Act II
Scene 1 Parlor
Dr. Gaines at a table, letters and papers before him.
Enter Sampey, L.
Sampey. Dar’s a gemman at de doe, massa, dat wants to see you, seer.
Dr. Gaines. Ask him to walk in, Sampey.
[Exit Sampey, L.
Enter Walker.
Walker. Why, how do you do, Dr. Gaines? I em glad to see you, I’ll swear.
Dr. G. How do you do, Mr. Walker? I did not expect to see you up here so soon. What has hurried you?
Walk. Well, you see, doctor, I comes when I em not expected. The price of niggers is up, and I em gwine to take advantage of the times. Now, doctor, ef you’ve got any niggers that you wants to sell, I em your man. I am paying the highest price of any body in the market. I pay cash down, and no grumblin’.
Dr. G. I don’t know that I want to sell any of my people now. Still, I’ve got to make up a little money next month, to pay in bank; and another thing, the doctors say that we are likely to have a touch of the cholera this summer, and if that’s the case, I suppose I had better turn as many of my slaves into cash as I can.
Walk. Yes, doctor, that is very true. The cholera is death on slaves, and a thousand dollars in your pocket is a great deal better than a nigger in the field, with cholera at his heels. Why, who is that coming up the lane? It’s Mr. Wildmarsh, as I live! Jest the very man I wants to see.
Enter Mr. Wildmarsh.
Why, how do you do, Squire? I was jest a thinkin’ about you.
Wildmarsh. How are you, Mr. Walker? and how are you, doctor? I am glad to see you both looking so well. You seem in remarkably good health, doctor?
Dr. G. Yes, Squire, I was never in the enjoyment of better health. I hope you left all well at Licking?
Wild. Yes, I thank you. And now, Mr. Walker, how goes times with you?
Walk. Well, you see, Squire, I em in good spirits. The price of niggers is up in the market, and I am lookin’ out for bargains; and I was jest intendin’ to come over to Lickin’ to see you, to see if you had any niggers to sell. But it seems as ef the Lord knowed that I wanted to see you, and directed your steps over here. Now, Squire, ef you’ve got any niggers you wants to sell, I em your man. I am payin’ the highest cash price of any body in the market. Now’s your time, Squire.
Wild. No, I don’t think I want to sell any of my slaves now. I sold a very valuable gal to Mr. Haskins last week. I tell you, she was a smart one. I got eighteen hundred dollars for her.
Walk. Why, Squire, how you do talk! Eighteen hundred dollars for one gal? She must have been a screamer to bring that price. What sort of a lookin’ critter was she? I should like to have bought her.
Wild. She was a little of the smartest gal I’ve ever raised; that she was.
Walk. Then she was your own raising, was she?
Wild. Oh, yes; she was raised on my place, and if I could have kept her three or four years longer, and taken her to the market myself, I am sure I could have sold her for three thousand dollars. But you see, Mr. Walker, my wife got a little jealous, and you know jealousy sets the women’s heads a teetering, and so I had to sell the gal. She’s got straight hair, blue eyes, prominent features, and is almost white. Haskins will make a spec, and no mistake.
Walk. Why, Squire, was she that pretty little gal that I saw on your knee the day that your wife was gone, when I was at your place three years ago?
Wild. Yes, the same.
Walk. Well, now, Squire, I thought that was your daughter; she looked mightily like you. She was your daughter, wasn’t she? You need not be ashamed to own it to me, for I am mum upon such matters.
Wild. You know, Mr. Walker, that people will talk, and when they talk, they say a great deal; and people did talk, and many said the gal was my daughter; and you know we can’t help people’s talking. But here comes the Rev. Mr. Pinchen; I didn’t know that he was in the neighborhood.
Walk. It is Mr. Pinchen, as I live; jest the very man I wants to see.
Enter Mr. Pinchen, R.
Why, how do you do, Mr. Pinchen? What in the name of Jehu brings you down here to Muddy Creek? Any camp-meetins, revival meetins, death-bed scenes, or any thing else in your line going on down here? How is religion prosperin’ now, Mr. Pinchen? I always like to hear about religion.
Mr. Pin. Well, Mr. Walker, the Lord’s work is in good condition every where now. I tell you, Mr. Walker, I’ve been in the gospel ministry these thirteen years, and I am satisfied that the heart of man is full of sin and desperately wicked. This is a wicked world, Mr. Walker, a wicked world, and we ought all of us to have religion. Religion is a good thing to live by, and we all want it when we die. Yes, sir, when the great trumpet blows, we ought to be ready. And a man in your business of buying and selling slaves needs religion more than any body else, for it makes you treat your people as you should. Now, there is Mr. Haskins,—he is a slave-trader, like yourself. Well, I converted him. Before he got religion, he was one of the worst men to his niggers I ever saw; his heart was as hard as stone. But religion has made his heart as soft as a piece of cotton. Before I converted him, he would sell husbands from their wives, and seem to take delight in it; but now he won’t sell a man from his wife, if he can get anyone to buy both of them together. I tell you, sir, religion has done a wonderful work for him.
Walk. I know, Mr. Pinchen, that I ought to have religion, and I feel that I am a great sinner; and whenever I get with good pious people like you and the doctor, and Mr. Wildmarsh, it always makes me feel that I am a desperate sinner. I feel it the more, because I’ve got a religious turn of mind. I know that I would be happier with religion, and the first spare time I get, I am going to try to get it. I’ll go to a protracted meeting, and I won’t stop till I get religion. Yes, I’ll scuffle with the Lord till I gets forgiven. But it always makes me feel bad to talk about religion, so I’ll change the subject. Now, doctor, what about them thar niggers you thought you could sell me?
Dr. Gaines. I’ll see my wife, Mr. Walker, and if she is willing to part with Hannah, I’ll sell you Sam and his wife, Hannah. Ah! here comes my wife; I’ll mention it.
Enter Mrs. Gaines, L.
Ah! my dear, I am glad you’ve come. I was just telling Mr. Walker, that if you were willing to part with Hannah, I’d sell him Sam and Hannah.
Mrs. G. Now, Dr. Gaines, I am astonished and surprised that you should think of such a thing. You know what trouble I’ve had in training up Hannah for a house servant, and now that I’ve got her so that she knows my ways, you want to sell her. Haven’t you niggers enough on the plantation to sell, without selling the servants from under my very nose?
Dr. G. Oh, yes, my dear; but I can spare Sam, and I don’t like to separate him from his wife; and I thought if you could let Hannah go, I’d sell them both. I don’t like to separate husbands from their wives.
Mrs. G. Now, gentlemen, that’s just the way with my husband. He thinks more about the welfare and comfort of his slaves, than he does of himself or his family. I am sure you need not feel so bad at the thought of separating Sam from Hannah. They’ve only been married eight months, and their attachment can’t be very strong in that short time. Indeed, I shall be glad if you do sell Sam, for then I’ll make Hannah jump the broomstick with Cato, and I’ll have them both here under my eye. I never will again let one of my house servants marry a field hand—never! For when night comes on, the servants are off to the quarters, and I have to holler and holler enough to split my throat before I can make them hear. And another thing: I want you to sell Melinda. I don’t intend to keep that mulatto wench about the house any longer.
Dr. Gaines. My dear, I’ll sell any servant from the place to suit you, except Melinda. I can’t think of selling her—I can’t think of it.
Mrs. G. I tell you that Melinda shall leave this house, or I’ll go. There, now you have it. I’ve had my life tormented out of me by the presence of that yellow wench, and I’ll stand it no longer. I know you love her more than you do me, and I’ll—I’ll—I’ll write—write to my father. [Weeps.]
[Exit Mrs. Gaines, L.
Walk. Why, doctor, your wife’s a screamer, ain’t she? Ha, ha, ha. Why, doctor, she’s got a tongue of her own, ain’t she? Why, doctor, it was only last week that I thought of getting a wife myself; but your wife has skeered the idea out of my head. Now, doctor, if you wants to sell the gal, I’ll buy her. Husband and wife ought to be on good terms, and your wife won’t feel well till the gal is gone. Now, I’ll pay you all she’s worth, if you wants to sell.
Dr. G. No, Mr. Walker; the girl my wife spoke of is not for sale. My wife does not mean what she says; she’s only a little jealous. I’ll get brother Pinchen to talk to her, and get her mind turned upon religious matters, and then she’ll forget it. She’s only a little jealous.
Walk. I tell you what, doctor, ef you call that a little jealous, I’d like to know what’s a heap. I tell you, it will take something more than religion to set your wife right. You had better sell me the gal; I’ll pay you cash down, and no grumblin’.
Dr. G. The girl is not for sale, Mr. Walker; but if you want two good, able-bodied servants, I’ll sell you Sam and Big Sally. Sam is trustworthy, and Sally is worth her weight in gold for rough usage.
Walk. Well, doctor, I’ll go out and take a look at ’em, for I never buys slaves without examining them well, because they are sometimes injured by over-work or under-feedin’. I don’t say that is the case with yours, for I don’t believe it is; but as I sell on honor, I must buy on honor.
Dr. G. Walk out, sir, and you can examine them to your heart’s content. Walk right out, sir.