Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 56, Number 348

The night was bright and starlight; the atmosphere perfectly clear, with the exception of a slight white mist that hung over the river. The hollow blows of the steam-engine seemed to be echoed in the far distance by the bellowing of the alligators; while the plaintive tones of the whip-poor-will were heard at intervals in the forest through which we were passing. There was no sign of life on the banks of the river; it was a desert; not a light to be seen, save that of millions of fireflies, which threw a magical kind of chiaroscuro over the trees and bushes. At times we passed so near the shore that the branches rattled and snapped against the side of the boat. Our motion was rapid. Twelve hours more, and I should be in my Tusculum. Just then the captain came up to me to say, that if I were disposed to retire to rest, the noisy smokers and drinkers had discontinued their revels, and I might now have some chance of sleeping. I had nothing better to do, so descended the stairs and installed myself in my berth.

When I rose the next morning, a breeze had sprung up, and we were proceeding merrily along under sail as well as steam. The first person I met was Monsieur Ménou, who wished me a bon-jour in, as I thought, a somewhat colder tone than he had hitherto used towards me, and looked me at the same time enquiringly in the face. It seemed as if he wished to read there whether his courtesy and kindness were likely to be requited by the same ungracious stiffness that I had shown him on the preceding day. Well, I will do my best to obliterate the bad impression I have apparently made. They are good people, these Creoles—not particularly bashful or discreet; but yet I like their forwardness and volatility better than the sly smartness of the Yankees, in spite of their ridiculous love of dancing, which even the first emigrants could not lay aside, amidst all the difficulties of their settlement in America. It must have been absurd enough to see them capering about, and dancing minuets and gavottes in blanket coats and moccasins.

Whilst I was talking to the Ménous, and doing my best to be amiable, the bell rang, the steam was let off, and we stopped to take in firing.

“Monsieur, voilà votre terre!” said the father pointing to the shore, upon which a large quantity of wood was stacked. I looked through the cabin window; the Creole was right. I had been chatting so diligently with the young ladies that the hours had flown like minutes, and it was already noon. During my absence, my overseer had established a depot of wood for the steamboats. So far so good. And yonder is the worthy Mr Bleaks   himself. The Creole seems inclined to accompany me to my house. I cannot hinder him certainly, but I sincerely hope he will not carry his politeness quite so far. Nothing I dread more than such a visit, when I have been for years away from house and home. A bachelor’s Lares and Penates are the most careless of all gods.

“Mr Bleaks,” said I, stepping up to the overseer, who, in his Guernsey shirt, calico inexpressibles, and straw hat, his hands in his pockets and a cigar in his mouth, was lounging about, and apparently troubling himself very little about his employer. “Mr Bleaks, will you be so good as to have the gig and my luggage brought on shore?”

“Ha! Mr Howard!” said the man, “is it you? Didn’t expect ye so soon.”

“I hope that, if unexpected, I am not unwelcome,” replied I, a little vexed at this specimen of genuine Pennsylvanian dryness.

“You ain’t come alone, are you?” continued Bleaks, examining me at the same time out of the corners of his eyes. “Thought you’d have brought us a dozen blackies. We want ’em bad enough.”

“Est-il permis, Monsieur?” now interposed the Creole, taking my hand, and pointing towards the house.

“And the steamer?” said I, in a tone as drawling as I could make it, and without moving a pace in the direction indicated.

“Oh! that will wait,” replied Ménou, smiling.

What could I do with such a persevering fellow? There was nothing for it but to walk up with him to the house, however unpleasant I found it so to do. And unpleasant to me it certainly was, in the then state of my habitation and domain. It was a melancholy sight—a perfect abomination of desolation. Every thing looked so ruined, decayed, and rotten, that I felt sick and disgusted at the prospect before me. I had not expected to find matters half so bad. Of the hedge round the garden only a few sticks were here and there standing; in the garden itself some unwholesome-looking pigs were rooting and grubbing. As to the house! Merciful heavens! Not a whole pane in the windows! all the frames stopped and crammed with old rags and bunches of Indian corn leaves! I could not expect groves of orange and citron trees—I had planted none; but this! no, it was really too bad. Every picture must have its shady side, but here there was no bright one; all was darkness and gloom. We did not meet a living creature as we walked up from the shore, winding our way amongst the prostrate and decaying tree-trunks that encumbered the ground. At last, near the house, we stumbled upon a trio of black little monsters, that were rolling in the mud with the dogs, half a shirt upon their bodies, and dirty as only the children of men possibly can be. The quadrupeds, for such they looked, jumped up on our approach, stared at us with their rolling eyes, and then scuttled away to hide themselves behind the house. Ha! Old Sybille! Is it you? She was standing before a caldron, suspended, gipsy-fashion, from a triangle of sticks—looking, for all the world, like a dingy parody of one of Macbeth’s witches. She, too, stared at us, but without moving. I must introduce myself, I suppose. Now she has recognised me, and comes towards us with her enormous spoon in her hand. I wonder that her shriveled old turkey’s neck—which cost me seventy-five dollars, by the by—has not got twisted before now. She runs up to me, screaming and crying for joy. There is one creature, then, glad to see me. It is amusing to observe the anxiety with which she looks at the caldron, and at three pans in which ham and dried buffalo are stewing and grizzling; she is evidently quite unable to decide whether she shall abandon me to my fate, or the fleshpots to theirs. She sets up her pipe and makes a most awful outcry, but nobody answers the call. “Et les chambres,” howls she, “et la maison, et tout, tout!” I could not make out what the deuce she would be at. She looked at my companion, evidently much embarrassed.

“Mais, mon Dieu!” croaked she, “pourrai-je seulement un moment? Tenez là, Massa!” she continued in an imploring tone, holding out the spoon to me, and making a movement   as if she were stirring something, and then again pointing to the house.

“Que diable as tu?” cried I, out of all patience at this unintelligible pantomime.

The rooms wanted airing and sweeping, she said; they were not fit to receive a stranger in. She only required a quarter of an hour to put every thing to rights; and mean time, if I would be so good, for the sake of the honour of the house, just to stir the soup, and keep an eye upon the ham and buffalo flesh.

Mentally consigning the old Guinea-fowl to the keeping of the infernal deities, I walked towards the house. My only consolation was, that probably my companion’s residence was not in a much better state than mine, if in so good a one; those Creoles above Alexandria still live half like Redskins. Monsieur Ménou did not appear at all astonished at my slovenly housekeeping. When we entered the parlour, we found, instead of sofas and chairs, a quantity of Mexican cotton-seed in heaps upon the floor; in one corner was a dirty tattered blanket, in another a washing-tub. The other rooms were in a still worse state: one of the negroes had taken up his quarters in my bed-chamber, from which the musquitto curtains had disappeared, having passed, probably, into the possession of the amiable Mrs Bleaks. I hastened to leave this scene of disorder, and walked out into the court, my indignation and disgust raised to the highest pitch.

“Mais tout cela est bien charmant!” exclaimed the Creole.

I looked at the man; he appeared in sober earnest, but I could not believe that he was so; and I shook my head, for I was in no jesting humour. The wearisome fellow again took my arm, and led me towards the huts of my negroes and the cotton-fields. The soil of the latter was of the richest and best description, and in spite of negligent cultivation, its natural fertility and fatness had caused the plants to spring up already nearly to the height of a man, though we were only in the month of June. The Creole looked around him with the air of a connoisseur, and in his turn shook his head. Just then, the bell on board the steamer rang out the signal for departure.

“Thank Heaven!” thought I.

“Monsieur,” said Ménou, “the plantation is très charmante, mais ce Mistère Bleak is nothing worth, and you—you are trop gentilhomme.”

I swallowed this equivocal compliment, nearly choking as I did so.

“Ecoutez,” continued my companion; “you shall go with me.”

“Go with you!” I repeated, in unbounded astonishment. “Is the man mad,” I thought, “to make me such a proposition within ten minutes after my return home?”

“Oui, oui, Monsieur, you shall go with me. I have some very important things to communicate to you.”

“Mais, Monsieur,” replied I, pretty stiffly, “I do not know what you can have to communicate to me. I am a good deal surprised at so strange a proposition”–

“From a stranger,” interrupted the Creole, smiling. “But I am serious, Mr Howard; you have come here without taking the necessary precautions. Your house is scarcely ready for your reception—the fever very dangerous—in short, you had better come with me.”

I looked at the man, astonished at his perseverance.

“Well,” said he, “yes or no?”

I stood hesitating and embarrassed.

“I accept your offer,” I exclaimed at last, scarcely knowing what I said, and starting off at a brisk pace in the direction of the steamer. Mr Bleaks looked on in astonishment. I bid him pay more attention to the plantation, and with that brief injunction was about to step on board, when my five-and-twenty negroes came howling from behind the house.

“Massa, Gor-a-mighty! Massa, Massa, stop with us!” cried the men.

“Massa, dear good Massa! Not go!—Mr Bleaks!” yelled the women.

I made sign to the captain to wait a moment.

“What do you want?” said I, a little moved.

One of the slaves stepped forward and bared his shoulders. Two others followed his example. They were hideously scarred and seamed by the whip.

I cast stern glance at Bleaks,   who grinned a cruel smile. It was a right fortunate thing for my honour and conscience that my poor negroes had thus appealed to me. In the thoughtlessness of my nature, I should have followed the Creole, without troubling myself in the least about the condition or treatment of the five-and-twenty human beings whom I had left in such evil hands. I excused myself hastily to Monsieur Ménou, promised an early visit, to hear whatever he might have to say to me, and bade him farewell. Without making me any answer, he hurried on board, whispered something to the captain, and disappeared down the cabin-stairs. I thought no more about him, and was walking towards the house, surrounded by my blacks, when I heard the splashing of the paddles, and the steamer resumed its voyage. At the same instant, somebody laid hold of my arm. I looked round—it was the Creole.

“This is insupportable!” thought I. “I wonder he did not bring his two daughters with him. That would have completed my annoyance.”

“You will want my assistance with that coquin,” said Ménou, quietly. “We will arrange every thing to-day; to-morrow my son will be here; and the day after you will go home with me.”

I said nothing. What would have been the use if I had? I was no longer my own master. This unaccountable Creole had evidently taken the direction of my affairs entirely into his own hands.

My poor negroes and negresses were crying and laughing for joy, and gazing at me with expectant looks. I bid then go to their huts; that I would have them called when I wanted them.

“D—n those blackies!” said Mr Bleaks as they walked away: “they want the whip; it’s too long since they’ve had it.”

Without replying to his remark, I told old Sybille to fetch Beppo and Mirza, and signed to the overseer to leave me. He showed no disposition to obey.

“This looks like an examination,” said he sneeringly, “and I shall take leave to be present at it.”

“None of your insolence, Mr Bleaks,” said I; “be so good as to take yourself off and wait my orders.”

“And none of your fine airs,” replied the Mister. “We’re in a free country, and you ain’t got a nigger afore ye.”

This was rather more than I could stomach.

“Mr Bleaks,” said I, “from this hour you are no longer in my employment. Your engagement is out on the 1st of July; you shall be paid up to that date.”

“I don’t set a foot over the threshold till I have received the amount of my salary and advances,” replied the man dryly.

“Bring me your account,” said I. My blood was beginning to boil at the fellow’s cool impudence.

Bleaks called to his wife, who presently came to the room door. They exchanged a few words, and she went away again. Meanwhile I opened my portmanteau, and ran my eye over some accounts, letters, and receipts. Before I had finished, Mrs Bleaks reappeared with the account-books, which she laid upon the table, and planting herself, with arms akimbo, in the middle of the room, seemed prepared to witness whatever passed. Her husband lounged into the next apartment and brought a couple of chairs, upon which he and his better half seated themselves. Truly, thought I, our much-cherished liberty and equality have sometimes their inconveniences and disagreeables.