The Quadroon: Adventures in the Far West

“Sure mass’r not go till he rest a bit? Missa ’Génie not home, but dar am ’Rore. ’Rore get mass’r glass ob claret; Ole Zip make um sangaree. Day berry, berry hot. Wugh!”

“You are about right, Scipio,” I replied, pretending to yield to his persuasion. “Take my horse round to the stable. I shall rest a few minutes.”

I dismounted, and, passing the bridle to Scipio, stepped inside the gate.

It was about a hundred paces to the house, by the direct walk that led from the gate to the front door. But there were two other paths, that wound around the sides of the shrubbery, through copses of low trees – laurels, myrtles, and oranges. A person approaching by either of these could not be seen from the house until close to the very windows. From each of these paths the low verandah could be reached without going by the front. There were steps leading into it – into the interior of the house as well – for the windows that fronted upon the verandah were, after the Creole fashion, glass folding-doors, that opened to the bottom, so that the floors of the rooms and verandah-platform were upon the same level.

On passing through the gate, I turned into one of these side-paths (for certain reasons giving it the preference), and walked silently on towards the house.

I had taken the longer way, and advanced slowly for the purpose of composing myself. I could hear the beating of my own heart, and feel its quick nervous throbs, quicker than my steps, as I approached the long-desired interview. I believe I should have been more collected in going up to the muzzle of an antagonist’s pistol!

The long yearning for such an opportunity – the well-known difficulty of obtaining it – the anticipation of that sweetest pleasure on earth – the pleasure of being alone with her I loved – all blended in my thoughts. No wonder they were wild and somewhat bewildered.

I should now meet Aurore face to face alone, with but Love’s god as a witness. I should speak unrestrainedly and free. I should hear her voice, listen to the soft confession that she loved me. I should fold her in my arms – against my bosom! I should drink love from her swimming eyes, taste it on her crimson cheek, her coral lips! Oh, I should speak love, and hear it spoken! I should listen to its delirious ravings!

A heaven of happiness was before me. No wonder my thoughts were wild – no wonder I vainly strove to calm them.

I reached the house, and mounted the two or three steps that led up into the verandah. The latter was carpeted with a mat of sea-grass, and my chaussure was light, so that my tread was as silent as that of a girl. It could scarce have been heard within the chamber whose windows I was passing.

I proceeded on toward the drawing-room, which opened to the front by two of the large door-windows already mentioned. I turned the angle, and the next moment would have passed the first of these windows, had a sound not reached me that caused me to arrest my steps. The sound was a voice that came from the drawing-room, whose windows stood open. I listened – it was the voice of Aurore!

“In conversation with some one! with whom? Perhaps little Chloe? her mother? some one of the domestics?”

I listened.

“By Heaven! it is the voice of a man! Who can he be? Scipio? No; Scipio cannot yet have left the stable. It cannot be he. Some other of the plantation people? Jules, the wood-chopper? the errand-boy, Baptiste? Ha! it is not a negro’s voice. No, it is the voice of a white man! the overseer?”

As this idea came into my head, a pang at the same time shot through my heart – a pang, not of jealousy, but something like it. I was angry at him rather than jealous with her. As yet I had heard nothing to make me jealous. His being present with her, and in conversation, was no cause.

“So, my bold nigger-driver,” thought I, “you have got over your predilection for the little Chloe. Not to be wondered at! Who would waste time gazing at stars when there is such a moon in the sky? Brute that you are, you are not blind. I see you, too, have an eye to opportunities, and know when to enter the drawing-room.”

“Hush!”

Again I listened. When I had first halted, it was through motives of delicacy. I did not wish to appear too suddenly before the open window, which would have given me a full view of the interior of the apartment. I had paused, intending to herald my approach by some noise – a feigned cough, or a stroke of my foot against the floor. My motives had undergone a change. I now listened with a design. I could not help it.

Aurore was speaking.

I bent my ear close to the window. The voice was at too great a distance, or uttered too low, for me to hear what was said. I could hear the silvery tones, but could not distinguish the words. She must be at the further end of the room, thought I. Perhaps, upon the sofa. This conjecture led me to painful imaginings, till the throbbings of my heart drowned the murmur that was causing them.

At length Aurore’s speech was ended. I waited for the reply. Perhaps I might gather from that what she had said. The tones of the male voice would be loud enough to enable me —

Hush! hark!

I listened – I caught the sound of a voice, but not the words. The sound was enough. It caused me to start as if stung by an adder. It was the voice of Monsieur Dominique Gayarre!

Chapter Twenty Four

A Rival

I cannot describe the effect produced upon me by this discovery. It was like a shock of paralysis. It nailed me to the spot, and for some moments I felt as rigid as a statue, and almost as senseless. Even had the words uttered by Gayarre been loud enough to reach me, I should scarce have heard them. My surprise for the moment had rendered me deaf.

The antagonism I had conceived towards the speaker, so long as I believed it to be the brute Larkin, was of a gentle character compared with that which agitated me now. Larkin might be young and handsome; by Scipio’s account, the latter he certainly was not: but even so, I had little fear of his rivalry. I felt confident that I held the heart of Aurore, and I knew that the overseer had no power over her person. He was overseer of the field-hands, and other slaves of the plantation – their master, with full licence of tongue and lash; but with all that, I knew that he had no authority over Aurore. For reasons I could not fathom, the treatment of the quadroon was, and had always been, different from the other slaves of the plantation. It was not the whiteness of her skin – her beauty neither – that had gained her this distinction. These, it is true, often modify the hard lot of the female slave, sometimes detailing upon her a still more cruel fate; but in the case of Aurore, there was some very different reason for the kindness shown her, though I could only guess at it. She had been tenderly reared alongside her young mistress, had received almost as good an education, and, in fact, was treated rather as a sister than a slave. Except from Mademoiselle, she received no commands. The “nigger-driver” had nothing to do with her. I had therefore no dread of any unlawful influence on his part.

Far different were my suspicions when I found the voice belonged to Gayarre. He had power not only over the slave, but the mistress as well. Though suitor, – as I still believed him, – of Mademoiselle, he could not be blind to the superior charms of Aurore. Hideous wretch as I thought him, he might for all be sensible to love. The plainest may have a passion for the fairest. The Beast loved Beauty.

The hour he had chosen for his visit, too! that was suspicious of itself. Just as Mademoiselle had driven out! Had he been there before she went out and been left by her in the house? Not likely. Scipio know nothing of his being there, else he would have told me. The black was aware of my antipathy to Gayarre, and that I did not desire to meet him. He would certainly have told me.

“No doubt,” thought I, “the visit is a stolen one – the lawyer has come the back way from his own plantation, has watched till the carriage drove off, and then skulked in for the very purpose of finding the quadroon alone!”

All this flashed upon my mind with the force of conviction, I no longer doubted that his presence there was the result of design, and not a mere accident. He was after Aurore. My thoughts took this homely shape.

When the first shock of my surprise had passed away, my senses returned, fuller and more vigorous than ever. My nerves seemed freshly strung, and my ears new set. I placed them as close to the open window as prudence would allow, and listened. It was not honourable, I own, but in dealing with this wretch I seemed to lose all sense of honour. By the peculiar circumstances of that moment I was tempted from the strict path, but it was the “eavesdropping” of a jealous lover, and I cry you mercy for the act.

I listened. With an effort I stifled the feverish throbbings of my heart, and listened.

And I heard every word that from that moment was said. The voices had become louder, or rather the speakers had approached nearer. They were but a few feet from the window! Gayarre was speaking.

“And does this young fellow dare to make love to your mistress?”

“Monsieur Dominique, how should I know? I am sure I never saw aught of the kind. He is very modest, and so Mademoiselle thinks him. I never knew him to speak one word of love, – not he.”

I fancied I heard a sigh.

“If he dare,” rejoined Gayarre in a tone of bravado; “if he dare hint at such a thing to Mademoiselle – ay, or even to you, Aurore – I shall make the place too hot for him. He shall visit here no more, the naked adventurer! On that I am resolved.”

“Oh, Monsieur Gayarre! I’m sure that would vex Mademoiselle very much. Remember! he saved her life. She is full of gratitude to him. She continually talks of it, and it would grieve her if Monsieur Edouard was to come no more. I am sure it would grieve her.”

There was an earnestness, a half-entreaty, in the tone of the speaker that sounded pleasant to my ears. It suggested the idea that she, too, might be grieved if Monsieur Edouard were to come no more.

A like thought seemed to occur to Gayarre, upon whom, however, it made a very different sort of impression. There was irony mixed with anger in his reply, which was half interrogative.

“Perhaps it would grieve some one else? Perhaps you? All, indeed! Is it so? You love him? Sacr-r-r-r!”

There was a hissing emphasis upon the concluding word, that expressed anger and pain, – the pain of bitter jealousy.

“Oh monsieur!” replied the quadroon, “how can you speak thus? I love! I, – a poor slave! Alas! alas!”

Neither the tone nor substance of this speech exactly pleased me. I felt a hope, however, that it was but one of the little stratagems of love: a species of deceit I could easily pardon. It seemed to produce a pleasant effect on Gayarre, for all at once his voice changed to a lighter and gayer tone.

“You a slave, beautiful Aurore! No, in my eyes you are a queen, Aurore. Slave! It is your fault if you remain so. You know who has the power to make you free: ay, and the will too, – the will, – Aurore!”

“Please not to talk thus, Monsieur Dominique! I have said before I cannot listen to such speech. I repeat I cannot, and will not!”

The firm tone was grateful to my ears.

“Nay, lovely Aurore!” replied Gayarre, entreatingly, “don’t be angry with me! I cannot help it. I cannot help thinking of your welfare. You shall be free; – no longer the slave of a capricious mistress – ”

“Monsieur Gayarre!” exclaimed the quadroon, interrupting him, “speak not so of Mademoiselle! You wrong her, Monsieur. She is not capricious. What if she heard – ”