The Continental Monthly , Vol. 2 No. 5, November 1862: Devoted to Literature and National PolicyVarious
History
The Continental Monthly , Vol. 2 No. 5, November 1862: Devoted to Literature and National Policy
Various
Literature, Modern -- 19th century -- Periodicals; United States -- Politics and government -- 19th century -- Periodicals
'Well, ye knows the Gin'ral's a honerubble man; so, when he seed his
'ooman was sot thet way, he throw'd in the yaller boy--and he's wuth a
hun'red more'n the gal, ony day. His mother took on ter kill, 'cause the
Gin'ral'd sort o' promised him ter har, and she'd been a savin' up ter
buy him. But the Gin'ral's a honerubble man, and he didn't flinch a
hair--not a hair. Thet's the sort ter deal with, I say. I stuck fur the
little gal, though--'cause, ye see, I'd takin' a likin' ter har
myself--she's the pootiest little thing ye ever seed, she is; but the
Gin'ral he said 'twarn't no use, fur his 'ooman would have har way, and
finally I guv in, and took another bill o' sale. And what d'ye think!
I'd no more'n got it inter my pocket, 'fore the Gin'ral's 'ooman pulled
out a gold watch, two or three diamond pins, a ring or two, and some
wimmin's fixin's, and says she, 'See thar, _Mister_ Larkin, them's what
I got fur the little gal. _I've_ sold har--sold har this mornin', and
guv the bill o' sale; and if the Gin'ral doan't cartify it, he woan't
git no peace, I reckon. I was bound ter see one on 'em done right by, I
was.' Well, I told har she wus ahead o' my time, and I put out raather
sudden, I did. A 'ooman's the devil; I'd ruther trade with twenty men
than one 'ooman, I swar.'
When he spoke of her child, the slave woman burst into tears. Her
emotion drowned the curiosity which had made me a patient listener to
the trader's story, and recalled me to the business in hand. With some
twinges of conscience for having kept the wretched girl so long on the
rack, I said to him, 'Well, Larkin, let's get through with this. Name
your lowest price for the lot.'
'P'raps you'd as lief throw out the boy. I'll take off three hundred fur
him.'
'Oh! doan't ye leab Ally, massa; buy Ally too, massa; oh do, good
massa!' he cried, with an expression of keen agony such as I had never
till then seen in a child. He was a 'likely' little fellow, with a
round, good-natured face, and a bright, intelligent eye; and though I
presumed Preston felt no particular interest in him, I thought of his
mother, depriving herself of sleep and rest to save up the price of her
boy, and I said: 'No, I have taken a liking to him; I'll take the whole
or none.'
'Well, then, seventeen fifty, not a dime less. Thet's only a hun'red
profit.'
'Will a hundred profit satisfy you?'
'Yes, bein' as you's a friend of the ole man, and I hain't had 'em only
four days.'
I quietly sat down on the bench, beside the little girl, and taking her
hand in mine, and playing with her small fingers in a careless way,
said: 'Well, I will give you a hundred profit; but, Larkin,' and I
looked him directly in the eye and smiled, 'you cannot intend to come
the Yankee over me! I am one of them myself, you know, and understand
such things. These people cost you twelve hundred--not a mill more.'
'The h----ll they did! P'raps ye mean ter say I lie?' he replied, in an
excited tone, his face reddening with anger.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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