The gentleman has a pair of handcuffs in his
left hand, with which he will make his pious merchandise safe.
Stepping forward, he places the forefinger of his right hand on the
preacher's forehead, and reads him a lesson which he must get firm
into his thinking shell. It is this. "Now, at this very time, yer
any kind of a nigger; but a'ter this ar' ye got to be a Tennessee
nigger, raised in a pious Tennessee family. And yer name is
Peter-Peter-Peter!-don't forget the Peter: yer a parson, and ought
t' keep the old apostle what preached in the marketplace in yer
noddle. Peter, ye see, is a pious name, and Harry isn't; so ye must
think Peter and sink Harry."
"What do I want to change my name for? Old master give me that name
long time ago!"
"None o' yer business; niggers ain't t' know the philosophy of such
things. No nigger tricks, now!" interrupts Bengal, quickly, drawing
his face into savage contortions. At this the gentleman in whose
charge he will proceed steps forward and places the manacles on
Harry's hands with the coolness and indifference of one executing
the commonest branch of his profession. Thus packed and baled for
export, he is hurried from the house into a two-horse waggon, and
driven off at full speed. Bengal watches the waggon as it rolls down
the highway and is lost in the distance. He laughs heartily, thinks
how safe he has got the preacher, and how much hard cash he will
bring. God speed the slave on his journey downward, we might add.
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