The Quadroon Part 19

"Aurore," I continued, after a pause, "I have told you all. I have been candid. I only ask equal candour in return. _Do you love me_?"

I should have put this question less calmly, but that I felt already half-a.s.sured of the answer.

We were seated on the sofa, and near each other. Before I had finished speaking, I felt her soft fingers touch mine--close upon them, and press them gently together. When the question was delivered, her head fell forward on my breast, and I heard murmuring from her lips the simple words--"_I too from the first hour_!"

My arms, hitherto restrained, were now twined around the yielding form, and for some moments neither uttered a word. Love's paroxysm is best enjoyed in silence. The wild intoxicating kiss, the deep mutual glance, the pressure of hands and arms and burning lips, all these need no tongue to make them intelligible. For long moments e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns of delight, phrases of tender endearment, were the only words that escaped us. We were too happy to converse. Our lips paid respect to the solemnity of our hearts.

It was neither the place nor time for Love to go blind, and prudence soon recalled me to myself. There was still much to be said, and many plans to be discussed before our new-sprung happiness should be secured to us. Both were aware of the abyss that still yawned between us. Both were aware that a th.o.r.n.y path must be trodden before we could reach the elysium of our hopes. Notwithstanding our present bliss, the future was dark and dangerous; and the thought of this soon startled us from our short sweet dream.

Aurora had no longer any _fear_ of my love. She did not even wrong me with suspicion. She doubted not my purpose to make her my _wife_. Love and grat.i.tude stifled every doubt, and we now conversed with a mutual confidence which years of friendship could scarce have established.

But we talked with hurried words. We knew not the moment we might be interrupted. We knew not when again we might meet alone. We had need to be brief.

I explained to her my circ.u.mstances--that in a few days I expected a sum of money--enough, I believed, for the purpose. What purpose? _The purchase of my bride_!

"Then," added I, "nothing remains but to get married, Aurore!"

"Alas!" replied she with a sigh, "even were I free, we could not be married _here_. Is it not a wicked law that persecutes us even when pretending to give us freedom?"

I a.s.sented.

"We could not get married," she continued, evidently suffering under painful emotion, "we could not unless you could swear there was African blood in your veins! Only think of such a law in a Christian land!"

"Think _not_ of it, Aurore," said I, wishing to cheer her. "There shall be no difficulty about swearing that. I shall take this gold pin from your hair, open this beautiful blue vein in your arm, drink from it, and take the oath!"

The quadroon smiled, but the moment after her look of sadness returned.

"Come, dearest Aurore! chase away such thoughts! What care we to be married here? We shall go elsewhere. There are lands as fair as Louisiana, and churches as fine as Saint Gabriel to be married in. We shall go northward--to England--to France--anywhere. Let not that grieve you!"

"It is not that which grieves me."

"What then, dearest?"

"Oh! It is--I fear--"

"Tear not to tell me."

"That you will not be able--"

"Declare it, Aurore."

"To become _my master_--_to_--_to buy me_!"

Here the poor girl hung her head, as if ashamed to speak of such conditions. I saw the hot tears springing from her eyes.

"And why do you fear." I inquired.

"Others have tried. Large sums they offered--larger even than that you have named, and they could not. They failed in their intentions, and oh! how grateful was I to Mademoiselle! That was my only protection.

She would not part with me. How glad was I then! but now--now how different!--the very opposite!"

"But I shall give more--my whole fortune. Surely that will suffice.

The offers you speak of were infamous proposals, like that of Monsieur Gayarre. Mademoiselle knew it; she was too good to accept them."

"That is true, but she will equally refuse yours. I fear it, alas!

alas!"

"Nay, I shall confess all to Mademoiselle. I shall declare to her my honourable design. I shall implore her consent. Surely she will not refuse. Surely she feels grat.i.tude--"

"Oh, Monsieur!" cried Aurore, interrupting me, "she _is_ grateful--you know not how grateful; but never, never will she--You know not all-- alas! alas!"

With a fresh burst of tears filling her eyes, the beautiful girl sank down on the sofa, hiding her face under the folds of her luxuriant hair.

I was puzzled by these expressions, and about to ask for an explanation, when the noise of carriage-wheels fell upon my ear. I sprang forward to the open window, and looked over the tops of the orange-trees. I could just see the head of a man, whom I recognised as the coachman of Mademoiselle Besancon. The carriage was approaching the gate.

In the then tumult of my feelings I could not trust myself to meet the lady, and, bidding a hurried adieu to Aurore, I rushed from the apartment.

When outside I saw that, if I went by the front gate I should risk an encounter. I knew there was a small side-wicket that led to the stables, and a road ran thence to the woods. This would carry me to Bringiers by a back way, and stepping off from the verandah, I pa.s.sed through the wicket, and directed myself towards the stables in the rear.

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

THE "n.i.g.g.e.r QUARTER."

I soon reached the stables, where I was welcomed by a low whimper from my horse. Scipio was not there.

"He is gone upon some other business," thought I; "perhaps to meet the carriage. No matter, I shall not summon him. The saddle is on, and I can bridle the steed myself--only poor Scipio loses his quarter-dollar."

I soon had my steed bitted and bridled; and, leading the animal outside, I sprang into the saddle, and rode off.

The path I was taking led past the "negro quarters," and then through some fields to the dark cypress and tupelo woods in the rear. From these led a cross-way that would bring me out again upon the Levee road.

I had travelled this path many a time, and knew it well enough.

The "n.i.g.g.e.r quarter" was distant some two hundred yards from the "grande maison," or "big house," of the plantation. It consisted of some fifty or sixty little "cabins," neatly built, and standing in a double row, with a broad way between. Each cabin was a facsimile of its neighbour, and in front of each grew a magnolia or a beautiful China-tree, under the shade of whose green leaves and sweet-scented flowers little negroes might be seen all the livelong day, disporting their bodies in the dust.

These, of all sizes, from the "piccaninny" to the "good-sized chunk of a boy," and of every shade of slave-colour, from the fair-skinned quadroon to the black Bambarra, on whom, by an American witticism of doubtful truthfulness; "charcoal would make a white mark!" Divesting them of dust, you would have no difficulty in determining their complexion. Their little plump bodies were nude, from the top of their woolly heads to their long projecting heels. There roll they, black and yellow urchins, all the day, playing with pieces of sugar-cane, or melon-rind, or corn-cobs--cheerful and happy as any little lords could be in their well-carpeted nurseries in the midst of the costliest toys of the German bazaar!

On entering the negro quarter, you cannot fail to observe tall papaw poles or cane-reeds stuck up in front of many of the cabins, and carrying upon their tops large, yellow gourd-sh.e.l.ls, each perforated with a hole in the side. These are the dwellings of the purple martin, (_Hirundo purpurea_)--the most beautiful of American swallows, and a great favourite among the simple negroes, as it had been, long before their time, among the red aborigines of the soil. You will notice, too, hanging in festoons along the walls of the cabins, strings of red and green pepper-pods (species of capsic.u.m); and here and there a bunch of some dried herb of medicinal virtue, belonging to the negro _pharmacopoeia_. All these are the property of "aunt Phoebe," or "aunty Cleopatra," or "ole aunt Phillis;" and the delicious "pepper pot" that any one of those "aunts" can make out of the aforesaid green and red capsic.u.ms, a.s.sisted by a few other ingredients from the little garden "patch" in the rear of the cabin, would bring water to the teeth of an epicure.

Perhaps on the cabin walls you will see suspended representatives of the animal kingdom--perhaps the skin of a rabbit, a racc.o.o.n, an opossum, or the grey fox--perhaps also that of the musk-rat (_Fiber zibethicus_), or, rarer still, the swamp wild-cat (bay lynx--_Lynx rufus_). The owner of the cabin upon which hangs the lynx-skin will be the Nimrod of the hour, for the cat is among the rarest and n.o.blest game of the Mississippi _fauna_. The skin of the panther (_cougar_) or deer you will not see, for although both inhabit the neighbouring forest, they are too high game for the negro hunter, who is not permitted the use of a gun. The smaller "varmints" already enumerated can be captured without such aid, and the pelts you see hanging upon the cabins are the produce of many a moonlight hunt undertaken by "Caesar," or "Scipio," or "Hannibal," or "Pompey." Judging by the nomenclature of the negro quarter, you might fancy yourself in ancient Rome or Carthage!

The great men above-named, however, are never trusted with such a dangerous weapon as a rifle. To their _skill_ alone do they owe their success in the chase; and their weapons are only a stick, an axe, and a "'c.o.o.n-dog" of mongrel race. Several of these last you may see rolling about in the dust among the "piccaninnies," and apparently as happy as they. But the hunting trophies that adorn the walls do not hang there as mere ornaments. No, they are spread out to dry, and will soon give place to others--for there is a constant export going on. When uncle Ceez, or Zip, or Hanny, or Pomp, get on their Sunday finery, and repair to the village, each carries with him his stock of small pelts. There the storekeeper has a talk with them, and a "pic" (picayune) for the "mussrat," a "bit" (Spanish real) for the "'c.o.o.n," and a "quarter" for the fox or "cat," enable these four avuncular hunters to lay in a great variety of small luxuries for the four "aunties" at home; which little comforts are most likely excluded from the regular rice-and-pork rations of the plantation.

So much is a little bit of the domestic economy of the negro quarter.

On entering the little village,--for the negro quarter of a grand plantation merits the t.i.tle,--you cannot fail to observe all of these little matters. They are the salient points of the picture.

You will observe, too, the house of the "overseer" standing apart; or, as in the case of the plantation Besancon, at the end of the double row, and fronting the main avenue. This, of course, is of a more pretentious style of architecture; can boast of Venetian blinds to the windows, two stories of height, and a "porch." It is enclosed with a paling to keep off the intrusion of the children, but the dread of the painted cowhide renders the paling almost superfluous.

As I approached the "quarter," I was struck with the peculiar character of the picture it presented,--the overseer's house towering above the humbler cabins, seeming to protect and watch over them, suggesting the similarity of a hen with her brood of chickens.