The Quadroon Part 41

Portrait sketched by refined pen--brief and graphic.

"Likely," ha! ha! ha! "Likely," ha! ha! The brute who wrote that paragraph would have described Venus as a likely gal.

'Sdeath! I cannot jest--this desecration of all that is lovely--all that is sacred--all that is dear to my heart, is torture itself. The blood is boiling in my veins--my bosom is wrung with dire emotions!

The journal fell from my hands, and I bent forward over the table, my fingers clutching each other. I could have groaned aloud had I been alone. But I was not. I sat in the great refectory of the hotel. Men were near who would have jeered at my agony had they but known its cause.

Some minutes elapsed before I could reflect on what I had read. I sat in a kind of stupor, brought on by the violence of my emotions.

Reflection came at length, and my first thought was of action. More than ever did I now desire to become the purchaser of the beautiful slave--to redeem her from this hideous bondage. I should buy her. I should set her free. True or false to me, I should accomplish this all the same. I should make no claim for grat.i.tude. She should choose for herself. She should be free, if not in the disposal of her grat.i.tude, at least in that of her love. A love based only on grat.i.tude would not content me. Such could not last. Her heart should freely bestow itself. If I had already won it, well. If not, and it had fixed its affection upon another--mine be the grief. Aurore, at all events, shall be happy.

My love had elevated my soul--had filled it with such n.o.ble resolves.

And now to set her free.

When was this hideous exhibition--this "Important Sale," to come off?

When was my betrothed to be sold, and I to a.s.sist at the spectacle?

I took up the paper again to ascertain the time and place. The place I knew well--the Rotundo of the Saint Louis exchange--adjoining the hotel, and within twenty yards of where I sat. That was the slave-market. But the time--it was of more importance--indeed of all importance. Strange I did not think of this before! Should it be at an early date, and my letter not have arrived! I dared not trust myself with such a supposition. Surely it would be a week--several days, at the least-- before a sale of so much importance would take place. Ha! it may have been advertised for some days. The negroes may have been brought down only at the last moment!

My hands trembled, as my eyes sought the paragraph. At length they rested upon it. I read with painful surprise:--

"_To-morrow at twelve_!"

I looked to the date of the journal. All correct. It was the issue of that morning. I looked to the dial on the wall. The clock was on the stroke of _twelve_! Just one day to elapse.

"O G.o.d! if my letter should not have arrived!"

I drew forth my purse, and mechanically told over its contents. I knew not why I did so. I knew it contained but a hundred dollars. The "sportsmen" had reduced it in bulk. When I had finished counting it, I could not help smiling at the absurdity of the thing. "A hundred dollars _for the quadroon! Likely_--_good housekeeper, etcetera! a hundred dollars bid_!" The auctioneer would not be likely to repeat the bid.

All now depended on the English mail. If it had not arrived already, or did not before the morning, I would be helpless. Without the letter on my New Orleans banker, I could not raise fifty pounds--watch, jewels, and all. As to borrowing, I did not think of such a thing. Who was to lend me money? Who to an almost perfect stranger would advance such a sum as I required? No one I felt certain. Reigart could not have helped me to so large an amount, even had there been time to communicate with him. No--there was no one who _would_, that _could_ have favoured me. No one I could think of.

"Stop:"--the banker himself! Happy thought, the banker Brown! Good, generous Brown, of the English house, Brown and Co., who, with smiling face, has already cashed my drafts for me. He will do it! The very man! Why did I not think of him sooner? Yes; if the letter have not reached him I shall tell him that I expect it every day, and its amount.

He will advance the money.

"Twelve o'clock gone. There is no time to be lost. He's in his counting-house by this. I shall at once apply to him."

I seized my hat, and hastening out of the hotel, took my way through the streets towards the banking-house of Brown and Co.

CHAPTER FIFTY TWO.

BROWN AND CO.

The banking-house of Brown and Co. was in Ca.n.a.l Street. From the Saint Louis Exchange, Ca.n.a.l Street may be approached by the Rue Conti, or the parallel street of the Rue Royale. The latter is the favourite promenade of the gay Creole-French, as Saint Charles Street is for the fas.h.i.+onable Americans.

You will wonder at this _melange_ of French and English in the nomenclature of streets. The truth is, that New Orleans has a peculiarity somewhat rare. It is composed of two distinct cities--a French and an American one. I might even say _three_, for there is a Spanish quarter with a character distinct from either, and where you may see on the corner the Spanish designation "Calle," as the _Calle de Casacalvo, Calle del Obispo_, etcetera. This peculiarity is explained by referring to the history of Louisiana. It was colonised by the French in the early part of the eighteenth century, New Orleans being founded in 1717. The French held Louisiana till 1762, when it was ceded to Spain, and remained in her possession for a period of nearly fifty years--till 1798, when France once more became its master. Five years after, in 1803, Napoleon sold this valuable country to the American government for 15,000,000 of dollars--the best bargain which Brother Jonathan has ever made, and apparently a slack one on the part of Napoleon. After all, Napoleon was right. The sagacious Corsican, no doubt, foresaw that it could not have long remained the property of France. Sooner or later the American flag would wave over the Crescent City, and Napoleon's easy bargain has no doubt saved America a war, and France a humiliation.

This change of masters will explain the peculiarity of the population of New Orleans. The characteristics of all three nations are visible in its streets, in its houses, in the features, habits, and dress of its citizens. In nothing are the national traces more distinctly marked than in the different styles of architecture. In the American quarter you have tall brick dwellings, several stories in height, their s.h.i.+ning fronts half occupied with rows of windows, combining the light and ornamental with the substantial and useful. This is typical of the Anglo-American. Equally typical of the French character are the light wooden one-storey houses, painted in gay colours, with green verandah palings; windows that open as doors, and a profusion of gauzy curtains hanging behind them.

Equally a type of the grand solemn character of the Spaniard, are the ma.s.sive sombre structures of stone and lime, of the imposing Moorish style, that is still seen in many of the streets of New Orleans. Of these, the Great Cathedral is a fine specimen--that will stand as a monument of Spanish occupancy, long after both the Spanish and French population has been absorbed and melted down in the alembic of the Anglo-American propagandism. The American part of New Orleans is that which is highest on the river--known as the Faubourgs Saint Mary and Annunciation. Ca.n.a.l Street separates it from the French quarter--which last is the old city, chiefly inhabited by Creole-French and Spaniards.

A few years ago, the French and American populations were about equal.

Now the Saxon element predominates, and rapidly absorbs all the others.

In time the indolent Creole must yield to the more energetic American-- in other words, New Orleans will be Americanised. Progress and civilisation will gain by this, at the expense--according to the sentimental school--of the poetic and picturesque.

Two distinct cities, then, are there in New Orleans. Each has its Exchange distinct from the other--a distinct munic.i.p.al court and public offices--each has its centre of fas.h.i.+onable resort--its favourite promenade for the _flaneurs_, of which the South-western metropolis can boast a large crowd--its own theatres, ballrooms, hotels, and cafes. In fact, a walk of a few paces transports one into quite a different world.

The crossing of Ca.n.a.l Street is like being transferred from Broadway to the Boulevards.

In their occupations there is a wide difference between the inhabitants of the two quarters. The Americans deal in the strong staples of human life. The great depots of provisions, of cotton, of tobacco, of lumber, and the various sorts of raw produce, will be found among them. On the other hand, the finer fabrics, the laces, the jewels, the modes and modistes, the silks and satins, and all articles of _bijouterie_ and _virtu_, pa.s.s through the lighter fingers of the Creoles--for these inherit both the skill and taste of their Parisian progenitors. Fine old rich wine-merchants, too, will be found in the French part, who have made fortunes by importing the wines of Bordeaux and Champagne--for claret and champagne are the wines that flow most freely on the banks of the Mississippi.

A feeling of jealousy is not wanting between the two races. The strong energetic Kentuckian affects to despise the gay pleasure-loving Frenchman, while the latter--particularly the old Creole n.o.blesse-- regard with contempt the _bizarrerie_ of the Northern, so that feuds and collisions between them are not infrequent. New Orleans is, _par excellence_, the city of the duello. In all matters of this kind the Kentuckian finds the Creole quite his equal--his full match in spirit, courage, and skill. I know many Creoles who are notorious for the number of their duels. An opera-singer or _danseuse_ frequently causes half a score or more--according to her merits, or mayhap her demerits.

The masqued and quadroon-b.a.l.l.s are also frequent scenes of quarrel among the wine-heated bloods who frequent them. Let no one fancy that life in New Orleans is without incident or adventure. A less prosaic city it would be hard to find.

These subjects did _not_ come before my mind as I walked towards the banking-house of Brown and Co. My thoughts were occupied with a far different theme--one that caused me to press on with an agitated heart and hurried steps.

The walk was long enough to give me time for many a hypothetic calculation. Should my letter and the bill of exchange have arrived, I should be put in possession of funds at once,--enough, as I supposed, for my purpose--enough to buy my slave-bride! If not yet arrived, how then? Would Brown advance the money? My heart throbbed audibly as I asked myself this question. Its answer, affirmative or negative, would be to me like the p.r.o.nouncement of a sentence of life or death.

And yet I felt more than half certain that Brown would do so. I could not fancy his smiling generous John-Bull face clouded with the seriousness of a refusal. Its great importance to me at that moment-- the certainty of its being repaid, and in a few days, or hours at the farthest--surely he would not deny me! What to him, a man of millions, could be the inconvenience of advancing five hundred pounds? Oh! he would do it to a certainty. No fear but he would do it!

I crossed the threshold of the man of money, my spirits buoyant with sweet antic.i.p.ation. When I recrossed it my soul was saddened with bitter disappointment. My letter had not yet arrived--Brown refused the advance!

I was too inexperienced in business to comprehend its sordid calculations--its cold courtesy. What cared the banker for my pressing wants? What to him was my ardent appeal? Even had I told him my motives, my object, it would have been all the same. That game cold denying smile would have been the reply--ay, even had my life depended upon it.

I need not detail the interview. It was brief enough. I was told, with a bland smile, that my letter had not yet come to hand. To my proposal for the advance the answer was blunt enough. The kind generous smile blanked off Brown's ruddy face. It was not business. It could not be done. There was no sign thrown out--no invitation to talk farther. I might have appealed in a more fervent strain. I might have confessed the purpose for which I wanted the money, but Brown's face gave me no encouragement. Perhaps it was as well I did not. Brown would have chuckled over my delicate secret. The town, over its tea-table, would have relished it as a rich joke.

Enough--my letter had not arrived--Brown refused the advance. With Hope behind me and Despair in front, I hurried back to the hotel.

CHAPTER FIFTY THREE.

EUGENE D'HAUTEVILLE.

The remainder of the day I was occupied in searching for Aurore. I could learn nothing of her--not even whether she had yet reached the city!

In search of her I went to the quarters where the others had their temporary lodgment. She was not these. She had either not yet arrived, or was kept at some other place. They had not seen her! They knew nothing about her.

Disappointed and wearied with running through the hot and dusty streets, I returned to the hotel.

I waited for night. I waited for the coming of Eugene d'Hauteville, for such was the name of my new acquaintance.

I was strangely interested in this young man. Our short interview had inspired me with a singular confidence in him. He had given proof of a friendly design towards me; and still more had impressed me with a high idea of his knowledge of the world. Young as he was, I could not help fancying him a being possessed of some mysterious power. I could not help thinking that in some way he might aid me. There was nothing remarkable in his being so young and still _au-fait_ to all the mysteries of life. Precocity is the privilege of the American, especially the native of New Orleans. A Creole at fifteen is a man.

I felt satisfied that D'Hauteville--about my own age--knew far more of the world than I, who had been half my life cloistered within the walls of an antique university.

I had an instinct that he both _could_ and _would_ serve me.