He was very riotous in the crowd,
elbowing, thrusting, seizing hold of people; and at last a ring was
formed, and a regular wrestling-match commenced between him and a
farmer-looking man. Randall brandished his legs about in the most
ridiculous style, but proved himself a good wrestler, and finally threw
his antagonist. He got up with the same grin upon his features,--not a
grin of simplicity, but intimating knowingness. When more depth or force
of expression was required, he could put on the most strangely ludicrous
and ugly aspect (suiting his gesture and attitude to it) that can be
imagined. I should like to see this fellow when he was perfectly sober.
There were a good many blacks among the crowd. I suppose they used to
emigrate across the border, while New York was a slave State. There were
enough of them to form a party, though greatly in the minority; and, a
squabble arising, some of the blacks were knocked down, and otherwise
maltreated. I saw one old negro, a genuine specimen of the slave negro,
without any of the foppery of the race in our part of the State,--an old
fellow, with a bag, I suppose of broken victuals, on his shoulder, and
his pockets stuffed out at his hips with the like provender; full of
grimaces and ridiculous antics, laughing laughably, yet without
affectation; then talking with a strange kind of pathos about the
whippings he used to get while he was a slave;--a singular creature, of
mere feeling, with some glimmering of sense.
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