Part 47 (1/2)

My pen fails to paint the dark emotions of my soul, as I stepped under the shadow of that s.p.a.cious dome. I remember no fooling akin to what I experienced at that moment.

I have stood under the vaulted roof of the grand cathedral, and felt the solemnity of religious awe--I have pa.s.sed through the gilded saloons of a regal palace, that inspired me with pity and contempt--pity for the slaves who had sweated for that gilding, and contempt for the sycophants who surrounded me--I have inspected the sombre cells of a prison with feelings of pain--but remembered no scene that had so painfully impressed 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 might almost say _human souls_--were bought and sold!

Many a forced and painful parting had these walls witnessed. Oft had the husband been here severed from his wife--the mother from her child.

Oft had the bitter tear-bedewed that marble pavement--oft had that vaulted dome echoed back the sigh--nay more--the cry of the anguished heart!

I repeat it--my soul was filled with dark emotions as I entered within the precincts of that s.p.a.cious hall. And no wonder--with such thoughts in 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. I cannot give one. Had I been there as an ordinary spectator--a reporter cool and unmoved by what was pa.s.sing--I might have noted the details, and set them before you. But the case was far otherwise. One thought alone was in my mind--my eyes sought for one sole object--and that prevented me from observing the varied features of the spectacle.

A few things I do remember. I remember that the Rotundo, as its name imports, was a circular hall, of large extent, with a flagged floor, an arched coiling, and white walls. These were without windows, for the hall was lighted from above. On one side, near the wall, stood a desk or rostrum upon an elevated dais, and by the side of this a large block of cut stone of the form of a parallelopipedon. The use of these two objects I divined.

A stone ”kerb,” or banquette, ran around one portion of the wall. The purpose of this was equally apparent.

The hall when I entered was half filled with people. They appeared to be of all ages and sorts. They stood conversing in groups, just as men do when a.s.sembled for any business, ceremony, or amus.e.m.e.nt, and waiting for the affair to begin. It was plain, however, from the demeanour of these people, that what they waited for did not impress them with any feelings of solemnity. On the contrary a merry-meeting might have been antic.i.p.ated, judging from the rough jests and coa.r.s.e peals of laughter that 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 down upon the floor, or leaning against the wall in any and every att.i.tude, were the individuals of this group. Their black and brown skins, the woolly covering of their skulls, their rough red ”brogans,” their coa.r.s.e garments of cheap cottonade, of jeans, of ”n.i.g.g.e.r cloth” died cinnamon colour by the juice of the catalpa-tree,--these characteristics marked them as distinct from all the other groups in the hall--a distinct race of beings.

But even without the distinctions of dress or complexion--even without the thick lips or high cheekbones and woolly hair, it was easy to tell that those who sat upon the banquette were under different circ.u.mstances from these who strutted over the floor. While these talked loudly and laughed gaily, those were silent and sad. These moved about with the air of the conqueror--those were motionless with the pa.s.sive look and downcast 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 at ease. Mothers sat holding their ”piccaninnies” in their sable embrace, murmuring expressions of endearment, or endeavouring to hush them to rest. Here and there big tears rolled over their swarthy cheeks, as the maternal heart rose and fell with swelling emotions. Fathers looked on with drier eyes, but with the stern helpless gaze of despair, which bespoke the consciousness, that they had no power to avert their fate-- no power to undo whatever might be decreed by the pitiless wretches around 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 indifferent to their future. Some even seemed happy--laughing and chatting gaily to each 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 antic.i.p.ated such an event with hopeful pleasure. These were the dandy young men, and the yellow belles of the plantation. They would, perhaps, be allowed 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 darker than their proximate past.

I glanced over the different groups, but my eyes rested not long upon them. 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 for that of Aurore. She was not there, Thank Heaven! I was spared the humiliation of seeing her in such a crowd! She was, no doubt, near at hand and would be brought in when her turn came.

I could ill brook the thought of seeing her exposed to the rude and insulting glances--perhaps insulting speeches--of which she might be the object. And yet that ordeal was in store for me.

I did not discover myself to the slaves. I knew their impulsive natures, and that a scene would be the result. I should be the recipient of their salutations and entreaties, uttered loud enough to draw the attention of all upon me.

To avoid this, I took my station behind one of the groups of white men that screened me from their notice, and kept my eyes fixed upon the entrance, watching for D'Hauteville. In him now lay my last and only hope.

I could not help noting the individuals who pa.s.sed out and in. Of course they were all of my own s.e.x, but of every variety. There was the regular ”negro-trader,” a tall lathy fellow, with harsh horse-dealer features, careless dress, loose coat, slouching broad-brimmed hat, coa.r.s.e boots, and painted quirt of raw hide,--the ”cowskin,”--fit emblem of his calling.

In strong contrast to him was the elegantly-attired Creole, in coat of claret or blue, full-dress, with gold b.u.t.tons, plated pantaloons, gaiter ”bootees,” laced s.h.i.+rt, and diamond studs.

An older variety of the same might be seen in trousers of buff, nankeen jacket of the same material, and hat of Manilla or Panama set over his short-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 black satin, s.h.i.+ning 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 gra.s.s frock, snowy ducks, and beaver hat, long furred and of light yellowish hue. There, too, the snug smooth banker--the consequential attorney, here no longer sombre and professional, but gaily caparisoned--the captain of the river-boat, with no naval look--the rich planter of the coast--the proprietor of the cotton press or ”pickery”--with a sprinkling of nondescripts made up the crowd that had now a.s.sembled in the Rotundo.

As I stood noting these various forms and costumes, a large heavy-built man, with florid face, and dressed in a green ”shad-bellied” coat, pa.s.sed 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 proclaimed his calling.

His entrance produced a buzz, and set the various groups in motion. I could hear the phrases, ”Here he comes!” ”Yon's him!” ”Here comes the major!”