There is a long narrow street in Rio Janeiro exclusively appropriated to
the negro stores. It is, in fact, the slave-bazaar. The fronts of the
shops are open, and the objects for sale are seated on benches, where,
strange to say, they often pass their time in singing. People wishing to
become purchasers lounge up and down until they see a subject likely to
suit their purpose. Miller one day put on a broad-brimmed straw hat, and
walked into several of the stores, as if with a view of making a purchase.
The slave venders came forward with eagerness to show off their stock,
making their bipeds move about in every way best calculated to display
their good points, and in much the same manner that a jockey does in
showing off a horse. Those who appeared to be drowsy were made to bite a
piece of ginger, or take a pinch of snuff. If these excitements did not
prove sufficient to give them an air of briskness, they were wakened up by
a pull of the ear, or a slap on the face, which made them look about them.
Miller was so inquisitive, and his observations were so unlike those of a
_bona fide_ purchaser, that the dealers soon began to suspect he did not
intend to be a customer. One of them being in consequence rather pert in
his replies, Miller once more allowed his indignation to get the better of
his judgment, and he abused the fellow in terms more violent, if possible,
than those he had addressed to the master of the slave ship.
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