CHAPTER XXVI.
THE SLAVE SALE.
At twelve o'clock upon the day after that on which Gerald Leslie and his daughter had been parted by the pitiless attorney, the slave auction commenced.
The sale was to take place in a public auction room in New Orleans; an apartment capable of containing upward of a hundred people.
At one end of this room stood the rostrum of the auctioneer, while immediately before his desk was stretched a long table of rough deal, upon which one by one the slaves took their places, while the auctioneer expatiated upon their merits.
Round this table was placed benches, on which the buyers and lookers-on lounged during the auction.
The plantation hands were the first to be sold, and the sale had lasted for some hours when Toby, the mulatto, slowly mounted the table, and took his stand before the eager eyes of the buyers.
The countenance of the slave was sad and care-worn; and, as he ascended the table, he looked anxiously round the room as if seeking among all those eager faces for some one he expected to see there.
But it was evident that he looked in vain, for, after a long and earnest scrutiny of that varied crowd, he sighed heavily, and his head sank upon his breast with a gesture of despair.
The bidding lasted for some time, and the most persevering bidder was Silas Craig himself, who sat on a bench close to the table, and amused himself by whittling a stick with his bowie knife.
One by one the other purchasers gave way, and the mulatto fell to the attorney.
As the hammer of the auctioneer descended upon the desk, thus proclaiming that the bargain was complete, a singular expression illuminated the face of the slave, Toby.
That expression seemed one of mingled hate and triumph; and, as he descended from the platform, the hand of the mulatto mechanically sought for some object hidden in his breast.
That object was the knife with which Francilia had stabbed herself—the knife which Toby had offered the day before to Gerald Leslie.
The mulatto slowly withdrew into a corner where some other slaves purchased by Silas Craig were huddled together, awaiting the termination of the sale.
For some moments there was a pause. Several among the crowd asked what the next lot was to be. The voice of the auctioneer responded from his rostrum, "The Octoroon girl, Cora!"
Again there was a pause. There were few there who did not know the story of Gerald Leslie and his daughter, and every one present seemed to draw a long breath.
The Octoroon emerged from a group of slaves, behind whom she had been hidden, and slowly ascended the platform.
Never in her happiest day—never, when surrounded by luxury, when surfeited by adulation and respect, had Cora Leslie looked more lovely than to-day.
Her face was whiter than marble, her large dark eyes were shrouded beneath their dropping lids, fringed with long and silken lashes; her rich wealth of raven hair had been loosened by the rude hands of an overseer, and fell in heavy masses far below her waist; her slender yet rounded figure was set off by the soft folds of her simple cambric dress, which displayed her shoulders and arms in all their statuesque beauty.
One murmur of admiration spread through the assembly as the Octoroon took her place at the table.
All there had heard of the loveliness of Gerald Leslie's daughter, yet few had expected to see her so lovely.
Eyeglasses were raised, spectacles put on, and looks of insolent admiration were fixed upon the unhappy girl.
But she saw them not—the center of every eye, she was scarcely conscious of how much she had to endure. Her whole being was absorbed in one thought. Her father; would he come, would he rescue her?
When for one brief instant she lifted her eyes, the crowd of faces swam before her, as if hidden from her by a veil of mist.
The sounds of the many voices fell as confused murmurs upon her ears.
She was listening for the voice which should announce to her that help was near.
But that longed-for voice did not come, and she heard instead the harsh accents of the auctioneer dwelling upon the charms which were to be sold to the highest bidder.
At that moment two men entered the building from opposite doors.
One of these was Augustus Horton, the other Gilbert Margrave.
Gerald Leslie and the engineer had passed a night of utter wretchedness.
All the ready money that the ruined planter could command consisted of a few thousand dollars, and Gilbert Margrave had only the sum which he had brought with him for his traveling expenses.
To communicate with England was impossible, though the young man had ample resources there; he had also letters of credit on a banking-house in New York, but he well knew that nothing but ready money could save Cora from her infamous persecutors.
The entire sum at his command was a little over twenty thousand dollars.
Gilbert Margrave was the first to bid.
"Five thousand dollars!"
"Six thousand!" cried Augustus Horton.
A laugh circulated among the assembly. "I guess you begun a bit too low, stranger," said one of the planters.
"Seven thousand."
"Ten!" cried Augustus.
"Guess we'll teach you what a slave sale is, Britisher," said another man near Gilbert, cutting a lump of tobacco and thrusting it into his mouth.
Gilbert Margrave's cheek grew pale; he felt that the man he had to deal with was not to be beaten.
"Twelve thousand," "fifteen," "twenty."
For a moment there was a pause; Gilbert drew his breath. For one brief instant he thought that the planter's caprice might be less powerful than his avarice. He knew not that Augustus Horton's love for Cora was full of passionate determination.
"Five-and-twenty thousand dollars," cried the planter.
Gilbert was silent. Throughout this scene the Octoroon had never once lifted her eyes from the ground; but, at this ominous silence, she slowly raised them, and looked imploringly at her lover.
It was a glance of despair which answered this mute appeal. All hope was over.
"Strikes me your pretty well cleaned out, siree," said one of the men who had spoken before.
The bidding continued, the excitement of the scene had become intense. Thirty, five-and-thirty, forty thousand dollars were bid; forty-five, fifty thousand.
The last bid came from Augustus Horton, and the auctioneer's hammer descended with an ominous sound.
Cora was his.
Gilbert Margrave sprang forward, as if he would have struck the planter, but a friendly hand was laid upon his shoulder, and he was dragged back by a group of Americans.
"Better keep your dander down, stranger," one of the men whispered in his ear, "our folks are not over fond of your countrymen just now, and they wouldn't make much work of taking out their bowie knives. Let him have the gal. Was there ever such a noise about a handsome slave?"
Augustus Horton walked up to the place where Gilbert was standing, surrounded by these men.
"I've beaten you before to-day, Mr. Margrave," he said, with a sneer, "and I think I've had the pleasure of giving you a second licking this afternoon."
Again Gilbert would have sprung upon him, but again he was restrained by those about him.
"We've another duel to fight yet, Mr. Horton," said the Englishman, "and in that you may not come off so easily."
"We citizens of New Orleans don't fight about colored gals," answered the planter, turning upon his heel, contemptuously, and walking toward the spot where Cora stood, side by side with Toby and the other slaves.
Gilbert Margrave released himself from the arms of those who held him.
"I must follow him," he said, "I must speak to him. I pledge you my honor that I will attempt no violence, but I tell you I must speak to him. Life and death hang on this matter. How can I go back to Gerald Leslie, and tell the broken-hearted father that I was powerless to save his only child?"
Gilbert found Augustus standing at a little distance from the group of slaves contemplating Cora with the insolently admiring glance with which the master surveys his property.
She was no longer the woman who had scorned and defied him. She was his slave, his purchased slave, over whom the law gave him full and indisputable authority.
"Mr. Horton," said Gilbert, in a voice rendered hoarse by emotion, "let me speak to you a few moments?"
The planter bowed superciliously. "Well, sir?" he said, as they withdrew to a solitary corner of the auction room.
"You are aware that had my means enabled me, I would have outbid you just now in the purchase of Miss Leslie."
Augustus Horton laughed aloud.
"Miss Leslie!" he repeated scornfully; "we don't call the slaves Miss and Mr. down south. I guess you would like to outbid me for this Octoroon girl, Cora, but I'm happy to say you weren't able to do it. Had you bid a hundred thousand dollars, I'd have outbid you, and if you'd doubled that I'd have outbid you still. No man comes cheaply between Augustus Horton and his will."
"Tell me," said Gilbert, "tell me, what do you want with Mr. Leslie's daughter. Why do you want to become her master?"
Again Augustus laughed, and the hot blood mounted to Gilbert's cheek as he heard the mocking laughter.
"If it comes to that," said the planter, "why do you want her?"
"Because I love her."
"Then one answer will do for both of us," said Augustus. "I want her because I love her."
"No," cried Gilbert, "no, Mr. Horton. Do not sully the pure and holy name of Love by so base a blasphemy. Yours is the low passion of the profligate who seeks to destroy that which he pretends to love. Mine is the honorable sentiment of the man who seeks to bestow upon her he adores the sacred name of wife."
"You Britishers have another way of thinking to what we have in Louisiana," answered Augustus; "we don't marry our slaves. However, I've no wish to quarrel with other folks' opinions; the girl's mine and I don't mean to part with her, so good day to you, Mr. Margrave."
Gilbert laid his hand upon the planter's shoulder.
"One moment," he said. "The sum which I offered just now for Miss Leslie was the extent of the ready money I possess; but it was not one-twentieth part of what I can command; communication with London, or even with New York, will bring me the funds I require. I ask you—as a gentleman appealing to a gentleman, upon a subject that is dearer to him than life—I ask you to do a great and generous action. Accept my note of hand for a hundred thousand dollars;—double the sum you have just given—and let me restore Cora Leslie to her father?"
Augustus Horton shrugged his shoulders.
"I would be very glad to oblige you, Mr. Margrave," he said; "but as I don't happen to want money just now, and as I've a fancy for keeping the Octoroon, I beg to decline your liberal offer."
Gilbert Margrave glanced at him with a scornful smile.
"I appealed to you as a gentleman," he said. "I was mistaken. You shall hear from me to-night."