The estate, or "hacienda," known as Casa del Corvo, extended along the
wooded bottom of the Leona River for more than a league, and twice that
distance southwards across the contiguous prairie.
The house itself--usually, though not correctly, styled the _hacienda_--
stood within long cannon range of Fort Inge; from which its white walls
were partially visible; the remaining portion being shadowed by tall
forest trees that skirted the banks of the stream.
Its site was peculiar, and no doubt chosen with a view to defence: for
its foundations had been laid at a time when Indian assailants might be
expected; as indeed they might be, and often are, at the present hour.
There was a curve of the river closing upon itself, like the shoe of a
racehorse, or the arc of a circle, three parts complete; the chord of
which, or a parallelogram traced upon it, might be taken as the
ground-plan of the dwelling. Hence the name--Casa del Corvo--"the House
of the Curve" (curved river).
The facade, or entrance side, fronted towards the prairie--the latter
forming a noble lawn that extended to the edge of the horizon--in
comparison with which an imperial park would have shrunk into the
dimensions of a paddock.
The architecture of Casa del Corvo, like that of other large country
mansions in Mexico, was of a style that might be termed Morisco-Mexican:
being a single story in height, with a flat roof--_azotea_--spouted and
parapeted all round; having a courtyard inside the walls, termed
_patio_, open to the sky, with a flagged floor, a fountain, and a stone
stairway leading up to the roof; a grand entrance gateway--the
_saguan_--with a massive wooden door, thickly studded with bolt-heads;
and two or three windows on each side, defended by a _grille_ of strong
iron bars, called _reja_. These are the chief characteristics of a
Mexican hacienda; and Casa del Corvo differed but little from the type
almost universal throughout the vast territories of Spanish America.
Such was the homestead that adorned the newly acquired estate of the
Louisiana planter--that had become his property by purchase.
As yet no change had taken place in the exterior of the dwelling; nor
much in its interior, if we except the _personnel_ of its occupants. A
physiognomy, half Anglo-Saxon, half Franco-American, presented itself in
courtyard and corridor, where formerly were seen only faces of pure
Spanish type; and instead of the rich sonorous language of Andalusia,
was now heard the harsher guttural of a semi-Teutonic tongue--
occasionally diversified by the sweeter accentuation of Creolian French.
Outside the walls of the mansion--in the village-like cluster of
yucca-thatched huts which formerly gave housing to the _peons_ and other
dependants of the hacienda--the transformation was more striking. Where
the tall thin _vaquero_, in broad-brimmed hat of black glaze, and
chequered _serape_, strode proudly over the sward--his spurs tinkling at
every step--was now met the authoritative "overseer," in blue jersey, or
blanket coat--his whip cracking at every corner; where the red children
of Azteca and Anahuac, scantily clad in tanned sheepskin, could be seen,
with sad solemn aspect, lounging listlessly by their _jacales_, or
trotting silently along, were now heard the black sons and daughters of
Ethiopia, from morn till night chattering their gay "gumbo," or with
song and dance seemingly contradicting the idea: that slavery is a
heritage of unhappiness!
Was it a change for the better upon the estate of Casa del Corvo?
There was a time when the people of England would have answered--no;
with a unanimity and emphasis calculated to drown all disbelief in their
sincerity.
Alas, for human weakness and hypocrisy! Our long cherished sympathy
with the slave proves to have been only a tissue of sheer dissembling.
Led by an oligarchy--not the true aristocracy of our country: for these
are too noble to have yielded to such, deep designings--but an oligarchy
composed of conspiring plebs, who have smuggled themselves into the
first places of power in all the four estates--guided by these prurient
conspirators against the people's rights--England has proved untrue to
her creed so loudly proclaimed--truculent to the trust reposed in her by
the universal acclaim, of the nations.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
On a theme altogether different dwelt the thoughts of Louise Poindexter,
as she flung herself into a chair in front of her dressing-glass, and
directed her maid Florinda to prepare her for the reception of guests--
expected soon to arrive at the hacienda.
It was the day fixed for the "house-warming," and about an hour before
the time appointed for dinner to be on the table. This might have
explained a certain restlessness observable in the air of the young
Creole--especially observed by Florinda; but it did not. The maid had
her own thoughts about the cause of her mistress's disquietude--as was
proved by the conversation that ensued between them.
Scarce could it be called a conversation. It was more as if the young
lady were thinking aloud, with her attendant acting as an echo. During
all her life, the Creole had been accustomed to look upon her sable
handmaid as a thing from whom it was not worth while concealing her
thoughts, any more than she would from the chairs, the table, the sofa,
or any other article of furniture in the apartment. There was but the
difference of Florinda being a little more animated and companionable,
and the advantage of her being able to give a vocal response to the
observations addressed to her.
For the first ten minutes after entering the chamber, Florinda had
sustained the brunt of the dialogue on indifferent topics--her mistress
only interfering with an occasional ejaculation.
"Oh, Miss Looey!" pursued the negress, as her fingers fondly played
among the lustrous tresses of her young mistress's hair, "how bewful you
hair am! Like de long 'Panish moss dat hang from de cyprus-tree; only
dat it am ob a diff'rent colour, an shine like the sugar-house 'lasses."
As already stated, Louise Poindexter was a Creole. After that, it is
scarce necessary to say that her hair was of a dark colour; and--as the
sable maid in rude speech had expressed it--luxuriant as Spanish moss.
It was not black; but of a rich glowing brown--such as may be observed
in the tinting of a tortoise-shell, or the coat of a winter-trapped
sable.
"Ah!" continued Florinda, spreading out an immense "hank" of the hair,
that glistened like a chestnut against her dark palm, "if I had dat
lubbly hair on ma head, in'tead ob dis cuss'd cully wool, I fotch em all
to ma feet--ebbry one oh dem."
"What do you mean, girl?" inquired the young lady, as if just aroused
from some dreamy reverie. "What's that you've been saying? Fetch them
to your feet? Fetch whom?"
"Na, now; you know what dis chile mean?"
"'Pon honour, I do not."
"Make em lub me. Dat's what I should hab say."
"But whom?"
"All de white gen'l'm. De young planter, de officer ob de Fort--all ob
dem. Wif you hair, Miss Looey, I could dem all make conquess."
"Ha--ha--ha!" laughed the young lady, amused at the idea of Florinda
figuring under that magnificent chevelure. "You think, with my hair
upon your head, you would be invincible among the men?"
"No, missa--not you hair alone--but wif you sweet face--you skin, white
as de alumbaster--you tall figga--you grand look. Oh, Miss Looey, you
am so 'plendidly bewful! I hear de white gen'l'm say so. I no need
hear em say it. I see dat for masef."
"You're learning to flatter, Florinda."
"No, 'deed, missa--ne'er a word ob flattery--ne'er a word, I swa it. By
de 'postles, I swa it."
To one who looked upon her mistress, the earnest asseveration of the
maid was not necessary to prove the sincerity of her speech, however
hyperbolical it might appear. To say that Louise Poindexter was
beautiful, would only be to repeat the universal verdict of the society
that surrounded her. A single glance was sufficient to satisfy any one
upon this point--strangers as well as acquaintances. It was a kind of
beauty that needed no _discovering_--and yet it is difficult to describe
it. The pen cannot portray swell a face. Even the pencil could convey
but a faint idea of it: for no painter, however skilled, could represent
upon cold canvas the glowing ethereal light that emanated from her eyes,
and appeared to radiate over her countenance. Her features were purely
classic: resembling those types of female beauty chosen by Phidias or
Praxiteles. And yet in all the Grecian Pantheon there is no face to
which it could have been likened: for it was not the countenance of a
goddess; but, something more attractive to the eye of man, the face of a
woman.
A suspicion of sensuality, apparent in the voluptuous curving of the
lower lip--still more pronounced in the prominent rounding beneath the
cheeks--while depriving the countenance of its pure spiritualism, did
not perhaps detract from its beauty. There are men, who, in this
departure from the divine type, would have perceived a superior charm:
since in Louise Poindexter they would have seen not a divinity to be
worshipped, but a woman to be loved.
Her only reply vouchsafed to Florinda's earnest asseveration was a
laugh--careless, though not incredulous. The young Creole did not need
to be reminded of her beauty. She was not unconscious of it: as could
be told by her taking more than one long look into the mirror before
which her toilet was being made. The flattery of the negress scarce
called up an emotion; certainly not more than she might have felt at the
fawning of a pet spaniel; and she soon after surrendered herself to the
reverie from which the speech had aroused her.
Florinda was not silenced by observing her mistress's air of
abstraction. The girl had evidently something on her mind--some
mystery, of which she desired the _eclaircissement_--and was determined
to have it.
"Ah!" she continued, as if talking to herself; "if Florinda had half de
charm ob young missa, she for nobody care--she for nobody heave do deep
sigh!"
"Sigh!" repeated her mistress, suddenly startled by the speech. "What
do you mean by that?"
"Pa' dieu, Miss Looey, Florinda no so blind you tink; nor so deaf
neider. She you see long time sit in de same place; you nebber 'peak no
word--you only heave de sigh--de long deep sigh. You nebba do dat in de
ole plantashun in Loozyanny."
"Florinda! I fear you are taking leave of your senses, or have left
them behind you in Louisiana? Perhaps there's something in the climate
here that affects you. Is that so, girl?"
"Pa' dieu, Miss Looey, dat question ob youself ask. You no be angry
case I 'peak so plain. Florinda you slave--she you lub like brack
sisser. She no happy hear you sigh. Dat why she hab take de freedom.
You no be angry wif me?"
"Certainly not. Why should I be angry with you, child? I'm not. I
didn't say I was; only you are quite mistaken in your ideas. What
you've seen, or heard, could be only a fancy of your own. As for
sighing, heigho! I have something else to think of just now. I have to
entertain about a hundred guests--nearly all strangers, too; among them
the young planters and officers whom you would entangle if you had my
hair. Ha! ha! ha! _I_ don't desire to enmesh them--not one of them!
So twist it up as you like--without the semblance of a snare in it."
"Oh! Miss Looey, you so 'peak?" inquired the negress with an air of
evident interest. "You say none ob dem gen'l'm you care for? Dere am
two, tree, berry, berry, berry han'som'. One planter dar be, and two ob
de officer--all young gen'l'm. You know de tree I mean. All ob dem hab
been 'tentive to you. You sure, missa, tain't one ob dem dat you make
sigh?"
"Sigh again! Ha! ha! ha! But come, Florinda, we're losing time.
Recollect I've got to be in the drawing-room to receive a hundred
guests. I must have at least half an hour to compose myself into an
attitude befitting such an extensive reception."
"No fear, Miss Looey--no fear. I you toilette make in time--plenty ob
time. No much trouble you dress. Pa' dieu, in any dress you look
'plendid. You be de belle if you dress like one ob de fiel' hand ob de
plantashun."
"What a flatterer you are grown, Florinda! I shall begin to suspect
that you are after some favour. Do you wish me to intercede, and make
up your quarrel with Pluto?"
"No, missa. I be friend nebber more wid Pluto. He show hisseff such
great coward when come dat storm on de brack prairee. Ah, Miss Looey!
what we boaf do if dat young white gen'l'm on de red hoss no come ridin'
dat way?"
"If he had not, cher Florinde, it is highly probable neither of us
should now have been here."
"Oh, missa! wasn't he real fancy man, dat 'ere? You see him bewful
face. You see him thick hair, jess de colour ob you own--only curled
leetle bit like mine. Talk ob de young planter, or dem officer at de
Fort! De brack folk say he no good for nuffin, like dem--he only poor
white trash. Who care fo' dat? He am de sort ob man could dis chile
make sigh. Ah! de berry, berry sort!"
Up to this point the young Creole had preserved a certain tranquillity
of countenance. She tried to continue it; but the effort failed her.
Whether by accident or design, Florinda had touched the most sensitive
chord in the spirit of her mistress.
She would have been loth to confess it, even to her slave; and it was a
relief to her, when loud voices heard in the courtyard gave a colourable
excuse for terminating her toilette, along with the delicate dialogue
upon which she might have been constrained to enter.