Abraham Lincoln_ Vampire Hunter - Seth Grahame-Smith [42]
I walked a quarter of a mile behind the group. Close enough to hear the overseer’s occasional barking, but far enough for my careful footfalls to escape the ears of a vampire.
Night had begun to fall by the time they reached a plantation eight miles north of the city, and a mile from the east bank of the river.
It looked no different than any of the plantations I had seen up and down the Mississippi. A blacksmith’s shop. A tanning yard. A grist mill. Storehouses, machinery, looms, sheds, stables, and some five-and-twenty slave quarters surrounding the planter’s house. These were one-room cabins where a dozen Negroes might live together, sleeping on dirt floors or corn husk beds, their pine torches burning so the women could tend to their quilting work long into the night. By day the dark fields around me would be filled with noise and work. Gangs of a hundred men digging trenches in long rows. Women driving plows in the searing heat. The white overseers riding among them on horseback, looking for the slightest offense to punish by flogging their naked backs. In the center of it all stood the master’s house. Those slaves “fortunate” enough to work here were spared the backbreaking toil of the fields, but by no means was theirs an easy existence, for they were just as likely to be flogged for the slightest transgression. Furthermore, female slaves of any age might well find themselves at the mercy of master’s unspeakable whims.
Abe kept his distance as the twelve slaves were led past the maison principale and into a large barn, the inside lit by torches and hanging oil lamps. Hiding behind a shed some twenty yards away, he had a clear view through the open doors.
Here they were joined by a large Negro (the master and overseer having adjourned to the house). He held a whip, which he cracked at the new arrivals while ordering them to form a line in the center of the barn. Thus arranged, they were made to sit—still joined at the waist by rope. A mulatto woman presently appeared carrying a large basket under her arm (this only serving to increase the apprehension of the newly arrived, for they had doubtless heard stories of slaves being branded by new masters). Happily, the basket was stuffed with food, to which the twelve slaves were instructed to help themselves freely. I watched their eyes shine at the sight of fried pork and corn cakes. Of cow’s milk and handfuls of sugar candies. I saw such relief on their faces, for until this moment, they had been unsure of what cruelties awaited. They could hardly fill their starving bellies fast enough.
Abe wondered if he had been too hasty in his suspicion. Henry proved that there were vampires capable of kindness. Of restraint. Had these slaves been bought for the purpose of being freed? At the very least, would they be treated with compassion?
This feast having gone on for what seemed a half hour, I watched a party of white men walk from the house to the barn. There were ten in all, including the master I had followed from New Orleans. Each varied in age and build—though all looked to be men of some means. On their reaching the barn, the large Negro again cracked his whip and ordered the slaves to their feet, and set about removing the rope from around their waists. The mulatto woman collected her basket and made off with no want of haste.
The white men having assembled near the entrance, one of them handed something to his host (certainly papers of some sort—I suspect they were banknotes) and approached the line of slaves. I watched him pace back and forth, examining each one, until at last he stopped behind an older, thickset woman and waited. One by one, each of the eight others handed his tribute to their host, examined the remaining slaves, and picked his own to wait behind, until all nine guests were in place. The Negroes dared