Various - The Continental Monthly, Vol. III, No. V, May, 1863

'I don't feel exactly like taking money in that way.'

'Pshaw, my boy! I tell you it's yours—rightfully and honestly. You ought to have more; but he's close-fisted, and you must be content with this.'

'Well, Frank,' said Cragin, 'what do you say to hitching horses with me? I'll give you two fifths, and put a hundred against your thirty.

'What shall I do?' said Frank to me.

'You'd better accept. It's more than I can allow you.'

'Then it's a trade?' asked Cragin.

'Yes,' said Frank.

'Well, old gentleman, what do you say—will you move the old stool?' said Cragin, addressing David.

'Yes; I like Frank too well to stay with even his father.'

In the gleeful mood which had taken possession of the old man, the words slipped from his tongue before he was aware of it. He would have recalled them on the instant, but it was too late. Cragin caught them, and exclaimed:

'His father! Well, that explains some riddles. D—d if I won't call the new firm Hallet, Cragin & Co. I've got him all around—ha! ha!'

Frank seemed thunderstruck. Soon he plied me with questions.

'I can say nothing; I gave my word I would not. David has betrayed it; let him explain, if he pleases.'

The old bookkeeper then told the young man his history, revealing everything but the degradation of his poor mother. Frank walked the room, struggling with contending emotions. When David concluded, he put his hand in mine, and spoke a few low words. His voice sounded like his mother's. It was again her blessing that I heard.

Two weeks afterward, the old sign came down from the old warehouse—came down, after hanging there three quarters of a century, and in its place went up a black board, on which, emblazoned in glaring gilt letters, were the two words,

On the same day, the busy crowd passing up old Long Wharf might have seen, over a doorway not far distant, a plainer sign. It read:

Kate heard frequently from Selma within the first two months after her departure, but then her letters suddenly ceased. Her last one expressed the intention of returning to the North during the following week. We looked for her, but she did not come. Week after week went by, and still she did not come. Kate wrote, inquiring when we might expect her, but received no reply. She wrote again and again, and still no answer came. 'Something has happened to her. Do write Mrs. Preston,' said Kate. I wrote her. She either did not deign to reply, or she did not receive the letter.

None of Selma's friends had heard from her for more than three months, and we were in a state of painful anxiety and uncertainty, when, one morning, among my letters, I found one addressed to my wife, in Selma's handwriting. Her previous letters had been mailed at Trenton, but this was post-marked 'Newbern.' I sent it at once to my house. About an hour afterward I was surprised by Kate's appearance in the office. Her face was pale, her manner hurried and excited. She held a small carpet bag in her hand.

'You must start at once by the first train. You've not a moment to spare!'

'Start where?'

She handed me the letter. 'Read that.'

It was hurriedly and nervously written. I read:

'My Dearest Friend: I know you have not forsaken me, but I have written you, oh! so many times. To-day, Ally has told me that perhaps our letters are intercepted at the Trenton post office. It must be so. He takes this to Newbern. Is he not kind? He has been my faithful friend through all. Though ordered away from the plantation, he refused to go, and stood by me through the worst. He whom my own sister so cruelly wronged, has done everything for me! Whatever may become of me, I shall ever bless him.

'I have not heard from or seen any of my friends. Even my brother has not answered my letters; but he must be here, on the 17th, at the sale. That is now my only hope. I shall then be freed from this misery—worse than death. God bless you!

'I will go,' was all that I said. Kate sat down, and wept 'Oh! some terrible thing has befallen her! What can it be?'

I was giving some hurried directions to my partners, when a telegram was handed in. It was from Boston, and addressed to me personally. I opened it, and read:

'I have just heard that Selma is a slave. To be sold on the seventeenth. I can't go. You must. Buy her on my account. Pay any price. I have written Frank. Let nothing prevent your starting at once. If your partners should be short while you're away, let them draw on me.

It was then the morning of the twelfth. Making all the connections, and there being no delay of the trains, I should reach the plantation early on the seventeenth.

At twelve o'clock I was on the way. Steam was too slow for my impatience. I would have harnessed the lightning.

At last—it was sundown of the sixteenth—the stage drove into Newbern.

With my carpet bag in my hand, I rushed into the hotel. Four or five loungers were in the office, and the lazy bartender was mixing drinks behind the counter.

'Sir, I want a horse, or a horse and buggy, at once.'

'A horse? Ye're in a hurry, hain't ye?'

'Yes.'

'Wall, I reckon ye'll hev ter git over it. Thar hain't a durned critter in th' whole place.'

'I'm in no mood for jesting, sir. I want a horse at once . I will deposit twice his value.'

'Ye couldn't git nary critter, stranger, ef ye wus made uv gold. They're all off—off ter Squire Preston's sale.'

'The sale! Has it begun?'

'I reckon! Ben a gwine fur two days.'

My heart sank within me. I was too late!

'Are all the negroes sold?'

'No; them comes on ter morrer. He's got a likely gang.'

I breathed more freely. At this moment a well-dressed gentleman, followed by a good-looking yellow man, entered the room. He wore spurs, and was covered with dust. Approaching the counter, he said:

'Here, you lazy devil—a drink for me and my boy. I'm drier than a parson—Old Bourbon.'

As the bartender poured out the liquor, the new comer's eye fell upon me. His face seemed familiar, but I could not recall it. Scanning me for a moment, he held out his hand in a free, cordial manner, saying:

'Ah! Mr. Kirke, is this you? You don't remember me? my name is Gaston.'

'Mr. Gaston, I'm glad to see you,' I replied, returning his salutation.

'Have a drink, sir?'

'Thank you.' I emptied the glass. I was jaded, and had eaten nothing since morning. 'I'm in pursuit of a horse under difficulties, Mr. Gaston. Perhaps you can tell me where to get one. I must be at Preston's to-night.'

'They're scarcer than hen's teeth round here, just now, I reckon. But hold on; I go there in the morning. I'll borrow a buggy, and you can ride up with me.'

'No, I must be there to-night. How far is it?'

'Twenty miles.'

'Well, I'll walk. Landlord, give me supper at once.'

' Walk there! My dear sir, we don't abuse strangers in these diggin's. The road is sandier than an Arab desert. You'd never get there afoot. Tom,' he added, calling to his man, 'give Buster some oats; rub him down, and have him here in half an hour. Travel, now, like greased lightning.' Then turning to me, he continued: 'You can have my horse. He's a spirited fellow, and you'll need to keep an eye on him; but he'll get you there in two hours.'

'But how will you get on?'

'I'll take my boy's, and leave the darky here.'

'Mr. Gaston, I cannot tell you the service you are doing me.'

'Don't speak of it, my dear sir. A stranger can have anything of mine but my wife;' and he laughed pleasantly.

He went with me into the supper room, and there told me that the sale of Preston's plantation, furniture, live stock, farm tools, &c., had occupied the two previous days; and that the negroes were to be put on the block at nine o'clock the next morning. 'I've got my eye on one or two of them, that I mean to buy. The niggers will sell well, I reckon.'