“I can’t just say; it may be in a day or two, and it may be longer.”
“Then I’m sure I cannot understand my position, if you are to go off in a day or two!”
“She’s not yet acquainted with our nautical customs, but will learn better by-and-by,” replied Seeley.
“I hope I may learn nothing worse than that which I already know, I’m afraid to my sorrow!”
“What nonsense, madame, can’t you trust your husband?” impatiently admonished the Spaniard.
“You’re mistaken, sir; he’s not my husband!” exclaimed Cornelia with resentment.
“If not, then I’m wrongly informed; but I still believe that I’m right!” replied Garcia.
“And so do I,” sanctioned Adelaide, “for Lieutenant Seeley is incapable of falsehood.”
“Do you solemnly tell me that you are not the wife of Lieutenant Seeley?” enquired Garcia.
“Indeed, sir, upon my oath I am not!” replied Cornelia, whose eyes were suffused to blindness with tears.
“Upon my oath, you are then!” maliciously retorted Paul, to the great discomfiture of the almost distracted girl.
“I believe it! I believe it,” sanctioned Adelaide, “and nothing can remove any impression!”
“In Heaven’s name where am I, and what is to become of me!” exclaimed the poor girl in anguish. “You wrong me! You do me a murderous wrong! I’m incapable of the implied charge upon my reputation; my only sin had been a misplaced affection! Let me tell you my story. I pray you, I beg you, to permit a poor wretch that’s soon to become an outcast, to tell her tale of wretchedness and sorrow! O, I beg of you to hear me, ladies of position and happiness! My home is Pennsylvania in America; I had just finished my education in Delaware; went to New York expecting to meet my mother to take me home; met the young man, who under solemn promise of marriage, decoyed me away; I, eluding my dear mother, escaped with him on the vessel. O! This is the truth! This is the truth, and will you for God’s sake believe me, if not for my own!”
“She’s crazy,” angrily replied Seeley, “and utterly irresponsible for what she says!” he and Spencer taking their hats and immediately leaving the room.
“Crazy!” indignantly retorted the intelligent girl. “Call me what you will–mock my distraction–sport with my misfortune–trample upon my feelings, and deride my anguish if you will–but by the purity of unsullied womanhood, you never shall carry out the base designs I’m now satisfied were intended toward me! O, Heaven, I know,” said the heart-wrecked girl, falling upon her knees with hands clapped and face upturned in supplication to God, “will protect me! And——”
“So will I!” interrupted Celia Bonselle, choked with feelings of sympathy, at the instant when Seeley and Spencer reentered the room, leaving their hats in the piazza.
“Lieutenant Seeley–I desire a word with you,” solicited Madame Bonselle, walking in the direction of the door of the drawing room, the house being a cottage.
“Madam!” exclaimed Seeley, giving vent to an irritable temper now excited to a rage. “Are you the arbiter of my choice and conjugal destiny?”
“I assumed it not, sir! but since I am summoned to do so without my own desire or consent–if I am compelled to sit in judgment on virtue and vice-to decide between innocence and infamy according to justice–then are you, sir, by the righteous decrees of offended morality and insulted womanhood, condemned to obscurity and disgrace!” Then with a spurn and a haughty toss of the head, such as a French lady only can give, she turned away leaving Seeley as motionless as a statue, standing before the gaze of Spencer and now-indignant frown of Madam Garcia.
Paul, who immediately after his attack upon Cornelia, had left the room with Garcia to pace the lawn, now entered, and though himself having induced the two young naval officers to desert their post and go with him into the slave trade, being perfectly conversant with the designs, it having been arranged to decoy the young miss with them as a victim; such was the sympathy manifested by the ladies and Spencer for the soul-tormented girl, that they also became deeply interested in her behalf.
At the instant when the two gentlemen entered, Cornelia left the room, walking through the shrubbery where to sooth her sorrows amidst the eloquent though silent sympathy of the flowers.
Seeley being left without a rallying point, with a seriousness of countenance to him unusual, without a word of reply to what had been said after the current turned against him, slowly retreated from the room. Taking up his hat as he passed through the piazza, raising it to his head as he passed out the door, a billet fell at his feet. Snatching it up and hastening to a secluded spot in the grove, on opening it gave the following lines of touching and chaste appeal to his manhood:
How sweet at close of silent eve
The harp’s responsive sound;
How sweet the vows that ne’er deceive,
And deeds by virtue crowned!
How sweet to sit beneath a tree
In some delightful grove;
But O! more soft, more sweet to me
The voice of him I love!
UNHAPPY CORNELIA.
Castilian Haciendes, Isle of Cuba,
March 14, 1853.
This formidable charge discomfited him; it proved the blow which sent the spear to his heart, arousing the languid sensibility of his manhood to honor; when, regardless of paths, forcing his way in the direction from which, but a few moments before, the sound of sobs and bitter wailing had reached his ear, there finding her alone in the densest of the grove, he cast himself at her feet, with tears, upon his knees begging forgiveness for the past, with pledges of honor for the future. The scene was indescribably touching, their sympathy mutual, and the next day before the rays of the sun had ceased their genial influence over the hacienda, Cornelia Woodward and Augustus Seeley were pronounced with holy benediction, to be “man and wife forever!”
CHAPTER 36
Henry at the Hacienda
On arriving at the hacienda, Henry was impressed at the first sight of the mistress, Madam Garcia. In her arms the maid held one child, by the hand another. Besides these there were two others, Ferdinand and Miguel, six and eight years of age–also a little black boy to wait upon and play with the young masters, with whom he then gamboled near by among the flowers.
“What is your name, young woman?” inquired Henry.
“Lotty,” was the reply; “what is yours?”
“Gilbert they call me. These are handsome children.”
“Yes sir,” she indifferently replied with a deep sigh.
“You seem to speak carelessly; don’t you like children?”
“I like some children.”
“Do you not like these?”
“I might like them, but——”
“What?” interrupted he.
“I’m treated so bad, I don’t care anything about them, so I don’t.”
“Who treats you bad, your mistress?”
“Yes, sir, she beats me like any dog, so she does, and makes master beat me for spite!”
“Have they many slaves besides you?”
“Yes, sir, they have over three hundred on two places; this one here, and the other at Matanzas.”
“How are the slaves used here in Cuba? I understand they are well treated.”
“’Taint so, sir–these people treat theirs like brutes!”
“What is the name of the little slave there, who plays with his young master?”
“Pomp. They beat and pull him about all the time; and if he don’t let them do as they please with him, they go crying to their ma, who whips him severely.”
“What are the names of those children, Lotty?”
“The biggest one there is Miguel, the next Ferdinand, the girl Bracinia, and the baby in my arms is Justinia.”
“What are their ages?”
“One boy is eight, and the other six; one girl four, and the other not two.”
“What is the age of little Pomp, who waits on them, as he s
eems to be between the two?”
“He is seven years old.”
“Lotty, what is your age? You look like a young woman, but you’re quite gray and careworn.”
“I used to know my age, but since I had so much trouble and came here, they beat me so much over the head till I can’t remember hardly anything. I can’t tell how old I am!”
“Do the little girls love you as children generally do their nurses?”
“No, sir, they’re cross, sassy little brats. They’ll pull my hair, scratch my face, and bite me; they go crying to her; then she falls on me and beats me to please them!”
Four o’clock, the dinner hour having arrived, the maid was summoned to duty, and anxious to witness the new order of things, Henry went to await the return of the nurse.
Madame Bonselle was an excellent lady, and loved by all the slaves on the hacienda. Being French, she was an inherent votary of the late revolution and reform, and a believer in the principles espoused by the government of Lamartine, Ludro Rollin and Louis Blanc, and even wore a gold brooch on which the motto was inscribed “Liberte, Eqalite, Fraternite!” the memorable rallying cry of the Liberalists.
After dinner, being seated on the piazza, Lotty on passing with the child in her arms playfully whispered in Madame Bonselle’s ear, which the mistress by chance observed.
“A fine girl!” said she smiling as the maid left her.
“She’s a forward strap, Madame Bonselle, and I’ll break her of it!” replied Madame Garcia.
“I’m sure, Adelaide, she means no harm at all, as you certainly must know!”
“She’s entirely spoilt, Celia, since you’ve been here, with your crazy notions of French equality!”
“We are not accustomed to look upon these poor, unfortunate people with the charity we should, forgetting that naturally they’re the same as ourselves.”
“Absurd! Celia Bonselle–it’s all imagination, as I’m sure the Negroes were made to serve the whites!”
“On this you and I cannot see alike, as I never will sanction such nonsense! God be merciful!” she sighed in conclusion, rising and walking down the lawn, the maid entering the piazza as she left.
“Lot, you strap! How dare you whisper in Madame Bonselle’s ear, and that–”
“I’m sure, mistress, I meant no harm! and I didn’t know that you saw me, else I wouldn’t have done it, indeed I wouldn’t. I won’t do so any more, if you only spare me this time, and don’t whip me before that strange man that came with the Americans! Oh, mistress!” she exclaimed, dropping to her knees, as Madame Garcia sunk the thumb nail deep into her ear, nearly cutting it through, saying:
“Now, take that, you impudent black jade, and begone out of my presence. The next time I’ll cut you to pieces!”
The poor thing hastened away sorrowing, silently praying that God would remove her from her sufferings. Sitting some time after this with the children under the shade of orange trees, Henry approaching observing the ear, side of the face and neck much swollen, inquired the cause, she evasively answering that a wasp had stung her.
“ ‘Twan no wasp sting dat! Missers done it so she did!” explained little Pomp, which was heard by the young masters.
“How dare you say that about ma!” said the child Miguel, grasping the little black boy, who was sitting on the grass at the time, by the hair, jerked him upon his face to the ground saying, “Now, you black!”
Hastening into the house, the child in a whisper acquainted his mother with what had transpired between the man and maidservant, Pomp and himself. No notice whatever was taken of it at the time.
Little Pomp was the son of the slave cook of the family, Abigail; the name of her mistress being a terror to her, as well as to all of the slaves. Night had now somewhat advanced, the guests retired; and the news of the displeasure of the mistress toward Lotty and Pomp having spread through the place, many of the slaves had come from their huts concealing themselves in the shrubbery around the mansion to watch, well knowing that punishment would be the consequence. Lotty had expressed in anguish that she dreaded the approach of night, which induced Henry, who well understood her condition, to remain up until the last, determining to witness all that he could pertaining to Cuban slavery. He had come in search of his poor lost wife, and was anxiously desirous of having some idea of her true condition before reaching her, which he was determined on doing, did she live at all on earth. All was now silent, the slaves awestricken in their hiding places; the nurse, her personal attendant maidservant, and Henry sat in quiet waiting on the back piazza, there seeming at the time not a ripple of air, nor quiver of a leaf to interrupt the monotonous harmony. But the occupants of the piazza were suddenly started by a voice accustomed on such occasions to command, and but too familiar:
“Dilsey, go bring me the cowhide!”* the girl soon returning with the dreadful thing of punishment. “Now call Abigail, and tell her to bring that nigger of hers with her,” the servant executing as soon as possible the mistress’ order, when the slave-mother and child stood trembling before her. “You are here, my lady, are you!” continued Madame Garcia, addressing herself to Lotty. “Stand aside there!” then turning to the mother of the child, she said, “take off his clothes!”
“O, missus!” exclaimed the poor cook, as she laid on the stripes, regardless of the screams of agony uttered by the little one. “Dohn beat my po’ chile no mo! here’s my back, gib it to me!” A severe cut with the hide across the face instantly silenced the petitions of Abigail, when handing her the whip, she compelled her to scourge her own child till he fell motionless and bleeding at her feet.
“O, Laud!” exclaimed the more than tormented slave-mother. “Wot’s to come o’ we po’ black people! I wish in God I nebeh been baun.”
“Not a word of reflection there, you black ape, or I’ll have you given ten times as much! Take him out of this!” When as she lugged away her boy, insensible and bloody, the mother gave way to choking sobs of inexpressible grief. To her maid the mistress said, “Poor old black thing! It was natural, I suppose, for her to feel for the little Negro! He’ll soon get over it! Now my lady, you may go!” she said, speaking to Lotty. “And the next time I have occasion to use that” (pointing to the bloody whip) “it shall be your time!” Lotty, humbly curtsying, left her presence.
To all this, Henry was a serious spectator, having twice detected himself in an involuntary determination to rush forward and snatch the infernal thing of torture from the hand of the heart-crushed mother. He retired that night with a mind nearer distraction than sanity.
Early next morning he asked, and kindly received, consent to leave for a fortnight, the services of Mrs. Seeley, for the purpose as he stated of visiting some relation in the colony; the Seeleys supposing, as he spoke Castilian well when employed by them, that he was a resident of Cuba.
*Cowhide–the name given to a raw-skin whip in America.
CHAPTER 37
A Glimmer of Hope
In his conversation with Lotty, Henry had learned of the residence of two families from Louisiana near Matanzas, when on leaving the hacienda of the Garcias, he went directly in search of the Americans. In his stroll, he kept the great roads, because these a Negro might travel without suspicion, besides to have frequently the benefit of the diligence, all of which are driven by blacks; and also because to venture through the plantations would have been hazardous, nearly the whole of which keep Negro-dogs, or bloodhounds with which to run down the slaves.
On approaching his destined point of anxiety, meeting an old black man whom he addressed and was answered in Creole, the following conversation ensued:
“Do you live about here?” asked Henry.
“I do,” replied the man.
“Where abouts?”
“On de nex’ place.”
“Are you a free man?”
“No, my frien’, I’se a slave.”
“I thought the slaves out this way were not allowed clothes. How’s this?” said Henry, spe
aking knowingly to conceal his being a stranger, by assuming a familiarity with all part of the island; as it is indeed a truth that the slaves in Cuba generally go nude.
“Da’s not ’lowed nothin’ to put on, only wen de wite folks sen’ umout.”
“Will you not be allowed, after you get home, to keep those clothes on while attending about the house, and waiting on the white folks?”
“No, seh, no; I has to take ’em off, an’ go ‘long so, no matter who’s dar.”
“What is the name of your plantation?”
“Da calls it Lucyana Hacienda.”
“What’s your master’s name?”
“He name Jenkin.”
“Is he a Creole?”
“No, he ’Merica man.”
“Is he a good master?”
“Ah, God knows bes’. He wus kine a man!”
“Does he keep an overseer?”
“Yes, bless yeh! ’E got two-three places, and ovehseeh on ’em all.”
“How many slaves has Jenkin in all?”
“I do’ no’; ’e got heap a slaves.”
“What does he raise; sugar, coffee, or rice?”
“ ’E raise sugar on all of ’em.”
“Are the planters generally good or bad to their people?”
“Bad ’nough, bad ’nough!”
“Do you all get much chance to go out at night?”
“No, no, bless yeh! Da all keep bloodhoun’ to watch arter an’ keep us in.”
“What part of America did your master come from?”
“De Lucyana whar I com from.”
“Are there any other Louisiana planters near here?”
“Da’s one some ten-twenty mile, uh sich a mautta.”
“I would like to go and stay with you, or some of your people tonight in their huts.”
“Well, meh frien’, it is very dange’ous, case de wite folks al’as lookin’ ’roun’, an’ da got bloodhoun’ out all night long watchin’, and wen strangeh come ’among us, de dog bay roun’ de hut till wite folks come.”
“Then it must be dangerous to go on the plantations at all.”
Blake or The Huts of America Page 22
