The Quadroon: Adventures in the Far West

by Mayne Reid

  CHAPTER FORTY ONE.

  THE LETTER.

  During all the night my sleep was broken at intervals, and the hoursdivided between dreaming and half delirium.

  I awoke in the morning not much refreshed with my night's rest. I layfor some time passing over in my mind the occurrences of yesterday, andconsidering what course I should pursue.

  After a time I determined upon going direct to the plantation, andlearning for myself how matters stood there.

  I arose with this intention. As I was dressing, my eye fell upon aletter that lay upon the table. It bore no postmark, but the writingwas in a female hand, and I guessed whence it came.

  I tore open the seal, and read:--

  "_Monsieur_!

  "_To-day, by the laws of Louisiana, I am a woman,--and none more unhappyin all the land. The same sun that has risen upon the natal day of mymajority looks down upon the ruin of my fortune_!

  "_It was my design to have made_ you _happy: to have proved that I amnot ungrateful. Alas! it is no longer in my power. I am, no more theproprietor of the plantation Besancon_,--_no more the mistress ofAurore! All is gone from me, and Eugenie Besancon is now a beggar. Ah,Monsieur! it is a sad tale, and I know not what will be its end_.

  "_Alas! there are griefs harder to hear than the loss of fortune. Thatmay in time be repaired, but the anguish of unrequited love_,--_lovestrong, and single, and pure, as mine is_,--_must long endure, perchancefor ever_!

  "_Know, Monsieur, that in the bitter cup it is my destiny to drink,there is not one drop of jealousy or reproach. I alone have made themisery that is my portion_.

  "_Adieu, Monsieur! adieu, and farewell! It is better we should nevermeet again. O be happy! no plaint of mine shall ever reach your ear, tocloud the sunshine of your happiness. Henceforth the walls of_ SacreCoeur _shall alone witness the sorrows of the unfortunate but grateful_.

  "Eugenie."

  The letter was dated the day before. I knew that that was the birthdayof the writer; in common parlance, the day on which she was "of age."

  "Poor Eugenie!" reflected I. "Her happiness has ended with hergirlhood. Poor Eugenie!"

  The tears ran fast over my cheeks as I finished reading. I swept themhastily away, and ringing the bell I ordered my horse to be saddled. Ihurried through with my toilet; the horse was soon brought to the door;and, mounting him, I rode rapidly for the plantation.

  Shortly after leaving the village, I passed two men, who were also onhorseback--going in the same direction as myself, but riding at a slowerpace than I. They were dressed in the customary style of planters, anda casual observer might have taken them for such. There was somethingabout them, however, that led me to think they were not planters, normerchants, nor men whose calling relates to any of the ordinaryindustries of life. It was not in their dress I saw this something, butin a certain expression of countenance. This expression I cannot welldescribe, but I have ever noticed it in the faces and features of menwho have anything to do with the execution of the laws. Even inAmerica, where distinctive costume and badge are absent, I have beenstruck with this peculiarity,--so much so that I believe I could detecta detective in the plainest clothes.

  The two men in question had this expression strongly marked. I had nodoubt they were in some way connected with the execution of the laws. Ihad no doubt they were constables or sheriff's officers. With such aslight glance as I gave to them in passing, I might not have troubledmyself with this conjecture, had it not been for other circumstancesthen in my thoughts.

  I had not saluted these men; but as I passed, I could perceive that mypresence was not without interest to them. On glancing back, I saw thatone of them had ridden close up to the other, that they were conversingearnestly; and from their gestures I could tell that I was the subjectof their talk.

  I had soon ridden far ahead, and ceased to think any more about them.

  I had hurried forward without any preconceived plan of action. I hadacted altogether on the impulse of the moment, and thought only ofreaching the house, and ascertaining the state of affairs, either fromEugenie or Aurore herself.

  Thus _impromptu_ I had reached the borders of the plantation.

  It now occurred to me to ride more slowly, in oder to gain a few momentsto manage my thoughts. I even halted awhile. There was a slight bendin the river-bank, and the road crossed this like a chord to its arc.The part cut off was a piece of waste--a common--and as there was nofence I forsook the road, and walked my horse out on the river-bank.There I drew up, but remained seated in my saddle.

  I endeavoured to sketch out some plan of action. What should I say toEugenie? what to Aurore? Would the former see me after what she hadwritten? In her note she had said "farewell," but it was not a time tostand upon punctilious ceremony. And if not, should I find anopportunity to speak with Aurore? I _must_ see _her_. Who shouldprevent me? I had much to say to her; my heart was full. Nothing butan interview with my betrothed could relieve it.

  Still without any definite plan, I once more turned my horse's head downthe river, used the spur, and galloped onward.

  On arriving near the gate I was somewhat surprised to see two saddledhorses standing there. I instantly recognised them as the horses I hadpassed on the road. They had overtaken me again while I was halted bythe bend of the river, and had arrived at the gate before me. Thesaddles were now empty. The riders had gone into the house.

  A black man was holding the horses. It was my old friend "Zip."

  I rode up, and without dismounting addressed myself to Scipio. Who werethey who had gone in?

  I was hardly surprised at the answer. My conjecture was right. Theywere men of the law,--the deputy sheriff of the _parish_ and hisassistant.

  It was scarce necessary to inquire their _business_. I guessed that.

  I only asked Scipio the details.

  Briefly Scipio gave them; at least so far as I allowed him to proceedwithout interruption. A sheriff's officer was in charge of the houseand all its contents; Larkin still ruled the negro quarter, but theslaves were all to be sold; Gayarre was back and forward; and "_Missa'Genie am gone away_."

  "Gone away! and whither?"

  "Don't know, mass'r. B'lieve she gone to de city. She leab last nightin de night-time."

  "And--"

  I hesitated a moment till my heart should still its heavy throbbings.

  "Aurore?" I interrogated with an effort.

  "'Rore gone too, mass'r;--she gone long wi' Missa 'Genie."

  "Aurore gone!"

  "Yes, mass'r, she gone; daat's de troof."

  I was astounded by the information, as well as puzzled by thismysterious departure. Eugenie gone and in the night! Aurore gone withher! What could it mean? Whither had they gone?

  My reiterated appeal to the black threw no light upon the subject. Hewas ignorant of all their movements,--ignorant of everything but whatrelated to the negro quarter. He had heard that himself, his wife, hisdaughter,--"the leetle Chloe,"--with all their fellow-slaves, were to becarried down to the city, and to be sold in the slave-market by auction.They were to be taken the following day. They were already advertised.That was all he knew. No, not all,--one other piece of information hehad in store for me. It was authentic: he had heard the "white folks"talk of it to one another:--Larkin, Gayarre, and a "negro-trader," whowas to be concerned in this sale. It regarded the quadroon. _She wasto be sold among the rest_!

  The blood boiled in my veins as the black imparted this information. Itwas authentic. Scipio's statement of what he had heard, minutelydetailed, bore the internal evidence of authenticity. I could not doubtthe report. I felt the conviction that it was true.

  The plantation Besancon had no more attractions. I had no longer anybusiness at Bringiers. New Orleans was now the scene of action for me!

  With a kind word to Scipio, I wheeled my horse and galloped away fromthe gate. The fiery animal caught my excitement, and sprang wildlyalong the road. It required
all his buoyant spirit to keep pace withthe quick dancing of my nerves.

  In a few minutes I had consigned him to his groom; and, climbing to mychamber, commenced preparing for my departure.