Drum (49 page)

Hanunond was visibly pleased, "Deduct it from my 'coui Where you a-keeping 'em?"

"Locked up in a cell upstairs by theyselves, 'way frc the rest of your lot. Didn't think you'd a-want them a-talki| to your boys."

*Tha's right. Now, you put them up tomorrow and member, you stop the biddin' at two thousan' and sell th*

to me. You gets your commission on the purchase and on the sale but don' let 'em go to anyone else."

"Right." Beard poured out a glass of corn for Hammond and pushed it along the table to him with a finger whose black-encrusted nail tapped on the glass as it inched it along. Hammond accepted the com and drank it. "And now, Mista Beard, I'll take a last look at my lot, jes' to see if'n they be al'right Sure that Meg 'n' Alph can't see me nor hear me?"

"They's sep'rate—all by theyselves upstairs. Can't see nor hear nuthin'." He got up, drew a big bunch of keys from the drawer of the table and opened a door in the back of the room. Behind its wooden panels was an iron grille which he unlocked and swung open. Drumson followed the two men out into the open courtyard around which were rows of cells. The doors were all open and a large number of slaves were milling about or sitting on the ground. As soon as they saw Hammond, they all came rushing up to him. "Masta Maxwell, suh, Masta Maxwell." They were all delighted to see a familiar face and it was Dlain to see that they all liked him. They clustered around lim, laughing, whooping and grinning. "You all right, boys?" Hanmiond grinned back at them. "We's fine, Masta Maxwell, jes' fine. We's all waiting for tomorrer. Waitin' fer us to find a new masta." Never fin' one so good's you, Masta Maxwell." You shore they's a-gonna buy me for a stud, suh?" When you gits back, 'member me to Miz Lucretia Borgia, !nasta suh." Hammond clapped first one and then the other on the back, uring them, joking with them and keeping their spirits up. Sach felt he was going to be a stud on some breeding farm ^I'lnd was delighted over the prospect Hammond had encour-*iged their fantasies, knowing however that most of them I vould be sold to the cane fields for a brief five or six years of ailing labor. For a moment he wanted to gather all these 'amiliar slaves, whom he had seen growing up from children iO young manhood, about him and take them all back to ?alconhurst. They were his. Inwardly he cursed himself for a ftientimental idiot. Dammit! This was what he had raised jjhem for. Whatever would he do with all these fellows, eating I heir heads off back at Falconhurst, with another crop coming on next year, and another the year after and the year lifter that? He sighed. Slaves were his business and a damned

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good business it was—better'n cotton, even if it wasn't genteel. Better money in slaves than anything else, but thi was the one part he disliked—selling them. He signaled ) Drumson to follow him out.

Dnmison felt he was going to be sick. There was a taste of vomit in his mouth and he had to swallow hard keep it down. He had always known he was a slave but no for the first time in his life he was supremely conscious of J He could be one of those fellows back in there. Tomorrow like them, he might be standing on the block. Tomorrow like them, he might have to listen to voices bidding for hii with one voice in the end claiming him. He shivered ai swallowed his puke. As they passed out onto the banquet and he helped Hammond into the carriage, he gained i surance from the solid feel of white flesh under the tU linen of the coat sleeve. He had already been sold and nc he belonged to this man. This man was his master. The was comfort in the thought. He closed the door of the a riage and hopped up beside Ajax.

"Back to the hotel, Ajax," Hammond called out.

Drumson closed his eyes and envisioned the big, elab rately furnished room at the hotel and the little room off That was where he would be staying tonight, not in os of the barred cells at Beard's slave jail. He was Mas ■: Hammond's slave. He was content.

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chapter iii

That first night was far from being the glamorous experience Dnxmson had anticipated. It was, in fact, less interesting and exciting than an evening in the Academy where there was always something happening. After they returned to the hotel room from Beard's, Hammond pulled a I bell cord, and soon a most elegant young Negro appeared at f the door, resplendent in a uniform of sky blue with many I rows of bright brass buttons. Drumson could only stare at I the splendid suit while his master ordered dinner. Hammond spumed the exotic Creole dishes on the printed menu. He ordered the same food he was accustomed to at home—fried I ham, fried potatoes and fried eggs, along with coffee and (bread, and asked that the order be duplicated for Drumson. I When the boy returned, bearing two napkin-covered trays, jhe deftly set up the table for one, with snowy white napery, I fine china and silvier—the water in a crystal carafe and the i coffee in a silver pot. The other tray he carried into the small :room and placed on the floor beside the bed. I A little self-consciously, as though not quite accustomed I to the finery, Hammond seated himself at the table with Drum-son standing behind him and told him to pour the coffee. When he had bolted his own dinner, he told Drumson to go eat his in his dark cubbyhole. Drumson found that his food was identical with his master's but instead of being served on fine china, it was on a clean-scrubbed tin plate, with wooden-handled steel knives and forks. The coffee was in a tin pot and the mug from which he drank was of thick earth-ware. When he had wiped the last bit of ham grease up from ais plate, he came to the doorway. Hammond was reading a copy of the Picayune.

"Master Hammond, sir?" Drumson was in a quandary as to how to proceed. Hammond had told him not to ask questions but now there was a necessity for asking. "Can I ask ^ou a question?"

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"Shore kin, boy, if'n you wants information." Hammoa looked up from the newspaper. "Al'ays ask me questions ifi you not sure about somethin'. Better to ask questions than ti make mistakes. Jes' don' never int'rupt me whilst I'm talkin'."

"Yes sir, master, sir. How am I to go about washing thea here plates and thing?"

Hammond laughed. "You don' bother yo' head "bou washin' these thin's. Tha's all 'tended to fo' you. You jes' rin; de bell like I done. Boy comes up and totes away the dirt dishes." His thumb jerked in the direction of the bell. "G< ahead, pull it. He come soon."

"Another question. Master Hammond, sir, but I don' kno^ how to ask it. Something I want to do—something I hav to do."

Hammond's good nature changed to a frown. "If'n yoi wants to go out, nol Ain't goin' to have no nigger of min goin' 'bout the streets a-raisin' hell at night. Wants you her where I knows where you is. Ain' havin' valible property ou carousin' round. Where you wants to go? Back to Mi Alecks? You homesick?"

"No sir. Master Hanrmmond, sir. Don't want to go out. Drumson's face twisted and beads of perspiration stood ou on his forehead. "Ain't that at all. Master, su-. I need. . . . He was at a loss how to put his emergency into words.

"Needs what?" Hammond was becoming exasperated.

"Need to make water, sir. Need to mighty bad. Can't hoL it much longer, Master Hammond, sir."

Hanunond's frown broke into a grin. "Gotta piss? The: hurry, boy! They's a privy fer niggers out in the livery stable Run along and come back quick. Cain't have you holdin' yc water."

"Thank you, master, sir. Can't hold it much longer." Drum son was out the door. He ran down the hall, took the stair two at a time and dashed across the street. He found Aja sitting on his haunches in the doorway and blurted out hi need. Ajax pointed to a privy in the rear of the stable. 1 was nothing more than a long bench with a series of roum holes cut in it, entirely unpartitioned from the main part C the stable although partially hidden behind one of the stalli

An elegantly dressed Negro woman, arrogant in her blac silk gown and little cap of lace was squatting on one of th holes but Drumson paid no attention to her. His need wa far too great to worry about the amenities. She, however, wa

definitely interested in him and watched the process with great concentration.

"I'se Mist'ess Belcour's servant." She smiled up an invitation from her sitting position. 'We's in Room One-Three-Eight. My mist'ess she's a-going to de ball tonight. Po' li'l me! I be all 'lone. Like mighty well to entertain nice-lookin' young boy like you if n you could come to my room. You're shore a mighty powerfid boy. Inviting you, I am, ifn you not too busy." Her small hand came up, grasping warmly and Aivith urgency.

The temptation was great but Drumson knew that it would be impossible. It was his first night with Hanmiond and he did not dare to make any plans of his own.

"Thank you, ma'am." Drumson felt he should bow but he was not able to manage it.

"My name's Poppit." The caress of her hand detained him.

"I'd like to mighty well. Miss Poppit, but my master needs me tonight." Hypnotized by her fondling, he was reluctant to leave.

Her disappointment was evident. She snatched her hand away and Drumson buttoned his fly with diflBculty. To pacify her, he jerked his head in the direction of Ajax who was standing behind him, eyes bugged wide open. "Maybe you'd like this boy, Ajax, here. He's our coachman."

Ajax stepped forward grinning but she disdained his presence. "He's too black." She shook her head and smoothed down her dress. "I'se quality and don' take up wid no fiel' hands nor no stinkin' stableboys." With a floimce of her skirts she was off and Drumson followed her into the back door of the hotel and up the stairs. Halfway up the stairs she stopped and waited for him to catch up with her. In an instant her arms were around him and she had planted a kiss on his mouth. For a long minute they stood there, bodies straining against each other, until he wrenched himself away and not daring to look behind him fled up the stairs, raced down the hall and, breathless, knocked at the door of Hammond's room.

"You didn't need to race yo'self." Hammond was impressed by his evident haste in returning. "Now, set yo'self down and wait here till I gets back. Don' know what time I comes back but wan' you here when I does. Don' leave this room. Un'erstan'?"

Drumson nodded. He had hoped to accompany his master wherever he went.

"If n you wants, you kin set yo'self out on the balcony,* Hammond continued. "Mayhap the HO-tel don' permit it bul if'n anyone ast you, say you Masta Hammond Maxwell's servant and he give you leave." He waited a second expectantly. "Ain't you goin' to pass me my hat?"

Drumson jumped. He took the white Panama, blew on ij to remove any possible dust and handed it to him. Aftei Hammond left, Drumson made a tour of the room, opening wardrobe doors and bureau drawers, investigating every item, but taking pains to put everything back in its propei place. When it started to get dark, he had no idea of how to light the lamps or even if he were permitted to do so. Soon after he had completed his inspection of the room, there came a rap on the door. He jumped to answer it, thinking Hammond had returned, but it was only the boy in the blue Uvery.

"Come to get yo' plates and things," he said. "Ain't yo gonna hand me them?"

Drumson ignored his loftiness. With a sweep of his hand he indicated the empty plates on the table and those of his own in the other room.

"Master Hammond Maxwell's servant don't wait on hote trash," he said loftily. "If you want the plates, take 'em, bu don't expect Master Hammond Maxwell's servant to wait oi you." The boy gathered up the dishes meekly and departed. !

Drumson was left alone with nobody to talk to, nowhen to go and nothing to do. It was a new experience for hin, because aU his life he had been surrovmded by people. Bu the novelty of his surroundings kept him from being lonelyi He went out through the tall French window onto the balcon}; and sat primly in an iron chair, looking down at th( crowds below. The street lanterns illuminated the scene ancj he was enthralled by the arrival of carriages and coaches, th(J elaborate toilettes of the women and the clothes and man ners of the men. He envisaged the men who would be com! ing to Alix' now and he wondered if Hammond Maxwei would be among them. j

But Hammond wasn't. He had started out from his root < with no idea as to where he might be going and he had gone only as far as the hotel bar under the big dome. Thjf bar was equipped to serve hot toddies and the warm drinl were much more to his liking than the cold Uquor he dran; in his room. Acquaintances and strangers soon formed ,: small group around him and the hours passed in convivialitii

He felt no intimacy with his drinking companions, but their talk, which alternated between cotton and slaves, interested him, particularly the latter subject on which he was an authority.

Since his father's death and his return to Falconhurst, Hammond had given up all pretense to raising cotton, which had hitherto given the plantation a modicum of gentility. Now his business was slaves. He was not ashamed of it. Slaves did not have the respectability of cotton—slave dealers were looked down upon—but he was not a slave dealer, he was a slave breeder. Let the cotton planters mortgage their worn-out soil, mortgage their land, their houses, their slaves, even their daughters' pianos and their wives' diamonds. Each year saw the cotton aristocracy deeper in the debtor's slough while he continued to prosper with his slaves. His sales this year in New Orleans would be at least $100,000 and probably a great deal more. Cotton! Bah! It was impossible to supply the ever increasing market for slaves. Planters were even mortgaging slaves to buy more slaves. Let the cotton planters look down their aristocratic noses at Falconhurst as a slave-breeding plantation. He could look down his nose at them with the iron kettles of gold that were buried at Falconhurst and the money that he was now entrusting to the banks in New Orleans, Natchez and Mobile.

Yes, his business was slaves and he enjoyed it, all except the selling off of his stock as it matured. His entire plantation was given over to raising them and the barren soil which had been depleted by cotton was now turned over to the grazing of cattle and the raising of produce for the slaves' sustenance. The plantation had become practically self-supporting and his slaves grew strong and healthy on a diet which included milk and pork and eggs. Not for them was the diet of com pone and sow belly, which was the standard feed on many plantations. That was why Falconhurst slaves were such prime specimens compared to the scrawny runts that other owners produced. Falconhurst bred them and Falconhurst fed them. Outside of the yards of osnaburg and tow linen he bought for the slaves' clothes and the rough shoes he had cobbled for their feet, Hammond made few other purchases except medicines—purges for their stomachs, arnica for their sprains and laudanum for everything else— a hogshead of blackstrap molasses now and then and such tools as were necessary for cultivation.