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
passages 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 Mass'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, associated 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 associated 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-glass. Upon the request being granted, he broke into
a diabolical laugh, crying out at the same time, in a loud voice, "What
a damned 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
passing 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 "passes" 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_.
Reigart is a stranger in Bringiers, but seems to be rapidly rising in
the esteem of the neighbouring planters. Indeed, many of these--the
"grandees" among them--keep physicians of their own, and pay them
handsomely, too! It would be an unprofitable speculation to neglect the
health of the slave; and on this account it is better looked after than
that of the "poor white folks" in many a European state.
I have endeavoured to draw from the doctor some facts, regarding the
connexion existing between Gayarre and the family of Besancon. I could
only make distant allusion to such a subject. I obtained no very
satisfactory information. The doctor is what might be termed a "close
man," and too much talking would not make one of his profession very
popular in Louisiana. He either knows but little of their affairs, or
affects not to know; and yet, from some expressions that dropped from
him, I suspect the latter to be the more probable.
"Poor young lady!" said he; "quite alone in the world. I believe there
is an aunt, or something of the kind, who lives in New Orleans, but she
has no male relation to look after her affairs. Gayarre seems to have
everything in his hands."
I gathered from the doctor that Eugenie's father had been much richer at
one period--one of the most extensive planters on the coast; that he had
kept a sort of "open house," and dispensed hospitality in princely
style. "Fetes" on a grand scale had been given, and this more
particularly of late years. Even since his death profuse hospitality
has been carried on, and Mademoiselle continues to receive her father's
guests after her father's fashion. Suitors she has in plenty, but the
doctor has heard of no one who is regarded in the light of a "lover."
Gayarre had been the intimate friend of Besancon. Why, no one could
tell; for their natures were as opposite as the poles. It was thought
by some that their friendship had a little of the character of that
which usually exists between _debtor_ and _creditor_.
The information thus imparted by the doctor confirms what Scipio has
already told me. It confirms, too, my suspicions in regard to the young
Creole, that there is a cloud upon the horizon of her future, darker
than any that has shadowed her past--darker even than that produced by
the memory of Antoine!
_July 28th_.--Gayarre has been here to-day--at the house, I mean. In
fact, he visits Mademoiselle nearly every day; but Scipio tells me
something new and strange. It appears that some of the slaves who had
been flogged, complained of the overseer to their young mistress; and
she in her turn spoke to Gayarre on the subject. His reply was that the
"black rascals deserved all they had got, and more," and somewhat rudely
upheld the ruffian Larkin, who is beyond a doubt his _protege_. The
lady was silent.
Scipio learns these facts from Aurore. There is something ominous in
all this.
Poor Scipio has made me the confidant of another, and a private grief.
He suspects that the overseer is looking too kindly upon "him kettle
Chloe." The brute! if this be so!--My blood boils at the thought--oh!
slavery!
------------------------------------------------------------------------
_August 2nd_.--I hear of Gayarre again. He has been to the house, and
made a longer stay with Mademoiselle than usual. What can he have to do
with her? Can his society be agreeable to her? Surely that is
impossible! And yet such frequent visits--such long conferences! If
she marry such a man as this I pity her, poor victim!--for victim will
she be. He must have some power over her to act as he is doing. He
seems master of the plantation, says Scipio, and issues his orders to
every one with the air of its owner. All fear him and his
"nigger-driver," as the ruffian Larkin is called. The latter is more
feared by Scipio, who has noticed some further rude conduct on the part
of the overseer towards "him leettle Chloe." Poor fellow! he is greatly
distressed; and no wonder, when even the law does not allow him to
protect the honour of his own child!
I have promised to speak to Mademoiselle about the affair; but I fear,
from what reaches my ears, that she is almost as powerless as Scipio
himself!
------------------------------------------------------------------------
_August 3rd_.--To-day, for the first time, I am able to go out of my
room. I have taken a walk through the shrubbery and garden. I
encountered Aurore among the orange-trees, gathering the golden fruit;
but she was accompanied by little Chloe, who held the basket. What
would I not have given to have found her alone! A word or two only was
I able to exchange with her, and she was gone.
She expressed her pleasure at seeing me able to be abroad. She _seemed_
pleased; I fancied she felt so, I never saw her look so lovely. The
exercise of shaking down the oranges had brought out the rich crimson
bloom upon her cheeks, and her large brown eyes were shining like
sapphires. Her full bosom rose and fell with her excited breathing, and
the light wrapper she wore enabled me to trace the noble outlines of her
form.
I was struck with the gracefulness of her gait as she walked away. It
exhibited an undulating motion, produced by a peculiarity of figure--a
certain _embonpoint_ characteristic of her race. She was large and
womanly, yet of perfect proportion and fine delicate outlines. Her
hands were small and slender, and her little feet seemed hardly to press
upon the pebbles. My eyes followed her in a delirium of admiration.
The fire in my heart burned fiercer as I returned to my solitary
chamber.