Mosana (The Union) - Part V
EPISODE 5
The auction ground was chaos. There were slaves of all ages there, waiting to be sold. Some were crying, but most were solemn, resigned to their fate. Babies were ripped from their screaming mothers; families were separated to be sold to different families. The defiant ones were beaten into submission, and buyers just strolled casually around the area, looking at them like meat, sizing them up.
It was just another day in Maryland.
True to his words, the man that had brought us the previous day came back with his friend and brought us to the auction as our auctioneers. Like I had guessed, it was close by, right near the slave pit. He separated me, Meg and Mel with some other slaves in between us, so we could still see each other.
Then we waited.
I noticed that when someone they didn’t like came to size us up, the men that brought us would hike the price so high that the person would walk away in disgust. “We need you in the right place,” he said simply when I asked.
Meg was sold first. The other man handled her sales, and I knew they had sent her to where they hoped to get information. I watched her get loaded up and swallowed the lump in my throat.
She’ll be alright, she’ll be alright, she’ll be alright, I chanted in my head.
We hadn’t waited up to an hour when they came. I was just thinking that the sun was getting too hot to bear when I heard my auctioneer hiss, “Oh, no.”
“What?” I asked loudly, forgetting that I was a slave waiting to be sold, and not friends with my auctioneer.
He didn’t answer, instead he moved in front of me. Almost like he was trying to block me from their view. I noticed that the other man did the same for Mel, a few paces away from us.
Then I saw it. Or rather, him.
He arrived in a single-horse drawn carriage, with a wagon behind drawn by another horse. Time seemed to slow down, as people made way for him. The auctioneers went crazy trying to sell him their best slaves. They clearly knew who he was. I on the other hand, was still clueless.
“Who’s that?” I whispered.
“Someone you shouldn’t get sold to.”
“Why?”
“Because that is Andrew Flounder.”
I was confused. That was the man whose name had saved our lives and our virtues last night. I didn’t know him, but I knew he was powerful. Wasn’t that exactly the kind of man that had the information we were looking for?
“Why aren’t you trying to sell us to him?”
My auctioneer turned to face me, not caring if anyone was looking. Everyone was too involved with Mr. Flounder anyway. “Look, the Society wants intel, but not at the expense of your life. If you go into that man’s house, there’s no guarantee that we can get you out. And don’t even think about escaping, because no one ever has. He’s not like the rest. He works his slaves till they drop, and when he’s tired of them, he shoots them dead, and comes to the auction to buy new ones. People think it’s because he doesn’t want his business getting out, that’s why he kills his slaves. My guess is, he has just sent some of those slaves to their graves, and he’s here to replace them.”
Fear gripped my chest. So that’s why those rapists let us go so quickly. If we had truly belonged to that kind of man, we’d be dead already. He wouldn’t come to the auction to buy us back, he would have had slave hunters shoot us on sight!
I watched Andrew Flounder move through the crowd, taking slaves that caught his fancy, and paying the auctioneers’ asking price. Then I saw him stop at Mel.
Oh God…
He lifted up her head and I saw the tears that were already streaming down. No doubt, the other auctioneer with her had already told her a similar story to the one I had just heard. She knew who she was looking at.
They were staying there too long. Usually, the other auctioneers didn’t waste any time selling the slave that Andrew Flounder wanted. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I knew the other man that had brought us was trying to wiggle his way out of selling Mel to Mr. Flounder. But Andrew Flounder didn’t look like someone who would be denied what he wanted.
From where I stood, it was obvious that the other auctioneer was losing the battle. Mr. Flounder had already forced money into his hand and had his driver untying the ropes that bound Mel.
Before I could think, I screamed, “No!”
“Shut up!” the man with me hissed. But it was too late. I had already caught Mr. Flounder’s attention.
“Leave her alone!” I screamed at him. My hands were tied to a pillar behind my back, just like every other slave was at the auction, and I struggled against it now, trying as if to get to Mel.
Mr. Flounder walked over to me. He smiled. “Let me guess, she’s your sister.”
I said nothing, and kept my head down. He held his smile and took my face in his hands, stroking it.
“On the other hand,” he mused. “You look much sturdier. I think I’ll have better use for you.”
“Now, sir--” my auctioneer began.
“Silence!” Mr. Flounder commanded. “I didn’t come here to haggle. I will take what merchandise I want, and give you what I deem fit as payment. Which," he looked around, "considering the fact that I’m the best buyer here, will be more than any other buyer can give you!”
“Yes, Mr. Flounder, sir. Of course.” My auctioneer cast one fleeting look my way, and that was it.
I was untied and walked over to the wagon that had accompanied Mr. Flounder’s carriage. I got in, and sat down with the other slaves he had already bought, fighting fear and panic.
With the way I sat in the wagon, I had my back to Mel, which was just as well, as I didn’t want her to see my face. No use showing her my fear.
Andrew Flounder concluded his business in the slave auction and went into his carriage. With a command, we drove off.
Unlike the last time I was sold, this time, I could see my surroundings as we traveled. I didn’t keep my head down, morose, as the other slaves did. Instead, I mapped out the area as best as I could, noting any landmarks that might help me should I need to escape. Just when I was thinking that I wouldn’t be able to remember so many routes, the carriage drove up to an opulent mansion.
It turned out that the Flounders did not live too far from town. I couldn’t help but compare their mansion to that of the Russells. But what they lacked in style, they made up for in land. By the gods, the Flounders had land.
We came up to the house from the back, where the road bordered their fields of cotton. I saw slaves I could not count scattered all across, picking cotton. Where the cotton ended, the maize began. And where the maize stopped, the wheat took over. And so on, and so on. But right around the house, there was a well-manicured lawn, with grass so green, I didn’t think anyone walked on it.
Andrew Flounder walked us up to the house himself, while his coachman took the carriage and the wagon away. Single file, we walked through a narrow passageway into a medium-sized sitting area where we waited. Mr. Flounder casually arranged himself in a settee while we shuffled our feet in his sitting room, waiting for God-knows-what. A few moments later, a young girl, a child really, entered to serve him… gin, I think it was. I smirked. Andrew Flounder did not look like the tea-drinking type anyway.
Just as the girl was leaving, an older woman came in. One look at her told me she was Mrs. Flounder. But I refused to believe my eyes until Mr. Flounder got up and kissed her on the lips, calling her ‘darling’. I couldn’t believe it because Mrs. Flounder was a black woman.
An older black woman.
It might not have been obvious to a lot of people, but I could tell. The difference would have only been a few years, but the evidence was in her eyes – they were tired. I would have placed Andrew Flounder in his early forties, because of the traces of white hair appearing at his temples. Mrs. Flounder on the other hand, was nearing fifty; of that I was certain.
She had an air about her, but not like her husband. While they both exuded wealth and power, there was a danger to Mr. Flounder that his wife didn’t have. That didn’t mean I could trust her though. Black or not, she was the enemy.
“For your inspection, my love,” Mr. Flounder said, splaying his hands in our general direction.
Mrs. Flounder gave us a once-over and said, “They’re adequate.”
Mr. Flounder clapped his hands twice, and a slim woman came bustling into the room.
“Andrea. How’s the baby?” I didn’t know if it was my vision, or if Mrs. Flounder stiffened at that statement. But her husband was still talking so, I couldn’t focus on her.
“Get these ones settled, will you?” he said, to which Andrea gave a slight bow and said to us, “Follow me.”
We followed her out of the house, back the same way we had come. Andrea led us, 6 new slaves, to the back of the house where a barn-like structure stood. We went in, and I saw what it really was – a sleeping room, about twelve feet wide and three times as long as that. There were beds of hay arranged about in rows, at the walls, and in the middle, with space to walk in between. There was nobody in the barn, as they were all on the fields, working, but I could see that the beds had been taken. There were bits and pieces of property that the owners had used to mark their spots. A coin here, a hair pin there; pieces of rag here, and a boot there.
Andrea assigned us our beds, but I noticed that they seemed occupied. Before I could raise a complaint, Andrea said out loud, “If you find anything in the places I’ve assigned to you, keep them. They’re yours now. The former owners are…” She stalled. “They have no more use for them,” she finally finished in a low voice.
The six of us looked at each other. No more use for them indeed, I said in my head. I looked at my new bed. I could think of a good reason why someone wouldn’t need a perfectly good pair of trousers. The former occupant must have been a man. I would have to inherit his clothes, as I had nothing else on me.
“Now that you know your places, please place whatever you came with on it to mark your spot, and follow me out into the field,” Andrea said to us.
I watched as the five other slaves around me placed personal effects on their beds. A picture, a piece of jewelry, a sock, a handkerchief, another picture. I had nothing, so I was the first to follow Andrea out the barn door.
We stood together and waited for the others to catch up. Then together, we all walked to the fields. The cotton fields.
I heard it before I saw them. The singing. It was low and solemn, and something about it called to me. I couldn’t make out the words yet, but somehow, I understood what they were saying. As we drew closer, I made out the words of the chorus.
Soon a’ will be done with the troubles of the world…
I had a feeling that the trouble was only just getting started.
The auction ground was chaos. There were slaves of all ages there, waiting to be sold. Some were crying, but most were solemn, resigned to their fate. Babies were ripped from their screaming mothers; families were separated to be sold to different families. The defiant ones were beaten into submission, and buyers just strolled casually around the area, looking at them like meat, sizing them up.
It was just another day in Maryland.
True to his words, the man that had brought us the previous day came back with his friend and brought us to the auction as our auctioneers. Like I had guessed, it was close by, right near the slave pit. He separated me, Meg and Mel with some other slaves in between us, so we could still see each other.
Then we waited.
I noticed that when someone they didn’t like came to size us up, the men that brought us would hike the price so high that the person would walk away in disgust. “We need you in the right place,” he said simply when I asked.
Meg was sold first. The other man handled her sales, and I knew they had sent her to where they hoped to get information. I watched her get loaded up and swallowed the lump in my throat.
She’ll be alright, she’ll be alright, she’ll be alright, I chanted in my head.
We hadn’t waited up to an hour when they came. I was just thinking that the sun was getting too hot to bear when I heard my auctioneer hiss, “Oh, no.”
“What?” I asked loudly, forgetting that I was a slave waiting to be sold, and not friends with my auctioneer.
He didn’t answer, instead he moved in front of me. Almost like he was trying to block me from their view. I noticed that the other man did the same for Mel, a few paces away from us.
Then I saw it. Or rather, him.
He arrived in a single-horse drawn carriage, with a wagon behind drawn by another horse. Time seemed to slow down, as people made way for him. The auctioneers went crazy trying to sell him their best slaves. They clearly knew who he was. I on the other hand, was still clueless.
“Who’s that?” I whispered.
“Someone you shouldn’t get sold to.”
“Why?”
“Because that is Andrew Flounder.”
I was confused. That was the man whose name had saved our lives and our virtues last night. I didn’t know him, but I knew he was powerful. Wasn’t that exactly the kind of man that had the information we were looking for?
“Why aren’t you trying to sell us to him?”
My auctioneer turned to face me, not caring if anyone was looking. Everyone was too involved with Mr. Flounder anyway. “Look, the Society wants intel, but not at the expense of your life. If you go into that man’s house, there’s no guarantee that we can get you out. And don’t even think about escaping, because no one ever has. He’s not like the rest. He works his slaves till they drop, and when he’s tired of them, he shoots them dead, and comes to the auction to buy new ones. People think it’s because he doesn’t want his business getting out, that’s why he kills his slaves. My guess is, he has just sent some of those slaves to their graves, and he’s here to replace them.”
Fear gripped my chest. So that’s why those rapists let us go so quickly. If we had truly belonged to that kind of man, we’d be dead already. He wouldn’t come to the auction to buy us back, he would have had slave hunters shoot us on sight!
I watched Andrew Flounder move through the crowd, taking slaves that caught his fancy, and paying the auctioneers’ asking price. Then I saw him stop at Mel.
Oh God…
He lifted up her head and I saw the tears that were already streaming down. No doubt, the other auctioneer with her had already told her a similar story to the one I had just heard. She knew who she was looking at.
They were staying there too long. Usually, the other auctioneers didn’t waste any time selling the slave that Andrew Flounder wanted. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I knew the other man that had brought us was trying to wiggle his way out of selling Mel to Mr. Flounder. But Andrew Flounder didn’t look like someone who would be denied what he wanted.
From where I stood, it was obvious that the other auctioneer was losing the battle. Mr. Flounder had already forced money into his hand and had his driver untying the ropes that bound Mel.
Before I could think, I screamed, “No!”
“Shut up!” the man with me hissed. But it was too late. I had already caught Mr. Flounder’s attention.
“Leave her alone!” I screamed at him. My hands were tied to a pillar behind my back, just like every other slave was at the auction, and I struggled against it now, trying as if to get to Mel.
Mr. Flounder walked over to me. He smiled. “Let me guess, she’s your sister.”
I said nothing, and kept my head down. He held his smile and took my face in his hands, stroking it.
“On the other hand,” he mused. “You look much sturdier. I think I’ll have better use for you.”
“Now, sir--” my auctioneer began.
“Silence!” Mr. Flounder commanded. “I didn’t come here to haggle. I will take what merchandise I want, and give you what I deem fit as payment. Which," he looked around, "considering the fact that I’m the best buyer here, will be more than any other buyer can give you!”
“Yes, Mr. Flounder, sir. Of course.” My auctioneer cast one fleeting look my way, and that was it.
I was untied and walked over to the wagon that had accompanied Mr. Flounder’s carriage. I got in, and sat down with the other slaves he had already bought, fighting fear and panic.
With the way I sat in the wagon, I had my back to Mel, which was just as well, as I didn’t want her to see my face. No use showing her my fear.
Andrew Flounder concluded his business in the slave auction and went into his carriage. With a command, we drove off.
Unlike the last time I was sold, this time, I could see my surroundings as we traveled. I didn’t keep my head down, morose, as the other slaves did. Instead, I mapped out the area as best as I could, noting any landmarks that might help me should I need to escape. Just when I was thinking that I wouldn’t be able to remember so many routes, the carriage drove up to an opulent mansion.
It turned out that the Flounders did not live too far from town. I couldn’t help but compare their mansion to that of the Russells. But what they lacked in style, they made up for in land. By the gods, the Flounders had land.
We came up to the house from the back, where the road bordered their fields of cotton. I saw slaves I could not count scattered all across, picking cotton. Where the cotton ended, the maize began. And where the maize stopped, the wheat took over. And so on, and so on. But right around the house, there was a well-manicured lawn, with grass so green, I didn’t think anyone walked on it.
Andrew Flounder walked us up to the house himself, while his coachman took the carriage and the wagon away. Single file, we walked through a narrow passageway into a medium-sized sitting area where we waited. Mr. Flounder casually arranged himself in a settee while we shuffled our feet in his sitting room, waiting for God-knows-what. A few moments later, a young girl, a child really, entered to serve him… gin, I think it was. I smirked. Andrew Flounder did not look like the tea-drinking type anyway.
Just as the girl was leaving, an older woman came in. One look at her told me she was Mrs. Flounder. But I refused to believe my eyes until Mr. Flounder got up and kissed her on the lips, calling her ‘darling’. I couldn’t believe it because Mrs. Flounder was a black woman.
An older black woman.
It might not have been obvious to a lot of people, but I could tell. The difference would have only been a few years, but the evidence was in her eyes – they were tired. I would have placed Andrew Flounder in his early forties, because of the traces of white hair appearing at his temples. Mrs. Flounder on the other hand, was nearing fifty; of that I was certain.
She had an air about her, but not like her husband. While they both exuded wealth and power, there was a danger to Mr. Flounder that his wife didn’t have. That didn’t mean I could trust her though. Black or not, she was the enemy.
“For your inspection, my love,” Mr. Flounder said, splaying his hands in our general direction.
Mrs. Flounder gave us a once-over and said, “They’re adequate.”
Mr. Flounder clapped his hands twice, and a slim woman came bustling into the room.
“Andrea. How’s the baby?” I didn’t know if it was my vision, or if Mrs. Flounder stiffened at that statement. But her husband was still talking so, I couldn’t focus on her.
“Get these ones settled, will you?” he said, to which Andrea gave a slight bow and said to us, “Follow me.”
We followed her out of the house, back the same way we had come. Andrea led us, 6 new slaves, to the back of the house where a barn-like structure stood. We went in, and I saw what it really was – a sleeping room, about twelve feet wide and three times as long as that. There were beds of hay arranged about in rows, at the walls, and in the middle, with space to walk in between. There was nobody in the barn, as they were all on the fields, working, but I could see that the beds had been taken. There were bits and pieces of property that the owners had used to mark their spots. A coin here, a hair pin there; pieces of rag here, and a boot there.
Andrea assigned us our beds, but I noticed that they seemed occupied. Before I could raise a complaint, Andrea said out loud, “If you find anything in the places I’ve assigned to you, keep them. They’re yours now. The former owners are…” She stalled. “They have no more use for them,” she finally finished in a low voice.
The six of us looked at each other. No more use for them indeed, I said in my head. I looked at my new bed. I could think of a good reason why someone wouldn’t need a perfectly good pair of trousers. The former occupant must have been a man. I would have to inherit his clothes, as I had nothing else on me.
“Now that you know your places, please place whatever you came with on it to mark your spot, and follow me out into the field,” Andrea said to us.
I watched as the five other slaves around me placed personal effects on their beds. A picture, a piece of jewelry, a sock, a handkerchief, another picture. I had nothing, so I was the first to follow Andrea out the barn door.
We stood together and waited for the others to catch up. Then together, we all walked to the fields. The cotton fields.
I heard it before I saw them. The singing. It was low and solemn, and something about it called to me. I couldn’t make out the words yet, but somehow, I understood what they were saying. As we drew closer, I made out the words of the chorus.
Soon a’ will be done with the troubles of the world…
I had a feeling that the trouble was only just getting started.
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Hey you!
Yes, you're welcome. Another long episode.
I don't know about you, but I'm excited to see what troubles our heroine will get herself into in Andrew Flounder's house.
We'll just have to wait till the next episode though... and the next... and the next... ;-D
Lastly, don't forget to like, comment, and most especially, SHARE!
SHARE O, SHARE!
Sorry, I'll stop shouting now. Bye!
Till next Sunday,
xoxo,
Ava.
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