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.
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