“Well, Dick, I’m afraid that I must put a damper on your good luck. You see, in a panic I sent a telegraphic dispatch to Lord Palmerston, informing him that I had lost track of your whereabouts, and, of course, I also told him that we needed more money.”
I commented that London would most likely find his note a most disturbing combination of fact and request.
“Precisely, Dick. Just this morning word reached me that the Foreign Office is most upset and suspects that you may be having one of your adventures at their expense. They want to know just what we are doing in New Orleans in the first place and have also requested a projection as to when you will reach Salt Lake City. I was instructed to find you at once and in no uncertain terms they demanded that you break off from whatever you are doing and continue moving west into the Territories towards the goal.”
Marie II squeezed my hand when she heard this last directive and looked up into my eyes. She pulled me over to a place where no one could hear what she was about to say. “Richard, you be leaving N’orleans soon, I know dat now. Do you remember what happened on de first day we met, how you thought of de graveyard before anything happened there, an’ dat feeling you had when it got into your mind? Dat came from de power my mother and I have, same powers what made your man stand up, same ones that made Jem’s lay down. Same powers what brought you here, same ones that lets you go. Dat way it all makes sense, Richard. Makes sense for you an’ makes good sense for me. Lot of people goin’ to be needin’ you to roam so’s you can tell ’em what you seen. You goin’ to be famous Richard Burton, an’ you can’t git there by stayin’ here.”
It was impossible not to reflect back to Zanzibar and I clearly heard Laibon Mbatiany’s words in those of Marie II. Thousands of miles away and months later the message was identical; the mission now even more unmistakably defined and reinforced. The mind wants to entertain impossible thoughts of a physic telegraph between them. The rational mind rejects the notion, but the extra-sensory self 23 demands some sort of explanation. It makes me wonder if such things are not a buried yet connective facet of Man’s religions. No doubt the quest for solution is part of this new-cycle undertaking.
I managed to interrupt my reverie to acknowledge my remarkable companion. “And what about you, Marie? What do the powers have in store for the daughter of the Queen?”
“I got a whole lot of livin’ to do, Richard. You were my first but cannot be my last. De powers say I will become my mother and the Marie Laveaus will live as long as there is hoodoo and people to say our name. You see, Richard, in dat way my mother and I are goin’ to be together with you for a long, long time. We all be history. Now go back to your friend an’ finish up your business. I’m goin’ to go tell my mother that this part of de song is finished bein’ written. But she’ll already know that by de time I git there.”
Marie disappeared into the crowd just as Steinhaeuser approached and asked what was going on. I told him I was just watching the tail end of history pass out of sight.
Steinhaeuser was soon joined by Billiette, who immediately began to administer a series of crushing hugs and kisses which was her wont after even the briefest separation. While still in her grasp, John suggested that we leave Congo Square and begin resting up for tomorrow’s engagement. After I gave him a searching look, he informed me that Col. Beauregard would be hosting his niece’s debutante ball beginning at four o’clock the next afternoon. John gave me instructions to the flat where he was staying and told me he would join me later after he attended to some business. He raised smiling eyes up to Billiette and made disgusting little smooching gestures with his lips.
When I awoke the next morning in Steinhaeuser’s flat, he was sprawled across his bed stark naked, and there were deep purple bruises on the tops of his upper legs and his sides. The entire room reeked of alcohol. He began to stir and groan and then sat up in bed and began hacking. I asked if he had been attacked and beaten last evening after we parted.
He glanced over at me with a cat-that-swallowed-the-canary look on his puffy face and shook his head. “No, Burton, nothing of the sort.” He noticed the bruises on his body and acted pleasantly surprised. “Oh my, that Billiette is quite a woman, don’t you think, Dick?”
By four o’clock that afternoon we were sipping punch on the manicured lawn of Col. Pierre G. T. Beauregard’s sister’s mansion in the most fashionable section of New Orleans. Ladies and gentlemen of the highest social order were gliding between polite engagements around the spacious grounds, dressed in proper waistcoats and lacy crinolines and nodding in refined approval to the sounds of French chamber music.
At dusk, uniformed attendants asked that all guests repair to the reception hall in the main building for introductions and dancing. Inside that immaculate room, young debutantes from the finest families in New Orleans were excitedly rushing about checking that each other’s outfits and accoutrements were arranged just so and that each hair was in its perfect place. I could not help but wonder what was taking place on the other side of town in Congo Square.
After all had settled in the great room, the orchestra broke into a triumphant overture signaling a pair of servants to open double white doors at the top of a long staircase. There appeared Col. Beauregard himself in full dress military uniform and on his arm a blushing young woman on the verge of her social arrival. They smiled at each other then descended the steps with the aplomb of gods, which indeed they considered themselves to be. At the foot of the stairs they stopped and offered a short bow. The Colonel stood perfectly erect and said, “Ladies and Gentlemen, Ah have the great honour to present mah niece, Miss Vivian Beauregard Chouinard of N’Orleans.”
After a round of polite applause the guests were asked to queue-up for introductions. John and I stood side by side and eventually reached our brief audience with the guest of honour.
“Why Captain Burton, surh, Ah am de-lighted that you were able to make the trip all the way from New York. Ah trust yours was a smooth junny through this great land and that our natives treated you kindly.” He turned to his niece and made soft chortling sounds. Realizing a potential faux pas he quickly said, “Oh, Ah am so terribly sorry, Captain Burton may I introduce Miss Chouinard, and Miss Chouinard, this is Captain Burton of the Bombay Army. You may recognize his name as being the author of some of our great travel books and the doer of various acts of daring around the globe?”
“How do you do, Captain.”
“Charmed, I’m sure.”
“Oh, and with the Captain is, ah, Mr. Steinquencher here, from Sweden isn’t it, sir?”
Steinhaeuser was doubly stunned before becoming furious and then controlled, but only through affecting a cynical and exaggerated Scandinavian accent and a purposeful verbal reduction of Beauregard’s rank. “Yaaa suuure, Lieutenant. Sveeden it is, ver ve don speak English so guud.”
As Steinhaeuser looked away there was an unmistakable mark of contempt on his face. The innocent debutant was the next to speak. “I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Steinfulcha, thank you so much for coming all this way.”
Steinhaeuser’s eyes widened at the young girl, and in an effort to control himself once again, he flipped into low caste, London cockney accent. “No trouble a’tall, missy. Me ol’ mate Bilaricki Dickie ‘ere, an me, maybe just lookin’ to pinch a bum or too while we’re ‘ere, eh Dickie? Ain’t that ryght Dickie?” His cockney accent was worse than his Swedish one, but I suppose it served its purpose by confusing and upsetting his hosts.
Colonel Beauregard looked hard at Steinhaeuser and narrowed his eyes. He was certain that John was attempting to register some sort of complaint but was not exactly sure of the gravity of his intent or what would come of it. Decorum and civility dictated that he issue a benign dismissal and push on to safer ground. “Thank you very much, sir. And now, Miss Chouinard, may I introduce Reverend and Mrs. Craighead of the Church of Christ in Plaquemine?”
As soon as we were out of earshot I turned and snapped at John, asking what on earth he was
trying to do.
“Did you hear what he called me, Burton? Steinquencher, that’s what. And his primpy little niece called me Steinfulcher. It is HERR DOCTOR STEINHAEUSER to these self-important colonial bumpkins. Doctor Steinhaeuser from the medical school in Bern, Switzerland and Herr Director of the Clinic in Arabia, goddamn it!”
I made the mistake of telling him to calm himself by having a drink and for the next hour he stood alone in a corner of the room emptying glass after glass of rum punch spiked with whiskey from his oversized pocket flask. When the introductions were completed, the orchestra conductor tapped his podium and the sounds of genteel dance music filled the air. Middle-aged couples whirled about the floor and were soon joined by the debutantes themselves who were coaxed from their seats by young gentlemen who had registered their intentions well in advance.
After a few spins with the cream of New Orleans, I approached Steinhaeuser and asked how he was getting on. His mood had brightened considerably from the alcohol. He said he was feeling much better, but was suffering some pangs of embarrassment as a result of his earlier actions. “Don’t be silly, old boy,” I lied. “Nothing was made of it. In fact, they’ve probably forgotten all about you in the process of those interminable introductions. Why don’t you just sign up on the card of a pretty girl and have yourself a lovely dance? Come on, John, forget those pompous aristocrats. Put the drink down for a change and have some good fun.”
“I suppose you’re right, Burton. I could only make matters worse by getting drunk at a place like this. The things I tend to do when I get going. My God, do you recall what happened when I drank too much and returned to the Empire State Hotel with those base-ball players? What a bloody mess I made of that.”
“Don’t even think of that, John. Look, there is no need to sign one of their little dance cards. I’ll introduce you to a nice girl straightaway and you’ll be on the floor in no time.”
“Really, Burton? Well, I suppose that will be a ‘bit of alright’ as you say in England.” He perked up and began straightening his collar. It did not take long to re-meet one of my former dance partners and arrange for a sidestepping of protocol. Much to the consternation of the many chaperones, I pulled one of the debutantes over to John and after a brief introduction sent them off to the dance floor.
I enjoyed seeing Steinhaeuser stepping around with normal people; although he had been drinking quite a bit, he was not yet drunk nor in any immediate danger of causing the type of incident I had grown to fear so much. I turned from this happy scene in order to locate a young lady who had caught my eye earlier this evening. She was standing near the wall next to the other girls and my pace quickened when I caught her already looking at me and smiling.
Just then there was the sound of a horrific crash; I whirled around in time to see the garden doors explode into the room with such force that wood splinters and shattered glass were sent flying on to those unlucky enough to be standing nearby. Women screamed and grown men took a step backwards as an enraged Billiette charged into the room and began making her way towards the dancers.
Her first act was to grab Steinhaeuser’s dance partner’s face in her mighty hand. With one remarkable thrust Billiette pushed her down to the floor and sent her skidding across the waxed surface with her legs up in the air. She then seized John by tucking him under her muscular arm and held him like a small animal. This completed she began fighting her way out of the room. The Amazon was able to use her free arm as a club and she bashed away at those few brave souls who tried in vain to stop her.
A last attempt to thwart the kidnapping took place at the shattered doors where Col. Beauregard and another man had taken up positions. Armed with lengths of the broken entrance frame, they braced for the final confrontation. Billiette stopped before them with Steinhaeuser still under one arm. She wiped her forearm across her mouth and took a deep breath which expanded her already gigantic chest. Somehow John managed to extract his pocket flask at this point and held it up to his mouth for a long drink. Some of the whiskey spilled down his face as he began a crazy, maniacal laugh.
Beauregard’s companion brought his stick down hard against Billiette’s free arm and shattered his weapon on impact. At the same moment Steinhaeuser spit a mouthful of whiskey into the Colonel’s eyes as Billiette promptly blasted him on the side of the head. Beauregard was spun around from the impact, his face smashed against the door jam and he collapsed to the ground.
Billiette jumped over his motionless body but not before Steinhaeuser let out a wild war whoop and threw his empty flask at the astonished crowd. He could be heard screaming “STEINHAEUSER, DR JOHN STEINHAEUSER” as they disappeared into the night.
I slipped out a side door and have to repair at once to a safe hiding place where I shall stay until securing passage to St. Jo. This is the last straw. I will leave a note for John, wishing him well but insisting that the rest of my journey must be solo.
LETTER FROM THE FOREIGN OFFICE TO BURTON C/O STEINHAEUSER
Capt. R. F. Burton
c/o John Steinhaeuser M.D.
Theobald’s Boarding House
416 Rue Lafayette
New Orleans, Louisiana USA
June 26, 1860
Dear Burton:
Dr. Steinhaeuser has been kind enough to send us a brief communiqué regarding your whereabouts, which is more than we have received from you since landing in America more than two months ago. He has reported you “missing,” which gives us great cause for concern.
As you are fully aware, your assignment is not to get lost and remain incommunicado but rather to subscribe entirely to the instructions outlined in the documents which were hand delivered to you in New York City. Tensions are rising and we need you at the Great Salt Lake to suss-out the whole Mormon situation.
We at the FO strongly suspect that a man possessed of your great travel skills is not really “lost” but rather “off” and attending to one or another of the dishonourable stunts for which you are becoming famous. However, in the interests of fair play, we shall not consider an official sanction or recall until providing you with an opportunity for explanation. Specifically, would you please consider telling this office what has brought you down to remote Louisiana, so far from the former Colonial States we have interests in, and equally far from the Territories which are also the loci of much desired information? Also, may we ask for a proper elucidation of what has taken place so far? Your ports of call and observations gleaned from conversations with pivotal personages are of special interest to us. As you may recall, this is the very purpose of your trip.
As far as your request for more money is concerned, we are begrudgingly forwarding an extended purse to the deport station at St. Joseph, Missouri, a Western gateway we expect you to be passing through in the very near future. We fear that an accounting of your expenditures to date would only serve to detail the reasons for your failure to communicate and the quirky travel route. Please work on a palatable and believable presentation of receipts before returning to London.
And, Burton, do take care not to use your special talents to offend anyone while on this mission. The last things we need are reports of excessive drinking, brawling, or miscegenistic trysts with local women.
God Save the Queen,
Lord Palmerston
Her Majesty’s Foreign Office
BURTON’S THREE RESPONSES TO LORD PALMERSTON’S LETTER OF JUNE 26, 186024
My Dear Lord Palmerston:
Deepest apologies for the delay in writing. I have been hard at work on a number of sensitive issues which I have hesitated to post for reasons relating to privacy and secure delivery. Suffice it to say that a wide range of important individuals have been contacted and I have acquired a great deal of information on topics which I’m sure will be of great interest to all concerned. I thank you in advance for extending funding for this valuable project…
Lord Palmerston:
I regret your concern over my failure to report to the Foreign Office
but circumstances have prevented taking time to attend to routine matters. Movement to Louisiana was necessary in order to cement good relations with Col. Beauregard of …
Palmerston:
I’m afraid that I have been hard-pressed to dash off a note on spying in America for there have been a number of bothersome little distractions. Let’s see, there was the game ball riot in Hoboken, and being booted out of a hotel, a saloon, a campaign headquarters and a debutante ball were also very time consuming. In between, my spare time was occupied by being kidnapped by murderous savages and falling in love with a voodoo princess. I’m sure you understand.
These tribulations notwithstanding, I have managed to assemble some important travel notes which are presented as follows: American electoral politics may be likened to bad circus, and one is in more danger of being killed attempting to enter a convention center than an Indian encampment. I would recommend strongly against taking a holiday in the southern section of Illinois, and one must be sure to carefully preview Captain and crew before accepting bookings on any Mississippi river boat.
Steinhaeuser’s conduct has been abominable throughout (thank God he’s not British) and I have been forced to cut him loose. No sign of a civil war yet, but I shall keep my eyes skinned and let you know as soon as I see one.
Meanwhile, drink first and believe me,
Ev. Yrs. Sincy.
RF
23 Richard Burton coined the term Extra Sensory Perception. —Ed.
24 These three draft responses to Palmerston’s letter were all written on a single sheet of paper in Burton’s tiniest handwriting. Note the degeneration of his salutations and the corresponding reluctance to contrition or convention. —Ed.
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