LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT AND WHAT FOLLOWED.
It was a beautiful Sunday in September, with a cloudless sky, and the
rays of the sun parching the already thirsty earth, that Clotelle stood
at an upper window in Slater's slave-pen in New Orleans, gasping for a
breath of fresh air. The bells of thirty churches were calling the
people to the different places of worship. Crowds were seen wending
their way to the houses of God; one followed by a negro boy carrying
his master's Bible; another followed by her maid-servant holding the
mistress' fan; a third supporting an umbrella over his master's head to
shield him from the burning sun. Baptists immersed, Presbyterians
sprinkled, Methodists shouted, and Episcopalians read their prayers,
while ministers of the various sects preached that Christ died for all.
The chiming of the bells seemed to mock the sighs and deep groans of
the forty human beings then incarcerated in the slave-pen. These
imprisoned children of God were many of them Methodists, some Baptists,
and others claiming to believe in the faith of the Presbyterians and
Episcopalians.
Oh, with what anxiety did these creatures await the close of that
Sabbath, and the dawn of another day, that should deliver them from
those dismal and close cells. Slowly the day passed away, and once more
the evening breeze found its way through the barred windows of the
prison that contained these injured sons and daughters of America. The
clock on the calaboose had just struck nine on Monday morning, when
hundreds of persons were seen threading the gates and doors of the
negro-pen. It was the same gang that had the day previous been stepping
to the tune and keeping time with the musical church bells. Their
Bibles were not with them, their prayer-books were left at home, and
even their long and solemn faces had been laid aside for the week. They
had come to the man-market to make their purchases. Methodists were in
search of their brethren. Baptists were looking for those that had been
immersed, while Presbyterians were willing to buy fellow Christians,
whether sprinkled or not. The crowd was soon gazing at and feasting
their eyes upon the lovely features of Clotelle.
"She is handsomer," muttered one to himself, "than the lady that sat in
the pew next to me yesterday."
"I would that my daughter was half so pretty," thinks a second.
Groups are seen talking in every part of the vast building, and the
topic on 'Change, is the "beautiful quadroon." By and by, a tall young
man with a foreign face, the curling mustache protruding from under a
finely-chiseled nose, and having the air of a gentleman, passes by. His
dark hazel eye is fastened on the maid, and he stops for a moment; the
stranger walks away, but soon returns--he looks, he sees the young
woman wipe away the silent tear that steals down her alabaster cheek;
he feels ashamed that he should gaze so unmanly on the blushing face of
the woman. As he turns upon his heel he takes out his white hankerchief
and wipes his eyes. It may be that he has lost a sister, a mother, or
some dear one to whom he was betrothed. Again he comes, and the
quadroon hides her face. She has heard that foreigners make bad
masters, and she shuns his piercing gaze. Again he goes away and then
returns. He takes a last look and then walks hurriedly off.
The day wears away, but long before the time of closing the sale the
tall young man once more enters the slave-pen. He looks in every
direction for the beautiful slave, but she is not there--she has been
sold! He goes to the trader and inquires, but he is too late, and he
therefore returns to his hotel.
Having entered a military school in Paris when quite young, and soon
after been sent with the French army to India, Antoine Devenant had
never dabbled in matters of love. He viewed all women from the same
stand-point--respected them for their virtues, and often spoke of the
goodness of heart of the sex, but never dreamed of taking to himself a
wife. The unequalled beauty of Clotelle had dazzled his eyes, and every
look that she gave was a dagger that went to his heart. He felt a
shortness of breath, his heart palpitated, his head grew dizzy, and his
limbs trembled; but he knew not its cause. This was the first stage of
"love at first sight."
He who bows to the shrine of beauty when beckoned by this mysterious
agent seldom regrets it. Devenant reproached himself for not having
made inquiries concerning the girl before he left the market in the
morning. His stay in the city was to be short, and the yellow fever was
raging, which caused him to feel like making a still earlier departure.
The disease appeared in a form unusually severe and repulsive. It
seized its victims from amongst the most healthy of the citizens. The
disorder began in the brain by oppressive pain accompanied or followed
by fever. Fiery veins streaked the eye, the face was inflamed and dyed
of a dark dull red color; the ears from time to time rang painfully.
Now mucous secretions surcharged the tongue and took away the power of
speech; now the sick one spoke, but in speaking had foresight of death.
When the violence of the disease approached the heart, the gums were
blackened. The sleep broken, troubled by convulsions, or by frightful
visions, was worse than the waking hours; and when the reason sank
under a delirium which had its seat in the brain, repose utterly
forsook the patient's couch. The progress of the fever within was
marked by yellowish spots, which spread over the surface of the body.
If then, a happy crisis came not, all hope was gone. Soon the breath
infected the air with a fetid odor, the lips were glazed, despair
painted itself in the eyes, and sobs, with long intervals of silence,
formed the only language. From each side of the mouth, spread foam
tinged with black and burnt blood. Blue streaks mingled with the yellow
all over the frame. All remedies were useless. This was the yellow
fever. The disorder spread alarm and confusion throughout the city. On
an average more than four hundred died daily. In the midst of disorder
and confusion, death heaped victims on victims. Friend followed friend
in quick succession. The sick were avoided from the fear of contagion,
and for the same reason the dead were left unburied. Nearly two
thousand dead bodies lay uncovered in the burial-ground, with only here
and there a little lime thrown over them, to prevent the air becoming
infected. The negro, whose home is in a hot climate, was not proof
against the disease. Many plantations had to suspend their work for
want of slaves to take the places of those who had been taken off by
the fever.