CHAPTER FIFTY NINE.
THE ROTUNDO.
The thousand and one reflections of a sleepless night--the thousand andone alternations of hope, and doubt, and fear--the theoretic tentationof a hundred projects--all passed before my waking spirit. Yet whenmorning came, and the yellow sunlight fell painfully on my eyes, I hadadvanced no farther in any plan of proceeding. All my hopes centredupon D'Hauteville--for I no longer dwelt upon the chances of the mail.
To be assured upon this head, however, as soon as it had arrived, I oncemore sought the banking-house of Brown and Co. The negative answer tomy inquiry was no longer a disappointment. I had anticipated it. Whendid money ever arrive in time for a crisis? Slowly roll the goldencircles--slowly are they passed from hand to hand, and reluctantlyparted with. This supply was due by the ordinary course of the mail;yet those friends at home, into whose executive hands I had intrusted myaffairs, had made some cause of delay.
Never trust your business affairs to a _friend_. Never trust to a dayfor receiving a letter of credit, if to a friend belongs the duty ofsending it. So swore I, as I parted from the banking-house of Brown andCo.
It was twelve o'clock when I returned to the Rue Saint Louis. I did notre-enter the hotel--I walked direct to the _Rotundo_.
My pen fails to paint the dark emotions of my soul, as I stepped underthe shadow of that spacious dome. I remember no fooling akin to what Iexperienced at that moment.
I have stood under the vaulted roof of the grand cathedral, and felt thesolemnity of religious awe--I have passed through the gilded saloons ofa regal palace, that inspired me with pity and contempt--pity for theslaves who had sweated for that gilding, and contempt for the sycophantswho surrounded me--I have inspected the sombre cells of a prison withfeelings of pain--but remembered no scene that had so painfullyimpressed me as that which now presented itself before my eyes.
Not sacred was that spot. On the contrary, I stood upon _desecrated_ground--desecrated by acts of the deepest infamy. This was the famed_slave-market of New Orleans_--the place where human bodies--I mightalmost say _human souls_--were bought and sold!
Many a forced and painful parting had these walls witnessed. Oft hadthe husband been here severed from his wife--the mother from her child.Oft had the bitter tear-bedewed that marble pavement--oft had thatvaulted dome echoed back the sigh--nay more--the cry of the anguishedheart!
I repeat it--my soul was filled with dark emotions as I entered withinthe precincts of that spacious hall. And no wonder--with such thoughtsin my heart, and such a scene before my eyes, as I then looked upon.
You will expect a description of that scene. I must disappoint you. Icannot give one. Had I been there as an ordinary spectator--a reportercool and unmoved by what was passing--I might have noted the details,and set them before you. But the case was far otherwise. One thoughtalone was in my mind--my eyes sought for one sole object--and thatprevented me from observing the varied features of the spectacle.
A few things I do remember. I remember that the Rotundo, as its nameimports, was a circular hall, of large extent, with a flagged floor, anarched coiling, and white walls. These were without windows, for thehall was lighted from above. On one side, near the wall, stood a deskor rostrum upon an elevated dais, and by the side of this a large blockof cut stone of the form of a parallelopipedon. The use of these twoobjects I divined.
A stone "kerb," or banquette, ran around one portion of the wall. Thepurpose of this was equally apparent.
The hall when I entered was half filled with people. They appeared tobe of all ages and sorts. They stood conversing in groups, just as mendo when assembled for any business, ceremony, or amusement, and waitingfor the affair to begin. It was plain, however, from the demeanour ofthese people, that what they waited for did not impress them with anyfeelings of solemnity. On the contrary a merry-meeting might have beenanticipated, judging from the rough jests and coarse peals of laughterthat from time to time rang through the hall.
There was one group, however, which gave out no such signs or sounds.Seated along the stone banquette, and standing beside it, squatted downupon the floor, or leaning against the wall in any and every attitude,were the individuals of this group. Their black and brown skins, thewoolly covering of their skulls, their rough red "brogans," their coarsegarments of cheap cottonade, of jeans, of "nigger cloth" died cinnamoncolour by the juice of the catalpa-tree,--these characteristics markedthem as distinct from all the other groups in the hall--a distinct raceof beings.
But even without the distinctions of dress or complexion--even withoutthe thick lips or high cheekbones and woolly hair, it was easy to tellthat those who sat upon the banquette were under different circumstancesfrom these who strutted over the floor. While these talked loudly andlaughed gaily, those were silent and sad. These moved about with theair of the conqueror--those were motionless with the passive look anddowncast mien of the captive. These were _masters_--those were_slaves_! They were the slaves of the plantation Besancon.
All were silent, or spoke only in whispers. Most of them seemed ill atease. Mothers sat holding their "piccaninnies" in their sable embrace,murmuring expressions of endearment, or endeavouring to hush them torest. Here and there big tears rolled over their swarthy cheeks, as thematernal heart rose and fell with swelling emotions. Fathers looked onwith drier eyes, but with the stern helpless gaze of despair, whichbespoke the consciousness, that they had no power to avert their fate--no power to undo whatever might be decreed by the pitiless wretchesaround them.
Not all of them wore this expression. Several of the younger slaves,both boys and girls, were gaily-dressed in stuffs of brilliant colours,with flounces, frills, and ribbons. Most of these appeared indifferentto their future. Some even seemed happy--laughing and chatting gaily toeach other, or occasionally exchanging a light word with one of the"white folks." A change of masters could not be such a terrible idea,after the usage they had lately had. Some of them rather anticipatedsuch an event with hopeful pleasure. These were the dandy young men,and the yellow belles of the plantation. They would, perhaps, beallowed to remain in that great city, of which they had so often heard--perhaps a brighter future was before them. Dark must it be to be darkerthan their proximate past.
I glanced over the different groups, but my eyes rested not long uponthem. A glance was enough to satisfy me that _she_ was not there.There was no danger of mistaking any one of those forms or faces forthat of Aurore. She was not there, Thank Heaven! I was spared thehumiliation of seeing her in such a crowd! She was, no doubt, near athand and would be brought in when her turn came.
I could ill brook the thought of seeing her exposed to the rude andinsulting glances--perhaps insulting speeches--of which she might be theobject. And yet that ordeal was in store for me.
I did not discover myself to the slaves. I knew their impulsivenatures, and that a scene would be the result. I should be therecipient of their salutations and entreaties, uttered loud enough todraw the attention of all upon me.
To avoid this, I took my station behind one of the groups of white menthat screened me from their notice, and kept my eyes fixed upon theentrance, watching for D'Hauteville. In him now lay my last and onlyhope.
I could not help noting the individuals who passed out and in. Ofcourse they were all of my own sex, but of every variety. There was theregular "negro-trader," a tall lathy fellow, with harsh horse-dealerfeatures, careless dress, loose coat, slouching broad-brimmed hat,coarse boots, and painted quirt of raw hide,--the "cowskin,"--fit emblemof his calling.
In strong contrast to him was the elegantly-attired Creole, in coat ofclaret or blue, full-dress, with gold buttons, plated pantaloons, gaiter"bootees," laced shirt, and diamond studs.
An older variety of the same might be seen in trousers of buff, nankeenjacket of the same material, and hat of Manilla or Panama set over hisshort-cropped snow-white hair.
The American merchant from Poydras or Tehoupitoulas Street
, from Camp,New Levee, or Saint Charles, in dress-coat of black cloth, vest of blacksatin, shining like glaze--trousers of like material with the coat--boots of calf-skin, and gloveless hands.
The dandy clerk of steamboat or store, in white grass frock, snowyducks, and beaver hat, long furred and of light yellowish hue. There,too, the snug smooth banker--the consequential attorney, here no longersombre and professional, but gaily caparisoned--the captain of theriver-boat, with no naval look--the rich planter of the coast--theproprietor of the cotton press or "pickery"--with a sprinkling ofnondescripts made up the crowd that had now assembled in the Rotundo.
As I stood noting these various forms and costumes, a large heavy-builtman, with florid face, and dressed in a green "shad-bellied" coat,passed through the entrance. In one hand he carried a bundle of papers,and in the other a small mallet with ivory head--that at once proclaimedhis calling.
His entrance produced a buzz, and set the various groups in motion. Icould hear the phrases, "Here he comes!" "Yon's him!" "Here comes themajor!"
This was not needed to proclaim to all present, who was the individualin the green "shad-belly." The beautiful dome of Saint Charles itselfwas not better known to the citizens of New Orleans than was Major B--,the celebrated auctioneer.
In another minute, the bright bland face of the major appeared above therostrum. A few smart raps of his hammer commanded silence, and the salebegan.
Scipio was ordered first upon the block. The crowd of intended bidderspressed around him, poked their fingers between his ribs, felt his limbsas if he had been a fat ox, opened his mouth and examined his teeth asif he had been a horse, and then bid for him just like he had been oneor the other.
Under other circumstances I could have felt compassion for the poorfellow; but my heart was too full--there was no room in it for Scipio;and I averted my face from the disgusting spectacle.