INDIA:
THE
PEARL OF PEARL RIVER.
BY
MRS. EMMA D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH.
AUTHOR OF “THE MISSING BRIDE,” “THE LOST HEIRESS,” “THE DESERTED WIFE,”
“THE WIFE’S VICTORY,” ETC.
_Complete in one large volume, neatly bound in cloth, for One Dollar and
Twenty-five Cents; or in two volumes, paper cover, for One Dollar._
“‘INDIA: THE PEARL OF PEARL RIVER,’ taking it all in all, is the best
work Mrs. Southworth has yet written. It is one great merit in her
fictions, that they faithfully delineate life and manners, without
entering on vexed social, religious, or political issues. In ‘India,’
the reader will find a vivid delineation of the South-West. But this is
not all: the characters are boldly drawn, the incidents natural, and the
action of the story rapid and absorbing. The two heroines are finely
contrasted. The hero is a noble creation; strong of will, earnest in
purpose, firm for the right, and persevering to the end in whatever he
believes to be justice and truth. We cannot recall, in any late work, a
character so ideally lofty, yet so faithful to reality. The heroic
spirit in which he goes West, abandoning the luxuries he has been
accustomed to, and settling down in his rude log hut, determined to
conquer fortune with his own good right hand, is, indeed, the true type
of a self-relying American. No fiction of Mrs. Southworth’s bears such
proofs of careful finish. It ought, on these several accounts, to have a
popularity unrivalled by any of her former works, spite of the immense
circulation they have attained.”
☞ Copies of either edition of the above work will be sent to any part of
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T. B. Peterson publishes a complete and uniform edition of Mrs.
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the United States, _free of postage_, on receipt of remittances. The
following are their names:
THE LOST HEIRESS. By Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth. Being a splendid
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master production. Complete in two volumes, paper cover. Price One
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cents.
THE MISSING BRIDE; OR, MIRIAM, THE AVENGER. By Mrs. Emma D. E. N.
Southworth. Two volumes, paper cover. Price One Dollar; or bound in
one volume, cloth, for $1.25.
THE WIFE’S VICTORY; AND NINE OTHER NOUVELLETTES. By Mrs. Emma D. E. N.
Southworth. It is embellished with a view of Prospect Cottage, the
residence of the author, as well as a view of Brotherton Hall.
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THE CURSE OF CLIFTON. By Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth. Complete in
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THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. By Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth. Two volumes,
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IN PRESS, AND WILL BE SHORTLY PUBLISHED.
RETRIBUTION; OR, THE VALE OF SHADOWS. A Tale of Passion. By Mrs. Emma
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THE MOTHER-IN-LAW; OR, THE ISLE OF RAYS. By Mrs. Emma D. E. N.
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SHANNONDALE. By Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth. Complete in two
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VIRGINIA AND MAGDALENE: OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. By Mrs. E. D. E. N.
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or in one volume, cloth, for $1.25.
☞ Copies of either edition of any of the above works, will be sent to
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Published and for Sale by T. B. PETERSON,
=No. 102 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia=.
[Illustration: MOVING INTO WOLF GROVE]
INDIA:
THE
PEARL OF PEARL RIVER.
BY
EMMA D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH.
AUTHOR OF “DESERTED WIFE,” “LOST HEIRESS,” “CURSE OF CLIFTON,”
“DISCARDED DAUGHTER,” “MISSING BRIDE,” “WIFE’S VICTORY.”
“How changed since last her speaking eye
Glanced gladness round the glittering room,
Where high-born men were proud to wait—
Where beauty watched to imitate
Her gentle voice and lovely mien—
And gather from her air and gait
The graces of its queen!”—BYRON.
Philadelphia:
T. B. PETERSON, NO. 102 CHESTNUT STREET.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1856, by
T. B. PETERSON,
In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States, in and
for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.
PRINTED BY KING & BAIRD.
TALMAGE BROTHERS, BOOKBINDERS.
TO
MRS. HELEN MOORE WALL,
OF PETERSBURG, VIRGINIA,
This Volume is most affectionately Dedicated,
BY HER FRIEND,
EMMA D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH.
PROSPECT COTTAGE,
_February 16th, 1856_.
PREFACE.
The leading incidents of the following story were suggested by
circumstances in the life of a near relative, long since, we trust, in
Heaven. I have used the novelist’s privilege in giving a happier
termination to the fiction than is warranted by the facts.
E. D. E. N. S.
PROSPECT COTTAGE,
_February 16th, 1856_.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. The Collegian’s Supper, 25
II. A Southern Home, 37
III. The Planter’s Daughter, 46
IV. Mrs. Sutherland, 67
V. Chambre de Toilette et la Trousseau, 111
VI. Love and Gold, 118
VII. Reaction, 132
VIII. Farewell, 154
IX. The Fatal Marriage, 162
X. Rosalie and her Lover, 177
XI. Rosalie, 183
XII. Bridal Preparations, 196
XIII. The Meeting, 205
XIV. Rosalie, 217
XV. Discordances, 223
XVI. The Confession, 235
XVII. Prognostics, 241
XVIII. Departures, 246
XIX. The Journey, 250
XX. The Log Cabin, 266
XXI. Going to Housekeeping, 274
XXII. A Night of Fear, 282
XXIII. Cabin-Keeping, 291
XXIV. Domestic Arrangements, 299
XXV. Cashmere, 307
XXVI. India, 328
XXVII. Forgery, 334
XXVIII. Uncle Billy, 340
XXIX. Failing Health, 344
XXX. An Original, 351
XXXI. Magnanimity, 358
XXXII. Restitution, 361
XXXIII. Immortality, 371
XXXIV. Take up the Burthen of Life again, 382
XXXV. To Wed the Earliest Loved, 388
INDIA:
THE
PEARL OF PEARL RIVER.
CHAPTER I.
THE COLLEGIAN’S SUPPER.
“Filled is life’s goblet to the brim.”—_Longfellow._
“India!” exclaimed Mark Sutherland, rising at the head of his table, and
waving high the brimming glass, while his fine dark countenance lighted
up with enthusiasm. A young Ajax in athletic beauty and strength, stood
the Mississippian, until—
“India!” responded his friend Lauderdale, from the foot of the table.
“India!” echoed the young men around the board, as they all arose, and,
standing, honoured the toast. Then the glasses jingled merrily down upon
the table, and then—
“Now that in blind faith we have worshipped your goddess—who is India?
Is it a woman or a quarter of the globe—your idolatry?”
“India!” ejaculated the young Southerner with fervor. “India!
“‘Oh! a woman! friend, a woman! Why, a beast had scarce been duller’
than to have harboured such a question! Fill high your glasses again,
and
“‘’Twixt the red wine and the chalice’
let me breathe her beauty’s name. Gentlemen, are you ready?—The Pearl of
Pearl River!”
“The Pearl of Pearl River!” responded Lauderdale.
“The Pearl of Pearl River!” re-echoed all those gay youths, as this
toast was also quaffed standing, and the empty glasses rattled down upon
the table.
This was the parting toast, and the company broke up to separate. The
young guests all crowded around their youthful host with adieus,
regrets, congratulations, and kind wishes; for all these opposite
phrases were equally appropriate, as will be seen.
Mark Sutherland was the son and nephew of the celebrated Pearl River
planters—the three brothers Sutherland. He was the prospective possessor
of three immense estates—being the heir of the first, betrothed to the
heiress of the second, and co-heir with her to the third extensive
plantation. He had just concluded a brilliant collegiate course with
distinguished honour; he was soon to return south, to enter upon his
patrimony, and claim the hand of his affianced bride, before he set
forth upon his European travels. And this was his valedictory
entertainment, given to his classmates. For him, indeed—
“Filled was life’s goblet to the brim!”
No wonder those fine strong eyes danced with anticipation as he shook
hands right and left. He was, up to this time, a frank, thoughtless,
joyous, extravagant fellow—selfish because he knew nothing of sorrow,
and wasteful because he knew nothing of want. Affluent in youth, health,
and love—affluent in wealth, honour, and homage—he seemed to consider
gold valueless as dust, and deference only his just due. He “the heir of
all the ages” past of thought and toil, had entered upon his
intellectual inheritance with great _éclat_; but as yet not one mite had
he added to the store; not one thought had he bestowed upon the great
subjects that now engross all earnest minds. Too full of youthful fire,
vitality, love, hope, and joy, for any grave thought or feeling to find
room in his brain or heart, was the planter’s son. How, indeed, could
earnest thought find entrance through such a crowd of noisy joys to his
heart? He stood upon the threshold of the past, indeed, and his face was
set forward towards the future; but not one onward step had he taken.
Why should he trouble himself? The bounteous future was advancing to
him, smiling, and laden with all the riches of life and time.
But he stood, receiving the adieus of his young friends, and dealing out
wholesale and retail invitations for all and each to come and visit him,
for an indefinite length of time, or until they were tired. At last they
were all gone, except Lauderdale, his chum, who was passing some days
with him, as his guest, at the Minerva House.
“You are an enviable dog, Sutherland,” exclaimed the latter, clapping
him sharply upon the shoulder. “You are a deuced enviable villain! By my
soul, it is enough to make a poor man like me dissatisfied with his lot,
or the present arrangements of society, which amounts to precisely the
same thing, I suppose. Deuce take me, if it is not enough to make me
turn Agrarian, Chartist, Radical, or whatever may be the new name for
the old discontent! Just contrast our positions! Here are you, at
one-and-twenty years of age, entirely free from all toil and care for
the whole remainder of your life. You will now return to a sumptuous
southern home, on a magnificent estate, where troops of friends wait to
welcome you, and troops of slaves attend to serve you, and where your
bride, the very pearl of beauty, dreams of and languishes for your
presence; and, above all—yes, I speak reflectingly, above _all_—more
than sumptuous home, and troops of friends, and trains of servants, and
blushing bride—where, lying perdue at your service, is a plenty of the
root of all evil—
‘Gold to save—gold to lend—
Gold to give—gold to spend.’
While I!—well, I shall just plod on in the old way, teaching school one
half the year to pay my college expenses for the other, until I find
myself in some lawyer’s shop, in arrears with my landlady, in debt to my
washerwoman—detesting to walk up the street, because I should pass the
tailor’s store—abhorring to walk down it, because I should be sure to
see the shoemaker standing in his door. With no more comfort or
convenience in my life than can be enjoyed between my little
back-chamber, up four pair of stairs in a cheap boarding-house, and the
straight-backed chair and high-topped desk of the law shop. And no more
love, or hope, or poetry, in my life, than may be found bound up between
the covers of Coke upon Lyttleton. Or perhaps I shall turn private
tutor, and advertise, ‘A highly respectable young gentleman, a graduate
of Yale College, wishes to obtain,’ &c.; and you, who will be by this
time the grave head of a family, with several little domestic
liabilities, will probably answer the advertisement; and I shall find
myself teaching the names of the keys of knowledge to young Mark and his
brothers. Oh!”——
“Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!” laughed Sutherland.
“Oh, _you’ll_ patronise me, rather! _You’ll_ be kind to me; for you’ll
say to yourself and friends, ‘He was a college friend of mine, poor
fellow.’ I fancy I hear and see you saying it now, with that careless,
cordial, jolly condescension of yours.”
“Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! My _dear_ Lincoln! My _dear_ fellow, why
should that be? Why should you be pettifogger or pedagogue, unless you
have a vocation for it? Why should anybody do what they don’t want to
do? Life is rich—full of wealth, and love, and joy, and glory. Enter and
take possession.”
“Enter and take possession! Yes, that is what _you_ can do. Life is full
of wealth, and love, and joy, and glory, for _you_, indeed; and you can
afford to mock me with those words! But, never mind, my fine flamingo! I
have heard the wise say that happiness is not so unequally distributed,
after all. And I, for one, don’t believe this cake of comfort is going
to be so very unjustly divided between us, or that you will have all the
white sugar on the top, and I all the burnt paper at the bottom.”
“See here, my friend, remember that we good-for-nothing Mississippians
are not initiated into the mysteries of the kitchen, and therefore I
don’t understand your culinary figure of speech at all.”
“Oh, go on! go on! You’re a young bear!”
“A young bear! Comrades! Oh, they are all gone! A young bear? Oh, I
suppose he alludes to my black whiskers and hair, and my shag over
coat!”
“I mean _your_ trouble is all before you!”
“Trouble? Oh, my dear boy, that is a word with out a meaning! Trouble?
What _is_ trouble? What idea is the word designed to represent? Trouble?
Oh, my dear fellow, it is all a mistake, a mere notion, a superstition,
a prejudice; a saying of old folks, who, being near the verge of
departure from this bright, glad, joyous, jubilant world, vainly try to
console themselves by slandering it as a world of trouble, and talk of a
_better_ one, to which they are progressing. If this world in itself is
not ‘good,’ as the Creator pronounced it to be in the beginning, by all
the rules of comparison, how can any other world be said to be better?”
“Well, I believe in the better world as much as they do; but look you!
the pleasantest notion I have of Heaven is its being—being”——
“Oh, don’t let it go any further—as _good_ as this world, and only
better as far as it endures longer. _This_ world is full of all that is
great and glorious for enjoyment! And, Lincoln, my fine fellow, enter
and take possession! _Don’t_ teach or study law! _Don’t_ plod; it is
ungentlemanly. Somebody, I suppose, must teach and study law, and do
such things—but don’t _you_. Do you leave it to those a—those persons
a—those in fact who have the plebeian instinct of labor; you apprehend?
They really _enjoy_ work now! Just think of it! I suppose that gracious
nature, intending them to carry on the work of the world, endowed them
with a _taste for it_! Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! But _I_’ve no
vocation for it! Neither have you, my dear boy. Don’t force your nature
in an opposite direction to which it tends, therefore! Enter life, and
take possession!”
“Humph! thank you! This is to say, ‘follow my attractions,’ and if they
‘attract’ me to lead an idle life, and live upon other people, why, so
much the better—they are my attractions; and if they ‘attract’ me to
pick my host’s pocket, or run away with his daughter, it is the same
thing by the same law.”
“Ha! ha! ha! Oh, certainly; remembering that your host might experience
an attraction to blow your brains out.”
“Pleasant points to be drawn to. I guess I shall not follow my
attractions! I’ll stick to the little law shop, and relieve weariness by
grumbling. Some distinguished men have emerged from those little law
dens; and, by the way, seriously, my dear Mark, I think that I, that
you, even _you_, possess those very qualities out of which _really_
distinguished men are formed, and that if destiny had not ‘thrust’ a
sort of moneyed and landed greatness upon you, that even _you_ would
‘achieve’ some judicial, political, diplomatic, or intellectual
greatness of some sort.”
“Ha! ha! ha! even _I_! Well, that is a stretch of possibility, indeed.
Even _I_, humph! _Mais à nos moutons._ Will you come home with me? Do
come and be my guest _à éternité_—or until you win some rich Mississippi
beauty. Woo beauty, not Blackstone, for a fortune. You have so much more
genius for the first than for the last, my fine fellow.”
“Oh, then you would have me turn fortune-hunter, and, under cover of
your friendship and introduction, aim at some heiress, and bring her
down, and so secure wealth?”
“Set fire to you, _no_! Whom do you take me for? Do you think that _I_
would present an adventurer to Southern creoles? _No, sir!_ But I _do_
want you to fall in love with a Southern beauty, and fortune would
follow, of course.”
“I do not see it at all. There are several links wanting in that chain
of reasoning. But, apropos of beauty, love, and marriage. Tell me
something more of Miss Sutherland, _votre belle fiancée_.”
“India! listen, you.” And he took Lauderdale’s arm, and turned to walk
up and down the room for a confidential chat. “Listen, you! I named her
just now over the wine. I regret to have done so. Would it were undone!
But so it is; in some moment of excitement a word passes our lips, and
it is unrecallable forever. She is so sacred to my heart, so divine to
my soul! I often wonder if Helen of Argos were half as beautiful as
she—my India.”
“What a strange, charming name that is for a woman!”
“Is it not? But, rich, luxurious, and gorgeous, in its associations,
too—(and that is why it was given to her) it suits her. She is India.
Her mother was like her—a beautiful, passionate Havanienne, rich in
genius, poetry, song—luxuriating in the beautiful creations of others,
yet far too indolent to create. More than all, she lost herself amid the
oriental elysiums of Moore, and thence she named her only daughter
Hinda. And as the maiden budded and bloomed into womanhood—well, yes, I
believe, after all, it was I who softened down her name to India. It has
the same derivation, it is the same name, in fact. Oh! and it suits
her.”
“Describe your nonpareil to me.”
“I cannot. By my soul’s idolatry, I cannot. The best of beauty—the
charm, the soul, the divine of beauty—can never be described or painted.
It is spiritual, and can only be perceived.”
“Humph! is she fair?”
“No—yet radiant.”
“Dark?”
“No—yet shadowy.”
“Is she tall?”
“No.”
“Short?”
“No, no; nonsense!”
“What, neither tall nor short? Perhaps she is of medium height.”
“I do not know. I cannot tell, indeed. But oh! she is beautiful—she is
glorious! My lady, my queen!”
“To come to something tangible, what is the colour of her eyes?”
“Oh! what is the colour of love, or joy, or heaven? for as soon could I
tell you the colour of these as of her witching eyes. I only know they
have light, softly thrilling all the chords of life, like music; and
shadows, calming my spirit, like silence.”
“Well, I admit the hue of beautiful eyes to be a mysterious point; but
hair, now, is a little more certain in that respect. Tell me the hue of
your lady’s tresses.”
“I cannot. I only know they are rich, warm, and lustrous.”
“Humph! satisfactory portrait that. Oh! here is Flamingo. Come, Flame,
and tell me what is the colour of your young mistress’s hair.”
The latter part of this speech was addressed to Mr. Sutherland’s valet,
who had just entered. Flamingo was a character in his way; a handsome,
bright mulatto, with quite a “wealth” of bushy black silky hair and
whiskers. Very mercurial in temperament, and excessively fond of dress,
he presented quite as gay and gorgeous an exterior as the famous
feathered biped, his namesake. Flamingo stood for a moment in a
quandary, at the suddenness and novelty of the question put to him.
“Oh, come, now; you are not poetically bewildered. Can’t you tell us the
colour of the lady’s hair?”
“De colour o’ Miss Inda’s hair, sir—a—yes, sir—its—its—’bout de colour
o’ ‘lasses taffy, when you’re ’bout half done pullin’ of it, an’ it’s
shining.”
“Molasses taffy! Out, you wretch! It is amber-hued,
Lauderdale—_amber-hued_, understand; the rich, warm, lustrous hue of
amber. Molasses taffy! Oh, villain! To think I could not find a
comparison in all nature precious enough for those precious tresses, and
he should compare them to molasses taffy! Out of my sight, beast!
_Molasses taffy! Pah!_” exclaimed Sutherland, in disgust, while
Lauderdale laughed aloud, and Flamingo vanished into the adjoining
chamber, where he turned on the gas, and busied himself in making the
apartment comfortable for the night.
“Come, let’s get out of this mess before the waiters come to clear away
the service. Look! This is one of the things that always make me
melancholy,” said Sutherland, pointing to the disordered table.
Both young men were about to retire, when Sutherland again clasped the
hand of his friend and said—“But you have not yet told me whether you
will accompany me home. Come, laying all jesting and raillery aside, you
know how happy I should be to have you.”
“And you know what I have told you before, my dear Sutherland, that I
must go to New York for the anniversary week. And by the way, my dear
Damon, why cannot you stop a few days before you go South, and attend
some of these meetings?”
“Me! Heavens! You shock me! You deprive me of words—of breath! _I!_ a
Mississippian! Why, look you; if I were to attend one of those meetings,
and if it should be known in my neighborhood, my friends would turn me
off, my uncles disinherit me, and my father rise from his grave to
reproach me. Sir, my friends and relatives are ‘of the most straitest
sect of the Pharisees!’”
“And do you share their opinions?”
“Opinions? Opinions, my dear fellow! I have no opinions. Opinions, it
appears to me, are the currency of—of—those who have nothing else to
offer in exchange for a living.”
“Levity! Oh, Mark, how you sin against your own fine mind!”
“Oh! come, come, come, no more of that. ‘Sir, praise is very flat,
except from the fair sex.’”
“Ah! I see you are hopelessly flighty to-night. Good night.”
“Good night. Stay; you _will_ go with me?”
“No; unless you first accompany me to New York, and remain through the
anniversary week, and attend the meetings.”
“And hear myself traduced, slandered, abused, cursed! A pleasant
invitation—thank you.”
“And get yourself _dis_abused of many things, you should rather say. See
here, Mark, my proposition is perfectly fair and reasonable, and has a
meaning in it. Observe: you invite me to the South, and laughingly
promise that an actual acquaintance with the patriarchal system shall
cool what you call my fever; and that a Southern bride with two hundred
negroes, shall completely cure it. Well, I am reasonable. I am open to
conviction. I am willing to try it—to examine the ‘peculiar institution’
with the utmost impartiality. Nor do I fear or doubt the result. But
observe further. Both of us, it seems, have heard but one side of this
great question. I therefore consent to go with you to the South, and
spend some weeks on a cotton plantation, only on condition that you
accompany me to New York, and attend the anniversary meetings. In a
word, I will _see_ your side of the question, if you will _hear_ ours.”
“I’ll do it, I’ll go,” exclaimed Sutherland, laughing, and clapping his
hand cordially into that of Lauderdale. “I’ll go, nor have _I_ any doubt
or fear as to the result.”