Clotel, or The Presidents Daughter | Page 8

speculator, who had purchased Currer and
Althesa, put them in prison until his gang was made up, and then, with
his forty slaves, started for the New Orleans market. As many of the
slaves had been brought up in Richmond, and had relations residing
there, the slave trader determined to leave the city early in the morning,
so as not to witness any of those scenes so common where slaves are
separated from their relatives and friends, when about departing for the
Southern market. This plan was successful; for not even Clotel, who
had been every day at the prison to see her mother and sister, knew of
their departure. A march of eight days through the interior of the state,
and they arrived on the banks of the Ohio river, where they were all put
on board a steamer, and then speedily sailed for the place of their
destination.
Walker had already advertised in the New Orleans papers, that he
would be there at a stated time with "a prime lot of able bodied slaves
ready for field service; together with a few extra ones, between the ages
of fifteen and twenty-five." But, like most who make a business of
buying and selling slaves for gain, he often bought some who were far
advanced in years, and would always try to sell them for five or ten
years younger than they actually were. Few persons can arrive at
anything like the age of a Negro, by mere observation, unless they are
well acquainted with the race. Therefore the slave-trader very
frequently carried out this deception with perfect impunity. After the
steamer had left the wharf, and was fairly on the bosom of the Father of
Waters, Walker called his servant Pompey to him, and instructed him
as to "getting the Negroes ready for market." Amongst the forty
Negroes were several whose appearance indicated that they had seen
some years, and had gone through some services. Their grey hair and
whiskers at once pronounced them to be above the ages set down in the
trader's advertisement. Pompey had long been with the trader, and
knew his business; and if he did not take delight in discharging his duty,
he did it with a degree of alacrity, so that he might receive the
approbation of his master. "Pomp," as Walker usually called him, was

of real Negro blood, and would often say, when alluding to himself,
"Dis nigger is no countefit; he is de genewine artekil." Pompey was of
low stature, round face, and, like most of his race, had a set of teeth,
which for whiteness and beauty could not be surpassed; his eyes large,
lips thick, and hair short and woolly. Pompey had been with Walker so
long, and had seen so much of the buying and selling of slaves, that he
appeared perfectly indifferent to the heartrending scenes which daily
occurred in his presence. It was on the second day of the steamer's
voyage that Pompey selected five of the old slaves, took them in a
room by themselves, and commenced preparing them for the market.
"Well," said Pompey, addressing himself to the company, "I is de
gentman dat is to get you ready, so dat you will bring marser a good
price in de Orleans market. How old is you?" addressing himself to a
man who, from appearance, was not less than forty.
"If I live to see next corn-planting time I will either be forty-five or
fifty-five, I don't know which."
"Dat may be," replied Pompey; "But now you is only thirty years old;
dat is what marser says you is to be."
"I know I is more den dat," responded the man.
"I knows nothing about dat," said Pompey; "but when you get in de
market, an anybody axe you how old you is, an you tell 'em forty-five,
marser will tie you up an gib you de whip like smoke. But if you tell
'em dat you is only thirty, den he wont."
"Well den, I guess I will only be thirty when dey axe me," replied the
chattel.
"What your name?" inquired Pompey.
"Geemes," answered the man.
"Oh, Uncle Jim, is it?"
"Yes."

"Den you must have off dem dare whiskers of yours, an when you get
to Orleans you must grease dat face an make it look shiney." This was
all said by Pompey in a manner which clearly showed that he knew
what he was about.
"How old is you?" asked Pompey of a tall, strong-looking man.
"I was twenty-nine last potato-digging time," said the man.
"What's your name?"
"My name is Tobias, but dey call me 'Toby.'"
"Well, Toby, or Mr. Tobias, if dat will suit you better, you is now
twenty-three years old, an no more. Dus you hear dat?"
"Yes,"