"Come, Preston, let's see him at once; we've no time to lose. The stage will be along soon." "I've no heart for trading now.

friend."

66

You manage it, my

'Well, as you say; but you'd better be with me. Come." "I will, in a moment."

He lingered behind, and, when I left the cabin, was speaking in a low tone to the slave woman. Thinking he would follow in a moment, I went in quest of the trader.

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CHAPTER IV.

THE NEGRO TRADER.

ON the cleared plot in front of the store were assembled, as I have said, about a hundred men, women, and children, witnessing a "turkey match." It was a motley gathering. All classes and colours and ages were there. The young gentleman who boasted his hundred darkies, and the small planter who worked in the field with his five negroes; the poor trash" who scratched a bare subsistence from a sorry patch of beans and "collards," and the swearing, staggering bully, who did not condescend to do anything; the brawny field-hand who had toiled overnight to finish his task in time for "de shootin'," and the well-dressed body servant who had roused "young massa oncommon airly" for the same purpose; all-white, black, and yellow; and some neither white, black, nor yellow-were scattered over various parts of the ground, engaged in lounging, playing, drinking, smoking, chatting, swearing, wrangling, and looking on at the turkey match.

A live turkey was tied to an ordinary bean-pole, and, when I emerged from the cabin, seven or eight "natives" had entered for "a shot." The payment of a "bit," "" cash down," to Tom, who officiated as master of ceremonies, secured a chance of hitting the turkey's head with a rifle bullet at "long distance." Any other hit" was considered "foul," and passed for nothing. Whoever took the prize, was expected to "treat the crowd." As the crowd " seemed a thirsty one, it struck me that turkey would prove expensive eating to the fortunate shots; but they were oblivious of expense, and in a state of mind that unfitted them for close financial calculations.

Nearly every marksman present had "carried off his poultry," and Tom already had reaped a harvest of dimes from the whisky-drinking. "Why, bless ye," he said to me, "I should be broke, clean done up, ef it warn't fur the drinks. I hain't got more'n a bit, or three fips, fur nary fowl. The fust shot allers brings down the bird; ary man on 'em kin hit a turkey's eye at a hundred paces.' This was true; and in such schools were trained the unerring marksmen who are now "bringing down" the bravest youth of our country, like fowls at a turkey match.

A disturbance had broken out on a remote part of the ground, and, noticing about twenty negro men and women seated on a log near by, I went in that direction, in hopes of meeting the negro trader. It was a dog-fight. Inside an imaginary ring, about ten feet in diameter, two dogs were clenched in what seemed a life-and-death struggle. One was holding the other down by the lower jaw, while a man, evidently the owner of the half-vanquished brute, was trying to separate them. Outside this ring about twenty other brutes -men, women, and children—were cheering the combatants, and calling on the meddler to desist. It was strange how the peacemaker managed to stand up against the volleys of oaths showered upon him. He did, however, and persisted in his laudable efforts, till a tall, raw-boned, heavy-jawed fellow stepped into the ring, and grasped him by the collar, saying, "Let 'em be-it's a fair fight; d-n yer pictur-let

'em alone."

"Take thet! ye whelp," said the other, planting a heavy blow between the intruder's eyes. Blow followed blow; they clenched; went down; rose up; fought on-at one end of the ring the canines, at the other the fighters; whilst the rest looked on, shouting, "Let 'er rip! Go in, Wade! Hit 'im agin! Smash his mug! Pluck the grizzly! Hurrah fur Smith! Never say die! Go in agin!" till the blood flowed, and dogs and men rolled over on the ground together.

Disgusted with this exhibition of nineteenth-century civilisation, I turned and walked away. As I did so, I noticed, following me at a short distance, a well-dressed man of about thirty-five. He wore a slouched hat, a gray coat and pantaloons, and enormous high-top boots, to one of which was affixed a brass spur. Over his shoulder, holding the two ends in his hand, he carried a strong, flexible whip, silver mounted, and polished like patent leather. He was about six feet high, stoutly built, with a heavy, inexpressive face, and a

clear, sharp gray eye. One glance satisfied me that he was the negro trader.

As he approached, he held out his hand in a free, hearty way, saying, "Cunnel, good evenin'."

"Good evenin'," I replied, intentionally adopting his accent; "but ye're wrong, stranger; I'm nary cunnel."

"Well, Major, then?"

"No, Gin'ral; not even a corp'ral."

"Then ye 're Squire

up the blank.

nary

-," and he hesitated for me to fill

I added, laughing. "I've

"No; not even Squire title; I'm plain Mister Kirke; nothin' else." "Well, Mister Kirke, ye 're the fust man I've met in the hull Suthun country who was jest nobody at all; and drot me ef I doan't like ye fur't. Ev'ry d-d little upstart, nowa-days, has a handle ter his name-they all b'long ter the nobility, ha! ha!" and he again brought his hand down upon mine with a concussion that made the woods ring.

"Come," he added, "let's hev a drink."

"Proud ter drink with ye, stranger; but I karn't go Tom's sperrets; it's hard ter take."

66

Thet's a fact; but I keeps the raal stuff. Thet's the pizen fur ye,” he replied, holding up a small willow flask, and starting for the bar. Entering a cloud of tobacco smoke, and groping our way over groups of drunken chivalry, who lay "loosely around," we approached the counter.

"Har, you lousy sorrel-top," said the trader to the redfaced and red-headed bar-tender, "har, give us some mugs.'

"Sorrel-top" placed two glasses on the counter, and my new acquaintance proceeded to rinse them thoroughly. They were of a clear grass-green colour, and holding one up to the light, the trader said, "Now, luk a' them. Them's 'bout as green as the fellers thet drink out on 'em. A man's stumac's got ter be of cast iron ter stand the stuff they sell yere."

"It's better 'n you kin 'ford ter drink," exclaimed the bartender, in high dudgeon.

"Who spoke ter ye?-take thet!" rejoined the trader, discharging the contents of the glass full in the man's face. The sorrel-crowned worthy bore the indignity silently, evidently deeming discretion the better part of valour.

"I've

"Buy'n ony nigs, Kirke?" said the trader, inserting his arm in mine, and leading me away from the shanty. got a prime lot-prime!" and he smacked his lips at the last word, in the manner that is common to professional liquortasters. He scented a trade afar off, and his organs of taste,

с

sympathising with his olfactories, gave out that token of satisfaction.

What ye got?"

"Well, I doan't know. "Some o' the likeliest property ye ever seed-men and wimmin. All bought round har; hain't ben ter Virginny yit. Come 'long, I'll shew ye;" and he proceeded towards the group of chattels. He was becoming altogether too familiar; but I called to mind a favourite maxim of good old Mr Russell "Necessity has no law"-and quietly submitted.

The negroes were seated on a fallen pine, and were chained together by the wrists, in gangs of four or five, the outside one having one hand secured by a cord bound about the waist. The men wore woollen hats, and the women neat Madras turbans, and both had thick linsey clothing, warm enough for any weather. Their dusky faces were sleek and oily, and their kinky locks combed as straight as nature would permit. The trader had "rigged them up,” as a jockey "rigs up" horses for market.

Pausing before a brawny specimen of the yellow species, he said, "Thar, Kirke, luk o' thar; thar's a boy fur ye-a nig thet kin work; 'tend ten thousand boxes (turpentine) easy. He's the sort. Prime stuff, thet (feeling of his arms and thighs;) hard-hard as rock-siners like rope. Come o' good stock, he did the old Devereaux blood (a highly-respectable family in those parts); they's the raal quality-none on yer shams and mushrooms, but genuwine 'stockracy-blamed ef they hain't. What d'ye say ter him?"

"Well, he moight do, p'raps; but I rather reckon ye 've done him up some-'iled his face, greased his wool, and sech like. It's all right, ye knows-onything's far in trade; but ye karn't come it over me, ole feller. I'm up ter sech doin's. I am, Mr. ," and I paused for him to finish the sen

tence.

"Larkin," he added quickly and good-humouredly; "Jake Larkin, and yours, by ," and he gave my hand another shake. "Yer one on 'em, I swar, and I own up; I hev 'iled 'em a trifle-jest a trifle; but ye kin see through thet. hev ter do it ter fix the green 'uns, ye knows."

"Yes, I knows-'iled 'em inside and out, hain't ye?" "No, on my soul; only one glass ter day-true preachin'.'

We

as

"Boy," I said to the yellow man, "how much whisky hev ye drunk ter day? Now, tell the truth."

"Nary drop, massa; hed a moufful o' sperrets-a berry little moufful; dat's all."

"Taint 'nough, Larkin! Come now, doan't be mean with nigs. Give 'em some more--some o' thet tall brandy o' yourn; a good swig. They karn't stand it out yere in the cold without a little warmin' up."

"Well, I'm blamed ef I won't. Har, you, Jim," speaking to a well-dressed darky lounging near; "har, go ter thet redheaded woodpecker, thar at the cabin, and tell him I'll smash his peepers ef he doan't send me some glasses ter onst-d' ye yere? Go,"

The gentlemanly darky went, and soon returned with the glass-ware; and meanwhile Larkin directed another well-clad negro man to "fotch the jugs." They were strung across the back of a horse which was tied near, and, uncorking one of them the trader said, "I allers tote my own pizen. 'T ain't right to give even nigs sech hell-fire as they sell round har; it gits a feller's stumac used ter Tophet 'fore the rest on him is 'climated."

"Well, it does," I replied; "it's the devil's own warmin'

pan."

Each negro received a fair quantity of the beverage, and seemed the better for it. A little brandy, "for the stomach's sake," is enjoyed by those dusky denizens of the low latitudes.

When they were all supplied, the trader said to me, "Now, what d'ye say, Kirke? What'll ye give fur the boy?" "Well, I reckon I doan't want no boy now; and I don't know as I wants ary 'ooman nother; but if ye 've got a right likely gal-one thet 'll sew, and nuss good-I moight buy har fur a friend o' mine. His wife 's hed twins, and he moight use har ter look arter the young 'uns."

"Young or old?"

"Young and sprightly."

"They is high, ye knows; but thar's a gal thet 'll suit. Git up, gals;" and a row of five women rose. "No; git up thar, whar we kin see ye." They stepped up on the log. "Now, thar's a gal fur ye," he continued, pointing to a clean, tidy mulatto woman, not more than nineteen, with a handsome but meek, sorrow-marked face. "Luk at thet!" and he threw up her dress to her knees, while the poor girl reached down her shackled hands in the vain effort to prevent the indignity. He was about to shew off other good points, when I said, "Never mind; I see what she is. Let 'em git down."

They resumed their seats, and he continued, "Thet's jest the gal ye wants, Kirke. Good at nussin', wet or dry. Good at breedin', too; hed two young 'uns a'ready. Ye kin