Mr. Derby Character Analysis

“Will you be wantin’ her mama, sir?” the auctioneer said to Mr. Derby. “I offer her to you first, out of respect, you see.”

Polly watched as Mr. Derby, who had walked up to the stage to claim his property, glanced at the older woman standing next to the slave girl, then said, “No, Horace, but thanks for the offer. Family ties only confuse the poor creatures. They’ll forget each other as soon as the sun sets. Trust me.”

Polly wondered if Negroes from Africa had feelings and intelligent thoughts or if that gibberish they spoke was more like the scream of monkeys or the barking of dogs.

“I am Polly, and I work for Mr. Derby just like you.” She hesitated, then added, “Well, not exactly just like you. You’re a slave, which means you belong to him.”

“Slave,” the girl said clearly. Her eyes narrowed and her lips drew back fiercely over her teeth as she said the word. She knows exactly what that word means, Polly thought.

Isabelle Derby sat pale and quiet, her eyes cast down through most of the meal. It was as if she was one of the many room decorations. Unhappiness seemed to ooze from her like perspiration on a humid day. Polly shook her head as she realized that being a fine lady didn’t necessarily mean finding joy.

He took a deep breath, then said quietly, “I am ashamed to be a human being this morning. I witnessed not just murder last night, but violence and cruelty and vicious hatred. By saying nothing, I feel I am as responsible as my so-called friend who pulled the trigger.”

Amari and Polly exchanged stunned looks.

Dr. Hoskins continued. “I am just one man. I don’t know how to fight everything that is happening around me. I don’t understand how one man can own another. And I don’t know how to stop it.” He looked around at the deep woods and the darkness within them. “But I can help the three of you.”

“You know, I never really knew any black people before I came to Mr. Derby’s place. I mean, everybody had slaves, of course, but I never actually thought about them. And I certainly never had a black friend before,” she admitted.

Amari looked away. “Sometime I hate white people,” she admitted softly. “I never hate before I be a slave.” She stretched her arms. “I never even see white person until they attack my village. It be hard to have hate feeling and like feeling at same time.”

“Will you be wantin’ her mama, sir?” the auctioneer said to Mr. Derby. “I offer her to you first, out of respect, you see.”

Polly watched as Mr. Derby, who had walked up to the stage to claim his property, glanced at the older woman standing next to the slave girl, then said, “No, Horace, but thanks for the offer. Family ties only confuse the poor creatures. They’ll forget each other as soon as the sun sets. Trust me.”

Polly wondered if Negroes from Africa had feelings and intelligent thoughts or if that gibberish they spoke was more like the scream of monkeys or the barking of dogs.

“I am Polly, and I work for Mr. Derby just like you.” She hesitated, then added, “Well, not exactly just like you. You’re a slave, which means you belong to him.”

“Slave,” the girl said clearly. Her eyes narrowed and her lips drew back fiercely over her teeth as she said the word. She knows exactly what that word means, Polly thought.

Isabelle Derby sat pale and quiet, her eyes cast down through most of the meal. It was as if she was one of the many room decorations. Unhappiness seemed to ooze from her like perspiration on a humid day. Polly shook her head as she realized that being a fine lady didn’t necessarily mean finding joy.

He took a deep breath, then said quietly, “I am ashamed to be a human being this morning. I witnessed not just murder last night, but violence and cruelty and vicious hatred. By saying nothing, I feel I am as responsible as my so-called friend who pulled the trigger.”

Amari and Polly exchanged stunned looks.

Dr. Hoskins continued. “I am just one man. I don’t know how to fight everything that is happening around me. I don’t understand how one man can own another. And I don’t know how to stop it.” He looked around at the deep woods and the darkness within them. “But I can help the three of you.”

“You know, I never really knew any black people before I came to Mr. Derby’s place. I mean, everybody had slaves, of course, but I never actually thought about them. And I certainly never had a black friend before,” she admitted.

Amari looked away. “Sometime I hate white people,” she admitted softly. “I never hate before I be a slave.” She stretched her arms. “I never even see white person until they attack my village. It be hard to have hate feeling and like feeling at same time.”