Mr. Bernard Le Croix was the only son of a Spanish lady, and a French
gentleman, who were married in Hayti a few months before the revolution,
which gave freedom to the Island, and made Hayti an independent nation.
His father, foreseeing the storm which was overshadowing the land,
contrived to escape, bringing with him a large amount of personal
property; and preferring a climate similar to his own, he bought a
plantation on Red river, and largely stocked it with slaves. Only one
child blessed their union; Bernard Le Croix, who grew up sensitive, shy
and retiring, with a taste for solitude and literary pursuits.
During the troubles in Hayti, his uncle and only daughter escaped from
the Island, leaving every thing behind except the clothing upon their
persons, and a few jewels they had hastily collected. Broken in spirits,
feeble in health, Louis Le Croix reached Louisiana, only to die in his
brother's arms and to leave his orphan daughter to his care. She was
about ten years old and Bernard was twelve, and in their childhood was
commenced a friendship which ripened into love and marriage. Bernard's
father and mother lived long enough to see their first and only
grandchild, and then died, leaving their son a large baronial estate,
500 slaves, and a vast amount of money.
Passionately fond of literature, aesthetic in his tastes, he devoted
himself to poetry and the ancient classics; filled his home with the
finest paintings and the most beautiful statuary, and had his gardens
laid out in the most exquisite manner. And into that beautiful home he
brought his young and lovely bride; but in that fair house where velvet
carpets hushed her tread, and magnificence surrounded her path, she
drooped and faded. Day by day her cheek grew paler, her footsteps
slower, until she passed away like a thing of love and light, and left
her heart-broken husband and a child of six summers to mourn her loss.
Bernard, ever shy and sensitive, grew more so after the death of his
wife. He sought no society; seemed to lose all interest in politics; and
secluded himself in his library till he had almost passed from the
recollection of his nearest neighbors. He superintended the education of
his daughter, because he could not bear the thought of being separated
from her. And she, seeing very little of society, and reading only from
the best authors, both ancient and modern, was growing up with very
little knowledge of the world, except what she learned from books.
Without any female relatives to guide her, she had no other associates
than the servants of her household, and the family of Mr. Le Grange. Her
mother's nurse and favorite servant had taken the charge of her after
her death, and Agnes had been her nurse and companion.
Camilla, although [adored?] and petted by every one, and knowing no law
but her own will, was still a very lovely child. Her father, wrapped in
his literary pursuits, had left the entire control of his plantation to
overseers, in whom he trusted almost implicitly. And many a tale of
wrong and sorrow came to the ear of Camilla; for these simple-minded
people had learned to love her, and to trust in her as an angel of
mercy. Often would she interfere in their behalf, and tell the story of
their wrongs to her father. And at her instance, more than one overseer
had been turned away; which, coming to the ears of others, made them
cautious how they offended the little lady, for young as she was they
soon learned that she had great influence with her ease-loving father,
who would comply with almost any fancy or request rather than see her
unhappy or fretting.
And Camilla, knowing her power, insisted that Agnes' child should be
raised as a white child, and the secret of his birth effectually
concealed. At first, Mr. Le Croix thought it was a passing whim that she
would soon forget; that the child would amuse and interest her for
awhile; and then she would tire of him as she had of other things; such
as her birds, her squirrel, and even her Shetland pony. But when he
found that instead of her intention being a passing whim it was a
settled purpose, he made up his mind to accede to her wishes.
His plan was to take the child North, to have him educated, and then
adopt him as his son. And in fact the plan rather suited him; for then
he could care for him as a son, without acknowledging the relationship.
And being a member of two nations having a Latin basis, he did not feel
the same pride of race and contempt and repulsion for weaker races which
characterizes the proud and imperious Anglo-Saxon.
The next Summer Mr. Le Croix took a journey to the North, taking Louis
and Camilla with him. He found a very pleasant family school in New
England; and having made suitable arrangements, he left Louis in the
care of the matron, whose kindness and attentions soon won the child's
heart; and before he left the North, Louis seemed perfectly contented
with his new home.
Camilla was delighted with her tour; the constant companion of her
father, she visited with him every place of amusement or interest they
could find. She was much pleased with the factories; and watched with
curious eyes the intelligent faces of the operatives, as they plied with
ready fingers their daily tasks. Sometimes she would contrast their
appearance with the laborers she had seen wending their way into their
lowly huts; and then her face would grow sober even to sadness. A
puzzled expression would flit over her countenance, as if she were
trying to solve a problem which was inexplicable to her.
One day on the hunt for some new excitement, her father passed down
Tremont St., and saw advertised, in large letters, on the entrance to
Tremont Temple, "Anti Slavery Meeting;" and never having been in such a
place before he entered, impelled by a natural curiosity to hear what
could be said against a system in which he had been involved from his
earliest recollections, without taking the pains to examine it.
The first speaker was a colored man. This rather surprised him. He had
been accustomed to colored men all the days of his life; and as such, he
had known some of them to be intelligent, shrewd, and wide awake; but
this was a new experience. The man had been a slave, and recounted in
burning words the wrongs which had been heaped upon him. He told that he
had been a husband and a father: that his wife had possessed (for a
slave) the "fatal gift of beauty;" that a trader, from whose presence
her soul had recoiled with loathing, had marked her as his prey. Then he
told how he had knelt at his master's feet, and implored him not to sell
her, but it was all in vain. The trader was rich in sin-cursed gold; and
he was poor and weak. He next attempted to describe his feelings when he
saw his wife and children standing on the auction block; and heard the
coarse jests of the spectators, and the fierce competition of the
bidders.
The speaker made a deep impression upon the minds of the audience; and
even Le Croix, who had been accustomed to slavery all his life, felt a
sense of guilt passing over him for his complicity in the system; whilst
Camilla grew red and pale by turns, and clutching her little hands
nervously together, said, "Father, let us go home."
Le Croix saw the deep emotion on his daughter's face, and the nervous
twitchings of her lips, and regretted that he had introduced her to such
an exciting scene.
When they were seated in their private parlor, Le Croix said: "Birdie,
I am sorry that we attended that meeting this morning. I didn't believe
a word that nigger said; and yet these people all drank it down as if
every word were gospel truth. They are a set of fanatics, calculated to
keep the nation in hot water. I hope that you will never enter such a
place again. Did you believe one word that negro said?"
"Why, yes, Pa, I did, because our Isaac used to tell me just such a
story as that. If I had shut my eyes, I could have imagined that it was
Isaac telling his story."
"Isaac! What business had Isaac telling you any such stories?"
"Oh, Pa, don't get angry with Isaac. It wasn't his fault; it was mine.
"You know when you brought him home to drive the carriage, he used to
look so sorrowful, and I said to him one day, Isaac, what makes you so
sad? Why don't you laugh and talk, like Jerry and Sam?
"And he said, 'Oh Missus, I can't! Ise got a mighty heap of trouble on
my mind.' And he looked so down-hearted when he said this, I wanted to
know what was the matter; but he said, 'It won't do, for a little lady
like you to know the troubles of we poor creatures,' but one day, when
Sam came home from New Orleans he brought him a letter from his wife,
and he really seemed to be overjoyed, and he kissed the letter, and put
it in his bosom, and I never saw him look half so happy before. So the
next day when I asked him to get the pony ready, he asked me if I
wouldn't read it for him. He said he had been trying to make it out, but
somehow he could not get the hang of the words, and so I sat down and
read it to him. Then he told me about his wife, how beautiful she was;
and how a trader, a real mean man, wanted to buy her, and that he had
begged his master not to sell her; but it was no use. She had to go; but
he was glad of one thing; the trader was dead, and his wife had got a
place in the city with a very nice lady, and he hoped to see her when
he went to New Orleans. Pa, I wonder how slavery came to be. I should
hate to belong to anybody, wouldn't you, Pa?"
"Why, yes, darling, but then the negroes are contented, and wouldn't
take their freedom, if you would give it to them."
"I don't know about that, Pa; there was Mr. Le Grange's Peter. Mr. Le
Grange used to dress him so fine and treat him so well that he thought
no one would ever tempt Peter to leave him; and he came North with him
every year for three or four summers, and he always made out that he was
afraid of the abolitionists--bobolitionists he used to call them--and
Mr. Le Grange just believed that Peter was in earnest, and somehow he
got Mrs. Le Grange to bring his wife North to wait on her. And when they
both got here, they both left; and Mrs. Le Grange had to wait on
herself, until she got another servant. She told me she had got enough
of the North, and never wanted to see it again so long as she lived;
that she wouldn't have taken three thousand dollars for them."
"Well, darling, they would have never left, if these meddlesome
abolitionists hadn't put it in their heads; but, darling, don't bother
your brain about such matters. See what I have bought you this morning,"
said he, handing her a necklace of the purest pearls; "here, darling, is
a birth-day present for you." Camilla took the necklace, and gazing
absently upon it said, "I can't understand it."
"What is it, my little philosopher, that you can't understand?"
"Pa, I can't understand slavery; that man made me think it was something
very bad. Do you think it can be right?"
Le Croix's face flushed suddenly, and he bit his lip, but said nothing,
and commenced reading the paper.
"Why don't you answer me, Pa?" Le Croix's brow grew darker, but he tried
to conceal his vexation, and quietly said, "Darling, never mind. Don't
puzzle your little head about matters you cannot understand, and which
our wisest statesmen cannot solve."
Camilla said no more, but a new train of thought had been awakened. She
had lived so much among the slaves, and had heard so many tales of
sorrow breathed confidentially into her ears, that she had unconsciously
imbibed their view of the matter; and without comprehending the
injustice of the system, she had learned to view it from their
standpoint of observation.
What she had seen of slavery in the South had awakened her sympathy and
compassion. What she had heard of it in the North had aroused her sense
of justice. She had seen the old system under a new light. The good seed
was planted, which was yet to yield its harvest of blessed deeds.