Volume One—Chapter Twenty One.
A Fiery Baptism.
It was about twelve o’clock in the day. Jessuron and his daughter had just stepped forth into the verandah, and taken their stand by the balustrade looking down into the court. The countenance of both betrayed a certain degree of solicitude, as if they had come out to be witnesses to some spectacle of more than common interest.
The house-wenches and other domestics, trooping behind them with curious looks, showed that some rare scene was to be enacted.
A small iron furnace, filled with live coals, had been placed in the courtyard, near the bottom of the steps. Three or four sullen-looking men—blacks and mulattoes—stood around it in lounging attitudes. One of these stooped over the furnace, turning in the fire what appeared to be a soldering iron, or some other instrument of a brazier.
It was not that, however, as the spectators well knew. All who beheld it recognised the dreaded branding iron: for every one present, the whites and newly-arrived Africans excepted, had, ere now, felt its hot, seething fire in their flesh.
These last had already learnt what was preparing for them; and most of them stood regarding the preparations with looks of silent awe.
Some Coromantees there were among the number, who looked on with reckless indifference, chatting as gaily—and, at intervals, laughing as loudly—as if they awaited the beginning of some merry game. Little cared these courageous sons of Ethiopia—whose sable skins bore scars of many a native fray—little cared they for the scorching of that simple brand.
It was not long before the inhuman spectacle commenced. The entrance of Jessuron and his daughter was the cue to begin; and the bearded overseer, who was master of the ceremonies, had only been waiting till these should make their appearance. The man, from experience, knew that his master always gave his personal superintendence when such a scene was to be enacted. He knew, moreover, that his master’s daughter was equally accustomed to assist at these interesting ceremonies!
“Go on, Mishter Ravener!” cried the Jew, on reaching the front of the verandah. “Theesh first,” he added, pointing towards a group of Eboes—who stood trembling with apprehension in one corner of the yard.
At a sign from the overseer, who was one of the taciturn sort, a number of old negroes—evidently used to the business—laid hands upon the Eboes, and led them up to the furnace.
As the victims were brought near to the fire, and saw the red iron glowing amid the coals, fear became strongly depicted upon their faces, and their frames shook with a convulsive terror. Some of them, the younger ones, screamed aloud, and would have rushed away from the spot, had they not been held in the grasp of the attendants.
Their appeals, made by the most pitiful looks and gestures, were answered only by unfeeling jeers and shouts of laughter, in which the old Jew himself joined—in which, incredible to relate, joined his beautiful daughter! Nor was it a mere smile which appeared on the face of the fair Judith; clear laughter rang from her lips, exhibiting her regular rows of ivory-like teeth—as if some fiend had assumed the form of an angel!
The Eboes were led forward, and held firmly by the assistants, while their breasts were presented to receive the brand. The red-hot iron flashed for a moment in the eyes of each; and then fell with a dull clap upon the clammy skin. Smoke ascended with a hiss, till the court became filled with a smell of roasting flesh! A struggle, some wild cries, and the operation was over. The slave was marked with those indelible initials, to be carried with him to his grave.
One by one, the poor beings received this terrible baptism, and were led away from the ground.
A batch of Pawpaws—from the Whidaw country—came next. They were brought up one by one, like the Eboes; but altogether unlike these was their behaviour. They neither gave way to extreme fear, nor yet displayed extraordinary courage. They appeared to submit with a sort of docile resignation: as though they regarded it in the light of a destiny or duty.
The operation of branding them was a short work, and afforded no mirth to the bystanders: since there was no ludicrous display of terror to laugh at. This facile disposition renders the Whidaw the most valuable of slaves.
A group of Coromantees were now to undergo the fiery ordeal. These bold and warlike indigenes of Africa evinced, by their attitudes and actions, the possession of a moral nature altogether different from that either of Pawpaw or Eboe. Instead of waiting to be led forward, each stepped boldly up, as he did so baring his breast to receive the red brand, at which he glanced with an air of lordly contempt!
One young fellow even seized the iron from the grasp of the operator; and, turning it in his hand, struck the stamp firmly against his breast, where he held it until the seething flesh told that a deep imprint had been made! Then, flinging the instrument back into the furnace, he strode away from the spot with the air of a triumphant gladiator!
At this moment there occurred a pause in the proceedings—not as if the drama was ended, but only an act. Another was yet to come.
Ravener stepped up to the verandah, in front of the place where Jessuron and his daughter stood. With the former, or indeed with both, he communicated in a voice just audible—not as if with any design of concealing what he said—but because there was no necessity for loud talking.
The two man-hunters were the only persons there he might have had any care to be cautious about; but these were at that moment busy with their dogs, and not heeding aught that was going on. Branding a batch of negroes was no new sight to them; and they were spectators, merely from having, at the moment, nothing better to do.
“Which next?” was the question put by Ravener to the Jew; “the Mandingoes?”
“Either them or the prinshe,” replied Jessuron; “it don’t matter which ish marked first.”
“Oh, the prince first, by all means!” suggested the amiable Judith, with a smile of satisfaction. “Bring him out first, Mr. Ravener; I’m curious to see how his royal highness will stand fire.”
The overseer made no reply; but, taking the wish of the young lady as a command, proceeded to obey it.
Stepping across the court he opened a door that led into a room, separate from that in which the slaves had been lodged.
The overseer entered the room; and in a few minutes came out again, bringing with him an individual who, by his dress, it might have been difficult to recognise as the young Fellatta seen on board the slaver, but whose noble mien still rendered it possible to identify him: for it was he.
Changed, indeed, was his costume. The turban was gone, the rich silken tunic, the sandals and scimitar—all his finery had been stripped off; and in its place appeared a coarse Osnaburg shirt and trousers—the dress of a plantation negro.
He looked wretched, but not crestfallen.
No doubt he had by this time learnt, or suspected, the fate that was in store for him; but, for all that, his features exhibited the proud air of a prince; and the glances which he cast upon the overseer by his side, but oftener upon Jessuron—whose instrument he knew the other to be—were those of concentrated anger and defiance.
Not a word escaped his lips, either of protest or reproach. This had all passed before—when the first rude assault had been made upon him, to deprive him of his garments and the adornments of his person. The hour of recrimination was past. He knew he had