James Redpath, The Roving Editor: or, Talks with Slaves in the Southern States.

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[5]

Sheriff's sale

Phillip Blomston, S. D.

After transcribing this atrocious advertisement, I walked to the auction rooms in Wall street and that vicinity.

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A slave sale.

The first apartment that I entered was an old, long, low, whitewashed, damp-looking room, of which the ceiling was supported by three wooden pillars. There were between thirty and forty white persons present. Seven or eight living chattels were “on sale, for cash, to the highest bidder.”

The sale commenced almost immediately after I made my appearance in the shambles. The first Article offered was a girl twelve years of age. She was dressed in a small-checked tartan frock, a white apron and a light-colored handkerchief. She was mounted with the auctioneer on a wooden stand, four steps high. The audience was standing or sitting on forms in different parts of the room.

The auctioneer was a middle-aged, fair-complexioned man, with light-blue, lazy-looking eyes, who drawled out, rather than uttered his words, and chewed an enormous quid of tobacco with a patient and persevering industry that was worthy of a nobler cause.

“ Gentlemen,” said the body-seller, “here's a girl twelve years old, warranted sound and strong — what d'ye bid to start her?”