At this stage of the proceedings a whispering noise was heard, as if
coming from another part of the room. They stopped at the moment,
looked round with surprise, but not seeing anything, resumed the
conversation.
"Of whom did you purchase?" inquired Maxwell, anxiously.
"One Silenus; a trader who trades in this quality of property only,
and has become rich by the traffic. He is associated with Anthony
Romescos, once a desperado on the Texan frontier. These two coveys
would sell their mossmates without a scruple, and think it no harm
so long as they turned a dime. They know every justice of the peace
from Texas to Fort M'Henry. Romescos is turned the desperado again,
shoots, kills, and otherwise commits fell deeds upon his neighbour's
negroes; he even threatens them with death when they approach him
for reparation. He snaps his fingers at law, lawyers, and judges:
slave law is moonshine to those who have no rights in common law-"
"And he escapes? Then you institute laws, and substitute custom to
make them null. It is a poor apology for a namesake. But do you
assert that in the freest and happiest country-a country that boasts
the observance of its statute laws-a man is privileged to shoot,
maim, and torture a fellow-being, and that public opinion fails to
bring him to justice?" ejaculated Maxwell.
"Yes," returns Marston, seriously; "it is no less shameful than
true. Three of my negroes has he killed very good-naturedly, and yet
I have no proof to convict him.
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