The Quadroon: Adventures in the Far West

Alas! there was that that could never be restored – the young cheerful heart – the buoyant spirit – the virgin love!

But do not imagine that Eugénie Besançon yielded to despair – that she was ever after the victim of that unhappy passion. No – hers was a mighty will; and all its energies were employed to pluck the fatal arrow from her heart.

Time and a virtuous life have much power; but far more effective was that sympathy of the object beloved – that pity for love– which to her was fully accorded.

Her heart’s young hope was crushed – her gay spirit shrouded – but there are other joys in life besides the play of the passions; and, it may be, the path of love is not the true road to happiness. Oh! that I could believe this! Oh! that I could reason myself into the belief, that that calm and unruffled mien – that soft sweet smile were the tokens of a heart at rest. Alas! I cannot. Fate will have its victims. Poor Eugénie! God be merciful to thee! Oh, that I could steep thy heart in the waters of Lethe!

And Reigart? You, reader, will be glad to know that the good doctor prospered – prospered until he was enabled to lay aside his lancet, and become a grandee planter – nay more, a distinguished legislator, – one of those to whom belongs the credit of having modelled the present system of Louisiana law – the most advanced code in the civilised world.

You will be glad to learn that Scipio, with his Chloe and the “leetle Chloe,” were brought back to their old and now happy home – that the snake-charmer still retained his brawny arms, and never afterwards had occasion to seek refuge in his tree-cavern.

You will not be grieved to know, that Gayarre passed several years of his after-life in the palace-prison of Baton Rouge, and then disappeared altogether from the scene. It was said that under a changed name he returned to France, his native country. His conviction was easy. Antoine had long suspected him of a design to plunder their joint ward, and had determined to put him to the proof. The raft of chairs had floated after all; and by the help of these the faithful steward had gained the shore, far down the river. No one knew of his escape; and the idea occurred to this strange old man to remain for a while en perdu– a silent spectator of the conduct of Monsieur Dominique. No sooner did Gayarre believe him gone, than the latter advanced boldly upon his purpose, and hurried events to the described crisis. It was just what Antoine had expected; and acting himself as the accuser, the conviction of the avocat was easy and certain. A sentence of five years to the State Penitentiary wound up Gayarre’s connexion with the characters of our story.

It will scarce grieve you to know that “Bully Bill” experienced a somewhat similar fate – that Ruffin, the man-hunter, was drowned by a sudden rising of the swamp – and that the “nigger-trader” afterwards became a “nigger-stealer;” and for that crime was sentenced at the court of Judge Lynch to the punishment of “tar and feathers.”

The “sportsmen,” Chorley and Hatcher, I never saw again – though their future is not unknown to me. Chorley – the brave and accomplished, but wicked Chorley – was killed in a duel by a Creole of New Orleans, with whom he had quarrelled at play.

Hatcher’s bank “got broke” soon after, and a series of ill-fortune at length reduced him to the condition of a race-course thimble-rig, and small sharper in general.

The pork-merchant I met many years afterward, as a successful monte dealer in the “Halls of the Montezumas.” Thither he had gone, – a camp-follower of the American army – and had accumulated an enormous fortune by keeping a gambling-table for the officers. He did not live long to enjoy his evil gains. The “vomito prieto” caught him at Vera Cruz; and his dust is now mingled with the sands of that dreary shore.

Thus, reader, it has been my happy fortune to record poetical justice to the various characters that have figured in the pages of our history.

I hear you exclaim, that two have been forgotten, the hero and heroine?

Ah! no – not forgotten. Would you have me paint the ceremony – the pomp and splendour – the ribbons and rosettes – the after-scenes of perfect bliss?

Hymen, forbid! All these must be left to your fancy, if your fancy deign to act. But the interest of a “lover’s adventures” usually ends with the consummation of his hopes – not even always extending to the altar – and you, reader, will scarce be curious to lift the curtain, that veils the tranquil after-life of myself and my beautiful Quadroon.

Note to the Preface

After what has been stated in the Preface, it will scarce be necessary to say that the names and some of the places mentioned in this book are fictitious. Some of the scenes, and many of the characters that figure in these pages, are real, and there are those living who will recognise them.

The book is “founded” upon an actual experience. It was written many years ago, and would have been then published, but for the interference of a well-known work, which treated of similar scenes and subjects. That work appeared just as the “Quadroon” was about to be put to press; and the author of the the latter, not willing to risk the chances of being considered an imitator had determined on keeping the “Quadroon” from the public.

Circumstances have ruled it otherwise; and having re-written some parts of the work, he now presents it to the reader as a painting – somewhat coarse and crude, perhaps – of life in Louisiana.

The author disclaims all “intention.” The book has been written neither to aid the Abolitionist nor glorify the planter. The author does not believe that by such means he could benefit the slave, else he would not fear to avow it. On the other hand, he is too true a Republican, to be the instrument that would add one drop to the “bad blood” which, unfortunately for the cause of human freedom, has already arisen between “North” and “South.” No; he will be the last man to aid European despots in this, their dearest wish and desperate hope.

    London, July, 1856.