However, these ere little aristocratic notions
don't mount to much; they are bin generous blood-mixers, and now
they may wince over it-"
Graspum is interrupted again. Bengal has been analysing his logic,
and rises to dispute the logic of his arguments. He is ready to
stake his political faith, and all his common sense-of which he
never fails to boast-that mixing the blood of the two races destroys
the purity of the nigger, spiles the gauge of the market, detracts
from real plantation property, and will just upset the growin' of
young niggers. He is sure he knows just as much about the thing as
anybody else, has never missed his guess, although folks say he aint
no way clever at selection; and, rubbing his eyes after adjusting
the long black hair that hangs down over his shoulders, he folds his
arms with an independent air, and waits the rejoinder.
The dingy room breathes thick of deleterious fumes; a gloom hangs
over their meditations, deep and treacherous: it excites fear, not
of the men, but of the horrors of their trade. A dim light hangs
suspended from the ceiling: even the sickly shade contrasts
strangely with their black purpose.
"Variety of shade, my dear Bengal, is none of our business. If you
make a division you destroy the property and the principle. We don't
represent the South: if we did, my stars! how the abolitionists
would start up,--eh! Now, there's a right smart chance of big
aristocrat folks in the district, and they think something of their
niggers, and some are fools enough to think niggers have souls just
as white as we.
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