How Slaveholders Fear Each Other

THE reader will please remember that we left Nicholas, maddened to distraction at the perfidy of which Grabguy makes him the victim, chained to an iron ring in the centre of Graspum's slave pen. In addition to this very popular mode of subduing souls that love liberty, his wife and children are sold from him, the ekings of his toil, so carefully laid up as the boon of his freedom, are confiscated, and the wrong-doer now seeks to cover his character by proclaiming to a public without sympathy that no such convention existed, no such object entertained. Grabguy is a man of position, and lady Grabguy moves well in society no way vulgar; but the slave (the more honourable of the two) hath no voice-he is nothing in the democratic world. Of his origin he knows not; and yet the sting pierces deeper into his burning heart, as he feels that, would justice but listen to his tale, freedom had not been a stranger. No voice in law, no common right of commoners, no power to appeal to the judiciary of his own country, hath he. Overpowered, chained, his very soul tortured with the lash, he still proclaims his resolution-"death or justice!" He will no longer work for him who has stripped away his rights, and while affecting honesty, would crush him bleeding into the earth.

Grabguy will counsel an expedient wherewith further to conceal his perfidy; and to that end, with seeming honesty lady Grabguy would have her fashionable neighbours believe sincere, he will ship the oppressed man to New Orleans, there to be sold.-"Notwithstanding, he is an extremely valuable nigger," he says, affecting superlative indifference.

"I'd rather sell him for a song than he should disturb the peace of the city thus." To New Orleans Mr. Grabguy sends his unsubdued property; but that the threatened sale is only a feint to more effectually dissolve the contract and forfeit the money paid as part of his freedom, he soon becomes fully sensible. Doubly incensed at such conduct the fire of his determination burns more fiercely; if no justice for him be made manifest on earth his spirit is consoled with the knowledge of a reward in heaven. Having tortured for months the unyielding man, Grabguy, with blandest professions of kindness, commands that the lacerated servant be brought back to his domicile. Here, with offers of kindness, and sundry pretexts of his sincerity, the master will pledge his honour to keep faith with his slave. The defrauded wretch knows but too well how little confidence he can place in such promises; to such promises does he turn a deaf ear. Grabguy, if serious, must give him back his wife, his children, and his hard earnings, in which the joyous hope of gaining freedom was centred: that hope had carried him through many trials. Sad is the dilemma in which Mr. Grabguy finds himself placed; simple justice to the man would have long since settled the question.

And now Nicholas is a second time sent to Graspum's pen, where living men are chained to rings of fierce iron for loving freedom and their country. For twenty-two days and nights is he chained to that floor where his soul had before been tortured. Threats of being returned to New Orleans again ring their leaden music in his ears; but they have no terrors for him; his indignant spirit has battled with torture and vanquished its smart--he will defend himself unto death rather than be made the object of a sham sale. A vessel for New Orleans waits in the harbour a fair wind for sailing. On board of her Mr. Grabguy will carry out his resolve; and to which end the reader will please accompany us to a small cell in Graspum's pen, about fourteen by sixteen feet, and seven in height--in the centre of which is chained to a ring that man, once so manly of figure, whose features are now worn down by sorrow or distorted by torture,--as three policemen enter to carry out the order of shipment. The heavy chain and shackle with which his left foot is secured yield to him a circuit of some four feet. As the officials advance his face brightens up with animation; his spirit resumes its fiery action, and with a flashing knife, no one knows by whom provided, he bids them advance no further.

"You must go to the whipping-post, my good fellow! I know it's kind of hard; but obey orders we must. Ye see, I've gin ye good advice, time and agin; but ye won't take it, and so ye must abide the consequences," says one of the officials, who advances before the others, and addresses himself to the chained man.

"I'll go to a whipping-post no more!" exclaims Nicholas, his angry spirit flashing in his face, as in an attitude of defence he presses his right hand into his bosom, and frowns defiantly upon the intruders.

"My name is Monsel, an officer! Not a word of disobedience," returns the officer, in a peremptory voice.

Another suggests that he had better be throated at once. But the chained victim of democracy's rule warns them against advancing another step. "Either must die if you advance. I have counselled death, and will lay my prostrate body on the cold floor rather than be taken from this cell to the whipping-post. It is far better to die defending my right, than to yield my life under the lash! I appeal to you, officers of the state, protectors of the peace, men who love their right as life's boons!" The men hesitate, whisper among themselves, seem at a loss as to what course to pursue. "You are setting the laws of the state at defiance, my good fellow!" rejoins Monsel.

"I care not for the law of the state! Its laws for me are founded in wrong, exercised with injustice!" Turning towards the door, Mr. Monsel despatches his fellow-officers for a reinforcement. That there will be a desperate struggle he has no doubt. The man's gestures show him fully armed; and he is stark mad. During the interim, Mr. Monsel will hold a parley with the boy. He finds, however, that a few smooth words will not subdue him. One of the officials has a rope in his hand, with which he would make a lasso, and, throwing it over his head, secure him an easy captive. Mr. Monsel will not hear of such a cowardly process. He is a wiry man, with stunted features, and has become enured to the perils of negro catching. Hand to hand he has had many an encounter with the brutes, and always came off victor; never did he fail to serve the interests of the state, nor to protect the property of his client. With a sort of bravado he makes another advance. The city esteems him for the valuable services he has rendered its safety; why should he shrink in this emergency?

Our southern readers, in a certain state, will readily recognise the scen............