the marooning party
a marooning pic-nic had been proposed and arranged by the young beaux and belles of the neighbouring plantations. the day proposed for the festive event was that following the disclosure of lorenzo's difficulties. every negro on the plantation was agog long before daylight: the morning ushered forth bright and balmy, with bustle and confusion reigning throughout the plantation,--the rendezvous being marston's mansion, from which the gay party would be conveyed in a barge, overspread with an awning, to a romantic spot, overshaded with luxuriant pines, some ten miles up the stream. here gay fetes, mirth and joy, the mingling of happy spirits, were to make the time pass pleasantly. the night passed without producing any decision in lorenzo's mind; and when he made his appearance on the veranda an unusual thoughtfulness pervaded his countenance; all his attempts to be joyous failed to conceal his trouble. marston, too, was moody and reserved even to coldness; that frank, happy, and careless expression of a genial nature, which had so long marked him in social gatherings, was departed. when maxwell, the young englishman, with quiet demeanour, attempted to draw him into conversation about the prospects of the day, his answers were measured, cold, beyond his power of comprehending, yet inciting.
to appreciate those pleasant scenes-those scenes so apparently happy, at times adding a charm to plantation life-those innocent merry-makings in spring time-one must live among them, be born to the recreations of the soil. not a negro on the plantation, old or young, who does not think himself part and parcel of the scene-that he is indispensably necessary to make mas'r's enjoyment complete! in this instance, the lawn, decked in resplendent verdure, the foliage tinged by the mellow rays of the rising sun, presented a pastoral loveliness that can only be appreciated by those who have contemplated that soft beauty which pervades a southern landscape at morning and evening. the arbour of old oaks, their branches twined into a panoply of thick foliage, stretching from the mansion to the landing, seemed like a sleeping battlement, its dark clusters soaring above redolent brakes and spreading water-leaks. beneath their fretted branches hung the bedewed moss like a veil of sparkling crystals, moving gently to and fro as if touched by some unseen power. the rice fields, stretching far in the distance, present the appearance of a mirror decked with shadows of fleecy clouds, transparent and sublime. around the cabins of the plantation people-the human property-the dark sons and daughters of promiscuous families-are in "heyday glee:" they laughed, chattered, contended, and sported over the presence of the party;-the overseer had given them an hour or two to see the party "gwine so;" and they were overjoyed. even the dogs, as if incited by an instinctive sense of some gay scene in which they were to take part, joined their barking with the jargon of the negroes, while the mules claimed a right to do likewise. in the cabins near the mansion another scene of fixing, fussing, toddling, chattering, running here and there with sun-slouches, white aprons, fans, shades, baskets, and tin pans, presented itself; any sort of vessel that would hold provender for the day was being brought forth. clotilda, her face more cheerful, is dressed in a nice drab merino, a plain white stomacher, a little collar neatly turned over: with her plain bodice, her white ruffles round her wrists, she presents the embodiment of neatness. she is pretty, very pretty; and yet her beauty has made her the worst slave-a slave in the sight of heaven and earth! her large, meaning eyes, glow beneath her arched brows, while her auburn hair, laid in smooth folds over her ears and braided into a heavy circle at the back of her head, gives her the fascinating beauty of a norman peasant. annette plays around her, is dressed in her very best,--for marston is proud of the child's beauty, and nothing is withheld that can gratify the ambition of the mother, so characteristic, to dress with fantastic colours: the child gambols at her feet, views its many-coloured dress, keeps asking various unanswerable questions about daddy bob, harry, and the pic-nic. again it scrambles pettishly, sings snatches of some merry plantation song, pulls its braided hat about the floor, climbs upon the table to see what is in the basket.
passing to the cabin of ellen juvarna, we see her in the same confusion which seems to have beset the plantation: her dark, piercing eyes, display more of that melancholy which marks clotilda's; nor does thoughtfulness pervade her countenance, and yet there is the restlessness of an indian about her,--she is indian by blood and birth; her look calls up all the sad associations of her forefathers; her black glossy hair, in heavy folds, hangs carelessly about her olive shoulders, contrasting strangely with the other.
"and you, nicholas! remember what your father will say: but you must not call him such," she says, taking by the hand a child we have described, who is impatient to join the gay group.
"that ain't no harm, mother! father always is fondling about me when nobody's lookin'," the child answers, with a pertness indicating a knowledge of his parentage rather in advance of his years.
we pass to the kitchen,--a little, dingy cabin, presenting the most indescribable portion of the scene, the smoke issuing from every crevice. here old peggy, the cook,--an enveloped representative of smoke and grease,--as if emerging from the regions of vulcan, moves her fat sides with the independence of a sovereign. in this miniature smoke-pit she sweats and frets, runs to the door every few minutes, adjusts the points of her flashy bandana, and takes a wistful look at the movements without. sal, suke, rose, and beck, young members of peggy's family, are working at the top of their energy among stew-pans, griddles, pots and pails, baskets, bottles and jugs. wafs, fritters, donjohns and hominy flap-jacks, fine doused hams, savoury meats, ices, and fruit-cakes, are being prepared and packed up for the occasion. negro faces of every shade seem full of interest and freshness, newly brightened for the pleasures of the day. now and then broke upon our ear that plaintive melody with the words, "down on the old plantation;" and again, "jim crack corn, an' i don't care, for mas'r's gone away." then came aunt rachel, always persisting in her right to be master of ceremonies, dressed in her sunday bombazine, puffed and flounced, her gingham apron so clean, her head "did up" with the flashiest bandana in her wardrobe; it's just the colour for her taste-real yellow, red, and blue, tied with that knot which is the height of plantation toilet: there is as little restraint in her familiarity with the gentry of the mansion as there is in her control over the denizens of the kitchen. even dandy and enoch, dressed in their best black coats, white pantaloons, ruffled shirts, with collars endangering their ears, hair crisped with an extra nicety, stand aside at her bidding. the height of her ambition is to direct the affairs of the mansion: sometimes she extends it to the overseer. the trait is amiably exercised: she is the best nigger on the plantation, and marston allows her to indulge her feelings, while his guests laugh at her native pomposity, so generously carried out in all her commands. she is preparing an elegant breakfast, which "her friends" must partake of before starting. everything must be in her nicest: she runs from the ante-room to the hall, and from thence to the yard, gathering plates and dishes; she hurries old peggy the cook, and again scolds the waiters.
daddy bob and harry have come into the yard to ask marston's permission to join the party as boatmen. they are in aunt rachel's way, and she rushes past them, pushing them aside, and calling mas'r to come and attend to their wants. marston comes forward, greets them with a familiar shake of the hand, granting their request without further ceremony. breakfast is ready; but, anxious for the amusement of the day, their appetites are despoiled. franconia, more lovely than ever, presenting that ease, elegance, and reserve of the southern lady, makes her appearance in the hall, is escorted to the table leaning on the arm of maxwell. delicacy, sensitiveness, womanly character full of genial goodness, are traits with which the true southern lady is blessed:--would she were blessed with another, an energy to work for the good of the enslaved! could she add that to the poetry of her nature, how much greater would be her charm-how much more fascinating that quiet current of thought with which she seems blessed! there is a gentleness in her impulses--a pensiveness in her smile--a softness in her emotions--a grace in her movements--an ardent soul in her love! she is gay and lightsome in her youth; she values her beauty, is capricious with her admirers, and yet becomes the most affectionate mother; she can level her frowns, play with the feelings, make her mercurial sympathy touching, knows the power of her smiles: but once her feelings are enlisted, she is sincere and ardent in her responses. if she cannot boast of the bright carnatic cheek, she can swell the painter's ideal with her fine features, her classic face, the glow of her impassioned eyes. but she seldom carries this fresh picture into the ordinary years of womanhood: the bloom enlivening her face is but transient; she loses the freshness of girlhood, and in riper years, fades like a sensitive flower, withering, unhappy with herself, unadmired by others.
franconia sat at the table, a pensiveness pervading her countenance that bespoke melancholy: as she glanced inquiringly round, her eyes rested upon lorenzo fixedly, as if she detected something in his manner at variance with his natural deportment. she addressed him; but his cold reply only excited her more: she resolved upon knowing the cause ere they embarked. breakfast was scarcely over before the guests of the party from the neighbouring plantations began to assemble in the veranda, leaving their servants in charge of the viands grouped together upon the grass, under a clump of oaks a few rods from the mansion. soon the merry-makers, about forty in number, old and young, their servants following, repaired to the landing, where a long barge, surrounded by brakes and water-lilies, presented another picture.
"him all straight, mas'r-him all straight, jus so!" said daddy bob, as he strode off ahead, singing "dis is de way to de jim crack corn."
servants of all ages and colour, mammies and daddies, young 'uns and prime fellows,--"wenches" that had just become hand-maids,--brought up the train, dancing, singing, hopping, laughing, and sporting: some discuss the looks of their young mistresses, others are criticising their dress. arrived at the landing, daddy bob and harry, full of cares, are hurrying several prime fellows, giving orders to subordinate boatmen about getting the substantial on board,--the baskets of champagne, the demijohns, the sparkling nectar. the young beaux and belles, mingling with their dark sons and daughters of servitude, present a motley group indeed-a scene from which the different issues of southern life may be faithfully drawn.
a band of five musicians, engaged to enliven the sports of the day with their music, announce, "all on board!" and give the signal for starting by striking up "life on the ocean wave." away they speed, drawn by horses on the bank, amidst the waving of handkerchiefs, the soft notes of the music reverberating over the pine-clad hills. smoothly and gently, onward they speed upon the still bosom of the ashly;-the deep, dark stream, its banks bedecked with blossoms and richest verdure, is indeed enough to excite the romantic of one's nature. wild, yet serene with rural beauty, if ever sensations of love steal upon us, it is while mingling in the simple convivialities so expressive of southern life. on, on, the barge moved, as lovers gathered together, the music dancing upon the waters. another party sing the waterman's merry song, still another trail for lilies, and a third gather into the prow to test champagne and ice, or regale with choice havannas. marston, and a few of the older members, seated at midships, discuss the all-absorbing question of state-rights; while the negroes are as merry as larks in may, their deep jargon sounding high above the clarion notes of the music. now it subsides into stillness, broken only by the splashing of an alligator, whose sports call forth a rapturous shout.
after some three hours' sailing the barge nears a jut of rising ground on the left bank. close by it is a grove of noble old pines, in the centre of which stands a dilapidated brick building, deserted for some cause not set forth on the door: it is a pretty, shaded retreat-a spot breathing of romance. to the right are broad lagoons stretching far into the distance; their dark waters, beneath thick cypress, presenting the appearance of an inundated grove. the cypress-trees hang their tufted tops over the water's surface, opening an area beneath studded with their trunks, like rude columns supporting a panoply of foliage.
the barge stops, the party land; the shrill music, still dancing through the thick forest, re-echoes in soft chimes as it steals back upon the scene. another minute, and we hear the voices of daddy bob and harry, dandy and enoch: they are exchanging merry laughs, shouting in great good-nature, directing the smaller fry, who are fagging away at the larder, sucking the ice, and pocketing the lemons. "dat ain't just straight, nohow: got de tings ashore, an' ye get 'e share whin de white folk done! don' make 'e nigger ob yourse'f, now, old boss, doing the ting up so nice," daddy says, frowning on his minions. a vanguard have proceeded in advance to take possession of the deserted house; while aunt rachel, with her cortege of feminines, is fussing over "young missus." here, a group are adjusting their sun-shades; there, another are preparing their fans and nets. then they follow the train, clotilda and ellen leading their young representatives by the hand, bringing up the rear among a cluster of smaller fry. taking peaceable possession of the house, they commence to clear the rooms, the back ones being reserved for the sumptuous collation which rachel and her juniors are preparing. the musicians are mustered,--the young belles and beaux, and not a few old bachelors, gather into the front room, commence the fetes with country dances, and conclude with the polka and schottische.
rachel's department presents a bustling picture; she is master of ceremonies, making her sombre minions move at her bidding, adjusting the various dishes upon the table. none, not even the most favoured guests, dare intrude themselves into her apartments until she announces the completion of her tables, her readiness to receive friends. and yet, amidst all this interest of character, this happy pleasantry, this seeming contentment, there is one group pauses ere it arrives at the house,--dare not enter. the distinction seems undefinable to us; but they, poor wretches, feel it deeply. shame rankles deep, to their very heart's core. they doubt their position, hesitate at the door, and, after several nervous attempts to enter, fall back,--gather round a pine-tree, where they enjoy the day, separated from the rest. there is a simplicity-a forlornness, about this little group, which attracts our attention, excites our sympathies, unbends our curiosity: we would relieve the burden it labours under. they are ellen juvarna, clotilda, and their children. socially, they are disowned; they are not allowed to join the festivities with those in the dance, and their feelings revolt at being compelled to associate with the negroes. they are as white as many of the whitest, have the same outlines of interest upon their faces; but their lives are sealed with the black seal of slavery. sensible of the injustice that has stripped them of their rights, they value their whiteness; the blood of birth tinges their face, and through it they find themselves mere dregs of human kind,--objects of sensualism in its vilest associations.
maxwell has taken a deep interest in clotilda; and the solicitude she manifests for her child has drawn him still further in her favour; he is determined to solve the mystery that shrouds her history. drawing near to them, he seats himself upon the ground at their side, inquires why they did not come into the house. "there's no place there for us,--none for me," clotilda modestly replies, holding down her head, placing her arm around annette's waist.
"you would enjoy it much better, and there is no restraint upon anyone."
"we know not why the day was not for us to enjoy as well as others; but it is ordained so. where life is a dreary pain, pleasure is no recompense for disgrace enforced upon us. they tell us we are not what god made us to be; but it is the worst torture to be told so. there is nothing in it-it is the curse only that remains to enforce wrong. those who have gifts to enjoy life, and those who move to make others happy, can enjoy their separate pleasures; our lives are between the two, hence there is little pleasure for us," she answered, her eyes moistening with tears.
"if you will but come with me-"
"oh, i will go anywhere," she rejoined, quickly; "anywhere from this; that i may know who i am-may bear my child with me-may lead a virtuous life, instead of suffering the pangs of shame through a life of unholy trouble."
"she never knows when she's well off. if marston was to hear her talk in that way, i wouldn't stand in her shoes," interrupted ellen, with a significant air.
touched by this anxious reply, maxwell determined to know more of her feelings-to solve the anxiety that was hanging upon her mind, and, if possible, to carry her beyond the power that held her and her child in such an uncertain position.
"i meant into the house," said he, observing that ellen was not inclined to favour clotilda's feelings; and just at that moment the shrill sounds of a bugle summoned the party to the collation. here another scene was enacted, which is beyond the power of pen to describe. the tables, decorated with wild flowers, were spread with meats of all descriptions,--fowl, game, pastry, and fruit, wines, and cool drinks. faces wearing the blandest smiles, grave matrons, and cheerful planters,--all dressed in rustic style and neatness-gathered around to partake of the feast, while servants were running hither and thither to serve mas'r and missus with the choicest bits. toasts, compliments, and piquant squibs, follow the wine-cup. then came that picture of southern life which would be more worthy of praise if it were carried out in the purity of motive:--as soon as the party had finished, the older members, in their turn, set about preparing a repast for the servants. this seemed to elate the negroes, who sat down to their meal with great pomp, and were not restrained in the free use of the choicest beverage. while this was going on, marston ordered rachel to prepare fruit and pastry for ellen and clotilda. "see to them; and they must have wine too," whispered marston.
"i know's dat, old boss," returned rachel, with a knowing wink.
after the collation, the party divided into different sections. some enjoyed the dance, others strolled through the pine-grove, whispering tales of love. anglers repaired to the deep pond in quest of trout, but more likely to find water-snakes and snapping turtles. far in the distance, on the right, moving like fairy gondolas through the cypress-covered lagoon, little barks skim the dark surface. they move like spectres, carrying their fair freight, fanned by the gentle breeze pregnant with the magnolia' sweet perfume. the fair ones in those tiny barks are fishing; they move from tree to tree trailing their lines to tempt the finny tribe here, and there breaking the surface with their gambols.
lorenzo, as we have before informed the reader, exhibited signs of melancholy during the day. so evident were they that franconia's sympathies became enlisted in his behalf, and even carried so far, that maxwell mistook her manner for indifference toward himself. and, as if to confirm his apprehensions, no sooner had the collation ended than she took lorenzo's arm and retired to the remains of an old mill, a few rods above the landing. it was a quiet, sequestered spot-just such an one as would inspire the emotions of a sensitive heart, recall the associations of childhood, and give life to our pent-up enthusiasm. there they seated themselves, the one waiting for the other to speak.
"tell me, lorenzo," said franconia, laying her hand on his arm, and watching with nervous anxiety each change of his countenance, "why are you not joyous? you are gloomy to-day. i speak as a sister-you are nervous, faltering with trouble-"
"trouble!" he interrupted, raising his eyes, and accompanying an affected indifference with a sigh. it is something he hesitates to disclose. he has erred! his heart speaks, it is high-handed crime! he looks upon her affectionately, a forced smile spreads itself over his face. how forcibly it tells its tale. "speak out," she continues, tremulously: "i am a sister; a sister cannot betray a brother's secrets." she removes her hand and lays it gently upon his shoulder.
looking imploringly in her face for a few minutes, he replies as if it were an effort of great magnitude. "something you must not know-nor must the world! many things are buried in the secrets of time that would make great commotion if the world knew them. it were well they passed unknown, for the world is like a great stream with a surface of busy life moving on its way above a troubled current, lashing and foaming beneath, but only breaking here and there as if to mark the smothered conflict. and yet with me it is nothing, a moment of disappointment creeping into my contemplations, transplanting them with melancholy-"
"something more!" interrupted franconia, "something more; it is a step beyond melancholy, more than disappointment. uncle feels it sensibly-it pains him, it wears upon him. i have seen it foremost in his thoughts." her anxiety increases, her soft meaning eyes look upon him imploringly, she fondles him with a sister's tenderness, the tears trickling down her cheeks as she beholds him downcast and in sorrow. his reluctance to disclose the secret becomes more painful to her.
"you may know it soon enough," he replies. "i have erred, and my errors have brought me to a sad brink. my friends-those who have indulged my follies-have quickened the canker that will destroy themselves. indulgence too often hastens the cup of sorrow, and when it poisons most, we are least conscious. it is an alluring charmer, betraying in the gayest livery-"
"lorenzo," she interrupts, wiping the tears from her eyes. "tell me all; remember woman's influence-she can relieve others when she cannot relieve herself. make me your confidant--relieve your feelings."
"this night, franconia, i shall bid a painful good-bye to those familiar scenes which have surrounded my life,--to you, my sister, to those faithful old friends of the plantation, daddy bob and harry. they have fondled me, protected me, played with me in my childhood, led me to my boyish sports when all was bright and pleasant, when the plantation had its merry scenes for slave and master. i must go upon the world, mingle with strange life, make experience my guardian. i have committed a crime-one which for ever disgraces the honourable-"
crime, crime, crime! weighed itself in her mind. "and what of that?" she rejoined, suddenly; "a sister can forgive a brother any crime; and even a lover, if she love truly, can forget them in her affections. do not go upon the world; be a man above crime, above the bar of scandal. have confidence in yourself; do not let the injustice overcome you. once on the world a wanderer, remember the untold tale of misery, speeding its victims to that death of conscience burning unseen."
"nay, franconia, you mean well; but you have not learned the world. take this as my advice, remember it when i am gone, and in years to come you will acknowledge its truth--fortune at the south rests on an unsound foundation! we are lofty in feelings, but poor in principle, poor in government,--poor in that which has built our great republic. uncertainty hangs over us at every step; but, whatever befall you, stand firm through adversity. never chide others for the evils that may befall you; bear your burdens without casting reflections on others,--it is nobler! befriend those who have no power to befriend themselves; and when the world forgets you, do not forget yourself. there is no step of return for those who falter in poverty. to-night i shall leave for the city; in a few days you will know all." thus saying, he conducted franconia back to rejoin the party, already making preparations to return.
he gave her an insight of his troubles, in such a manner as to create deep agitation; and, although satisfied that an event of more than ordinary magnitude was at hand, she could not associate it with the commission of crime. the day, spent with all the conviviality of southern life, ended amidst the clang of merry voices, and soft music: a gay group assembled at the bank, ready to return under the cheering influence of music and moonlight.
the bugle sounded,--the soft notes of "home, sweet home!" followed: the party, forming into double file, gay and grotesque, marched through the grove to the barge. servants, old and young, were in high glee; some joining in chorus with the music; some preparing the barge, others strewing branches and flowers in the pathway, to the delight of young "mas'r" and "missus,"-all singing. aunt rachel, high above her minions in authority, is poised on the bank, giving directions at the very top of her voice. daddy bob, harry, and dandy-the latter named after "mas'r's" fleetest horse-are freighting their young "missusses" in their arms to the boat, shielding their feet from the damp.
"now, mas'r, old boss," bob says, directing himself to marston, after completing his charge with the young ladies, "jus' lef' 'um tote, old mas'r safe da'? so 'e don' mus e' foot." and forthwith he shoulders marston, lands him like a bale of cotton on one of the seats, much to the amusement of those on board, sending forth shouts of applause. the party are on board; all is quiet for a minute; again the music strikes up, the barge is gliding over the still bosom of the fairy-like stream.
the sun has just sunk into a fiery cloud that hangs its crimson curtains high in the heavens, shedding refulgent beauty over the dark jungle lining the river's banks. and then, twilight, as if stealing its way across the hills, follows, softening the scene. soon it has gone, the landscape sleeps, tranquilly arched by the serene vault of a southern sky. everything seems peaceful, reposing, and serene; the air breathes warm and balmy, distributing its invigorating influence. the music has ceased, nothing but the ripple of the water is heard; then the stars, like pearls suspended over the dark surface, begin to glimmer and shine. above all is the moon, like a silver goddess, rising stealthily and shedding her pale light upon the calm glow.
onward, onward, onward, over the still stream, winding its way to the great deep, they move; and again the music echoes and re-echoes through the forest, over the lawn; dying away in chimes that faintly play around us. the sudden changes in the heavens,--monitor of things divine,--call up in lorenzo's feelings the reverses of fortune that will soon take place on the plantation. he had never before recognised the lesson conveyed by heavenly bodies; and such was the effect at that moment that it proved a guardian to him in his future career.
it was near midnight when the barge reached the plantation. fires were lighted on the bank, negroes were here and there stretched upon the ground, sleeping with such superlative comfort that it landed ere they awoke. one by one the parties returned for their homes; and, after shaking hands with marston, taking an affectionate adieu of franconia (telling her he would call on the morrow), lisping a kind word to the old negroes, lorenzo ordered a horse, and left for the city. he took leave of the plantation, of its dearest associations, like one who had the conflict of battle before him, and the light of friendship behind.
