About three years after Mr. Nielsen’s death, a division was made of his property. This involved a sale of everything. There were, I believe, heavy debts hanging over the estate. When the slaves were informed of the sale, they were very panic-stricken. Loud cries and lamentations arose, and my young mistresses often comforted us.
One of these young ladies, Miss Tara, frequently came and sat with us. She tried, in the most persuasive tones, to reconcile us to our destiny. I often saw tears rolling down her fair cheeks, and her lips quivering. It was obvious to all how much our fate grieved her heart.
+ + + +
When the “sale day” came, the ladies left, saying that they could not bear to watch our demise. Miss Joyce, in an outpouring of affection, bade me a tearful goodbye with a long hug and kisses all over my face; I never saw her again. We were taken to the “auction house” in town to be sold.
The “auction house” was not a building. It was a block of wooden stairs pushed up against the side of the grocery store. The stairs acted as the auction platform. The slaves were lined off in rows near the platform for inspection.
Strange men roughly seized us, examining and handling us in the same manner a butcher would a calf he was about to purchase. They bade us open our mouths and examined our teeth; felt our limbs to find out how muscular we were; made us run, walk, and jump to detect any possible lameness in our legs; and made us stoop and bend in different ways to ensure that there was no concealed rupture or wound. They spoke about our shapes and sizes as if we could no more understand them than dumb beasts!
In addition, they asked scores of questions relative to our qualifications and accomplishments. All these humiliations were submitted to without a murmur and in some instances with good-natured cheerfulness - where we liked the appearance of the proposed buyer, and fancied that he might prove a kind 'massa’. The case of Amos, a male slave stands out in my mind.
Amos had taken a fancy to a benevolent looking middle-aged gentleman, who was inspecting the “stock”, and thus used his powers of persuasion to induce the benevolent man to purchase him, with his wife, boy and girl, Molly, Israel and Sevanda. The earnestness, with which the poor fellow pressed his suit, knowing, as he did, that perhaps the happiness of his whole life depended on his success, was interesting, and the arguments he used were most pathetic.
He made no appeal to the feelings of the buyer; he rested no hope on his charity and kindness, but only strove to show how well worth his dollars were the bone and blood he was entreating him to buy.
“Look at me, Massa; am prime rice planter; sho' you won't find a better man den me; no better on de whole plantation; not a bit old yet; do mo' work den ever; do carpenter work, too, little; better buy me, Massa; I'se be good sarvant, Massa. Molly, too, my wife, Sa, fus rate rice hand; mos as good as me. Stan' out yer, Molly, and let the gen'lm'n see,” he tried to cajole the gentleman.
Molly advanced, with her hands crossed on her bosom, and mad a quick short curtsy, and stood mute, looking appealingly in the benevolent man's face. Amos spoke faster:
“Show massa yer arm Molly - good arm dat massa - she do a heap of work mo' with dat arm yet. Let good massa see yer teeth Molly - see dat massa, teeth all reg'lar, all good - she'm young gal yet. Come out yer Israel, walk aroun' an' let the gen'lm'n see how spry you be.”
Then, Amos pointed to his three-year-old girl who stood with her chubby hand to her mouth, holding on to her mother's dress, and uncertain what to make of the strange scene.
“Little Vardy's on'y a chile yet; make prime gal by-and-by. Better buy us massa, we'm fus' rate bargain" - and so on. However, the benevolent gentleman found where he could drive a closer bargain, and so bought somebody else.
Some would perhaps balk at Amos’ zeal to be sold, but he was only trying to ensure the safety of his family. He knew the only way was to capitalise on the barbarity inherent in a human being’s willingness to buy another; to own and control the life of another. The battle for control of my life ended with an amazing bid of $1800; and the people who stood by said that I had fetched a great sum for so young a slave.
+ + + +
My days being shut away under Miss Joyce’s tutelage had left me naïve and utterly clueless as to my fate. After a while, my mother came up to me, holding a wallet in her hand. The tear drops stood on her cheeks, and her whole frame was distorted with pain. She walked toward me a few steps, then stopped; and suddenly shaking her head exclaimed, “No, no. I can’t do it. I can’t do it.” I was amazed at her grief, but an indefinable fear kept me from rushing to her.
“Here, Nancy,” she said to an old Negress who stood near. “You break it to her. I can’t do it. No, it will drive me mad. Oh, heaven, that I was born to see this day!” she cried. Then she rocked her body back and forth, venting her feelings in a long, loud, piteous wail. Oh, God! That cry of grief, that sound of a breaking heart, rang in my ears for many long and painful days.
“Poor chile, you mus’ place yer trus’ in the good God above. You mus’ look to him for help. You are gwine to leave your mother now. You are to have a new home, a new master, and I hope new friends. May the Lord be with you,” Nancy explained.
So saying, Nancy suddenly broke away from me, but I saw that her wrinkled face was wet with tears.
I received this news with a whirlwind gathering in my breast. What could she mean by new friends and a new home? Surely I was to take my mother with me! No mortal power would dare to sever us. Why, I remember that when Mr. Nielsen sold the mare, her colt went with her also. Who could, who would, who dared, separate the parent from her offspring? My heart throbbed violently with grief, terror and confusion.
“Come along, gal. Come along. Gather up your duds and come with me,” said a harsh voice.
Looking up from my bewildered reverie, I beheld the man who had examined and bought me. He was a hard-looking man with scanty, grey locks floating carelessly over an amplitude of forehead; sunken blue eyes, hollowed cheeks, thin lips, and teeth much discoloured by the continued use of tobacco.
I was too startled to fully understand his words and stood gazing at him vacantly. He perceived this to be disrespectful. He raised his riding whip and brought it down with considerable force on my back. It was the first lash I had ever received out of anger. I smarted beneath the stripe*, and a cry of pain broke from my lips.
Mother sprang to me, and, clasping my quivering form in her arms, cried out to my young master, “Oh, Master Jonathan! Have mercy on me, on my child. I have served you faithfully. I nursed you; I took care of you as my own child when your mother died. I beg you now to save my child.”
She released me and went over to Master Jonathan. She sank down at his feet, while her tears fell fast. Then my poor old grandfather, Charles (commonly called Charlie), joined us. He was the “patriarch” slave, being the oldest slave in the area. His white hair, wrinkled face, and bent form, told of many a year of hard servitude. His brown eyes shined with the deep love that he had for my mother and me.
“What is it, Massa Jon? What is it Kendra be takin’ on so ‘bout? You haint drive the chile off? No...no! Young massa only playin’ trick now. Come Kay, don’ be makin’ fool of yo’sef. Young massa not gwine to sep’rate you an’ Buffy,” grandfather declared.
These words seemed to reanimate my mother, and she looked up at Master Jonathan with a grateful expression. She clasped her arms tightly around his knees, exclaiming, “Oh bless you, young master! Bless you forever, and forgive me for distrusting you. Polly told me Buffy was sold away from me...and that gemman [gentleman] struck her.”
She sobbed and caught hold of me convulsively, as if she feared that I might be taken. I looked at young master’s face. The ghastly whiteness which spread over it, the tearful sparkle of his eyes, and the strange tremor of his figure, struck me with fright. Young as I was, my first dread was for my mother. I forgot my own dilemma and mourned alone for her.
“I’ve got no time to be foolin’ longer with these niggers. Come ‘long gal. Anne, I believe you told me was her name,” my buyer said, as he turned to Master Jonathan.
Master Jonathan struck his head vehemently while my mother shrieked wildly and my grandfather sighed deeply. Tears trickled down his cheek as he exclaimed, “Here, Mr. Nest, here! Here is your bill of sale. I will refund your money. Release me from my contract.”
Heinrich Nest, whom I would come to know as “The Master”, cast Master Jonathan a contemptuous look. He chuckled and replied, “No. You must stand to your bargain. I want that gal. She is sassy, and it will do me good to thrash the devil out of her.” He turned to me and added,” Quit your snuffling or I’ll give you something to cry ‘bout!”
The Master roughly caught me by the arm and hauled me off, despite the pleas of Master Jonathan, the cries of my mother, and the feeble begging of grandfather. I looked behind and saw my mother wallowing in the dust while her frantic cries of “Save my child, save my child!” rang with fearful agony in my ears.
Master Jonathan covered his face with his hands, and grandfather reverently raised his hands to heaven, as if pleading for mercy. The sight of this anguish-stricken group filled me with a new sense of horror; and, forgetful of The Master’s presence, I burst into tears. I was stung by a fierce blow from his stout riding whip.
“See here, nigger! Ef you dar’ to give ‘nother whimper, I’ll beat the very life out ‘en yer,” The Master barked.
This terrific threat seemed to scare away every thought of caution. By a sudden and agile move, I broke loose from The Master and darted off to the sad group from which I had been ruthlessly torn. I sank down before Master Jonathan and cried out in a wild, despairing tone, “Save me, good master! Save me... kill me or hide me from that awful man! He’ll kill me!”
I seized the hem of his coat and covered my face with it to shut out the sight of The Master, whose seemingly red eyes were glaring with fury upon me. Oath after oath escaped his lips.
Mother saw him rapidly approaching to recapture me. With the noble, maternal instinct of self-sacrifice, she sprang forward and received the heavy blow of his uplifted whip. She reeled, tottered and sank, stunned, to the ground.
He struck me again and grabbed me. “Thar, take that yer yaller hussy! Cuss yer nigger hide for daring to raise this rumpus here,” he said as we strode past my mother.
“Gently, Mr. Nest, let me speak to her. Little encouragement is better than force,” Master Jonathan tried to reason with The Master.
“This is my encouragement for them,” and The Master shook his whip indignantly.
Unheeding him, Master Jonathan turned to me, saying, “Anne, come now. Be a good girl and go with this gentleman. Be an obedient girl. He will give you a kind, nice home. Sometimes he will let you come to see your mother. Here is some money for you to buy something pretty. Now go with him.”
Master Jonathan stroked my hair and tried to smile in reassurance as he delivered his farewell speech. I took the half-dollar* from Master Jonathan and reverently kissed his hand. I rejoined The Master; one look at his cold, harsh face had me resolved to go without a fuss. I could not suppress a groan when I passed the spot where my mother lay unmoving from the effects of the blow of The Master’s whip.
+ + + +
The Master bid me fetch my belongings while he spoke with the auctioneer. I quickly gathered my meagre belongings and proceeded to where The Master had told me to meet him. As I left, the remaining Nielsen slaves, old and young, gave me hearty handshakes as I passed the place where they were standing. They offered me little mementoes and keepsakes as well. One gave me a piece of ribbon, another some pins, a third presented a beautiful cotton head-tie; others gave ginger cakes, candies or coins.
Out of their little they gave abundantly; and, small as the tokens were, I knew that they had made sacrifices to give even so much. I was too deeply affected to make nay other acknowledgment than a nod of the head; for a choking thickness was gathering in my throat while a blinding mist obscured my eye.
+ + + +
I followed The Master to a red wagon with and awning of slightly soiled cotton. Standing near it, holding the horses, was an old, worn, scarred, weather-beaten negro man. He instantly took off his hat as The Master approached.
“Well, Zeke, I’ve bought this wench today,” The Master announced, shaking his whip over my head.
“Ya! Massa, she ha’ got one goot home wid yer,” Zeke proclaimed.
“Yes, she has Zeke; but the slut has been cryin’ ‘bout it! I guess I can take the fool out en her, by the time I gives her 2 or 3 swings at the whipping post.”
Zeke shook his head knowingly. He gave a forced, low, guttural laugh, by way of approval of The Master’s whipping capabilities.
“Jump in the wagon, Anne. Jump in quick! I likes to see niggers active. This’ll put the sperit [spirit] en yer.”
There was another flourish of his whip.
I got in with as much haste and ‘activity’ as I could possibly command. This appeared to please The Master, and he gave evidence of it by saying, “Well, that does pretty well. A few stripes a day, and you’ll be a valerble [valuable] slave.”
The Master got into the wagon and ordered Zeke to drive. In a state of hopeless agony, I watched as everything and everyone I knew and held dear shrink in the distance. As we travelled, The Master made coarse jokes and issued malignant threats, all dutifully answered with forced laughing and agreement by Zeke.
I was glad that Master Jonathan had given my name as “Anne”. “Anne” was my ‘proper’ name as pronounced by Miss Joyce. She had thought “Buffy” was too coarse a name for an angel such as myself. Since I refused to answer to my given name of Beth-Anne, she called me “Anne”.
“Buffy” was the embodiment of the love of and happy times spent with my family and friends at the Nielsen farm. I did not want a cruel boor such as The Master with “Buffy” upon his lips. I did not want him to taint my good memories...