Chapter Twenty Seven
The Devil’s Douche
In a few seconds I entered the wide avenue between the cabins, and drawing bridle, sat glancing around me.
My patriarchal dreams vanished at the sight that met my eyes. Before me was a scene of tyranny, of torture – a scene from the tragedy of slave-life!
At the upper end of the quarter, and on one side of the overseer’s house, was an enclosure. It was the enclosure of the sugar-mill – a large building which stood a little further back. Inside the fence was a tall pump, rising full ten feet in height, with the spout near its top. The purpose of this pump was to yield a stream of water, which was conducted to the sugar-house by means of a slender trough, that served as an aqueduct.
A platform was raised a few feet above the ground, so as to enable the person working the pump to reach its handle.
To this spot my attention was directed by seeing that the negroes of the quarter were grouped around it, while the women and children, clinging along the fence, had their eyes bent in the same direction.
The faces of all – men, women, and children – wore an ominous and gloomy expression; and the attitudes in which they stood betokened terror and alarm. Murmurs I could hear – now and then ejaculations – and sobs that bespoke sympathy with some one who suffered. I saw scowling brows, as if knit by thoughts of vengeance. But these last were few – the more general expression was one of terror and submission.
It was not difficult to tell that the cry I had heard proceeded from the neighbourhood of the pump, and a glance unfolded the cause. Some poor slave was undergoing punishment!
A group of negroes hid the unfortunate from my view, but over their heads I could see the slave Gabriel, his body naked to the breech, mounted upon the platform and working the pump with all his might.
This Gabriel was a Bambarra negro, of huge size and strength, branded on both shoulders with the fleur-de-lis. He was a man of fierce aspect, and, as I had heard, of fierce and brutal habit – feared not only by the other negroes, but by the whites with whom he came in contact. It was not he that was undergoing punishment. On the contrary, he was the instrument of torture.
And torture it was – I knew the punishment well.
The trough or aqueduct had been removed; and the victim was placed at the bottom of the pump, directly under the spout. He was fast bound in a species of stocks; and in such a position that he could not move his head, which received the continuous jet in the very centre of the crown!
Torture? No doubt, you are incredulous? You fancy there can be no great torture in that. A simple shock – a shower-bath – nothing more!
You are right. For the first half-minute or so it is but a shock, a shower-bath, but then —
Believe me when I declare to you – that a stream of molten lead – an axe continually crashing through the skull – would not be more painful than the falling of this cold-water jet! It is torture beyond endurance – agony indescribable. Well may it be called the “devil’s douche.”
Again the agonised cry came from the pump, almost curdling my blood.
As I have said, I could not see the sufferer at first. A row of bodies was interposed between him and me. The negroes, however, seeing me ride up, eagerly opened their ranks and fell back a pace, as if desiring I should be a witness to what was going forward. They all knew me, and all had some impression that I sympathised with their unfortunate race.
This opening gave me a full view of the horrid spectacle, disclosing a group that made me start in the saddle. Under the torture was the victim – a man of sable hue. Close by him, a large mulatto woman and a young girl of the same complexion – mother and daughter – stood folded in each other’s arms, both weeping bitterly. I could hear their sobs and ejaculations, even at the distance of a score of yards, and above the plashing sound of the falling water. I recognised at a glance who these were – they were the little Chloe and her mother!
Quick as lightning my eyes were directed towards the sufferer. The water, as it bounded from his crown, spread into a glassy sheet, that completely concealed his head, but the huge, fin-like, projecting ears told me who was the victim. It was Scipio!
Again his cry of agony pealed upon my ears, deep and prolonged, as though it issued from the innermost recesses of his soul!
I did not wait till that cry was ended. A fence of six rails separated me from the sufferer; but what of that? I did not hesitate a moment, but winding my horse round to give him the run, I headed him at the leap, and with a touch of the spur lifted him into the inclosure. I did not even stay to dismount, but galloping up to the platform, laid my whip across the naked shoulders of the Bambarra with all the force that lay in my arm. The astonished savage dropped the pump-handle as if it had been iron at a white heat; and leaping from the platform, ran off howling to his cabin!
Exclamations and loud murmurings of applause followed; but my horse, brought so suddenly to this exciting work, snorted and plunged, and it was some time before I could quiet him. While thus engaged, I observed that the exclamations were suddenly discontinued; and the murmurs of applause were succeeded by a dead, ominous silence! I could hear several of the negroes nearest me muttering some words of caution, as though meant for me; among others the cry of —
“De oberseer! de oberseer! Look out, mass’r! Dar he kum!”
At that moment an abominable oath, uttered in a loud voice, reached my ears. I looked in the direction whence it came. As I anticipated, it was the overseer.
He was just issuing from the back-door of his house, from a window of which he had been all the while a spectator of Scipio’s torture!
I had not come in contact with this person before; and I now saw approaching a man of fierce and brutal aspect, somewhat flashily dressed, and carrying in his hand a thick waggon-whip. I could see that his face was livid with rage, and that he was directing himself to attack me. I had no weapon but my riding-whip, and with this I prepared to receive his assault.
He came on at a run, all the while venting the most diabolical curses.
When he had got nearly up to my horse’s head, he stopped a moment, and thundered out —
“Who the Hell are you, meddling with my affairs? Who the damn are – ”
He suddenly paused in his speech, and stood staring in astonishment. I reciprocated that astonishment, for I had now recognised in the brutal overseer my antagonist of the boat! the hero of the bowie-knife! At the same instant he recognised me.
The pause which was the result of our mutual surprise, lasted but a moment.
“Hell and furies!” cried the ruffian, changing his former tone only into one more horribly furious —
“It’s you, is it? Whip be damned! I’ve something else for you.”
And as he said this he drew a pistol from his coat, and hastily cocking it, aimed it at my breast.
I was still on horseback and in motion, else he would no doubt have delivered his fire at once; but my horse reared up at the gleam of the pistol, and his body was thus interposed between mine and its muzzle.
As I have said, I had no weapon but the whip. Fortunately it was a stout hunting-whip, with loaded butt. I hastily turned it in my hand, and just as the hoofs of my horse came back to the earth, I drove the spur so deeply into his ribs that he sprang forward more than his own length. This placed me in the very spot I wanted to be – alongside my ruffian antagonist, who, taken aback by my sudden change of position, hesitated a moment before taking fresh aim. Before he could pull trigger, the butt of my whip descended upon his skull, and doubled him up in the dust! His pistol went off as he fell, and the bullet ploughed up the ground between my horse’s hoofs, but fortunately hit no one. The weapon itself new out of his hand, and lay beside him where he had fallen.
It was a mere lucky hit – all owing to the spur being touched, and my horse having sprung forward in good time. Had I missed the blow, I should not likely have had a second chance. The pistol was double-barrelled, and on examination I found he carried another of a similar kind.
He was now lying as still as if asleep, and I began to fear I had killed him. This would have been a serious matter. Although perfectly justifiable in me to have done so, who was to show that? The evidence of those around me – the whole of them together – was not worth the asseveration of one white man; and under the circumstances not worth a straw. Indeed, considering what had immediately led to the rencontre, such testimony would have been more likely to damage my case than otherwise! I felt myself in an awkward situation.
I now dismounted, and approached the prostrate form, around which the blacks were congregating. They made way for me.
I knelt down and examined the head. It was cut and bleeding, but the skull was still sound!
The knowledge of this fact set my mind at rest, and before I rose to my feet I had the satisfaction to see that the fellow was coming to his senses, under the influence of a douche of cold-water. The butt of the second pistol came under my eye, as it stuck out from the breast of his coat. I drew it forth, and along with its fellow took them into my own keeping.
“Tell him,” said I, “as soon as he comes to himself, that when he next attacks me, I shall have pistols as well as he!”
Having ordered him to be carried into the house, I now turned my attention to his victim. Poor Scipio! he had been most cruelly tortured, and it was some time before he recovered his faculties, so as to be able to tell me why he had been thus punished.
The relation he at length gave, and it made the blood boil afresh within my veins. He had surprised the overseer in some of the outbuildings with little Chloe in his arms, the child crying out and struggling to get free. Natural indignation on the part of the father led to a blow – an offence for which Scipio might have lost an arm; but the white wretch, knowing that he dare not, for his own sake, expose the motive, had commuted Scipio’s legal punishment to a little private torture under the pump!
My first impulse on hearing this sad story was to return to the house, report what had occurred to Mademoiselle, and urge upon her the necessity of getting rid of this savage overseer at all risk.
After a little reflection I changed my mind. I purposed to return upon the morrow, on business of – to me – much greater importance. To-morrow it was my intention to bid for Aurore!
“I can then,” thought I, “introduce the case of poor Scipio. Perhaps it may be an introduction to the ‘graver theme?’”
Having promised this much to my old attendant, I mounted my horse, and rode off, amidst a shower of blessings.
As I passed through the avenue at a walk, women and half-grown girls hurried from their doors, and kissed my feet as they hung in the stirrups!
The burning love which so late filled my heart was for a moment unfelt. Its place was occupied by a calm, sweet happiness – the happiness that springs from benefaction!
Chapter Twenty Eight
Gayarre and “Bully Bill.”
On riding out from the quarter I changed my intention of taking the back road. My visit would no doubt become known to Mademoiselle, and it differed not if I should now be seen from the house. My blood was up – so was that of my horse. A rail-fence was nothing to either of us now; so heading round, I cleared a couple of palings; and then striking across a cotton-field arrived once more on the Levee road.
After a while, as soon as I had cooled down my horse, I rode slowly, reflecting upon what had just happened.
It was evident that this ruffian had been put upon the plantation by Gayarre for some secret purpose. Whether he and the lawyer had had previous acquaintance I could not guess; but such men have a sort of instinctive knowledge of one another, and he might be only a waif that the latter had picked up since the night of the wreck. On the boat I had supposed him to be some rough gambler, by the propensity he exhibited for betting; and possibly he might have been playing that rôle of late. It was evident, however, that “negro-driving” was his trade; at all events it was not new to him.
Strange that he had been all this time on the plantation without knowing of me! But that could be easily accounted for. He had never seen me during my stay at the house. Moreover, he may have been ignorant that Mademoiselle was the lady with whom he intended to have shared the life-preserver. This last hypothesis was probable enough, for there were other ladies who escaped by means of rafts, and sofas, and life-preservers. I fancied he had not seen Mademoiselle until she was springing over the guards, and would therefore scarce recognise her again.
The cause of my being an invalid was only known to Mademoiselle, Aurore, and Scipio; and the latter had been charged not to carry this knowledge to the negro quarter. Then the fellow was but new on the plantation, and had but little intercourse with its mistress, as he received most of his orders from Gayarre; besides, he was but a dull brute after all.
It was just like enough that, up to the moment of our late encounter, he had no suspicion either that I was his former antagonist on the boat, or Eugénie Besançon the lady who had escaped him. He must have known of my presence on the plantation, but only as one of the survivors of the wreck, badly wounded, – scalded, perhaps, – but there had been a number of others, picked up, – scarce a house for some distance along the coast but had given shelter to some wounded or half-drowned unfortunate. He had been busy with his own affairs; or rather, perhaps, those of Gayarre: for I had no doubt there was some conspiracy between them in which this fellow was to play a part. Dull as he was, he had something which his employer might regard of more value than intellect; something, too, which the latter himself lacked, – brute strength and brute courage. Gayarre no doubt had a use for him, else he would not have been there.
He knew me now, and was not likely soon to forget me. Would he seek revenge? Beyond doubt he would, but I fancied it would be by some base underhand means. I had no fear that he would again attack me openly, at least by himself. I felt quite sure that I had conquered, and encowardiced him. I had encountered his like before. I know that his courage was not of that character to outlive defeat. It was the courage of the bravo.
I had no fear of an open attack. All I had to apprehend was some, secret revenge, or perhaps the law!
You will wonder that any thought or dread of the latter should have occurred to me: but it did; and I had my reasons.
The knowledge of Gayarre’s designs, the detection of his villainous purpose with Aurore, and my rencontre with Larkin, had brought matters to a crisis. I was filled with anxiety, and convinced of the necessity of a speedy interview with Mademoiselle, in relation to what was nearest to my heart, the purchase of the quadroon. There was no reason why a single hour should be wasted, now that Aurore and I understood each other, and had, in fact, betrothed ourselves.
I even thought of riding back at once, and had turned my horse for the purpose. I hesitated. My resolution wavered. I wheeled round again, and kept on to Bringiers, with the determination to return to the plantation at an early hour in the morning.
I entered the village and proceeded straight to the hotel. On my table I found a letter containing a cheque for two hundred pounds on the Bringiers bank. It was from my banking agent in New Orleans, who had received it from England. The letter also contained the information that five hundred more would reach me in a few days. The sum received was a pleasant relief, and would enable me to discharge my pecuniary obligations to Reigart; which in the next hour I had the pleasure of doing.
I passed a night of great anxiety, – almost a sleepless night. No wonder. To-morrow was to be a crisis. For me, happiness or misery was in the womb of to-morrow. A thousand hopes and fears hung suspended on the result of my interview with Eugénie Besançon. I actually looked forward to this interview with more anxiety than I had done but a few hours ago to that with Aurore! Perhaps, because I had less confidence in a favourable result.
As early as etiquette would allow of a morning visit, I was in the saddle, and heading towards the plantation Besançon.
As I rode out of the village I noticed that men regarded me with glances that bespoke an unusual interest.
“My affair with the overseer is already known,” thought I. “No doubt the negroes have spread the report of it. Such matters soon become public.”
I was unpleasantly impressed with an idea that the expression on people’s faces was anything but a friendly one. Had I committed an unpopular act in protecting myself? Usually the conqueror in such an encounter is rather popular than otherwise, in the chivalric land of Louisiana. Why, then, did men look scowling upon me? What had I done to merit reproach? I had “whipped” a rude fellow, whom men esteemed a “bully;” and in self-defence had I acted. The act should have gained me applause, according to the code of the country. Why then, – ha! stay! I had interfered between white and black. I had protected a slave from punishment. Perhaps that might account for the disagreeable expression I had observed!
I could just guess at another cause, of a very different and somewhat ludicrous character. It had got rumoured abroad that I “was upon good terms with Mademoiselle Besançon,” and that it was not unlikely that one of these fine days the adventurer, whom nobody knew anything about, would carry off the rich plantress!
There is no part of the world where such a bonne fortune is not regarded with envy. The United States is no exception to the rule; and I had reason to know that on account of this absurd rumour I was not very favourably regarded by some of the young planters and dandy storekeepers who loitered about the streets of Bringiers.
I rode on without heeding the “black looks” that were cast upon me, and indeed soon ceased thinking of them. My mind was too full of anxiety about the approaching interview to be impressed with minor cares.
Of course Eugénie would have heard all about the affair of yesterday. What would be her feelings in relation to it? I felt certain that this ruffian was forced upon, her by Gayarre. She would have no sympathy with him. The question was, would she have the courage – nay, the power to discharge him from her service? Even on hearing who he was? It was doubtful enough!
I was overwhelmed with sympathy for this poor girl. I felt satisfied that Gayarre must be her creditor to a large amount, and in that way had her in his power. What he had said to Aurore convinced me that such was the case. Indeed, Reigart had heard some whisper that his debt had already been proved before the courts in New Orleans; that no opposition had been made; that he had obtained a verdict, and could seize upon her property, or as much of it as would satisfy his demands, at any moment! It was only the night before Reigart had told me this, and the information had rendered me all the more anxious to hasten my business in relation to Aurore.
I spurred into a gallop, and soon came in sight of the plantation. Having arrived at the gate, I dismounted. There was no one to hold my horse, but that is a slight matter in America, where a gate-post or a branch of a tree often serves as a groom.
Bethinking me of this ready expedient I tossed my rein over one of the palings, and walked toward the house.
Chapter Twenty Nine
“Elle t’aime!”
It was natural I should have thoughts about my yesterday’s antagonist. Would I encounter him? Not likely. The butt of my whip had no doubt given him a headache that would confine him for some days to his quarters. But I was prepared for any event. Under my waistcoat were his own double-barrelled pistols, which I intended to use, if attacked. It was my first essay at carrying “concealed weapons,” but it was the fashion of the country at the time – a fashion followed by nineteen out of every twenty persons you met – by planters, merchants, lawyers, doctors, and even divines! So prepared, I had no fear of an encounter with “Bully Bill.” If my pulse beat quick and my step was nervous, it was on account of the anticipated interview with his mistress.
With all the coolness I could command, I entered the house.
I found Mademoiselle in the drawing-room. She received me without reserve or embarrassment. To my surprise as well as gratification she appeared more cheerful than usual. I could even detect a significant smile! I fancied she was pleased at what had occurred; for of course she was aware of it all. I could understand this well enough.
Aurore was not present. I was glad she was not. I hoped she would not come into the room —at least for a time. I was embarrassed. I scarce knew how to open the conversation, much less to break to Mademoiselle the matter that was nearest my heart. A few ordinary phrases passed between us, and then our conversation turned upon the affair of yesterday. I told her all – everything – except the scene with Aurore. That was omitted.
I hesitated for some time whether I should let her know who her overseer was. When she should ascertain that he was the fellow who had wounded me on the boat, and who but for me would have taken away her chances of safety, I felt certain she would insist upon getting rid of him at all risks.
For a moment I reflected upon the consequences. “She will never be safe,” thought I, “with such a ruffian at her side. Better for her to make stand at once.” Under this belief I boldly came out with the information.
She seemed astounded, and clasping her hands, remained for some moments in an attitude of mute agony. At length she cried out —
“Gayarre – Gayarre! it is you, Monsieur Gayarre! Oh! mon Dieu! mon Dieu! Where is my father? where is Antoine? God have mercy upon me!”
The expression of grief upon her lovely countenance went to my heart. She looked an angel of sorrow, sad but beautiful.
I interrupted her with consolatory phrases of the ordinary kind. Though I could only guess the nature of her sorrow, she listened to me patiently, and I fancied that what I said gave her pleasure.
Taking courage from this, I proceeded to inquire more particularly the cause of her grief. “Mademoiselle,” said I, “you will pardon the liberty I am taking; but for some time I have observed, or fancied, that you have a cause of – of – unhappiness – ”
She fixed her eyes upon me in a gaze of silent wonder. I hesitated a moment under this strange regard, and then continued —
“Pardon me, Mademoiselle, if I speak too boldly; I assure you my motive – ”
“Speak on, Monsieur!” she said, in a calm sad voice.
“I noticed this the more, because when I first had the pleasure of seeing you, your manner was so very different – in fact, quite the reverse – ”
A sigh and a sad smile were the only reply. These interrupted me for but a moment, and I proceeded: —
“When first observing this change, Mademoiselle, I attributed it to grief for the loss of your faithful servitor and friend.”
Another melancholy smile.
“But the period of sorrowing for such a cause is surely past, and yet – ”
“And yet you observe that I am still sad?”
“Just so, Mademoiselle.”
“True, Monsieur; it is even so.”
“I have ceased therefore to regard that as the cause of your melancholy; and have been forced to think of some other – ”
The gaze of half surprise, half interrogation, that now met mine, caused me for a moment to suspend my speech. After a pause, I resumed it, determined to come at once to the point, “You will pardon me, Mademoiselle, for this free interest in your affairs – you will pardon me for asking. Do I not recognise in Monsieur Gayarre the cause of your unhappiness?”
She started at the question, and turned visibly paler. In a moment, however, she seemed to recover herself, and replied calmly, but with a look of strange significance: —
“Hélas! Monsieur, your suspicions are but partially correct. Hélas! Oh! God, support me!” she added, in a tone that sounded like despair. Then, as if by an effort, her manner seemed to undergo a sudden alteration, and she continued: —
“Please, Monsieur, let us change the subject? I owe you life and gratitude. Would I knew how to repay you for your generous gallantry – your – your —friendship. Perhaps some day you may know all. I would tell you now, but – but – Monsieur – there are – I cannot – ”
“Mademoiselle Besançon, I entreat you, do not for a moment let the questions I have asked have any consideration. They were not put from idle curiosity. I need not tell you, Mademoiselle, that my motive was of a higher kind – ”
“I know it, Monsieur – I know it; but no more of it now, I pray you – let us speak on some other subject.”
Some other subject! I had no longer the choice of one. I had no longer control of my tongue. The subject which was nearest my heart sprang spontaneously to my lips; and in hurried words I declared my love for Aurore.
I detailed the whole course of my passion, from the hour of my dreamlike vision up to that when we had plighted our mutual troth.
My listener was seated upon the low ottoman directly before me; but from motives of bashfulness I had kept my eyes averted during the time I was speaking. She heard me without interruption, and I augured well from this silence.
I concluded at length, and with trembling heart was awaiting her reply; when a deep sigh, followed by a rustling sound, caused me suddenly to turn. Eugénie had fallen upon the floor!
With a glance I saw she had fainted. I flung my arms around her, and carried her to the sofa.
I was about to call for assistance when the door opened, and a form glided into the room. It was Aurore!
“Mon Dieu!” exclaimed the latter; “vous l’avez faire mourir! Elle t’aime – Elle t’aime!”