Story: The Secret Slave. Part 18.

by SW

It had been but a small matter for Calvin Johnstone, that esteemed lawyer of Charleston, to have slave papers made up - papers so copper-bottomed that they would hold up against any inquiry.  He knew of, and had dealt with, several crooked sheriffs and officials in Charleston in his career and it had cost him but ten minutes of his time and a glass of whiskey to have Sophie's papers signed off by a city magistrate - and the ink on them was still wet when he collected his prize at the tearful scene at the harbor.

Now that the girl's parents were somewhere on the vast Atlantic Ocean the girl was effectively, in law, his.  The only person who could contest Sophie's sale at auction was Elizabeth and she was under his thrall - Elizabeth couldn't dare to try and expose him as it would bring about her own ruin.  Sophie, too, knew and understood all this and she saw that any attempt to plead her real status or remonstrate in any with the slave trader would do nothing for her except earn her a beating. When Johnstone delivered her to the slave yard she knew that there was nothing she could do to free herself at that time and if she was to make a successful attempt to get to Elizabeth's safety then it must be made after she had been sold.  She had been so traumatized by her defeat and rape at Johnstone's hands that being cast into a slave mart's holding pens to await sale now seemed neither surprising nor unendurable to her, it was just another outrage that had been done to her and yet again, one that she was completely defenseless against.

Once the trader, a vile smelling and filthy rogue, had fettered Sophie's wrists and placed the collar around her neck, he slid his dirty hat back from his sweaty brow and said to Johnstone:

“My, my, a real fancy here, yes indeed.  We might expec' a thousan' or more for her!”

“I'm afraid not Mister.  The girl is a runaway and she has a mark for it,” replied Johnstone and the trader pulled Sophie around roughly by the shoulder.  He tugged at her crumpled green silk dress and exposed her brand.  “Ah yes, recen' too.  That's a pity,” he spat in the dust, “That'll bring her down by a coupla hunnert I s'pose.”

Johnstone nodded: “Well, I'll take what I can get for her.  I'm just passing her on. You see, I bought her from a friend who needed some cash quickly and I was happy to oblige, but as I have no use for her I'll be glad just to cover my cost and be rid of her.  She's no fancy with that mark but you can put her up as a first-rate house maid.  She's trained for table.”

The trader nodded and rejoined: “We'll see what we can do.  Real prime she'd be without that brand but anyway, if it's a good day we'll see her fetch eight I'm sure, Mebbe eight fifty, she's a likely piece.”

While this discourse was taking place its object, Sophie, listened but remained but numb and dumb. She did not give way to emotion: her experiences at the hand of Caroline and Philip Cranstone, the slave catchers and Sheriff had accustomed her somewhat to the crushing debasement that was the lot of most slaves.  She simply stood inured to the shame, head down and waiting for the business of her delivery into the hands of the slave trader to conclude.  When, at last, Johnstone nodded and announced that he'd be on his way, Sophie felt like a mouse that had been released, if injured, from the claws of a toying cat.  His very presence filled her with hatred and terror and she then obediently allowed herself to be led to the pens.

“Well, see you on Saturday Mista Johns'one,” the trader called as he pulled Sophie's wrist chain, “Reckon you best be here before twelve, the first lot goes up at noon and we'll be starting with house niggahs.”

The pens were no different from stables except that the stalls were much smaller and, all being unoccupied, she was led directly to the one nearest the entrance and there she was long-chained by her collar to its back wall.  Her wrist chain was then removed, though the cuffs remained, and after the trader had passed his dirty little hands over her form and smiled she was left alone without so much as a word from him.  Presently an older slave woman appeared holding a bundled-up homespun gown and a tray with bowls of unappealing gruel and water, she said:

“Well gal, you best eat this up and make yo'self as comf'table as you kin.  The sale ain' 'til Sati'day so best yo' take the time to rest.  Dis migh' not be no luxury 'ccommodation but at least yo' ain' workin' fo' a few days.”

Sophie accepted the bowls, nodded then asked:

“How come Ise heah alone?  Mighty big place fo' holdin' jus' one l'il gal like me.”

The woman replied: “Yas, but it fill up de night befo' the auction, yo'll see.  Now, be a good gal an' put dis on aftah yo' eat,” the woman laid the rough dress at Sophie's feet, “I'll get yo' fancy gown latah. I 'xpec's its ter be cleaned fo' yo' befo' yo's put on de block.”

After this visit she was left to her solitary suffering and so utterly exhausted in every respect that after changing from her silk dress and into the coarse smock she fell asleep almost at once on the heavy blanket that covered a mound of straw.  It was there, confined by chain and in that utterly miserable place, that Sophie would spend the next four days

oo0oo

On return to her home to St George's, Elizabeth spent the afternoon and evening thinking; and she had much to think about.  She realized that there was nothing she could do for Sophie until she was returned to her the following day.  It would be an anxious wait and she had little doubt for what purpose Sophie had been abducted by the scoundrel at the harbor .  His face had been the very picture of lustful contempt and Sophie would simply have to endure whatever ill-use he would put her too.  Certainly, Elizabeth vexed over this but she set it aside in her mind and for two reasons:  that her girl would be returned no longer virgin was a tragedy, but, given that Sophie now bore the brand of a runaway slave, it could hardly be her ruination: the Sheriff's hot iron had already seen to that.  Secondly, she had immediate concerns of her own situation.  It had been more than weeks since she had gone to Belmont Plantation where she had been received by her fiance's family and one week in which time her, usually very regular, menses had failed to occur.  It was clear to Elizabeth that she was with child and the implications were, of course, enormous.  She had to return to Belmont as soon as she could and present the news to Pryce.  She was considerably agitated and, though she felt in her heart that all would work out well and that there would be an immediate marriage, she could not know for certain until she went to the plantation.

The following day came and passed slowly for Elizabeth as she waited anxiously for Sophie.  By the evening, when her girl still hadn't arrived, she knew that she would not come.  There could be only one course of action she could take and, accordingly, after a sleepless night plagued with worries and doubts she took the train to Charleston and a carriage to the Morgan house and there presented herself.  When she was received she was on the brink of visible distress, however, she managed to retain her composure and told Morgan that she had sold Sophie to Johnstone but had since regretted the decision.  Morgan willingly obliged her with the address of Johnstone's law office in town and going there immediately she entered and confronted the man who had brought so much misery to her and her girl.  The interview was ill-tempered and brief:

“Where is she you contemptible piece of filth! I swear, whatever it costs, I shall bring you down - even if it is to mean my ruination - unless she is returned immediately!” She had almost screamed the words but, in reply, Johnstone looked closely at her, smiled and found a hand bill on his desk which he handed to his accuser, saying in a quiet and unctuous yet malevolent tone:

“All you need to know is there Madame Deveraux and I bid you Good Day.”

Elizabeth snatched the paper and quickly read it.  Her eyes darting over the print and, narrowing to a baleful gaze, she stared at him and shouted: “Why you evil blackguard. You are the worst mountebank and vilest man I have ever had the misfortune to meet.  A slave auction! Damn you to hell!”

Johnstone laughed and rejoined: “If you want her back then there you must go.  It was on my desk because I was about to send it to you.  I am rather hoping you will be prepared to make the highest bid, and so, it is in my interests that you be there.  However, Madame Deveraux, I must say that you have disappointed me by having allowed the creature to be branded.  That will dent my purse to the tune of two hundred dollars I'll be bound.”

“I declare! You are the most hateful creature to step upon God's earth,” and Elizabeth, still holding the auction notice, turned and marched to her carriage whilst an infuriating and mocking chuckle rose louder from behind the office's dark doorway - to say that she left in a state of high dudgeon would be to underestimate the strength of her feeling.  Once aboard her landau she read the notice again and saw that the sale was to be on the Saturday of that week – two days hence – and she knew at once that she would be unable to attend; it was her imperative to get back to Pryce at Belmont on the morrow and it was simply impossible for her to join the bidding throng at the Charleston slave mart.  She frowned and angrily tapped the driver on the shoulder and ordered him to take her at once to the imposing building on the same street as Johnstone's office: The Bank of South Carolina.

oo0oo

The morning of the auction found Sophie in high anxiety and distress.  The few days at the slave pen had passed in quiet misery for her, and, but for an hour of exercise in the yard each day along with two other slaves who had arrived shortly after her, she had been left alone in her stall.  Neither of the other slaves had been inclined to talk across the shed and apart from their occasional quiet murmurs to each other - for they had come from the same place - she remained surrounded, largely, by silence.  She ate the lowest of fare comprising; clabber, rice and slops of vegetable peelings with pork fat, furthermore, the only provision for personal necessities came in the form of a bucket which was removed, humiliatingly, once each day by the slave woman who had first attended her. 

Sophie endured a degraded and debased few days that in that place of human misery - but not in any way was the degradation stimulating or arousing for her.  Here there was none of the tingling excitement and pleasure that spread through her body when, tricked out in a clean and smart maid's uniform, bearing a tray of refreshments and, dipping and smiling, she served her mistress or a house guest.  No, this place held no pleasure whatsoever but only gloom and despair and Sophie reflected, ruefully, on how a small indulgence - an indulgence that had actually not been her suggestion - had somehow spiraled in a matter of weeks and brought her from aristocratic mistress to the condition of branded slave, raped and cast aside, and now alone and brought to market for whatever fate her soon-to-be owners might bring upon her.

The only relief from the confines of the stall came when she was unchained for exercises each morning, and again in the evenings, and these were deeply shaming: the three slaves were made to strip naked and then run around the yard several times and after a period - when sufficiently breathless - were then made to jump and dance and cavort under the bawled orders and stinging little flicks of the trader's - or one of his leering assistant's - whip.  Sophie withstood her sufferings in the miserable conditions only by thinking often about what must be done to escape her desperate situation.  She would simply go with her new owner, hopefully to a place near St George's, appear to settle, and then at the first opportunity do the only thing she could do - run to Elizabeth.

But before any escape there was the ordeal of the auction to be got through.  Sophie had never considered the matter and business surrounding the buying and selling of people before. As a plantation mistress she, of course, knew that slaves were often bought and sold at public auction but she had never attended one; considering it to be an 'unseemly' place for any young lady to visit.  The irony of her new circumstance did not escape her: not only would she be there at such a disreputable place but be there as one of the lots for sale - and she was to discover the event to be much more than merely unseemly.

The pens had filled up on the evening before the sale and the next morning she found herself one among about 35 slaves in total.  A coffle of chained field hands had come in from a small plantation that had bankrupted, at least that is what Sophie overheard the trader say to one of his assistants.  Other slaves had been brought in individually or in pairs and, in one case, a whole family. The scene was one of absolute misery and the family and other couples despaired that they might be split asunder with no thought or compassion from those who would deal in their flesh and blood.  Sophie regretted that her long text to the abolitionists could not have included the heart wrenching scenes that she witnessed that day.  Her own auction miseries began soon after she had been given a more generous allowance of the gruel and clabber than that previously provided in the mornings and she presumed the purpose of the larger ration was to ensure that she had plenty of energy for the inspection and block later.   Immediately after the slops were eaten, she and two other young house girls were taken away for special preparation.  It seemed that there were high hopes for their prices and they were to be, in the words of the trader, 'gingered up and made spry an' pleasin' fo' the buyers.'

Sophie and her companion chattel were taken to a small room and doused with cold water by the same older slave woman who had attended there care since arrival.  After this, all three were given clean gowns, though thin and ragged, and the woman pleated their hair into twisted braids for the sale.  Sophie asked after the dress that she had arrived in - one of her favorite and much loved silks from Paris – and was told that she'd get that in time for going up on the block.

The hour prior to the noon commencement was particularly harrowing.  Sophie and the other house girls were led by chain to an area of the shed reserved for private inspections and there their collars were fastened to the wall.  Presently, a group of expensively dressed gentleman were invited to make their way in and inspect the merchandise.  A few other men lingered at the door hoping to be allowed in, but it seemed that the trader could distinguish, at a glance, real quality from those who had no hope of raising the funds to make a serious bid on any of the girls band were there only for the chance to handle and inspect them.

The first of the gentleman was soon upon them and he went first to the slender girl who stood, straight-backed and so obviously frightened, to Sophie's right.  Seizing her chin, he ordered the girl to show her teeth and Sophie, similarly at attention alongside, looked on sideways as the man roughly ran a finger around the girl's mouth then released her and began to quiz her on what she could do.  Then another man followed and stepped to Sophie and so began her own inspection.  For almost an hour she was handled, turned, made to raise the hem of her gown to her waist and lower its neckline to show her breasts, all done to display her worth to her tormentors.  All of the men leered and groped and poked and prodded the girls and some of them took notes. The girls had to endure this while answering an unrelenting stream of barked questions: “What can you do?” Are you trained to serve table?”  Ever had children?” Can you look after my wife's hair and gowns?” “Can you count and tell time?” And a great deal more besides.  Sophie's brand mark caused some men to turn from her in disappointed disgust - remarking her as likely to be “troublesome.”  And some of the men too were more forceful than others; on a few occasions, - after the girls had been ordered to turn and bend and hoist their thin gowns - prying fingers were pushed into their secret parts as lascivious-eyed onlookers nodded and chuckled their approval and made ribald remarks.  Sophie, unlike the other two girls, and to her own surprise, didn't tremble or resist in any way.  She took the extreme shaming with stoicism and obedience and kept in mind that in an hour or two the ordeal would be over and then she might properly plan her escape.  In short, her experience and trauma under Johnstone's outrages upon her had rendered her numb to almost any feeling other than revulsion and disgust of all that was happening to her and around her.

Then came the hour of the sale itself and after the last gentleman had left to take his place out front, Sophie and the other two girls were unfastened from the wall and ordered to strip by a trader's assistant.  Then, handed their best dresses, they quickly clad themselves and were led by chain to below the block.  Sophie, encouraged up the two small steps with a flick of the assistant's short leather quirt, went up second and as she mounted the stand she saw a sea of about one hundred white faces follow her movements.  She took position, turned and scanned urgently for Elizabeth but there were only a handful of ladies to be seen and she not among then.  Sophie was hardly surprised, after all, how could Elizabeth know where she was?  Nevertheless, she was sorely disappointed and she hoped that whoever bought her would not be cruel, and, most important of all, live within escaping distance to St George's.

The young light-skinned beauty who bit her lip and fidgeted her hands with anxiety attracted much interest from the crowd.  Someone shouted: “A Fancy there if ever I saw one!  Who has the purse for that little bird in green plumage?” And as the laughter subsided the auctioneer - a pompous little man in a black suit and stovepipe hat began his duty under the watchful eye of the slave trader who sat nearby.

“Now then, lot number two.  A prime wench of nineteen years that answers to Sophie and, as you can see, is real quality - among the best we've ever had here.  This being a respectable house though we must tell ye: the gal's been branded.  Not for trouble though ye understand.” Then he held up his hands reassuringly - the gesture of a man who's every word should be trusted; “Seems a buck she didn't like tried to pester her so she ran.  You won't find a more loyal and obedient gal, first-rate she is and trained for all house work.”

And after a few more words about her abilities and general excellence the bidding began:

“Let's start her off at five hundred.  It would be seven but for her mark so let's make it brisk eh?”

Sophie didn't see Johnstone at the fringe of the crowd and perhaps that was well for if she had she might have dismounted the block and run to attack him regardless of the consequences.  But she stood, nervous and fidgety and with downcast moist eyes, as the utter degradation of her sale proceeded.  At last she heard the bid that won her despite that auctioneer's last exhortations for more.  Eight hundred and seventy-five dollars was the price she was knocked down for and the very moment that the auctioneer's hammer thudded upon his lectern she was turned and led down and then over to join the other slave-girl already sold and waiting for collection in the barred cages across the yard.

Sophie didn't have to wait long for her new owner.  As soon as he'd paid the slave trader in cash and received Sophie's papers he was shown over to take his new property home.  Sophie had been crouching in her cage and, in her turmoil, she didn't register his presence when he appeared at the bars.  The assistant barked; “On yer feet gal, yer new massa is here ter take ye away.”

Sophie began to rise slowly and unwillingly to the order but when she looked up and saw her new owner she almost collapsed back to the ground.  She blinked in disbelief and clasping her hands in a gesture that resembled one of utter supplication she exclaimed:

“Oh Massa! Massa Morgan suh! Oh suh.  Thankee fo' buyin' me Massa!” And she began to sob freely with gratitude and relief.”

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