was quivering and tears were rolling down her cheeks. I turned my head away, and she walked off with the farewell unspoken.

Quickly I heard Jake calling for me. Then I knew that my worst fears were on the point of realization. With a timid, hesitating step, I walked to the kitchen. There, ranged in single file, stood the servants, with anxious faces, where a variety of contending feelings were written. I nerved myself for what I knew was to follow, and stepping firmly up, joined the phalanx.

"That's the one," said Tompkins, as he eyed me with that same look. There he stood, twirling a heavy bunch of seals which depended from a large, curiously-wrought chain. He looked more like a fiend than a man.

"This here one is your'n," said Mr. Peterkin, pointing to Lindy; "and, gal, that gentleman is yer master."

Lindy dropped a courtesy to him, and tried to wipe away her tears; for experience had taught her that the only safe course was to stifle emotions.

"Here, gal, open yer mouth," Tompkins said to Lindy. She obeyed.

"Now let me feel yer arms."

He then examined her feet, ankles, legs, passed his hands over various parts of her body, made her walk and move her limbs in different ways, and then, seemingly satisfied with the bargain, said,

"Wal, that trade is closed."

Looking toward me, his dissolute eyes began to glare furiously. Again my soul quailed; but I tried to govern myself, and threw upon him a glance as cold as ice itself.

"What will you take for this yallow gal?" he said, as he laid his hand upon my shoulder. I shrank beneath his touch; yet resistance would only have made the case worse, and I was compelled to submit.

"I ain't much anxious to sell her; she is my darter Jane's waitin' 'ooman, and, you see, my darters are putty much stuck up. They thinks they must have a waitin'-maid; but, if you offer a far price, maybe we will close in."

"Wal, as she is a fancy article, I'll jist say take twelve hundred dollars, and that's more an' she's actilly worth; but I wants her fur my own use; a sorter private gal like, you knows," and he gave a lascivious blink, which Mr. Peterkin seemed to understand. I felt a deep crimson suffuse my face. Oh, God! this was the heaviest of all afflictions. Sold! and for such a purpose!

"I reckon the bargain is closed, then," said Mr. Peterkin.

I felt despair coiling around my heart. Yet I knew that to make an appeal to their humanity would be worse than idle.

"Who, which of them have you sold, father?" asked Miss Jane, who entered the kitchen, doubtless for the humane object of witnessing the distress of the poor creatures.

"Wal, Lindy's sold, and we are 'bout closing the bargain for Ann."

"Why, Ann belongs to me."

"Yes, but Tompkins offers twelve hundred dollars; and six hundred of it you shill have to git new furniture."

"She shan't go for six thousand. I want an accomplished maid when I go up to the city, and she just suits me. Remember I have your deed of gift."

This relieved me greatly, for I understood her determination; and, though I knew all sorts of severity would be exercised over me in my present home, I felt assured that my honor would remain unstained.

The trader tried to persuade and coax Miss Jane; but she remained impervious to all of his importunities.

"Wal, then," he said, after finding she would yield to no argument, "haven't you none others you can let me have? I am 'bliged to fill up my lot."

"Wal, since my darter won't trade nohow, I must try and let you have some of the others, though I don't care much 'bout sellin'."

Mr. Peterkin was what was called tight on a trade; now, though he was anxious enough to sell, he affected to be perfectly indifferent. This was what would be termed an excellent ruse de guerre.

"If you want children, I think we can supply you," said Miss Jane, and, looking round, she asked,

"Where are Amy and her sisters?"

My heart sank within me, and, though I knew full well where they were, I would not speak.

Little Jim, the son of Ginsy, cried out,

"Yes, I know where dey is. I seed em in dar."

"Well, run you young rascal, and tell 'em to come here in a minnit," said Mr. Peterkin; and away the boy scampered. In a few moments he returned, followed by Amy, who was bearing Ben in her arms; and, holding on to her skirts, were the two girls, terror limned on their dark, shining faces.

"Step up here to this gentleman, Amy, and say how would you like him for a master?" said Mr. Peterkin.

"Please, sir," replied Amy, "I don't kere whar I goes, so I takes these chillen wid me."

"I do not want Amy to be sold. Sell the children, father; but let us keep Amy for a house-girl." Cold and unfeeling looked the lady as she pronounced these words; but could you have seen the expression of Amy's face! There is no human language, no painter's power, to show forth the eye of frantic madness with which the girl glared around on all. Clutching little Ben tightly, savagely to her bosom, she said no word, and all seemed struck by the extreme wildness of her manner.

"Let's look at that boy," said the trader, as he attempted to unfasten Amy's arms but were locked round her treasure.

"Dont'ee, dont'ee," shrieked the child.

"Yes, but he will," said Mr. Peterkin, as, with a giant's force, he broke asunder the slight arms, "you imperdent hussy, arn't you my property? mine to do what I pleases with; and do you dar' to oppose me?"

The girl said nothing; but the wild expression began to grow wilder, fiercer, and more frightful. Little Ben, who was not accustomed to any kind of notice, and felt at home nowhere except in Amy's arms, set up a furious scream; but this the trader did not mind, and proceeded to examine the limbs.

"Something is the matter with this boy, he's got hip-disease; I knows from his teeth he is older than you says."

"Yes," said Amy seizing the idea, "he is weakly, he won't do no good widout me; buy me too, please, Masser," and she crouched down at the trader's feet, with her hands thrown up in an air of touching supplication; but she had gone to the wrong tribunal for mercy. Who can hope to find so fair a flower blooming amid the dreary brambles of a negro-trader's breast?

Tompkins took no other notice of her than to give her a contemptuous kick, as much as to say, "thing, get out of my way."

Turning to Mr. Peterkin he said,

"This boy is not sound. I won't have him at any price," and he handed him back to Amy, who exclaimed, in a thrilling tone,

"Thank God! Bless you, Masser!" and she clasped the shy little Ben warmly to her breast.

Ben, whose intellect seemed clouded, looked wonderingly around on the group; then, as if slowly realizing that he had escaped a mighty trouble, clung closer to Amy.

"Look here, nigger-wench, does you think to spile the sale of property in that ar' way? Wal, I'll let you see I'll have things my way. No nigger that ever was born, shall dictate to me."

"No, father, I'd punish her well, even if I had to give Ben away; he is no account here, merely an expense; and do sell those other two girls, Amy's sisters."

Mr. Peterkin then called up Lucy and Janey. I have mentioned these two but rarely in the progress of this book, and for the reason that their little lives were not much interwoven with the thread of mine. I saw them often, but observed nothing particular about them. They were quiet, taciturn, and what is usually called stupid children. They, like little Ben, never ventured far away from Amy's protecting wing. Now, with a shy step and furtive glance toward the trader, they obeyed their master's summons. Poor Amy, with Ben clasped to her heart, strained her body forward, and looked with stretched eyes and suspended breath toward Tompkins, who was examining them.

"Wal, I'll give you three hundred and fifty a-piece for 'em. Now, come, that's the highest I'll give, Peterkin, and you mustn't try to git any more out of me. You are a hard customer; but I am in a hurry, so I makes my largest offer right away: I ain't got the time to waste. That's more 'an anybody else would give for 'em; but I sees that they has good fingers fur to pick cotton, therefore I gives a big price."

"It's a bargain, then. They is yourn;" and no doubt Mr. Peterkin thought he had a good bargain, or he never would have chewed his tobacco in that peculiarly self-satisfied manner.

"Stand aside, then," said the trader, pushing his new purchases, as if they were a bundle of dry goods. Running up to Amy, they began to hold to her skirts and tremble violently, scarcely knowing what the words of Tompkins implied.

"Dey ain't sold?" asked Amy, turning first from one to the other; yet no one answered. Mr. Peterkin and Tompkins were too busy with their trade, and the negroes too much absorbed in their own fate, to attend to her. For my part I had not strength to confirm her half-formed doubt. There she stood, gathering them to her side with a motherly love.

"What will you give fur this one?" and Mr. Peterkin pointed to Ginsy, who stood with an humble countenance. When called up she made a low courtesy, and went through the examination. Name and age were given; a fair price was offered for her and her child, and was accepted.

"Take this boy for a hundred dollars," said Mr. Peterkin, as he jerked Ben from the arms of the half-petrified Amy.

"Wal, he isn't much 'count; but, rather then seem contrary, I'll give that fur him."

And thus the trade was closed. Human beings were disposed of with as little feeling as if they had been wild animals.

"I'm sorry you won't, young Miss, let me have that maid of yourn; but I'll be 'long next fall, and, fur a good price, I 'spect you'll be willin' to trade. I wants that yallow wench," and he clicked his fingers at me.

"Say, Peterkin, ken you lend me a wagen to take 'em over to my pen?"

"Oh, yes; and Nace can drive 'em over."

Conscious of having got a good price, Mr. Peterkin was in a capital humor.

"Come, go with me, Peterkin, and we'll draw up the papers, and I'll pay you your money."

This was an agreeable sound to master. He ordered Nace to bring out the wagon, and the order was hardly given before it was obeyed. Dismal looked that red wagon, the same which years before had carried me away from the insensible form of my broken-hearted mother. It appeared more dark and dreary, to me, than a coffin or hearse.

"Say, Peterkin, don't let 'em take many close; jist a change. It tires 'em too much if they have big bundles to carry."

"They shan't be troubled with that."

"Now, niggers, git your bundles and come 'long," said master.

"Oh," cried Lindy, "can I git to see young master before I start? I wants to thank him for de comfort he gib me last night," and she wiped the tears from her eyes, and was starting toward the door of the house, when Miss Jane intercepted her.

"No, you runaway hussy, you shan't go in to disturb him, and have a scene here."

"Please, Miss Jane, I only wants to say good-bye."

"You shan't do it."

Mournfully, and with the tears streaming far down her cheeks, she turned to me, saying, "Please, you, Ann, tell him good-bye fur me, and good-bye to you. I hope you will forgive me for all de harm I has done to you."

I took her hand, but could not speak a word. Silently I pressed it.

"Whar's your close, gal?" asked Tompkins.

"I'm gwine to git 'em."

"Well, be in a hurry 'bout it."

She went off to gather up a few articles, scarcely sufficient to cover her; for we were barely allowed a change of clothing, and that not very decent.

Ginsy, leading her child with one hand, while she held in the other a small bundle, walked up to Miss Jane, and dropping a low courtesy, said,

"Farewell, Miss Jane; can I see Miss Tildy and young master?"

"No, John is sick, and Tildy can't be troubled just now."

"Yes, ma'm; please tell 'em good-bye fur me; and I hopes young Masser will soon be well agin. I'd like to see him afore I went, but I don't want to 'sturb him."

"Well, that will do, go on now."

"Tell young Masser good-bye," Ginsy said, addressing her child.

"Good-bye," repeated Miss Jane very carelessly, scarcely looking toward them, and they moved away, and shaking hands with the servants, they marched on to the wagon.

All this time Amy had remained like one transfixed; little Ben held one of her hands, whilst Janey and Luce grasped her skirts firmly. These children had no clothes, for, as they performed no regular labor, they were not allowed a change of apparel. On a Saturday night, whilst they slept, Amy washed out the articles which they had worn during the week; and now, poor things, they had no bundles to be made up.

"Come 'long wid yer, young ones," and Tompkins took Ben by the hand; but he stoutly refused to go, crying out:

"Go 'way, and let me 'lone."

"Come on, I'll give you a lump of sugar."

"I won't, I won't."

All of them held tightly to Amy, whose vacant face was so stony in its deep despair, that it struck terror to my soul.

"No more fuss," said Mr. Peterkin, and he raised his large whip to strike the screaming Ben a blow; but that motherly instinct that had taught Amy to protect them thus long, was not now dead, and upon her outstretched arm the blow descended. A great, fearful gash was made, from which the fresh blood streamed rapidly; but she minded it not. What, to that lightning-burnt soul, were the wounds of the body? Nothing, aye nothing!

"Oh, don't mark 'em, Peterkin, it will spile the sale," said Tompkins.

"Come 'long now, niggers, I has no more time to wait;" and, with a strong wrench, he broke Ben's arms loose from Amy's form, and, holding him firmly, despite his piteous cries, he ordered Jake to bring the other two also. This order was executed, and quickly Luce and Janey were in the grasp of Jake, and borne shrieking to the cart, in which all three of them were bound and laid.

Speechless, stony, petrified, stood Amy. At length, as if gifted with a supernatural energy, she leaped forward, as the cart drove off, and fell across the path, almost under the feet of the advancing horses. But not yet for thee, poor suffering child, will come the Angel of Death! It has been decreed that you shall endure and wait a while longer.

By an adroit check upon the rein, Nace stopped the wagon suddenly, and Jake, who was standing near by, lifted Amy up.

"Take her to the house, and see that she does herself no harm," said Mr. Peterkin.

"Yes, Masser, I will," was the reply of the obsequious Jake.

And so the cart drove on. I shall never forget the sight! Those poor, down-cast creatures, tied hand and foot, were conveyed they knew not whither. The shrieks and screams of those children ring now in my ears. Oh, doleful, most doleful! Why came there no swift execution of that Divine threat, "Whoso causeth harm to one of these little ones, it were better for him that a mill-stone were hung about his neck and that he were drowned in the sea."