American Scenes, and Christian Slavery | Page 8

waiter stared, and said he had none to take us to, except I
would first go to the "office." But what was to become of my
fellow-traveller in the meantime? No woman belonging to the
establishment made her appearance, and there my wife was obliged to
stand alone in the passage, whilst I followed the waiter through aisles
and passages, and turnings and twistings, and ups and downs, to a large
saloon, where about 200 gentlemen were smoking cigars! What a sight!
and what a smell! Who can realize the vast idea of 200 mouths, in one
room, pouring forth the fumes of tobacco? I was directed to the
high-priest of the establishment in the "office," or (as I should say) at
the "bar." Without verbally replying to my application, he handed me a
book in which to record my name. Having obeyed the hint, I again
asked my taciturn host if myself and wife could be accommodated. He
then, with manifest reluctance, took the cigar out of his mouth, and said
he had only one room to spare, and that was at the top of the house. It
was "Hobson's choice," and I accepted it. And now for a journey! Talk
of ascending the Monument on Fish-street Hill! what is that compared

to ascending the St. Charles's, at New Orleans? No. 181 was reached at
last. The next task was to find my wife, which after another long and
circuitous journey was accomplished. In process of time fire was made,
and "tea for two" brought up. Let me, therefore, close my letter and
enjoy it.

LETTER III.
New Orleans--The Story of Pauline--Adieu to the St.
Charles's--Description of that Establishment--First Sight of Slaves for
Sale--Texts for Southern Divines--Perilous Picture.
From No. 181 of the "St. Charles's," we descended, after a good night's
rest, to see some of the lions of the place. Here we are (thought I) in
New Orleans--the metropolis of a great slave country,--a town in which
exist many depôts for the disposal of human beings,--the very city
where, a few months ago, poor Pauline was sacrificed as the victim of
lust and cruelty! Unhappy girl! What a tragedy! On the 1st of August
last, I told the horrid tale to my emancipated people in Berbice. Here it
is, as extracted from the Essex (United States) Transcript. Read it, if
you please; and then you will have a notion of the feelings with which I
contemplated a city rendered infamous by such a transaction.
"Many of our readers have probably seen a paragraph stating that a
young slave girl was recently hanged at New Orleans for the crime of
striking and abusing her mistress. The religious press of the north has
not, so far as we are aware, made any comments upon this execution. It
is too busy pulling the mote out of the eye of the heathen, to notice the
beam in our nominal Christianity at home. Yet this case, viewed in all
its aspects, is an atrocity which has (God be thanked) no parallel in
heathen lands. It is a hideous offshoot of American Republicanism and
American Christianity! It seems that Pauline--a young and beautiful
girl--attracted the admiration of her master, and being (to use the words
of the law) his "chattel personal to all intents and purposes
whatsoever," became the victim of his lust. So wretched is the
condition of the slave woman, that even the brutal and licentious regard
of her master is looked upon as the highest exaltation of which her lot
is susceptible. The slave girl in this instance evidently so regarded it;
and as a natural consequence, in her new condition, triumphed over and
insulted her mistress,--in other words, repaid in some degree the scorn

and abuse with which her mistress had made her painfully familiar. The
laws of the Christian State of Mississippi inflict the punishment of
death upon the slave who lifts his or her hand against a white person.
Pauline was accused of beating her mistress,--tried, found guilty, and
condemned to die! But it was discovered on the trial that she was in a
condition to become a mother, and her execution was delayed until the
birth of the child. She was conveyed to the prison cell. There, for many
weary months, uncheered by the voice of kindness, alone, hopeless,
desolate, she waited for the advent of the new and quickening life
within her, which was to be the signal of her own miserable death. And
the bells there called to mass and prayer-meeting, and Methodists sang,
and Baptists immersed, and Presbyterians sprinkled, and young
mothers smiled through tears upon their new-born children,--and
maidens and matrons of that great city sat in their cool verandahs, and
talked of love, and household joys, and domestic happiness; while, all
that dreary