Finding that another slave-auction was to be held at noon next day in
the St. Louis Exchange, I resolved to attend. The day was dull and
dirty. "Please, sir," said I to the first man I met, "to tell me where
St. Louis Exchange is?" "Don't know, sir." I walked on a little
further, and tried again. "Please to direct me to St. Louis Exchange?"
"Can't; but it's somewhere in that direction," pointing with his
finger. "Is this the way to St. Louis Exchange?" I asked a third. "I
guess it is," was the curt and characteristic reply. "How far is it?"
"Three blocks further on; then turn to your right; go a little way
down, and you will find it on your left." I went as directed, and came
to an immense building--a kind of hotel. There were nearly a dozen
entrances, all leading into one vast saloon, where I found about 200
gentlemen,--some drinking, some eating, some smoking, some reading,
some talking, and all spitting. One end of the saloon was fitted up as
a refreshment place, similar to those on railway stations in England.
But I could see nothing like preparations for a sale.
On looking around I perceived a large door in two halves, with spring
hinges, leading as it were further into the building.
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