Twenty-Two Years a Slave, and Forty Years a Freeman: Embracing a Correspondence of Several Years, While President of Wilberforce Colony, London, Canada WestSteward, Austin
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Twenty-Two Years a Slave, and Forty Years a Freeman: Embracing a Correspondence of Several Years, While President of Wilberforce Colony, London, Canada West
Let him enter the low, dingy, filthy building, occupied by human
merchandize, and he will there behold husbands and wives, parents and
children, about to be sold, and perhaps separated forever! See the trader,
as he examines with inhuman indifference the bones and sinews, the teeth
and joints of the _articles_ on hand, even of females, and hear him make
inquiries concerning her capabilities, that would make a savage blush! And
see the miserable woman lift her red and swollen eyes to the face of the
heartless trader, and the next moment cast a despairing glance over the
motley crowd, in search of a compassionate look--a pitying eye. Should she
see one countenance wearing a kind, humane expression, it will most likely
bring her frantically to his feet, where, kneeling, with uplifted hands,
she pleads: "Oh, Massa, do buy me! Do buy me and little Sam! He be all of
the chil'ens I got left! O, Lord! O, Lord! Do, Massa, buy me, and this one
baby! Oh, do Massa!" But the weight of the cow-hide drives her to the
auction block, where in mock solemnity she is represented as "an article
of excellent breed, a good cook, a good seamstress, and withal a good
Christian, a ra'al genewine lamb of the flock!"--and then she is struck
off to the highest bidder, who declares that he "won't have the young'un
any how, 'cause he's gwine to drive her down to Lousianny."
He may see, too, the wild, despairing look of some frightened young slave
girl, passing under the lustful gaze of some lordly libertine, who
declares himself "in search of a fancy article for his own use!"
One after another is taken from the block, until all are disposed of, amid
the agonized wail of heartbroken wives and mothers, husbands and fathers,
and the piercing screams of helpless children, torn from a parent's
embrace, to be consigned to the care of strangers.
Nor need I inform our traveler of the inhuman method generally approved,
in hunting with trained blood-hounds, kept and advertised for the purpose
of recapturing any poor slave who may attempt to escape from this cruel
bondage. He may perchance, come across the mangled and lifeless body of
some fugitive, which has just been run down and torn in pieces by the dogs
of the hunter! Should he stop a few moments, he will soon see a hole dug
in the ground, and the remains of the slave pitched into it, covered
sufficiently to hide the unsightly mass from view, and there will be an
end of the whole matter! "Shall I not visit for these things? saith the
Lord; and shall not my soul be avenged on such a nation as this?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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