"Gollies, young mass'r! Ole Zip 'joiced to see um well 'gain--daat he
be."
"Scipio is it?"
"Ye', mass'r--daat same ole nigger. Doctor told um to nuss de white
genl'um. Won't young missa be glad haself!--white folks, black folks--
all be glad, Wugh!"
The finishing exclamation was one of those thoracic efforts peculiar to
the American negro, and bearing a strong resemblance to the snort of a
hippopotamus. Its utterance signified that my companion had finished
his sentence, and waited for me to speak.
"And who is `young missa'?" I inquired.
"Gorramighty! don't mass'r know? Why, de young lady you fotch from de
boat, when twar all ober a blaze. Lor! what a swum you make--half cross
de riber! Wugh!"
"And am I in her house?"
"Ob sartin, mass'r--daat ar in de summer-house--for de big house am on
oder side ob de garden--all de same, mass'r."
"And how did I get here?"
"Golly! don't mass'r 'member how? Why, ole Zip carried 'im in yar in
dese berry arms. Mass'r an young missa come 'shore on de Lebee, down
dar jes by de gate. Missa shout--black folks come out an find um--white
genl'um all blood--he faint, an missa have him carried in yar."
"And after?"
"Zip he mount fastest hoss--ole White Fox--an gallop for de doctor--
gallop like de debil, too. Ob course de doctor he come back along and
dress up mass'r's arm.
"But," continued Scipio, turning upon me an inquiring look, "how'd young
mass'r come by de big ugly cut? Dat's jes wha de Doc wanted to know, an
dat's jes wha young missa didn't know nuffin 'tall 'bout."
For certain reasons I forbore satisfying the curiosity of my sable
nurse, but lay for a moment reflecting. True, the lady knew nothing of
my encounter with the bully. Ha! Antoine--then. Had he not come
ashore? Was he--? Scipio anticipated the question I was about to put.
His face became sad as he recommenced speaking.
"Ah! young mass'r, Mamselle 'Genie be in great 'stress dis mornin--all
de folks be in great 'stress. Mass'r Toney! Poor Mass'r Toney."
"The steward, Antoine? What of him? Tell me, has he not come home?"
"No, mass'r--I'se afeerd he nebber, nebber will--ebberybody 'feerd he be
drownded--folks a been to de village--up an down de Lebee--ebery wha.
No Toney. Captain ob de boat blowed clar into de sky, an fifty
passengers gone to de bottom. Oder boat save some; some, like young
mass'r, swam 'shore: but no Toney--no Mass'r Toney!"
"Do you know if he could swim?" I asked.
"No, mass'r, ne'er a stroke. I knows daat, 'kase he once falled into de
bayou, and Ole Zip pull 'im out. No--he nebber swim--nebber."
"Then I fear he is lost indeed."
I remembered that the wreck went down before the Magnolia had got close
alongside. I had noticed this on looking around. Those who could not
swim, therefore, must have perished.
"Poor Pierre, too. We hab lost Pierre."
"Pierre? Who was he?"
"De coachman, mass'r, he war."
"Oh! I remember. You think he is drowned, also?"
"I'se afeerd so, mass'r. Ole Zip sorry, too, for Pierre. A good nigger
war daat Pierre. But, Mass'r Toney, Mass'r Toney, ebberybody sorry for
Mass'r Toney."
"He was a favourite among you?"
"Ebberybody like 'im--black folks, white folks, all lub 'im. Missa
'Genie lub 'im. He live wi' ole Mass'r Sancon all him life. I believe
war one ob Missy 'Genie gardiums, or whatever you call 'em.
Gorramighty! what will young Missa do now? She hab no friends leff; and
daat ole fox Gayarre--he no good--"
Here the speaker suddenly interrupted himself, as if he feared that his
tongue was going too freely.
The name he had pronounced and the expression by which it was qualified,
at once awakened my curiosity--the name more than the qualification.
"If it be the same," thought I, "Scipio has characterised him not
otherwise than justly. Can it be the same?"
"You mean Monsieur Dominique Gayarre, the _avocat_?" I asked, after a
pause.
Scipio's great white eyeballs rolled about with an expression of mingled
surprise and apprehension, and rather stammeringly he replied:--
"Daat am de genl'um's name. Know 'im, young mass'r?"
"Only very slightly," I answered, and this answer seemed to set my
companion at his ease again.
The truth is, I had no _personal_ acquaintance with the individual
mentioned; but during my stay in New Orleans, accident had brought me in
contact with the name. A little adventure had befallen me, in which the
bearer of it figured--not to advantage. On the contrary, I had
conceived a strong dislike for the man, who, as already stated, was a
lawyer, or _avocat_ of the New Orleans bar. Scipio's man was no doubt
the same. The name was too rare a one to be borne by two individuals;
besides, I had heard that he was owner of a plantation somewhere up the
coast--at Bringiers, I remembered. The probabilities were it was he.
If so, and Mademoiselle Besancon had no other friend, then, indeed, had
Scipio spoken truly when he said, "She hab no friends leff."
Scipio's observation had not only roused my curiosity, but had imparted
to me a vague feeling of uneasiness. It is needless to say that I was
now deeply interested in this young Creole. A man who has saved a
life--the life of a beautiful woman--and under such peculiar
circumstances, could not well be indifferent to the after-fate of her he
has rescued.
Was it a lover's interest that had been awakened within me?
My heart answered, No! To my own astonishment, it gave this answer. On
the boat I had fancied myself half in love with this young lady; and
now, after a romantic incident--one that might appear a very provocative
to the sublime passion--I lay on my couch contemplating the whole affair
with a coolness that surprised even myself! I felt that I had lost much
blood--had my incipient passion flowed out of my veins at the same time?
I endeavoured to find some explanation for this rare psychological fact;
but at that time I was but an indifferent student of the mind. The land
of love was to me a _terre inconnue_.
One thing was odd enough. Whenever I essayed to recall the features of
the Creole, the dream-face rose up before me more palpable than ever!
"Strange!" thought I, "this lovely vision! this dream of my diseased
brain! Oh! what would I not give to embody this fair spectral form!"
I had no longer a doubt about it. I was certain I did not love
Mademoiselle Besancon, and yet I was far from feeling indifferent
towards her. Friendship was the feeling that now actuated me. The
interest, I felt for her was that of a friend. Strong enough was it to
render me anxious on her account--to make me desirous of knowing more
both of herself and her affairs.
Scipio was not of secretive habit; and in less than half an hour I was
the confidant of all he knew.
Eugenie Besancon was the daughter and only child of a Creole planter,
who had died some two years before, as some thought wealthy, while
others believed that his affairs were embarrassed. Monsieur Dominique
Gayarre had been left joint-administrator of the estate with the steward
Antoine, both being "guardiums" (sic Scipio) of the young lady. Gayarre
had been the lawyer of Besancon, and Antoine his faithful servitor.
Hence the trust reposed in the old steward, who in latter years stood in
the relation of friend and companion rather than of servant to Besancon
himself.
In a few months mademoiselle would be of age; but whether her
inheritance was large, Scipio could not tell. He only knew that since
her father's death, Monsieur Dominique, the principal executor, had
furnished her with ample funds whenever called upon; that she had not
been restricted in any way; that she was generous; that she was profuse
in her expenditure, or, as Scipio described it, "berry wasteful, an
flung about de shinin dollars as ef dey war _donicks_!"
The black gave some glowing details of many a grand ball and _fete
champetre_ that had taken place on the plantation, and hinted at the
expensive life which "young missa" led while in the city, where she
usually resided during most part of the winter. All this I could easily
credit. From what had occurred on the boat, and other circumstances, I
was impressed with the belief that Eugenie Besancon was just the person
to answer to the description of Scipio. Ardent of soul--full of warm
impulses--generous to a fault--reckless in expenditure--living
altogether in the present--and not caring to make any calculation for
the future. Just such an heiress as would exactly suit the purposes of
an unprincipled administrator.
I could see that poor Scipio had a great regard for his young mistress;
but, even ignorant as he was, he had some suspicion that all this
profuse outlay boded no good. He shook his head as he talked of these
matters, adding--
"I'se afeerd, young mass'r, it'll nebber, nebber last. De Planters'
bank hisseff would be broke by such a constant drawin ob money."
When Scipio came to speak of Gayarre he shook his head still more
significantly. He had evidently some strange suspicions about this
individual, though he was unwilling, just then, to declare them.
I learnt enough to identify Monsieur Dominique Gayarre with my _avocat_
of the Rue --, New Orleans. No doubt remained on my mind that it was
the same. A lawyer by profession, but more of a speculator in stocks--a
money-lender, in other words, usurer. In the country a planter, owning
the plantation adjoining that of Besancon, with more than a hundred
slaves, whom he treats with the utmost severity. All this is in
correspondence with the calling and character of my Monsieur Dominique.
They are the same.
Scipio gives me some additional details of him. He was the law adviser
and the companion of Monsieur Besancon--Scipio says, "Too often for ole
mass'r's good," and believes that the latter suffered much from his
acquaintance: or, as Scipio phrases it, "Mass'r Gayarre humbug ole
mass'r; he cheat 'im many an many a time, I'se certain."
Furthermore, I learn from my attendant, that Gayarre resides upon his
plantation during the summer months; that he is a daily visitor at the
"big house"--the residence of Mademoiselle Besancon--where he makes
himself quite at home; acting, says Scipio, "as ef de place 'longed to
him, and he war de boss ob de plantation."
I fancied Scipio knew something more about this man--some definite
matter that he did not like to talk about. It was natural enough,
considering our recent acquaintance. I could see that he had a strong
dislike towards Gayarre. Did he found it on some actual knowledge of
the latter, or was it instinct--a principle strongly developed in these
poor slaves, who are not permitted to _reason_?
His information, however, comprised too many facts to be the product of
mere instinct: it savoured of actual knowledge. He must have learnt
these things from some quarter. Where could he have gathered them?
"Who told you all this, Scipio?"
"Aurore, mass'r."
"Aurore!"