Drum (48 page)

Slowly Drumson rose from his knees. He was trying harcl to feel bad about being sold, but he knew that deep insidcj he was really happy to leave. He liked Hammond MaxweU| better than old Madame. Now he could get out in the world! and see things. There would be wenches at the Maxwell plantation. Ee-yuh! And he had plenty of sap in him. yes sir! He turned from the bed and backed out the door, keeping his eyes on Alix, but once outside on the balcony he raced down) the stairs to where Hammond Maxwell was waiting in the courtyard. Together they walked out the front door and onto the banquette. The shiny new barouche was waiting. Hammond signaled for Drumson to open the door and help him in, then motioned for him to get up beside the coachman.

"The St. Louis Hotel, Ajax," Hammond Maxwell said.

From his lofty perch, Drumson looked back at the Academy of Music. In an upstairs window, he saw Calinda, waving a large white napkin. Blaise was behind her. He could see that Calinda was weeping and he felt like crying, too, but he looked down at his new master, saw him smile, and grinned back instead. As suddenly as he had felt sad, he felt happy again.

Ajax drove up to the main entrance of the St. Louis Hotel with a flourish, and before Drumson had time to get down and open the carriage door for his master, a gorgeously uniformed black fellow had the door open and was helping Hammond down with many a "Yes, suh, masta." Hammond spoke to Ajax and told him to stable the horses, then beckoned for Drumson to get down and follow him. Drumson hesitated at the door of the hotel but Hammond brusquely ordered him to follow.

"When you're with me, boy, you follows me in this way. When you're alone, you. goes around to the back."

Drumson had never seen anything like the splendor of the lofty domed room inside with the light streaming through the opening in the top. The marble floor under his feet, the marble pilasters that supported the dome and the marble-topped bar that went halfway around the room seemed like something out of another world. There was a modicum of quiet under the great dome for the slave auction, with its attendant bustle and crowds, was over for the day. Now the men were lined up at the big circular bar and as Hammond passed a few of them greeted him. One, a distinguished-looking elderly man, put out his hand, grasped Hammond's and pumped it.

"Mr. Maxwell! Didn't know you were in the city. Want to tell you about those six boys I bought from you last year. Finest boys I ever had. Got any more like them?"

Hammond shook the man's hand.

"Mister. . . ?"

"Meadows, sir. Meadows of Olneybrook Plantation above Natchez. Bought my boys from you at the Forks-in-the-Road. Like to get me some more just like them."

"Maspero's got some he's ofifering at private sale—eighteen bucks and six wenches. My best stock. Beard's having a vendue here tomorrow. Some sixty bucks and about twenty wenches—aU prime stock but not real fancies like Maspero has."

"Shall attend, Mr. Maxwell, shall most certainly attend." Meadows glanced at Drumson. "Likely-looking boy you got there. He for sale?"

Drumson felt his heart sink to his shoes but he perked up when he heard Hammond say, "Sorry, Mista Meadows, this boy's not for sale. Just bo't him and takin' him home to breed 'im. Royal Hausa blood, mixed up with a little human."

"First one's a buck, save him for me." The man looked longingly at Drumson as they walked away.

From the bar they entered the parlors, filled with elaborately dressed and coiffm^ed women. The air was heavy with perfume and there was a twittering of strange birds in gilded cages. They went up a deeply carpeted staircase to a long, carpeted corridor with seemingly hundreds of doors, all looking exactly alike. Hammond stopped at one and pointed to the number.

"Remember this, boy! This'n's our room. One hunnert and sixteen. You read numbers?"

Drumson reached up and traced the brass numbers with

his finger. "One, one, six," he said and was pleased when Hammond approved with a nod.

Inside, the room was darkly cool, with the shutters closed. Drumson saw a big bed of some dark and richly carved wood, spread over with white; a carpet flowered with roses the size of cabbages, and a clutter of marble-topped bureaus, wash-stands, and tables. Elaborate oil lamps with dangling crystals took the place of candlesticks and there were heavy damask draperies, gold cornices and sentimental chromos of languishing maidens.

Hammond went across the room to a small door that opened on a dark and windowless little room with marble tiles instead of a carpeted floor. Along one wall was a narrow wooden bed. The room also contained a big double-doored wardrobe, a high-backed tin tub and a tall copper pitcher of. water on the floor beside it.

"You sleep here." Hammond pointed to the cot. "In the morning, I'll call and you better be up and on yo' toes." Hammond led the way back to the big room and dropped down into a chair. "You'n me gonna have a talk. First, you he'ps me off with my boots. I'se crippled a little and al'ays needs help. Know how to take off a gen'mun's boots?"

"No, Master Maxwell, sir."

"Time you larned. Turn 'round. You grabs my foot 'tween your laigs. Then I puts my other foot on yo' ass. I pushes and yo' pulls. Un'erstand?"

Drumson did as directed and between Hammond's pushing and his pulling he eased the boot off gently. The other came off more quickly.

"Socks now." Hammond stuck out his foot. "Peel 'em off. Mah feet's sweaty. You dries 'em off good with yo' ban's. Rub yo' fingers 'tween my toes."

Drumson was repelled by the white pulpiness of Hammond's feet, the malformed toes and the dampness of the flesh. White flesh, he decided, was ugly. He rubbed Hammond's feet briskly, manipulating each toe separately, and after the operation Hammond stretched his feet out luxuriously on the soft carpet.

"Now we talk, boy. I bo't you today. Know what thai means?" He waved away any answer that Drumson might have given him. "Mean's you're mine, lock, stock and barr'l I speak, you jumps. Makes no diff'rence what I says, yoi does it. No argument. White man talks, you jumps. Al'ay; 'bey a white man, even if n he not yo' master. Howsomever

I

if'n I'm not around and some other white man tell you to do somep'n you don' think right, you just tells him 'yes, masta suh, I does it jes' as soon's I speak to my master.' But no argymentsi Never!"

"No, sir, Master Maxwell, sir."

"I'se Masta Hammond to you. Yo' my body servant. You calls me Masta Hammond. House servants all call dere masta by his firs' name. Fiel' hands by de las' name. And always say 'suh.' Tha's proper respect."

"Yes, Master Hammond, sir."

"Now we don't whup much at Falconhurst but we sure can whup when needful. Got me a big buck by the name of Clees which do de whuppin'. You gets sassy, you gets lazy, you gets out o' han', I'U have you stripped down 'fore you knows it. Catch you sneaking 'round de quarters at night, pesterin' them wenches 'thout my say-so, I take the meat right oflf'n yo' back. You'll git plenty of chance to pester the f wenches when I tells you."

"You mean. . . ?"

"Shut yo' mouth, boy! Don't int'rupt me. Don't ask me no questions. I talk, you listen. Don't look right for a nigger to int'rupt his masta."

Drumson bowed his head in acknowledgment but raised it to look at the man who was talking to him. Somehow, Drumson did not fear him. He realized there was a certain man-to-man attitude in Hanunond's talk to him.

"You 'beys me, boy, and we gits along fine. 'Druther have you like me than hate me. Cain't do nothin' with a sullen slave but sell him. Course you got some human blood in you —ain't full nigger—so's you'll probably hate me at times, rha's the human part of yo' a-coming out. Times I'll hate you and you'll know it. Difl^'rence is I kin show it, you cain't. But we'll get along. Got me a new house back at Falconhurst. Just built. Fine as any house in Alabama. My papa always wanted to be quality and now, by God, I got the *noney and we're goin' to be quality. Goin' to leave old wucretia Borgia in the old house with my fam'ly. New house ill goin' to be for yo' li'l mistress, Miss Sophie. Think you Jdn ac' as houseman alongst being my body servant whilst fm in the new house?"

Drumson nodded his head. "Housemanned for Madame i^ix this last year."

Hammond grunted an acknowledgment. "Jes' one thing I ion' like about you, Drumson. You talks so precise-like.

Hard to understan'. See if'n you can't talk mo' like the ni|i: gers at Falconhurst when you gets there and not be s uppity. Now, you gets me a clean pair of socks out'n th< wardrobe there and puts them on and 'nother pair of boots. Hammond punched him good-naturedly in the ribs an limped across the room in his bare feet to pour a glass c com whiskey from the bottle that stood on the table besid his bed. "And bring me 'nother bottle of corn from the ware robe, too," he called.

Drumson brought it and put it on the table, waited fc Hammond to sit down and then knelt in front of him wit the clean socks.

"Have to learn to make me toddies, boy. Al'ays drinl 'em hot at home but too much bother here. There'll be r likker in the new house, 'cept fer what I use. Stric'! temp'rance for Miss Sophie. Ain't a-goin' to have her leai 'bout likker. Jes' let me ketch you in my likker once ar I'll have Clees strip you down, Un'erstan'?"

"Yes, Master Hammond, sir. Always a lot of likker 'rour the Academy but never touched it."

"Better not!" Hammond drained the glass and wiped h lips with the back of his hand, waiting for Drumson to p on his boots. "Yes, siree, boy, you touches one drop o' likk and I'll have Clees skin you alive. Ever see a nigger wi the skin all off'n his back?"

Drumson shook his head. The subject frightened him.

"Ain't purty, boy. Sure ain't purty. Happens though. Se ing me a nigger tomorrow, right here in this Ho-tel. Must boy, white's I am almost, but tricky. Too much human bloo Found him a-pesterin' one of the wenches one night, so h: him stripped down. He won't bring much with his back , scarred, but had to make a 'zample of him." He waited f Drumson to rub his hands over the boots to remove any di that might be on them. "You should have heard that b howl. That Clees lays 'em on good." Hammond seemed sat fied with Drumson's services. "I'm a-goin' out. You'd bett come with me. Ain' no use yo' hangin' 'round here. Less how smart you are. Go and find the back stairs, boy. Go c to the livery stable back of the hotel. Tell my coachman, b named Ajax, to get my carriage ready and be 'round front' 'bout half an hour. You be sittin' up beside him. No runn back to Miz Alecks', un'erstand?"

"Yes sir. Master Hammond, sir." Drumson had no desj to run back to the Academy. Life seemed far more interest!

here. He was out of the door and down the long corridor of the hotel. He saw the wide carpeted stairs where they had

, come up but he knew he was forbidden to use them without Hammond beside him. At length he spied a door with letters printed on it Although he could not read, he sensed that this door was different from the others and opened it with some trepidation. But he was right—it was the way out. A flight of imcarpeted stairs led down to a long narrow hall with an open door at the end.

t Once outside he crossed the street to a low building with a

\ wide-open door, in which several white men and slaves were lounging. By the smell he recognized it as the stables and

, once at the door, he spied Ajax, whom he had ridden beside on the carriage. He delivered Hammond's message and lis-

i tened to Ajax grumble as he harnessed the team.

He waited for Ajax to finish harnessing and when it was done and the boy started to climb up on the box, Drumson

, stopped him.

i "Come here." Drumson yanked him to one side. "You're just about the dirtiest nigger I ever saw." He imbuttoned

tAjax' coat, took it off and shook it to snap off the bits of straw and hay which clung to it. His hands brushed off Ajax' breeches. "And you stink. Stink like a horse and stink like a nigger. Go wash yourself." He pointed to a bucket of water one of the horses had been drinking from. "Wash under your stinking arms," he directed.

When Ajax was finished, Dnmison slipped the coat back on him, buttoned it correctly, picked some straws from his kinky wool hair and looked him over. "Now you look some better." He climbed up beside Ajax and they rounded the comer. Drumson had seen footmen riding on carriages that

: stopped at the Academy and he now aped them by crossing his arms and holding them at a smart angle in front of him. He noted the look of surprise on Hammond's face when they drove up and as soon as they stopped, he was down over the •A'heel, opening the door of the carriage, bowing low for his master to enter. Hammond placed his hand on Drumson's shoulder and got

"Take me to Beard's," Hammond said. "They're on Maga-r zine Street, number thirty-eight."

Noticing Drumson's spruceness, Ajax straightened up, held the whip at a smarter angle and the horses clip-clopped over the cobbles. He made one wrong turn but Hammond cor-

rected him and when they arrived at the slave trader's placti I of business, Drumson was once more on the ground, helpinj -Hammond out.

"You come along with me. Ever seen a slave jail before?'

"No, Master Hammond, su:."

"Time you did. Mayhap you'll be in one some day so's yot better git yo'self a good idea."

They entered a dusty, cluttered room, where a red-beardei man, who looked more like a saloon-keeper than a prosperou slave merchant, sat behind a plain deal table, on which th most conspicuous object was a bottle of com. He rose a Hanmiond entered with Drumson behind him.

"A very good afternoon to you, Mista Hammond." Bear was the leading slave dealer in New Orleans at that time an much appreciated Hammond's business. "You got 'nothe slave fer me to sell? Likely young buck, this'n. Fetch you good price."

"Just bo't him and not sellin' him. Goin' to breed him, Hammond's voice suddenly became serious. "Well, Misi Beard, did you find out anything? Any news?"

"Always aim to satisfy, Mista Hammond. Everything signed, sealed and delivered. Yassuh! Called on that Moi sewer Roche yisterday. Queer duck he is. He'd a nekkt mustee boy 'bout fifteen a-sittin' on his lap, so white you never known he was a nigger. Nekkid—buck, starin' stai nekkid with nothin' on but di'mond earbobs. Asked Mo sewer about them twins of your'n you sold him—Meg ar Alph—and he says he sold them four year ago—got too o fer him. 'Pears he don' like 'em after they's grown up. So 'em to a family name of Chauvet over on Gravier Stre< for house servants. Called on the Chauvets and they w willin' to part with 'em. That one, named Alph, he got son welts on his back. Drinks if'n he can steal it, Mista Chau\ says, A-stealin' likker alia time. One named Meg, he's right. So, I bought 'em like you tol' me. Got the pair of 'e for two thousand. That all right?"