It was Manroot. His lifeless body creaked back and forth, back and forth.

Manroot looked even larger dead than he had alive. He looked even more like a roughly hewn piece of African sculpture. His shaved black head slumped stiffly from the hemp rope by which he had hanged himself. His giant hands extended uselessly at his sides.

Seena knelt hi the dirt below Manroot, clenching his bare feet against her face. She was wailing that she had killed him. She screamed that her greed had killed her husband.

Abdee did not interrupt. He quietly studied the sight of the hanging Negro giant and his wife crying at his feet.

Had Manroot done this act so that his soul would be freed from his body? So his soul could travel back to Africa? Had Manroot lived long enough in slavery? Or 25.had it been his inability to plant children in his wife that had made him take his own life? Or his wife's unfaithfulness to him? And the jeers of an old enemy?

Abdee did not try to answer any questions. He stared soberly at the spectacle of his devoted overseer while Naomi clung tightly to his arm, whispering, "This is Calabar's dirty work. This is Calabar's dirty work. He told Manroot about you and Seena."

Nero stood silently behind Abdee and Naomi. If blames were to be laid, he believed that Manroot had been killed by Calabar. Miss Naomi was speaking the truth now to Abdee. Calabar had come back to Dragon-ard to make trouble.

Closing his eyes, the young houseboy, Nero, lowered his head and thought about God. He thought about the one God of the white people and all the gods of Africa. He prayed to them all that the two years of peace that he had seen the blacks enjoying on Dragonard would continue. He prayed that Calabar would not ruin the life here for all of them.

Young Nero thought about the future. He knew that the white man's number for this year was 1791. He also knew that in nine years' time there would be a big and wonderful event. The world would be seeing a new century. A new beginning. And so, young Nero wondered, would that special year-1800--also be a new beginning for the black people?

Here at the scene of Manroot's suicide, the young Nero stood behind Naomi and Richard Abdee and prayed for peace for all people-for black and white people alike. He hoped that they could live peacefully together in this world by the year 1800. That in nine years' time there would be no masters, no slaves. Only free people. Good people. People who loved their work.

And in his prayers, Nero asked that this senseless death of Manroot would not start the blaze that Calabar had talked about, the fire that Miss Naomi feared, the flames of a black revolution that could destroy Dragonard Plantation.

BOOK I.

The Mark of the Star.

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1.The Auction

In that year, 1791, in the territory known as Louisiana, the port of New Orleans was showing its first signs of becoming the hub of a unique world, a young city proud of its cobbled streets and fashionable new buildings decorated with deep balustrades of ornate ironwork.

New Orleans was evolving into a mecca for the proud colonial families who were settling this fertile region in the southeast corner of the North American continent. The aristocrats who had fled from Europe, and the ambitious tradesmen who had followed them, were giving New Orleans its first dash of haughtiness.

This pubescent capital was also being singled out as a meeting place for the Creole society, the light-skinned Africans-quadroons, octoroons, mustees-who had received liberation from their masters in America, the West Indies, or South America, and were now drifting to New Orleans to introduce their own tempo and flare into the emerging culture.

An original style known as "Southern" was gaining momentum in New Orleans these days. In this year, 1791, the United States of America consisted of thirteen states that lay in a cluster to the north of Louisiana, settled along the eastern seaboard like a nest of young birds hatched fifteen years ago by the Declaration of Independence. But this rich lower region of the North American continent had an individual flair which separated it from both the standards of the North and the consciousness of Europe. Although; formally controlled 29.30.by Spain, and showing a heavy French flavor in its architecture and mannerisms, New Orleans still insisted on its own rules for growth in the wilderness.

The Southern feeling was especially felt when the mainstay of the Louisiana economy, the planters, traveled long distances from their rice, sugar, and tobacco plantations to do business here. It was in the New Orleans markets that their crops were sold and dispatched to mills and outlets across the Atlantic.

The planters also visited New Orleans for the slave auctions. Slave labor was in growing demand now in this young country. The cotton crop especially devoured all the black people that arrived in slavers from Africa, the Caribbean, and Brazil.

An assortment of slave halls and yards was sprouting around the city, establishments ranging from rundown shacks that sold "Niggers & Mules" to great mazelike pens through which passed as many as seven thousand black people a year, One of the most trustworthy slave houses in New Orleans at this time was Lynn and Craddock, a brick building nestled among the stylish Creole houses on Rampart Street. The management at Lynn and Craddock advertised their prestigious event as a vente: Messrs. Lynn and Craddock have the honor of cordially inviting you to a quality vente presenting only the most prime stock of both male and female Negro slaves to be seen in the American and West Indian markets.

At Lynn and Craddock, the price for a Negro began at five hundred dollars. This price was high, but the Negroes sold there were of a superior quality, falling mostly into the category the planters called the "fancies."

Another accepted fact at Lynn and Craddock was that no white lady could be admitted to the salesrooms. This unwritten law also extended to the inspection night of the slaves, which was held on the eve of the auction -an event that often attracted a larger crowd than the auction itself.

31.

Lynn and Craddock held their inspection after the supper hour. Tonight, when Albert Selby arrived in the lantern-lit yard behind the building on Rampart Street, he saw a crowd of men already milling through the shadowy aisles lying between the slave pens.

Albert Selby owned the plantation called the Star. Although he was prosperous from raising blackseed cotton, Selby was not expensively dressed. A trip to New Orleans did not impress Albert Selby. He was not wearing a beaver or a tall silk hat, nor one of the tricornes still being sported in these parts. Albert Selby was a "straw man," as he called it, preferring a hat for its coolness and shade.

Although it was dark now, and no need for a shade hat, Albert Selby wore his. Tonight was hot and sticky and made Selby's bones feel lazy. He was not an old man, but in New Orleans-especially at a fancy slave auction-he felt out of place and older than bis fifty-six years. He longed to be back home.

Selby's hair was white, hanging long and silky from under his straw hat. His face was weathered and wrinkled from years of outdoor work, and his only splash of vanity was a Vandyke goatee that he dyed a deep henna red.

Hoping to avoid the auctioneer's representative standing near the gate, Selby moved hi the direction of the crowd. It was not until he reached the first pen that he breathed more easily. He did not want to hear a spiel of salesmanship. Albert Selby knew exactly what kind of black he had to buy.

In the kerosene lighting, Selby looked around him and saw a small group of children huddled together inside the single-rail pen to his right. These were the saplings. As Lynn and Craddock dealt mostly in adult blacks- fancies-there were never more than a dozen children to be seen here. And tonight, no prospective buyers stood in front of this pen.

In the opposite pen were the black women being sold with their babies. The lanterns hanging from the rafters here illuminated a small bank of shiny black flesh crouched against the inside wall. A small baby cried in the moving shadows, and'the stench of sour 32.milk fouled the odor of straw. Selby moved on. He did not need any women with children.

The next two stalls held the laborers. In keeping with Lynn and Craddock's tradition of selling mostly fancy black people, these laborers were not mere field hands. They consisted of grooms, cobblers, cooks-all the specialized laborers needed on a plantation.

The crowd of onlookers grew thicker here, and as Selby tried to walk through, his way was blocked by a group of men surrounding a black woman. She was in her early twenties. Her hair was plaited into intricate designs on her skull. She revolved slowly inside the circle of men, turning as they inspected her body. When a gruff voice ordered her to stop, she stood patiently as hands began to explore her nakedness. Behind this group, a second Negress held open her wide mouth as a prospective white buyer examined her teeth as if she were a horse. Behind her, another man studied the pink soles of a black woman's feet, pulling now at each toe.

Across the aisle, by the males' pen, a black man bent forward and gripped his ankles as a planter knelt on the floor behind him, using both hands to hold open the Negro's buttocks. The planter was examining the Negro for hemorrhoids. He cursed when Selby accidentally jostled him on the way past, and returned to inspecting the slave.

The crowd grew more and more dense as Selby progressed. The smell of cigars mingled with the musky odor of the Negroes' bodies. Selby paused now in front of another Negro male being examined by a swarthy-looking man-a Spaniard. A blank expression covered the Negro's flat face as the Spaniard stood in front of him and weighed the size of his penis, bouncing the bulky softness up and down in the palm of his hand as if he were estimating its poundage. He squeezed with the other hand to gauge the contents of the scrotum.

Temporarily engrossed, Selby watched as the Spaniard nodded for the Negro to turn so that he could examine his back. There were whip marks on it. After touching the long wales cut into the Negro's skin, the Spaniard told him to face him again and he reexamined 33.

the weight of the slave's genitalia, deciding if it justified the disfigurement of his back.

Selby stifled an urge to warn the Spaniard about a marked Negro, to tell him that whip cuts usually meant that a slave was troublesome or prone to running away from Ms master. But as an auctioneer's representative stood next to the Spaniard, urging him to peel back the Negro's foreskin, Selby did not linger here. The representative obviously knew what his customer wanted.

Finally reaching the end of the wide aisle, Selby suddenly saw a change in both the buyers and the slaves. These were the true fancies here, and the white men mostly stood studying them, drawing one another's attention to the particulars of the females in one pen, the males across the way.

Moving toward the females, Selby edged into an opening at the end of the railing and looked toward the wide pen.

These black people showed less fear of the white people. They stood with assurance, knowing that they were going to sell for a high price, confident of their worth. Only the exceptional stock was at this end of the aisle. They even laughed and visited among themselves. A few women wore their hair long like white ladies, and they sat combing it, oblivious of the staring eyes.

Spotting a mulatto woman, Selby beckoned her to come out of the darkness.

As the mulatto began to slink across the straw toward the railing, she lowered her hands to lift the loose cotton shift over her shoulders.

Selby shook his head. He did not want her to strip off her clothes. He said, "Just a few questions."

Reluctant to let the shift fall back into place, she said, "Yes, master, sir." She stood running her hands down the loose dress, accentuating the full curves of her body. She knew why most white men bought fancy slaves.

Appraising the woman in this lighting, and seeing her brazenness, Selby shook his head. "No. Not you." He looked past her to see what else was available in the pen.

34.The mulatto woman asked, "What Master Sir wanting?"

Selby ignored the question. Her directness angered him, but he knew that fancies were often impudent. They were known to speak out of turn. He pitied the people who bought them.

As the mulatto woman lingered in front of Selby, he kept looking past her, wishing that he could be more dictatorial with slaves. He could handle his own people back home, but then, he did not have any head-proud fancies on the Star. He dreaded now that he might have to take one home.

Suddenly a hand grabbed Selby's shoulder, and a voice boomed, "Albert Selby! What's a fogy like you buying a hot piece like her for? That wench there will lay you in your grave!"

Selby turned and saw a familiar face. It was one of his wife's second cousins. Selby could always tell his in-laws by the freckles on their faces.

After an exchange of greetings with his distant relative, Selby explained that he and his son had come to New Orleans to buy a slave. Selby proceeded to confess that he was having a difficult time in finding what he wanted. His wife had sent him to Lynn and Craddock to find a suitable companion for their daughter.

The cousin laughed. "This wench here ain't going to do for that. She's too much of a hellcat. I'll tell you what. Come instead and have a drink with me!"

Selby pulled at his red goatee, saying, "Can't rightly say yes to that. My boy's waiting back at the hotel."

The cousin was astounded. "Why ain't your boy here with you?"

"He's just seventeen," Selby said.

"That's what I figured. And that's just the age boys really enjoys this."

Selby bristled. "If I ain't enjoying this, I don't expect my boy to. We don't go around fingering our folks on the Star."

Near them, a group of white men broke out in a raucous laugh. A black woman struggled to get away from them. An auctioneer's representative hurried for- 35.

ward with a riding crop, and a crack was then heard. The white men applauded.

Turning back to Selby, the cousin said, "Maybe we can meet after the auction tomorrow."

Selby suspected that his in-law wanted to borrow money. Or to endear himself to the owner of the Star. He answered, "I'd like nothing better, but I've got to work on getting a wench. You know how riled up Rachel can get."

After a few more words, Selby and his cousin said their good-byes, and Selby was left by himself again.

Glad to have rid himself of his wife's cousin, he looked around at the crowd. It was approaching midnight, but more men were crowding down the wide aisle. The cigar smoke grew thicker now, and Selby's eyes were beginning to burn. He decided that he had had enough of this for one night. He would put his trust in finding something tomorrow. It would be easier to see the blacks without all this crowding.

Bracing himself, Selby bumped his way down toward the gate.

Finally emerging from the thick of the crowd, Selby stood by the pen that held the mothers and children. Taking off his straw hat, he fanned his face.

"Master, sir?" a voice called behind him.

Selby looked.

A young boy stood inside the railing. He was light-skinned, and his head was shaved. He looked old enough to be sold in the saplings pen. He called to Selby, "You want to see my ma, master, sir?"

Selby put on his hat.

The boy continued eagerly, "My ma's good, master, sir. You buy my ma and you get three of us. Look . . ." The young boy flexed bis arm to show Selby bis muscle.

Selby moved to go.

Turning quickly around, the boy showed his round buttocks to Selby, and smiling over his shoulder, he rubbed them.

This disgusted Selby.

Facing Selby again, the boy pleaded, "If you don't like me, master, sir, just finger my ma!"

36.Selby continued toward the gate. He did not like buggering. Nor did he like boys who pimped for their mothers.

The next day, Selby dutifully went to the auction sale.

With him came his seventeen-year-old son, Roland Selby, who also was not too excited by being here in the stifling, crowded room.

Roland said, "This is all a waste of time, Pa. We're not going to find nothing for Ma here."

Selby was of a similar opinion. He had seen nothing so far in this mahogany-paneled hall except white people putting on airs and Negroes who were bred and trained to live in a house far more sophisticated than they would find at the Star. But to keep his son from abandoning him, Selby said, "Your ma will have both our hides, Ro, if we come home without something for Melly."

Roland did not have time to worry about a companion for his little sister. He had to get away from here to keep a secret appointment. He said to his father, "Why don't you stay, Pa. No need us both choking on this air. I'd stay and let you go if I knew niggers as well as you do, Pa. But I don't. Why don't I just mosey around town and look at the sights?"

Young Roland's diplomacy usually worked on his father. Albert Selby had become a father late in life, and he doted on his two children. Five-year-old Melissa got away with more than Roland. But Roland was old enough to know how to lie to his father.

Seeing that his words were working on his father, Roland said, "Pa, I do think I'll get sick if I stay cooped up in here one minute more. I do feel a bilious attack coming on."

The trick worked. Selby always gave in to his son. He said, "I guess it won't hurt none, you leaving me. But don't stray far. I don't want you getting lost. And be back at the hotel by six o'clock, you hear? I want to eat and get to bed early. We got to get a bright start home tomorrow, if we find a wench or not."

Roland dutifully promised his father that he would 37.

meet him back at the Hotel LaSalle by six o'clock. And pushing through the crowd of men, he soon disappeared.

It was only moments after Roland's departure that Selby saw the first wench who approached the requirements that his wife had given him.

Even from where Selby was standing, he could see that the Negress being displayed next to the podium was not overly fancy. She was not a slut wench, but neither was she a rough field hand. She was not too lean, nor was she too fat. Her face was sober, too, which pleased Selby, as he knew his wiie would not be content with a loud and jolly Negress around the house.

But two things about the woman bothered Selby. One was her age. She looked to be in the troublesome neighborhood of thirty. That would not please his wife. Thirty was too old for a child's companion.

The second problem was that the wench was holding a small child in her arms. She was being sold with . . .

The group of men shifted in front of Selby, and now he could see that the wench was not being sold with one child-as he had thought-but with two children. Selby saw, to his horror, that the older child was the same boy who had tried to get him to finger his mother last night. He began to have doubts now about the wench.

But the light-skinned boy looked harmless as he stood silently next to his mother. Being displayed on the podium, he looked hopelessly vulnerable. Selby had a fleeting thought how pickaninnies like him would probably do anything for a home, even solicit for their mothers. Selby was softening.

The more he listened to the auctioneer's rapid speech about the wench's qualifications, the more excited he became again about the wench as a companion for Melissa.

Her name was 'Ta-Ta. The auctioneer said that she had been brought to Louisiana by a French noble lady from the Caribbean island of St. Kitts. The auctioneer reminded his audience that the lucky gentleman who bought her would also get two pickaninnies in the price. The auctioneer pointed at the light-skinned boy standing next to the woman and the child she^held in her arms. The smaller child clung to the wench's neck, and the 38.older boy stood like a small soldier at his mother's side. Selby was having second thoughts about him, too.

The sale then began as the auctioneer called for the basic price of five hundred dollars.