The Quadroon Part 13

By degrees I became initiated into the little habitudes and customs of life upon a Louisiana plantation. "Ole Zip" was my instructor, as he continued to be my constant attendant. When Scipio's talk tired me, I had recourse to books, of which a good stock (mostly French authors,) filled the little book-case in my apartment. I found among them nearly every work that related to Louisiana--a proof of rare judgment on the part of whoever had made the collection. Among others, I read the graceful romance of Chateaubriand, and the history of Du Pratz. In the former I could not help remarking that want of _vraisemblance_ which, in my opinion, forms the great charm of a novel; and which must ever be absent where an author attempts the painting of scenes or costumes not known to him by actual observation.

With regard to the historian, he indulges largely in those childish exaggerations so characteristic of the writers of the time. This remark applies, without exception, to all the old writers on American subjects--whether English, Spanish, or French--the chroniclers of two-headed snakes, crocodiles twenty yards long, and was big enough to swallow both horse and rider! Indeed, it is difficult to conceive how these old authors gained credence for their incongruous stories; but it must be remembered that science was not then sufficiently advanced "to audit their accounts."

More than in anything else was I interested in the adventures and melancholy fate of La Salle; and I could not help wondering that American writers have done so little to ill.u.s.trate the life of the brave chevalier--surely the most picturesque pa.s.sage in their early history-- the story and the scene equally inviting.

"The scene! Ah! lovely indeed!"

With such an exclamation did I hail it, when, for the first time, I sat at my window and gazed out upon a Louisiana landscape.

The windows, as in all Creole houses, reached down to the floor; and seated in my lounge-chair, with the sashes wide open, with the beautiful French curtains thrown back, I commanded an extended view of the country.

A gorgeous picture it presented. The pencil of the painter could scarcely exaggerate its vivid colouring.

My window faces westward, and the great river rolls its yellow flood before my face, its ripples glittering like gold. On its farther sh.o.r.e I can see cultivated fields, where wave the tall graceful culms of the sugar-cane, easily distinguished from the tobacco-plant, of darker hue.

Upon the bank of the river, and nearly opposite, stands a n.o.ble mansion, something in the style of an Italian villa, with green Venetians and verandah. It is embowered in groves of orange and lemon-trees, whose frondage of yellowish green glistens gaily in the distance. No mountains meet the view--there is not a mountain in all Louisiana; but the tall dark wall of cypress, rising against the western rim of the sky, produces an effect very similar to a mountain background.

On my own side of the river the view is more gardenesque, as it consists princ.i.p.ally of the enclosed pleasure-ground of the plantation Besancon.

Here I study objects more in detail, and am able to note the species of trees that form the shrubbery. I observe the _Magnolia_, with large white wax-like flowers, somewhat resembling the giant _nympha_ of Guiana. Some of these have already disappeared, and in their stead are seen the coral-red seed-cones, scarce less ornamental than the flowers themselves.

Side by side with this western-forest queen, almost rivalling her in beauty and fragrance, and almost rivalling her in fame, is a lovely exotic, a native of Orient climes--though here long naturalised. Its large doubly-pinnate leaves of dark and lighter green,--for both shades are observed on the same tree; its lavender-coloured flowers hanging in axillary cl.u.s.ters from the extremities of the shoots; its yellow cherry-like fruits--some of which are already formed,--all point out its species. It is one of the _meliaceae_, or honey-trees,--the "Indian-lilac," or "Pride of China" (_Melia azedarach_). The nomenclature bestowed upon this fine tree by different nations indicates the estimation in which it is held. "Tree of Pre-eminence," lays the poetic Persian, of whose land it is a native; "Tree of Paradise" (_Arbor de Paraiso_), echoes the Spaniard, of whose land it is an exotic. Such are its t.i.tles.

Many other trees, both natives and exotics, meet my gaze. Among the former I behold the "catalpa," with its silvery bark and trumpet-shaped blossoms; the "Osage orange," with its dark shining leaves; and the red mulberry, with thick shady foliage, and long crimson calkin-like fruits.

Of exotics I note the orange, the lime, the West Indian guava (_Psidium pyriferum_), and the guava of Florida, with its boxwood leaves; the tamarisk, with its spreading minute foliage, and splendid panicles of pale rose-coloured flowers; the pomegranate, symbol of democracy--"the queen who carries her crown upon her bosom"--and the legendary but flowerless fig-tree, here not supported against the wall, but rising as a standard to the height of thirty feet.

Scarcely exotic are the _yuccas_, with their spherical heads of sharp radiating blades; scarcely exotic the _cactacea_, of varied forms--for species of both are indigenous to the soil, and both are found among the flora of a not far-distant region.

The scene before my window is not one of still life. Over the shrubbery I can see the white-painted gates leading to the mansion, and outside of these runs the Levee road. Although the foliage hinders me from a full view of the road itself, I see at intervals the people pa.s.sing along it.

In the dress of the Creoles the sky-blue colour predominates, and the hats are usually palmetto, or "gra.s.s," or the costlier Panama, with broad sun-protecting brims. Now and then a negro gallops past, turbaned like a Turk; for the chequered Madras "toque" has much the appearance of the Turkish head-dress, but is lighter and even more picturesque. Now and then an open carriage rolls by, and I catch a glimpse of ladies in their gossamer summer-dresses. I hear their clear ringing laughter; and I know they are on their way to some gay festive scene. The travellers upon the road--the labourers in the distant cane-field, chanting their chorus songs--occasionally a boat booming past on the river--more frequently a flat silently floating downward--a "keel," or a raft with its red-shirted crew--are all before my eyes, emblems of active life.

Nearer still are the winged creatures that live and move around my window. The mock-bird (_t.u.r.dus polyglotta_) pipes from the top of the tallest magnolia; and his cousin, the red-breast (_t.u.r.dus migratorius_), half intoxicated with the berries of the _melia_, rivals him in his sweet song. The oriole hops among the orange-trees, and the bold red cardinal spreads his scarlet wings amidst the spray of the lower shrubbery.

Now and then I catch a glimpse of the "ruby-throat," coming and going like the sparkle of a gem. Its favourite haunt is among the red and scentless flowers of the buck-eye, or the large trumpet-shaped blossoms of the _bignonia_.

Such was the view from the window of my chamber. I thought I never beheld so fair a scene. Perhaps I was not looking upon it with an impartial eye. The love-light was in my glance, and that may have imparted to it a portion of its _couleur de rose_. I could not look upon the scene without thinking of that fair being, whose presence alone was wanted to make the picture perfect.

CHAPTER TWENTY.

MY JOURNAL.

I varied the monotony of my invalid existence by keeping a journal.

The journal of a sick chamber must naturally be barren of incident.

Mine was a diary of reflections rather than acts. I transcribe a few pa.s.sages from it--not on account of any remarkable interest which they possess--but because, dotted down at the time, they represent more faithfully some of the thoughts and incidents that occurred to me during the remainder of my stay on the plantation Besancon.

_July 12th_.--To-day I am able to sit up and write a little. The weather is intensely hot. It would be intolerable were it not for the breeze which sweeps across my apartment, charged with the delicious perfume of the flowers. This breeze blows from the Gulf of Mexico, by Lakes Borgne, Pontchartrain, and Maauepas. I am more than one hundred miles from the Gulf itself--that is, following the direction of the river--but these great inland seas deeply penetrate the delta of the Mississippi, and through them the tidal wave approaches within a few miles of New Orleans, and still farther to the north. Sea-water might be reached through the swamps at a short distance to the rear of Bringiers.

This sea-breeze is a great benefit to the inhabitants of Lower Louisiana. Without its cooling influence New Orleans during the summer months would hardly be habitable.

Scipio tells me that a new "overseer" has arrived on the plantation, and thinks that he has been appointed through the agency of Ma.s.s'r Dominick.

He brought a letter from the _avocat_. It is therefore probable enough.

My attendant does not seem very favourably impressed with the new comer, whom he represents as a "poor white man from de norf, an a Yankee at daat."

Among the blacks I find existing an antipathy towards what they are pleased to call "poor white men"--individuals who do not possess slave or landed property. The phrase itself expresses this antipathy; and when applied by a negro to a white man is regarded by the latter as a dire insult, and usually procures for the imprudent black a scoring with the "cowskin," or a slight "rubbing down" with the "oil of hickory."

Among the slaves there is a general impression that their most tyrannical "overseers" are from the New England States, or "Yankees," as they are called in the South. This term, which foreigners apply contemptuously to all Americans, in the United States has a restricted meaning; and when used reproachfully it is only applied to natives of New England. At other times it is used jocularly in a patriotic spirit; and in this sense every American is proud to call himself a Yankee.

Among the southern blacks, "Yankee" is a term of reproach, a.s.sociated in their minds with poverty of fortune, meanness of spirit, wooden nutmegs, cypress hams, and such-like chicanes. Sad and strange to say, it is also a.s.sociated with the whip, the shackle, and the cowhide. Strange, because these men are the natives of a land peculiarly distinguished for its Puritanism! A land where the purest religion and strictest morality are professed.

This would seem an anomaly, and yet perhaps it is not so much an anomaly after all. I had it explained to me by a Southerner, who spoke thus:--

"The countries where Puritan principles prevail are those which produce vice, and particularly the smaller vices, in greatest abundance. The villages of New England--the foci of blue laws and Puritanism.--furnish the greatest number of the _nymphes du pave_ of New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore, and New Orleans; and even furnish a large export of them to the Catholic capital of Cuba! From the same prolific soil spring most of the sharpers, quacks, and cheating traders, who disgrace the American name. This is not an anomaly. It is but the inexorable result of a pseudo-religion. Outward observance, worship, Sabbath-keeping, and the various forms, are engrafted in the mind; and thus, by complicating the true duties which man owes to his fellow-man, obscure or take precedence of them. The latter grow to be esteemed as only of secondary importance, and are consequently neglected."

The explanation was at least ingenious.

_July 14th_.--To-day, twice visited by Mademoiselle; who, as usual, was accompanied by Aurore.

Our conversation does not flow easily or freely, nor is it of long continuance. She (Mademoiselle) is still evidently suffering, and there is a tone of sadness in everything she says. At first I attributed this to her sorrow for Antoine, but it has now continued too long to be thus explained. Some other grief presses upon her spirit. I suffer from restraint. The presence of Aurore restrains me; and I can ill give utterance to those common-places required in an ordinary conversation.

She (Aurore) takes no part in the dialogue; but lingers by the door, or stands behind her mistress, respectfully listening. When I regard her steadfastly, her fringed eyelids droop, and shut out all communion with her soul. _Oh that I could make her understand me_!

_July 15th_.--Scipio is confirmed in his dislike for the new overseer.

His first impressions were correct. From two or three little matters which I have heard about this gentleman, I am satisfied that he is a bad successor to the good Antoine.

_A propos_ of poor Antoine, it was reported that his body had been washed up among some drift-timber below the plantation; but the report proved incorrect. A body _was_ found, but not that of the steward.

Some other unfortunate, who had met with a similar fate. I wonder if the wretch who wounded me is yet above water!

There are still many of the sufferers at Bringiers. Some have died of the injuries they received on board the boat. A terrible death is this scalding by steam. Many who fancied themselves scarce injured, are now in their last agonies. The doctor has given me some details that are horrifying.

One of the men, a "fireman," whose nose is nearly gone, and who is conscious that he has but a short while to live, requested to see his face in a looking-gla.s.s. Upon the request being granted, he broke into a diabolical laugh, crying out at the same time, in a loud voice, "What a d.a.m.ned ugly corpse I'll make."

This reckless indifference to life is a characteristic of these wild boatmen. The race of "Mike Fink" is not extinct: many true representatives of this demi-savage still navigate the great rivers of the West.

_July 20th_. Much better to-day. The doctor tells me that in a week I may leave my room. This is cheering; and yet a week seems a long while to one not used to being caged in this way. The books enable me to kill time famously. All honour to the men who make books!

_July 21st_.--Scipio's opinion of the new overseer is not improved. His name is "Larkin." Scipio says that he is well-known in the village as "Bully Bill Larkin"--a soubriquet which may serve as a key to his character. Several of the "field-hands" complain (to Scipio) of his severity, which they say is daily on the increase. He goes about constantly armed with a "cowhide," and has already, once or twice, made use of it in a barbarous manner.

To-day is Sunday, and I can tell from the "hum" that reaches me from the negro "quarters," that it is a day of rejoicing. I can see the blacks pa.s.sing the Levee road, dressed in their gayest attire--the men in white _beaver_ hats, blue long-tailed coats, and shirts with enormous ruffles; the women in gaudy patterns of cotton, and not a few in silks brilliant enough for a ball-room! Many carry silk parasols, of course of the brightest colours. One would almost be tempted to believe that in this slave-life there was no great hardship, after all; but the sight of Mr Larkin's cowhide must produce a very opposite impression.

_July 24th_.--I noticed to-day more than ever the melancholy that seems to press upon the spirit of Mademoiselle. I am now convinced that Antoine's death is not the cause of it. There is some _present_ source of distraction, which renders her ill at ease. I have again observed that singular glance with which she at first regarded me; but it was so transitory, I could not read its meaning, and my heart and eyes were searching elsewhere. Aurore gazes upon me less timidly, and seems to be interested in my conversation, though it is not addressed to her. Would that it were! Converse with her would perhaps relieve my heart, which burns all the more fiercely under the restraint of silence.

_July 25th_.--Several of the "field-hands" indulged too freely on yesternight. They had "pa.s.ses" to the town, and came back late. "Bully Bill" has flogged them all this morning, and very severely--so as to draw the blood from their backs. This is rough enough for a _new_ overseer; but Scipio learns that he is an "old hand" at the business.

Surely Mademoiselle does not know of these barbarities!

_July 26th_.--The doctor promises to let me out in three days. I have grown to esteem this man--particularly since I made the discovery that he is _not_ a friend of Gayarre. He is not his medical attendant either. There is another _medico_ in the village, who has charge of Monsieur Dominique and his blacks, as also the slaves of the Besancon plantation. The latter chanced to be out of the way, and so Reigart was called to me. Professional etiquette partly, and partly my own interference, forbade any change in this arrangement; and the latter continued to attend me. I have seen the other gentleman, who came once in Reigart's company, and he appears much more suited to be the friend of the _avocat_.