Page 10 of Master of Paradise

Before they visited the slave market, Samuel gave Nicholas invaluable tips about what he wanted in a good field hand. Perhaps more importantly he told him what he did not want.

"Back scars is bad. They shows unwillin' workers-- troublemakers. We wants no ruptures, hemorrhoids, broken fingers or toes. No males who's been cut-- they's house slaves."

Nicholas realized cut meant castrated, and he was appalled at the inhumanity.

In spite of Samuel's vivid description, Nick was not fully prepared for the experience encountered at the Barracoon.

They purposely waited until evening.

That way, if business had been slow all day, a few hundred dollars could be knocked off the prices.

Nicholas was a man who seldom hesitated.

He knew what he wanted and walked a direct path to it, but on this late afternoon he purposely observed the other buyers before rushing in to make his selections.

What he saw make his hackles rise.

The whole damned business of purchasing human flesh was abhorent and yet he knew he must ruthlessly hold his nose, so to speak, and follow the custom.

The slaves sat on benches in front of the sheds, until a prospective buyer showed an interest, then they soon lined up for inspection, almost eager to be chosen over their fellowmen.

Nicholas watched and listened as a well-heeled planter bargained for two field hands.

At a gesture from the keeper, the six bucks lined up and stripped naked.

"Nice clean back, no stripes on this one, suh."

"Makes no difference to me. Sugar Plantation. My drivers have to use the whip."

"Yessir, sugarcane sure uses up a lot o' field hands,"

nodded the keeper in sympathy with the planter's problems.

"That's right. Cotton planters get fifteen good workin' years out of a buck. Sugarcane's different. They last only six, seven years."

The planter picked out two slaves and they knelt before him.

He examined their privates then he threw his crop across the compound and told each one to go fetch.

He seemed satisfied with his choice, and began to bargain in earnest.

Nicholas noted the asking price was fifteen hundred apiece, and he blanched as he thought how much it was going to take to buy a dozen men.

However, after a good deal of dickering, a firm offer of eight hundred apiece was made and accepted, and the two men disappeared inside the office to make out the bills of sale.

Nick looked across the compound to the far side where most of the activity was going on.

About two dozen black women were being appraised and examined by half-a-dozen different men.

There were no other buyers interested in looking at the males.

Nick asked Samuel which would be his choice.

Samuel lost no time in lining up about twenty black men, and walking with Nicholas down the row.

"Too old,"

he rejected the first man, although he didn't look as old as Samuel himself. He felt the muscles of the second man and nodded. He ran his hand down the back of the third, nodded, then shook his head at the fourth.

"What's wrong with him?"

"Mulatto."

"So?"

"They gits uppity ideas. Thinks they half white."

"A mulatto is half white. I like the looks of him."

Samuel rolled his eyes and moved on.

"Too thin in de belly. Might be worms."

He said the next two might be all right, 'though they were on the slim side. The next man was burly-chested with fists like hams and thighs that bulged visibly through thin britches.

"Trouble,"said Samuel, passing him by.

"Christ, Samuel, I'm picking workers, not a bloody Sunday school class."

The black man grinned at the remark and Samuel was visibly offended.

"What's your name?"

Nick asked.

"Brute,"

said the man, then added.

"short for Brutus."

Nicholas smiled.

The slave trader emerged from his office, pleased to see another buyer so late in the day.

"What kin ah do fer you, suh? All prime stock. This one here got good bones fer a sapling."

"No. Too young for me. I have to clear land and put in a crop this spring."

The man nodded his understanding.

"I've already selected half-a-dozen."

"How many you needin' suh?"

"Depends on the price,"

Nick said.

"Reckon you'll give me a good price on a dozen?"

The dealer rubbed his hands together at the thought of such a sale.

Nicholas picked men with good shoulders, arms and flanks, without worrying too much about their ages.

In the end he could only afford ten men.

He got them for eight thousand, and went into the office.

A stack of blank bills of sale sat on a table, and the dealer made out ten bills exactly the same, except for the name of each slave.

State of South Carolina.

Know all men by these presents, that I, Jack Wilkinson of Charleston, for and in consideration of the sum of eight hundred dollars to me in hand paid, at an before the sealing and delivery of these presents by Nicholas Peacock (the receipt thereof I do hereby acknowledge) have bargained and sold, and by these presents do bargain, sell and deliver to the said Nicholas Peacock, a negro slave named Brutus, to have and to hold the said Brutus unto the said Nicholas Peacock, his Executors, Administrators and assigns to his and their only proper use and behoof forever.

"Keep them for me until tomorrow,"

Nicholas instructed, glad that the distasteful business was done.

As they walked past the black women, Nicholas was disgusted to see the prospective buyers fingering the naked women, displayed for their pleasure.

The wenches vied with each other for who would be chosen first.

The inviting glances were transferred to him as he approached, and he found he had to look away from such an abomination.

Away from the other females, standing aloof and alone was a tall, slim black girl.

The look she gave him repelled rather than attracted.

She stood high-headed, cloaked in dignity.

"How much for a female?"

Nicholas unexpectedly asked the trader.

"Seven or eight hundred. If she's carryin' a sucker, sometimes a thousand."

"I'll give you five hundred for that one over there. Take it or leave it."

The slave trader hearing the hard finality in his voice, reluctantly agreed, and they returned to the office for her bill of sale.

Nicholas turned to Samuel.

"Get the girl, we'll take her with us."

They walked to the little house on Tradd Street.

All the way Nicholas chided himself for the money that would have been better spent on mules and equipment, but it was something he had just had to do.

After debasing his soul with the business of buying and selling human flesh, he had to have a token salving of his conscience.

He went into the parlor and sat at the desk. He noticed by the bill of sale that the girl's name was Solange. He drew out a blank sheet of paper and dipped the pen in the inkpot.

"I'm going to free you, Solange."

She looked at him blankly.

He worded the paper carefully, clearly, so that it could not be misinterpreted. He dated and signed it and handed it to her with a flourish. When she did not offer to take it from him he repeated.

"This paper means you are free, Solange.

"Free for what?"

she asked softly.

"Free to do whatever you wish, to go where you wish. You can never be bought and sold again. I paid cash money for you and now I'm freeing you."

"Why yo' do this fo' me?"

He looked at her bleakly.

"I'm doing it for myself, Solange, not for you."

"Where will ah go? Where will ah live?"

she asked miserably.

For the first time Nicholas realized she was not thrilled with the prospect of being free. He tried to encourage her.

"Freedom is the most precious thing on earth, Solange. You will be able to work and earn your own money."

She looked at him with a mute plea in her eyes.

"Can ah work fo' yo', Masta Nick?"

Lord God, what do I do now? he wondered.

"Yes, Solange, you may work for me,"

he said with resignation.

"You can look after the house and cook our meals while we are here. We are going upriver day after tomorrow, but it will be nice to have a place to come home to."

Nicholas had just drifted off to sleep after midnight, when all of a sudden he opened his eyes.

He didn't know what had awakened him.

He reached for his pistol and sat up in one swift movement.

Then as his eyes became accustomed to the glow from the trimmed wick of the lamp, he knew.

Solange stood just inside his bedroom door, totally naked.

Her skin shone dark ebony and her limbs were long and sinuous. He stared as the silent moments stretched out. He found his voice.

"You don't have to do this Solange."

She did not answer him.

"I freed you so you would not have to submit to a master ever again. I am not your master. You are a free woman."

She ran her tongue over her lips, then slowly she began to stroke her breasts with circular movements that lifted and thrust them forward.

His mouth went very dry as he watched her, hypnotized.

Her hands slid down the contours of her body as if she were making love to herself.

Then she opened her legs and slipped long, dark fingers into her body. She arched her back and thrust her thighs toward him.

"Jesus,"

he said under his breath, as he became aroused in spite of himself. He lifted the covers back in a silent invitation.

"Let me do that."

He groaned and hoped his soul would not be damned for what he was about to do.

The morning brought him to DuBose at the bank and the mortgage on his newly acquired lands was arranged.

"Peacock, I'm especially delighted to see you today. Did I ever mention Lady Margot Stafford to you? No perhaps not, but I most certainly mentioned you to her. A true English lady in every sense of the word, and a most charming and amusing hostess. She is something of a social phenomenon, probably because Charlestonions are mad about anything English. Lady Stafford has invited me to dine this evening and I urge you to join me."

"Is there a Lord Stafford?"

Nick's curiosity was piqued.

"Unfortunately not. The dear lady is a widow."

"It's most kind of you to help me enlarge my social circle, sir. I shall be honored to accompany you."

Nicholas went in DuBose's carriage and when it pulled up before the house on Wentworth Street, he saw that it was like a mansion on a small scale.

It stood three full stories with screened porches on the lower level, and an open balcony on the second.

Inside, Lady Margot had managed to create an intimate, warm atmosphere that was welcoming.

The sitting and dining rooms had a most comfortable, lived-in appearance, where a man could relax without a servant at his elbow every time he made a move, or without the extreme elegance so often displayed in Charleston homes that encouraged only cool, stilted behavior.

Nicholas was introduced to other guests, but they receded into the background of his mind as Lady Margot advanced into the room.

She was a willowy redhead with a generous mouth.

Her tall figure seemed designed to show off her clothes to perfection.

Nick was pleasantly surprised until she stretched out her hand and opened her mouth to speak.

Then he was shocked.

He knew instantly that she was no lady, and what's more, she knew that he knew.

Her accent condemned her forever to the working classes of England, but Nicholas saw that the American ear made no distinction between the accents of the English.

Lady Margot and Nicholas exchanged amused glances.

Her eyes played with his, asking him to be silent and promising a reward for his co-operation.

Afterwards, Nicholas only remembered that the food was good and the conversation lively, he could never recall who else he met that evening.

When all had departed, save himself and Gabriel DuBose, Lady Margot turned to the banker and in a captivating voice said.

"You don't mind if I persuade Mr. Peacock to stay on for a little while? I am so hungry for news of London, you understand?"

The Frenchman, ever aware of the nuance, left them to be private.

She poured Nicholas a bourbon and brought it to him with a little shrug.

"I did everything I could think of to dissuade Gabriel from bringing you. I knew I was lost the moment I opened my mouth. Thank you for pretending to swallow 'Lady Margot'.

Nick's eyes crinkled with delight at her frankness.

"I think Maggie would be closer to the mark."

She indicated an overstuffed sofa and they sat quite close, sharing their amusement.

"Please don't think you need explain yourself to me. My own background wouldn't bear too close a scrutiny, yet I have no intention of revealing myself to anyone for any reason."

"I feel a need for the truth for once,"

she said quietly.

"When under stress, men suppress; women confess,"

he said lightly.

"Well, there really was a Lord Stafford, but I discovered too late he had no intention of marrying me. God, I was naive. Almost threw myself in the cut when I found out I was pregnant and he'd have none of me. When I started to show, I got the sack from the milliner's shop and thrown out of my digs all in the same week. I was reduced to stealing the necessities of life, and before I knew it, I was clapped behind bars."

"Newgate?"

he asked with quiet compassion.

She nodded.

"I was transported. Christ that voyage damned near did me in, and I swore if I ever got my feet on dry land, I'd never be a victim again."

"How long were you in servitude?"

"Five years was to pay off my passage. I was bought by a wealthy plantation owner in Port Royal, close to the Georgia border. You can guess the rest."

"He seduced you?"

She smiled.

"No love, I could tell you that, but it wouldn't be true. He was left a widower; I seduced him. It was a very simple matter once there was no wife to get in my way. I was so very lucky, really. When he died, he generously left me this house."

"So, you brought your child and took Lord Stafford's name. I think that was ingenious of you."

She smiled seductively, and lifted his glass to sip from it, then gave it back to him.

"Without an income, how do you manage?"

he asked pointedly.

"I have two... friends. After all,"

she shrugged.

"schools cost money. Things are very different in America than they are in England, especially in the South. Men don't take married women for their mistresses here. It's almost unheard of. The virtue of Southern womanhood is revered, worshipped almost. They are so chaperoned, so protected. A lady would be ruined if there was even the slightest whisper about her. Actually, Southern men believe that white ladies should be protected from men's sexual appetites. That's why they indulge themselves with black wenches. So you see, I don't fit the mold and I must be very, very discrete."

"Is Gabriel one of your friends?"

he asked quite bluntly.

"No, no. Poor Gabriel thinks one day I shall chose him for my banker,"

she laughed.

Nicholas stretched out a finger to trace her collarbone.

"Perhaps we could be friends."

She quivered at his touch. It had been a long time since she had slept with a man just for the pleasure it brought.

He drew her against him with one strong arm, while his other hand had already undone the fastening of her gown.

As he freed her breasts, his head dipped to taste the fruit to see if it was to his liking.

It was nightfall before the weary travelers arrived at Paradise, the name already being used to refer to Nicholas Peacock's place.

The mules Nick had purchased were put to work hauling wagons filled with plows, tools and supplies.

Well over half of the hands he had purchased had experience driving mules, and the supplies that the wagons could not accommodate were being sent by barge down the river that curved in so close to Paradise.

By the time they arrived, Nicholas knew all his men by name.

It was simple really.

Brute looked exactly the part, Jason was the Mulatto, Joe the oldest, Ben the youngest, while Gold and Silver were two brothers.

Nick mused that perhaps Fate had sent them as a sign of his venture's prosperity.

Moses had a wide space between his teeth, which immediately brought to mind the parting of the Red Sea.

Luke never spoke, only nodded and shook his head, and Vulcan and Lance had developed an immediately rivalry to see who could lift the bigger load.

Nicholas knew he could use this to advantage, providing he didn't allow the rivalry to develop into something nastier.

They all pitched in to build a fire, then while they unloaded the wagons and fed and watered the mules, Samuel and Nicholas made coffee and handed around ham and biscuits, the only food that was practical at such a late hour.

As they sat sipping their coffee, Nicholas talked to his men.

He pointed out the boundaries of his land.

He told them what was expected of them, and what they could expect in return.

He shared some of his dreams for a plantation that would thrive and eventually outdo those around it.

"I won't ask any man to do what I won't do myself.

I'm going to be working alongside you, and we'll cut trees, clear out stumps, plow, plant and pick together.

We'll build just a couple of cabins to live in at first.

Then we'll build one for each of you.

There's lots of logs; lots of wood.

The first problem will be food.

Who knows how to build a barbeque? Good! Joe, tomorrow take Ben and find enough stones to build a really big one to cook for a dozen of us.

"If I work sixteen hours a day, I expect you all to work sixteen hours a day,"

he warned.

"At Paradise Hill everyone is equal, understand?"

He grinned.

"Course, Samuel here's a house man. Thinks he's better than the rest of us, but until we have a house for him to take charge of, he's going to have to work like the rest of us."

Nick watched as they all grinned at Samuel's haughty discomfort.

"Course, hard work like we're going to be doing would kill a damned house man, so he's going to have to take over the job of feeding us all."

He put his arm about Samuel's shoulders to show him his appreciation for all his help and advice.

"I'll buy chickens and goats from Bernard Jackson, and I'll hunt just as its coming light in the mornings. Should be plenty deer and game, don't you think?"

"Sure 'nuff is. Squirrel and wild turkey; lotsa 'coon an' possum,"

nodded Samuel.

"an anybody with a whole lotta guts can hunt down a razorback or two."

"Wild hogs?"

asked Nick, then said thoughtfully.

"I bet it would be possible to keep some in a pen and breed them."

His mind ran on again.

"Everybody know how to fish?"

As they drifted off to sleep they wondered at this strange man who had paid good money for them, but wasn't even going to spancel them for the night.

In the beginning, it was pride that made the men work; pride to keep up with this strange white man from England.

Then later, it was pride that kept them going, that drove them on.

Pride in themselves and what they could accomplish; pride in their determination to produce excellent crops.

Nicholas planted tobacco and cotton, and where the land was covered by water, he planted a crop of wild rice, rather than take time to drain the land.

There would be other years for that.

The rice seeds could be planted anywhere from six to sixteen inches underwater, lightly covered with peaty bottom soil, anywhere that was protected from wind and waves.

The three crops had staggered planting times and different harvesting months, so they went straight from cotton into tobacco, and then rice.

Every day like clockwork a servant was dispatched from the Jackson Plantation to invite Nicholas to dine.

He was loathe to turn down the generous hospitality of his neighbors, and in the end compromised by dining there one evening every week.

He grew close to the Jacksons, receiving invaluable advice from Bernard in regard to his crops.

The county was as hive of social activity.

Everyone took time for socializing, enjoying a party, barbeque, or fish-fry every single day of the week.

Nicholas Peacock received dozens of invitations, but he knew he could not play until his work was done.

It would be years before he could take time from his labors, except for the weekly visit to the Jacksons.

Nick never forgot the look of dismay on Mandy's face when he told her he had purchased Paradise Hill from the County.

"You bought it on purpose, just to spite me! Your aim in life is to torment me like a plague of locusts."

Whenever her anger was aroused, her eyes flashed with golden lights that held him enraptured.

He quickly assured her that she was welcome to come and play there anytime, then in an attempt to bring out her dimples, he added.

"I think you can secretly consider it yours."

Her mood changed like quicksilver.

"Will you build a house there, someday?"

"The House on Paradise Hill," he mused.

"I think a Grecian Temple would be the right style, don't you?"

"Oh, yes, that would be lovely."

She sighed.

"I'd better not be home late today. I'm in Mammy Lou's bad books again."

"What is it this time, chewing tobacco and picking your teeth?"

He cocked a quizzical eyebrow at her.

"You always make me laugh, so I can't stay mad at you. As a matter of fact, I refused to curtsy to the ladies and gentlemen at the Beverly's party last night. It's the principle of curtsying I object to, but Mammy I'm afraid doesn't understand principles."

Her chin went up in a challenge.

"You do, don't you?"

"Yes, I understand,"

he said, thinking this lovely young girl was as old as the ancients and wise beyond her years, but still, alas, a young girl. And yet... and yet...