Nature Shames Itself
MRS. ROSEBROOK sits in Mrs. Pringle's parlour. Mrs. Pringle is thought well of in the city of Charleston, where she resides, and has done something towards establishing a church union for the protection of orphan females. They must, however, be purely white, and without slave or base blood in their veins, to entitle them to admittance into its charitable precincts. This is upon the principle that slave blood is not acceptable in the sight of Heaven; and that allowing its admittance into this charitable earthly union would only be a sad waste of time and Christian love. Mrs. Pringle, however, feels a little softened to the good cause, and does hope Mrs. Rosebrook may succeed at least in rescuing the little girl. She has counselled Mr. Seabrook, commonly called Colonel Seabrook, a very distinguished gentleman, who has a very distinguished opinion of himself, having studied law to distinguish himself, and now and then merely practises it for his own amusement. Mr. Seabrook never gives an opinion, nor acts for his friends, unless every thing he does be considered distinguished, and gratuitously rendered.
"What will you do with such property, madam?" inquires the gentleman, having listened profoundly to her request.
"To save them from being sold into the hands of such men as Graspum and Romescos; it's the only motive I have" she speaks, gently: "I love the child; and her mother still loves her: I am a mother."
"Remember, my dear lady, they are adjudged property by law; and all that you can do for them won't save them, nor change the odour of negro with which it has stamped them."
"Of that I am already too well aware, Mr. Seabrook; and I know, too, when once enslaved, how hard it is to unslave. Public sentiment is the worst slave we have; unslave that, and the righteousness of heaven will give us hearts to save ourselves from the unrighteousness of our laws.
"Go, Mr. Seabrook, purchase the children for me, and you will soon see what ornaments of society I will make them!"
"Ornaments to our society!" interrupts Mr. Seabrook, pausing for a moment, as he places the fore-finger of his right hand upon his upper lip. "That would be a pretty consummation-at the south! Make ornaments of our society!" Mr. Seabrook turns the matter over and over and over in his mind. "Of such things as have been pronounced property by law! A pretty fix it would get our society into!" he rejoins, with emphasis. Mr. Seabrook shakes his head doubtingly, and then, taking three or four strides across the room, his hands well down in his nether pockets, relieves himself of his positive opinion. "Ah! ah! hem! my dear madam," he says, "if you undertake the purchase of all that delicate kind of property-I mean the amount total, as it is mixed up-your head'll grow grey afore you get all the bills of sale paid up,--my word for it! That's my undisguised opinion, backed up by all the pale-faced property about the city."
"We will omit the opinion, Mr. Seabrook; such have kept our society where it now is. I am resolved to have those children. If you hesitate to act for me, I'll brave-"
"Don't say that, my dear lady. Let me remind you that it ill becomes a lady of the south to be seen at a slave-mart; more especially when such delicate property is for sale. Persons might be present who did not understand your motive, and would not only make rude advances, but question the propriety of your proceedings. You would lose caste, most surely."
Mrs. Rosebrook cares little for Mr. Seabrook's very learned opinion, knowing that learned opinions are not always the most sensible ones, and is seen arranging her bonnet hastily in a manner betokening her intention to make a bold front of it at the slave-mart. This is rather too much for Mr. Seabrook, who sets great value on his chivalrous virtues, and fearing they may suffer in the esteem of the softer sex, suddenly proffers his kind interposition, becomes extremely courteous, begs she will remain quiet, assuring her that no stone that can further her wishes shall be left unturned. Mr. Seabrook (frequently called the gallant colonel) makes one of his very best bows, adjusts his hat with exquisite grace, and leaves to exercise the wisest judgment and strictest faith at the man-market.
"Such matters are exceedingly annoying to gentlemen of my standing," says Mr. Seabrook, as deliberately he proceeds to the fulfilment of his promise. He is a methodical gentleman, and having weighed the matter well over in his legal mind, is deeply indebted to it for the conclusion that Mrs. Rosebrook has got a very unsystematised crotchet into her brain. "The exhibition of sympathy for 'niggers'-they're nothing else" says Mr. Seabrook-"much adds to that popular prejudice which is already placing her in an extremely delicate position." He will call to his aid some very nice legal tact, and by that never-failing unction satisfy the good lady.
When Mr. Seabrook enters the mart (our readers will remember that we have already described it) he finds the children undergoing a very minute examination at the hands of several slave-dealers. As Mr. Forshou, the very polite man-seller, is despatching the rougher quality of human merchandise, our hero advances to the children, about whose father he asks them unanswerable questions. How interesting the children look!-how like a picture of beauty Annette's cherub face glows forth! Being seriously concerned about the child, his countenance wears an air of deep thought. "Colonel, what's your legal opinion of such pretty property?" enquires Romescos, who advances to Mr. Seabrook, and, after a minute's hesitation, takes the little girl in his arms, rudely kissing her as she presses his face from her with her left hand, and poutingly wipes her mouth with her right.
"Pretty as a picture"-Romescos has set the child down-"but I wouldn't give seven coppers for both; for, by my faith, such property never does well." The gentleman shakes his head in return. "It's a pity they're made it out nigger, though,--it's so handsome. Sweet little creature, that child, I declare: her beauty would be worth a fortune on the stage, when she grows up."
Romescos touches Mr. Seabrook on the arm; remarks that such things are only good for certain purposes; although one can make them pay if they know how to trade in them. But it wants a man with a capable conscience to do the business up profitably. "No chance o' your biddin' on 'um, is there, colonel?" he enquires, with a significant leer, folding his arms with the indifference of a field-marshal. After a few minutes' pause, during which Mr. Seabrook seems manufacturing an answer, he shrugs his shoulders, and takes a few pleasing steps, as if moved to a waltzing humour. "Don't scare up the like o' that gal-nigger every day," he adds. Again, as if moved by some sudden idea, he approaches Annette, and placing his hand on her head, continues: "If this ain't tumbling down a man's affairs by the run! Why, colonel, 'taint more nor three years since old Hugh Marston war looked on as the tallest planter on the Ashley; and he thought just as much o' these young 'uns as if their mother had belonged to one of the first families. Now-I pity the poor fellow!-because he tried to save 'em from being sold as slaves, they-his creditors-think he has got more property stowed away somewhere. They're going to cell him, just to try his talent at putting away things."
The "prime fellows" and wenches of the darker and coarser quality have all been disposed of; and the vender (the same gentlemanly man we have described selling Marston's undisputed property) now orders the children to be brought forward. Romescos, eagerly seizing them by the arms, brings them forward through the crowd, places them upon the stand, before the eager gaze of those assembled. Strangely placed upon the strange block, the spectators close in again, anxious to gain the best position for inspection: but little children cannot stand the gaze of such an assemblage: no; Annette turns toward Nicholas, and with a childish embrace throws her tiny arms about his neck, buries her face on his bosom. The child of misfortune seeks shelter from that shame of her condition, the evidence of which is strengthened by the eager glances of those who stand round the shambles, ready to purchase her fate. Even the vender,--distinguished gentleman that he is, and very respectably allied by marriage to one of the "first families,"-is moved with a strange sense of wrong at finding himself in a position somewhat repugnant to his feelings. He cannot suppress a blush that indicates an innate sense of shame.
"Here they are, gentlemen! let no man say I have not done my duty. You have, surely, all seen the pedigree of these children set forth in the morning papers; and, now that you have them before you, the living specimen of their beauty will fully authenticate anything therein set forth," the vender exclaims, affecting an appearance in keeping with his trade. Notwithstanding this, there is a faltering nervousness in his manner, betraying all his efforts at dissimulation. He reads the invoice of human property to t............