"Here! The deuce she is! Where? Offered for sale? Have you bought her?"
I pointed out Cassy, as she stood with the other women, with downcast eyes, and apparently absorbed in thought. Colter prided himself on the strength of his memory; never forgetting, as he said, a face which he had once seen; but what could his memory be, in this case, compared to mine? After two or three glances at her, he admitted that likely enough I might be correct; but, to make all sure, while I walked in another direction, he approached her, called her by name, reminded her of Augusta and the slave prison there, and fully satisfied himself, in a short conversation, that she was in fact the same person about whose sale he had quarrelled with Gouge; and that person, from circumstances already mentioned, I was satisfied was my Cassy.
Upon his inquiring of her why she was here, and if she was now to be sold? — she answered, that she was brought here for that purpose; but that they had no right to sell her, for she was free. Her former owner, a Mr Curtis, had given her free papers many years ago; but he was lately dead, and certain persons, claiming to be his heirs, were now attempting to sell her.
Colter promised to inquire into the case, and to befriend her in the matter; for which she expressed great gratitude, adding that she had all along felt confident that Heaven would send her aid in some shape.
He then hastened to report to me; and while he and I were still discussing the subject, and considering what was best to be done, the auctioneer, having finished the sale of the plantation slaves, began upon the group of females in which wit stood.
The one first placed upon the auction block was a finely-formed black girl, neatly dressed, her good-humored face well set off by a bright-colored handkerchief twisted turban-fashion about her head. Though
