The Quadroon: Adventures in the Far West

I now only waited a boat to convey me to New Orleans. I knew that I should not have long to wait. The annual epidemic was on the decline, and the season of business and pleasure in the “Crescent City” was about commencing. Already the up-river steamers were afloat on all the tributary streams of the mighty Mississippi, laden with the produce of its almost limitless valley, and converging towards the great Southern entrepôt of American commerce. I might expect a “down-boat” every day, or rather indeed every hour.

I resolved to take the first boat that came along.

The hotel in which I dwelt, as well as the whole village, stood at a considerable distance from the boat landing. It had been built so from precaution. The banks of the Mississippi at this place, and for a thousand miles above and below, are elevated but a few feet above the surface level of its water; and, in consequence of the continuous detrition, it is no uncommon occurrence for large slips to give way, and be swept off in the red whirling current. It might be supposed that in time this never-ceasing action of the water would widen the stream to unnatural dimensions. But, no. For every encroachment on one bank there is a corresponding formation against the opposite, – a deposit caused by the eddy which the new curve has produced, so that the river thus preserves its original breadth. This remarkable action may be noted from the embouchure of the Ohio to the mouth of the Mississippi itself, though at certain points the extent of the encroachment and the formation that neutralises it is much greater than at others. In some places the “wearing away” of the bank operates so rapidly that in a few days the whole site of a village, or even a plantation, may disappear. Not unfrequently, too, during the high spring-floods this eccentric stream takes a “near cut” across the neck of one of its own “bends,” and in a few hours a channel is formed, through which pours the whole current of the river. Perhaps a plantation may have been established in the concavity of this bend, – perhaps three or four of them, – and the planter who has gone to sleep under the full belief that he had built his house upon a continent, awakes in the morning to find himself the inhabitant of an island! With dismay he beholds the vast volume of red-brown water rolling past, and cutting off his communication with the mainland. He can no longer ride to his neighbouring village without the aid of an expensive ferry. His wagons will no longer serve him to “haul” to market his huge cotton-bales or hogsheads of sugar and tobacco; and, prompted by a feeling of insecurity – lest the next wild sweep of the current may carry himself, his house, and his several hundred half-naked negroes along with it – he flees from his home, and retires to some other part of the stream, where he may deem the land in less danger of such unwelcome intrusion.

In consequence of these eccentricities a safe site for a town is extremely rare upon the Lower Mississippi. There are but few points in the last five hundred miles of its course where natural elevations offer this advantage. The artificial embankment, known as the “Levee,” has in some measure remedied the deficiency, and rendered the towns and plantations comparatively secure.

As already stated, my hotel was somewhat out of the way. A boat might touch at the landing and be off again without my being warned of it. A down-river-boat, already laden, and not caring to obtain further freight, would not stop long; and in a “tavern” upon the Mississippi you must not confide in the punctuality of “Boots,” as you would in a London hotel. Your chances of being waked by Sambo, ten times sleepier than yourself, are scarcely one in a hundred.

I had ample experience of this; and, fearing that the boat might pass if I remained at the hotel, I came to the resolve to settle my affairs in that quarter and at once transport myself and my impedimenta to the landing.

I should not be entirely without shelter. There was no house; but an old steamboat, long since condemned as not “river-worthy,” lay at the landing. This hulk, moored by strong cables to the bank, formed an excellent floating wharf; while its spacious deck, cabins, and saloons, served as a storehouse for all sorts of merchandise. It was, in fact, used both as a landing and warehouse, and was known as the “wharf-boat.”

It was late, – nearly midnight, – as I stepped aboard the wharf-boat. Stragglers from the town, who may have had business there, had all gone away, and the owner of the store-boat was himself absent. A drowsy negro, his locum tenens, was the only human thing that offered itself to my eyes. The lower deck of the boat was tenanted by this individual, who sat behind a counter that enclosed one corner of the apartment. Upon this counter stood a pair of scales, with weights, a large ball of coarse twine, a rude knife, and such other implements as may be seen in a country “store;” and upon shelves at the back were ranged bottles of coloured liquors, glasses, boxes of hard biscuit, “Western reserve” cheeses, kegs of rancid butter, plugs of tobacco, and bundles of inferior cigars, – in short, all the etceteras of a regular “grocery.” The remaining portion of the ample room was littered with merchandise, packed in various forms. There were boxes, barrels, bags, and bales; some on their way up-stream, that had come by New Orleans from distant lands, while others were destined downward: the rich product of the soil, to be borne thousands of miles over the wide Atlantic. With these various packages every part of the floor was occupied, and I looked in vain for a spot on which to stretch myself. A better light might have enabled me to discover such a place; but the tallow candle, guttering down the sides of an empty champagne-bottle, but dimly lit up the confusion. It just sufficed to guide me to the only occupant of the place, upon whose sombre face the light faintly flickered.

“Asleep, uncle?” I said, approaching him.

A gruff reply from an American negro is indeed a rarity, and never given to a question politely put. The familiar style of my address touched a sympathetic chord in the bosom of the “darkie,” and a smile of satisfaction gleamed upon his features as he made answer. Of course he was not asleep. But my idle question was only meant as the prelude to further discourse.

“Ah, Gollys! it be massa Edward. Uncle Sam know’d you, massa Edward. You good to brack folk. Wat can do uncle Sam for massa?”

“I am going down to the city, and have come here to wait for a boat. Is it likely one will pass to-night?”

“Sure, massa – sure be a boat dis night. Bossy ’spect a boat from de Red ribber dis berry night – either de Houma or de Choctuma.”

“Good! and now, uncle Sam, if you will find me six feet of level plank, and promise to rouse me when the boat comes in sight, I shall not grudge you this half dollar.”

The sudden enlargement of the whites of undo Sam’s eyes showed the satisfaction he experienced at the sight of the shining piece of metal. Without more ado he seized the champagne-bottle that hold the candle; and, gliding among the boxes and bales, conducted me to a stairway that led to the second or cabin-deck of the boat. We climbed up, and entered the saloon.

“Dar, massa, plenty of room – uncle Sam he sorry dar’s ne’er a bed, but if massa could sleep on these yeer coffee-bags, he berry welcome – berry welcome. I leave dis light wi’ massa. I can get anoder for self b’low. Good night, massa Edward – don’t fear I wake you – no fear ob dat.”

And so saying, the kind-hearted black set the bottle-candlestick upon the floor; and, passing down the stair again, left me to my reflections.

With such poor light as the candle afforded, I took a careless survey of my apartment. There was plenty of room, as uncle Sam had said. It was the cabin of the old steamboat; and as the partition-doors had been broken off and carried away, the ladies’ cabin, main saloon, and front, were now all in one. Together they formed a hall of more than a hundred feet in length, and from where I stood, near the centre, both ends were lost to my view in the darkness. The state-rooms on each side were still there, with their green Venetian doors. Some of these were shut, while others stood ajar, or quite open. The gilding and ornaments, dim from age and use, adorned the sides and ceiling of the hall; and over the arched entrance of the main saloon the word “Sultana,” in gold letters that still glittered brightly, informed me that I was now inside the “carcase” of one of the most famous boats that ever cleft the waters of the Mississippi.

Strange thoughts came into my mind as I stood regarding this desolate saloon. Silent and solitary it seemed – even more so I thought than would some lonely spot in the midst of a forest. The very absence of those sounds that one is accustomed to hear in such a place – the grinding of the machinery – the hoarse detonations of the ’scape-pipe – the voices of men – the busy hum of conversation, or the ringing laugh – the absence of the sights, too – the brilliant chandeliers – the long tables sparkling with crystal – the absence of these, and yet the presence of the scene associated with such sights and sounds – gave to the place an air of indescribable desolation. I felt as one within the ruins of some old convent, or amidst the tombs of an antique cemetery.

No furniture of any kind relieved the monotony of the place. The only visible objects were the coarse gunny-bags strewed over the floor, and upon which uncle Sam had made me welcome to repose myself.

After surveying my odd chamber, and giving way to some singular reflections, I began to think of disposing of myself for sleep. I was wearied. My health was not yet restored. The clean bast of the coffee-bags looked inviting. I dragged half-a-dozen of them together, placed them side by side, and then, throwing myself upon my back, drew my cloak over me. The coffee-berries yielded to the weight of my body, giving me a comfortable position, and in less than five minutes I fell asleep.

Chapter Forty Three

The Norway Rat

I must have slept an hour or more. I did not think of consulting my watch before going to sleep, and I had little thought about such a thing after I awoke. But that I had slept at least an hour, I could tell by the length of my candle.

A fearful hour that was, as any I can remember to have spent – an hour of horrid dreaming. But I am wrong to call it so. It was no dream, though at the time I thought it one.

Listen!

As I have said, I lay down upon my back, covering myself with my ample cloak from the chin to the ankles. My face and feet were alone free. I had placed one of the bags for a pillow, and thus raised my head in such a position, that I had a full view of the rest of my person. The light, set just a little way beyond my heels, was right before my eyes; and I could see the floor in that direction to the distance of several yards. I have said that in five minutes I was asleep. I thought that I was asleep, and to this hour I think so, and yet my eyes were open, and I plainly saw the candle before them and that portion of the floor illumined by its rays. I thought that I endeavoured to close my eyes, but could not; nor could I change my position, but lay regarding the light and the surface of the floor around it. Presently a strange sight was presented to me. A number of small shining objects began to dance and scintillate in the darkness beyond. At first I took them for “lightning-bugs,” but although these were plenty enough without, it was not usual to find them inside an enclosed apartment. Moreover, those I saw were low down upon the floor of the saloon, and not suspended in the air, as they should have been.

Gradually the number of these shining objects increased. There were now some dozens of them, and, what was singular, they seemed to move in pairs. They were not fire-flies!

I began to experience a sensation of alarm. I began to feel that there was danger in these fiery spots, that sparkled in such numbers along the floor. What on earth could they be?

I had scarce asked myself the question, when I was enabled to answer it to the satisfaction of my senses, but not to the tranquillising of my fears. The horrid truth now flashed upon me – each pair of sparkling points was a pair of eyes!

It was no relief to me to know they were the eyes of rats. You may smile at my fears; but I tell you in all seriousness that I would not have been more frightened had I awaked and found a panther crouching to spring upon me. I had heard such tales of these Norway rats – had, in fact, been witness to their bold and ferocious feats in New Orleans, where at that time they swarmed in countless numbers – that the sight of them filled me with disgust and horror. But what was most horrible of all – I saw that they were approaching me – that they were each moment coming nearer and nearer, and that I was unable to get out of their way!

Yes. I could not move. My arms and limbs felt like solid blocks of stone, and my muscular power was quite gone! I now thought that I was dreaming!

“Yes!” reflected I, for I still possessed the power of reflection. “Yes – I am only dreaming! A horrid dream though – horrid – would I could wake myself – ’tis nightmare! I know it – if I could but move something – my toes – my fingers – oh!”

These reflections actually passed through my mind. They have done so at other times when I have been under the influence of nightmare; and I now no longer dread this incubus, since I have learnt how to throw it off. Then I could not. I lay like one dead, whose eyelids have been left unclosed; and I thought I was dreaming.

Dreaming or awake, my soul had not yet reached its climax of horror. As I continued to gaze, I perceived that the number of the hideous animals increased every moment. I could now see their brown hairy bodies – for they had approached close to the candle, and were full under its light. They were thick upon the floor. It appeared to be alive with them, and in motion like water under a gale. Hideous sight to behold!

Still nearer they came. I could distinguish their sharp teeth – the long grey bristles upon their snouts – the spiteful expression in their small penetrating eyes.

Nearer still! They climb upon the coffee-bags – they crawl along my legs and body – they chase each other over the folds of my cloak – they are gnawing at my boots! – Horror! horror! they will devour me!

They are around me in myriads. I cannot see on either side, but I know that they are all around. I can hear their shrill screaming, the air is loaded with the odour of their filthy bodies. I feel as though it will suffocate me. Horror! horror! oh! merciful God! arouse me from this terrible dream!

Such were my thoughts – such my feelings at that moment. I had a perfect consciousness of all that was passing – so perfect that I believed it a dream.

I made every effort to awake myself – to move hand and limb. It was all in vain. I could not move a muscle. Every nerve of my body was asleep. My blood lay stagnant within my veins!

I lay suffering this monstrous pain for a long, long while. I lay in fear of being eaten up piecemeal!

The fierce animals had only attacked my boots and my cloak, but my terror was complete. I waited to feel them at my throat!

Was it my face and my eyes staring open that kept them off? I am certain my eyes were open all the while. Was it that that deterred them from attacking me? No doubt it was. They scrambled over all parts of my body, even up to my breast, but they seemed to avoid my head and face!

Whether they would have continued under the restraint of this salutary fear, I know not, for a sudden termination was put to the horrid scene.

The candle had burnt to its end, and the remnant fell with a hissing sound through the neck of the bottle, thus extinguishing the light.

Frightened by the sudden transition from light to darkness, the hideous animals uttered their terrible squeaking, and broke off in every direction. I could hear the pattering of their feet upon the planks as they scampered away.

The light seemed to have been the spell that bound me in the iron chain of the nightmare. The moment it went out, I found myself again in possession of muscular strength; and, springing to my feet, I caught up my cloak and swept it wildly around me, shouting at the top of my voice.

The cold perspiration was running from every pore in my skin, and my hair felt as if on end. I still believed I was dreaming; and it was not until the astonished negro appeared with a light, and I had evidence of the presence of my hairy visitors in the condition of my cloak and boots, that I was convinced the terrible episode was a reality.

I remained no longer in the “saloon,” but, wrapping my cloak around me, betook myself to the open air.

Chapter Forty Four