"It's so, stranger; Tom do keep th' reg'lar critter, th' clar juice! Thar's no mistake 'bout thet, fur it gits tight itself every cold snap!"

When we arrived, about a hundred men, women, and children were assembled on the cleared plot in front of the store, witnessing a turkey match." Wishing to avoid the noisy crowd, and being fatigued with our long tramp over the muddy road, my companion and I entered the more reputable portion of the store in quest of a seat. It was nearly deserted. A lazy yellow boy was stretched at full length on the pine counter which kept customers at an honest distance from the rows of half-filled shelves occupying three sides of the room, and on a low bench in front of him sat a woman and two children. These four were the only persons in the apartment. The woman seemed to be not more than twenty-five, and was dressed in a neat calico gown, and had a tidy appearance. She wore a thin woollen shawl, a clean red and yellow turban, white cotton stockings, and coarse untanned shoes. These last were nearly new, and very clumsy, and, like the rest of her costume, were travel-stained and bespattered with mud. She had evidently walked a long distance that morning.

Her figure was slight and graceful, and her face very beautiful. She had long, black, glossy hair, straight, regular features, a rich olive complexion, and large, lustrous eyes, which, as she sat opposite the open door, were fixed on the thick, gloomy wood with an earnest, almost agonised gaze, as if she were reading in its tangled depths the dark, uncertain future that lay before her. Never shall I forget the expression of her face. Never have I seen its look of keen, intense agony, and its full, perfect, utter despair. One of the children was a little girl of eight years, with a sweet, hopeful expression, a clear rosy skin, and brown, wavy hair ; and the other, a little mulatto boy a few years older. They each held one of the woman's hands, and something peculiar in their attitudes made me look closely at them. A thin piece of iron, called by slave traders a "bracelet,” encircled their wrists, and fastened their arms to the woman's! They were slaves!

I entered the cabin a few steps in advance of Preston, who paused in the doorway as he caught sight of the group. The woman did not notice him, but his face turned to a marble white, and his voice trembled with emotion as he exclaimed

"My God! Phyllis, is this you ?”

The woman sprang to her feet, took one step forward, and sank to the floor. Stretching out her shackled arms, bound to the children as they were, she clasped his knees, and cried out

"O Master Robert! dear Master Robert, save me! Oh! save me; for the love of the dear children, save me!"

The little boy and girl caught hold of his skirts, and both crying hard, turned their faces up to his.

said

The younger

"Oh! do, massa! take us 'way from dis man; he bery bad, massa. He whip you' little Rosey 'case she couldn't

walk all de way-all de way yere, massa!"

The water gathered in Preston's eyes as he asked"Why did they sell you, Phyllis? Why didn't I know of it?"

save me, Master Robert! Orleans! Do save me!

"Missus went to you, Master Robert, but you warn't to home. Master had to have the money right off. The trader was thar. Master couldn't wait till you come back. Oh! He's takin' me to Orleans, to Think of the chil'ren, Master Robert. Oh! think of the chil'ren!" and she loosened her hold of his limbs, and wept as if her very heart was breaking.

Preston's words came thick and broken, his frame shook, he almost groaned as he said

"I would to God that I could, Phyllis; but I am in debtpressed on every side. I could not raise the money to save my soul!"

"O my God! what will become of us?" exclaimed the woman. "Think of little Lule, Master Robert! They've taken me 'way from her! Oh what will become of us, Master Robert? what will become of us?"

Preston stood like a man on whom the sentence of death had fallen. A cold, glassy look came into his eyes, a thick, heavy sweat started from his forehead; his iron limbs seemed giving way under him. Placing my hand on his shoulder, I asked

"How much is needed, my friend?" "I don't know," he replied, as if to keep it from bursting.

pressing his hands to his head How much, Phylly?" "Twelve hundred, Master Robert-they sold us for twelve hundred."

"Well, well, my good woman, don't feel badly. I'll let Master Robert have the money."

The woman stared at me incredulously for a moment;

then, while the children came and clung to me as if I were an old friend, she said

“Oh! bless you, sir! bless you! I will love you, sir! The children will for ever love you for it."

A struggle seemed to be going on in Preston's mind. He was silent for some moments; then, in a slow, undecided voice, he said

“It would not be right; I can't take it, Kirke. I owe you now. I'm in debt elsewhere. A judgment has been got against me. My crops have turned out poorly. I've been to Virginia for money, and can't get a dollar. It would not

be honest. I can't take it."

No words can picture the look on the woman's face, as she cried

"Oh! do take it, Master Robert! Do take it. I'll work. I'll make it. I can make it very soon, Master Robert. do take it!"

Oh!

has it, and he has no

"How much is the judgment?" I asked. "Only six hundred; but old mercy. He'll have the money at once, or sell everythingthe negroes-everything!" and he choked down the heavy groan which half escaped his lips.

"Have you no produce at home?"

"About a thousand barrels of rosin. But the river is low; I can't get it down."

"Well, that's worth five hundred dollars where it is. Any cotton?"

"Only eleven bales-low middling."

"That's three hundred more. Consider it ours, and draw at ninety days for the whole, judgment and all.

I

The woman had risen during this conversation, and stood with her eyes riveted on our faces, as if her eternal destiny hung on our words. When I made the last remark, she staggered toward me and fell, as if dead, at my feet. brought water from the stream hard by, and we soon restored her to herself. Preston then lifted her from the floor, and placing her tenderly on the bench, said, turning to me— "You cannot understand how much you have done for me. Words are weak-they cannot tell you. you out of the next crop. Meanwhile I will re-draw, and

keep it afloat."

I will pay

Do as you like about that. Where is your owner, Phyllis ?"

66

Outside, dear master. You'll know him. He's more of us pore creatures with him,"

"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."

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.

66

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