The wagon arrived in town, and the master, young Charles Hardenbergh, made his way to an area in the center of town encircled by a rope. Crowds of people mingled about, and an auctioneer prepared to run his auction. Charles approached the auctioneer who told him it would be about half an hour before his things would be auctioned. Belle watched from the back of the wagon as Charles walked across the street to the store and disappeared inside. She had only been to town once before, and today seemed much busier than the time she’d been, but it was long before in her short lifespan, so she wasn’t sure. But she didn’t remember seeing all these people. It seemed such an amazing place. People walking around everywhere and in every direction. Horses and wagons passing by as one of the horses dropped a few road apples that made Belle cover her nose when the wind blew in the right direction. Her eyes lit up when she saw a few children running around, rolling an old wagon wheel. She wanted so much to go run with them. It looked like so much fun.
Charles returned a few minutes later, carrying a small piece of sugar cane. He walked over to Belle. She was sitting, swinging her legs off the back of the wagon. He cut a piece of cane and handed it to her, then cut a piece for himself. She held the cane in her hand, looking at it, wondering what she was supposed to do with this small piece of wood.
Charles said, “You chew it,” and placed his piece in his mouth. Belle did the same and started chewing the strip of cane. Charles asked, “Good, isn’t it?” She shyly nodded her head as the sweet cane filled her mouth. It was more than good. It was the best thing she had ever tasted, pure, sweet sugar.
Charles told her, “Now, don’t swallow it, you just chew it... alright?” Belle nodded her head again and smiled as she felt the rush of sugar throughout her body for the first time. He smiled at her. “My daddy ‘usta bring me to town and get some cane,” Charles told her as a sadness came to his eyes, but then he laughed and rubbed Belle’s head as a proud father might do on an outing with his daughter.
She felt delighted that the master was happy with her, even rewarding her with the wonderful sweet piece of cane. Her mama had always told her, “Please the master, make him happy, and you will be rewarded both here and in heaven.” She wasn’t sure what she’d done to please the master, but she sure liked the reward.
As they waited at the edge of the wagon, a man walked by and glanced at the goods inside. It was John Neely with his corncob pipe in his mouth, one of the older sheep farmers who always looked unkempt. He wore a pair of dark baggy trousers whose pant legs were tucked into his calf-high boots. His old, oversized Red-Coats jacket, stripped of all its buttons and insignia, looked dingy and faded. The coat must have been scavenged during the war of freedom from British tyranny that had ended more than twenty years earlier. On his head sat an old black clerical hat that had a small tear in its side, probably rummaged also.
Neely’s face was weathered, wrinkled, and rough, especially his forehead between his eyes. His skin was tanned with a deep reddish hue around his long pointy nose that had bore a few sores. His beard, if you could call it that, was nothing more than a scruff of mostly white hair with a few splashes of black, and he had almost no lip to speak of, just a slit along his mouth. His top lip displayed a thin moustache, blacker than his beard, with a small amount of grey. His eyes were sunken in, and he squinted so that you could barely tell if they were open, let alone try to discern a color.
Neely saw young Belle sitting on the back of the wagon, still chewing the cane, and stared for a minute. He looked at the sheep, reached down and inspected a few, looking into their mouths and checking their hoofs. Charles said, “They’re well-kept and produce fine wool.” Neely stood with his pipe in his mouth and nodded his head. His eyes returned to Belle before he continued walking toward the next wagon lined up to auction off goods after Charles.
Charles watched him then turned back to Belle and said, “Well, he wasn’t very friendly.” Belle giggled, and he laughed. She felt so close to her master. The attention he was giving her. This was the first time he ever really spoke directly to her. Now, they were reveling in the day and enjoying cane.
The auctioneer motioned to Charles to pull his wagon into the circle. He left Belle sitting there and rushed to the front, jumped on, and moved the wagon toward the center of the roped off area. The herders guided the sheep in. The auctioneer looked over the items in the wagon and Belle and asked, “Are you selling the girl too? She ain’t going to bring much; young negro girls ain’t worth nothin’ anymore.”
Charles nodded his head yes, and the auctioneer asked, “How about the two herders, you selling those Negroes?”
Charles replied, “No... no... I need them.”
Belle sat listening and silently saying to herself, Girls ain’t worth nothin’ anymore. The auctioneer looked over the goods once more, picking up a few things and setting them down. Then he clapped his hands and said, “Let’s get started, shall we?”
The auctioneer started with auctioning off the sheep. He was one of those auctioneers who talked so fast that you really had to pay attention to what he was saying to find out the bid. He wore a tall hat, and his long mustache curled at the ends. “I got thirty-five, thirty-five, thirty-five, forty, forty, forty-five, I need fifty, I got fifty, fifty-five? Fifty-five? Fifty-five, sixty, sixty, do I hear, sixty-five? Sixty-five? There, sixty-five! Seventy? Can I hear seventy? Seventy? Seventy?”
Belle’s mouth dropped open, trying to figure out what he was saying. She never heard anyone talk so fast, and he kept pointing to people every time they moved. There were ten sheep, and the auctioneer had worked the crowd up to sixty-five dollars for the flock. The auctioneer was getting ready to finalize the last bid when John Neely called out, “A hundred dollars!”
The auctioneer stopped and looked at Neely in surprise who repeated, “A hundred dollars... if you throw in the girl and that clock.”
The auctioneer looked over to Charles, who appeared dumbfounded. It seemed he wasn’t sure if that was good or not as his face displayed, he was stupefied. The auctioneer gave him an obvious nod, confirming that it was a good deal. Charles, no longer feeling distressed, said, “Yes! A hundred dollars for the sheep, girl, and clock.”
The auctioneer went back to the crowd and said, “Allll-righty! We have a new offer, one flock of ten well-kept sheep, one negro girl to help you tend those sheep and one clock to show you when you need to feed those sheep.” The crowd laughed and twisted, chattering to each other at the merriment of the auctioneer. “One hundred dollars, do I hear one hundred and five dollars, anybody, anybody, going once, going twice... Sooold! A flock of sheep, a negro girl, and a clock, One Hunnndred Dollars!” The crowd grew excited, and a few clapped at hearing the final price. Master Charles grinned happily. This would go a long way in fending off the bankers. He looked relieved.
Belle sat on the edge of the buckboard, still chewing the cane, apathetic to what had happened. She didn’t quite understand that she had just been sold as an unnecessary item with a flock of sheep. She and the clock were extras, of equal value, not really needed. She had no idea her life had just changed.
The auctioneer was right about one thing: New York’s gradual-emancipation law had changed the value of young slave girls, but it would not free Belle. She had been born in 1797, two years before the law applied to children born after July 4th, 1799. Belle would remain a slave for life. She was property. Nothing more.
The auctioneer moved on to the remaining goods. Belle kept listening, still amused each time he stretched out “Sooold!” Once or twice, she repeated it loudly, and the auctioneer told the crowd Belle was his assistant, making them laugh. When the sale ended, the buyers came forward to pay. John Neely counted out a hundred dollars while the auctioneer set out a small jar of ink, a quill, and the sales papers.
Charles pulled the papers from inside his jacket and laid them on the back of the wagon next to Belle. She watched Master Charles make marks on the paper. She had no idea what the marks meant or even what the paper signified. She did find it interesting that Master Charles was making the paper dirty with the black ink.
As Charles was signing, Mr. Neely looked over to one of the sheepherders and asked, “I trust one of your Negroes will help herd this flock over to my farm? I live up toward Kingston.”
Charles handed Neely Belle’s sales paper. “Of course, good sir.” He then turned to one of the slaves and lifted his head, signaling him to help Mr. Neely.
Neely grabbed his clock from the wagon and looked at Belle. “C’mon, girl.” He walked over to his horse and placed the clock in the saddlebag.
Charles picked Belle off the wagon and placed her on the ground and told her, “You listen to him now. He owns you. He’s your new master.”
Belle, the sheep, and the herder walked over to Neely. Neely jumped up onto his horse and said, “Let’s go,” as he swung the horse around and started down the road. Belle and the herder followed Neely on foot. She spat out the cane she had been chewing on. It had lost all its sweet taste.