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.
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