Chapter Sixty One
Bidding for my Betrothed
Yes, Aurore appeared in the doorway of that infernal hall, and stood timidly pausing upon its threshold.
She was not alone. A mulatto girl was by her side – like herself a slave – like herself brought there to be sold!
A third individual was of the party, or rather with it; for he did not walk by the side of the girls, but in front, evidently conducting them to the place of sale. This individual was no other than Larkin, the brutal overseer.
“Come along!” said he, roughly, at the same time beckoning to Aurore and her companion: “this way, gals – foller me!”
They obeyed his rude signal, and, passing in, followed him across the hall towards the rostrum.
I stood with slouched hat and averted face. Aurore saw me not.
As soon as they were fairly past, and their backs towards me, my eyes followed them. Oh, beautiful Aurore! – beautiful as ever!
I was not single in my admiration. The appearance of the Quadroon created a sensation. The din ceased as if by a signal; every voice became hushed, and every eye was bent upon her as she moved across the floor. Men hurried forward from distant parts of the hall to get a nearer glance; others made way for her, stepping politely back as if she had been a queen. Men did this who would have scorned to offer politeness to another of her race – to the “yellow girl” for instance, who walked by her side! Oh, the power of beauty! Never was it more markedly shown than in the entrée of that poor slave.
I heard the whispers, I observed the glances of admiration, of passion. I marked the longing eyes that followed her, noting her splendid form and its undulating outlines as she moved forward.
All this gave me pain. It was a feeling worse than mere jealousy I experienced. It was jealousy embittered by the very brutality of my rivals.
Aurore was simply attired. There was no affectation of the fine lady – none of the ribbons and flounces that bedecked the dresses of her darker-skinned companion. Such would have ill assorted with the noble melancholy that appeared upon her beautiful countenance. None of all this.
A robe of light-coloured muslin, tastefully made, with long skirt and tight sleeves – as was the fashion of the time – a fashion that displayed the pleasing rotundity of her figure. Her head-dress was that worn by all quadroons – the “toque” of the Madras kerchief, which sat upon her brow like a coronet, its green, crimson, and yellow checks contrasting finely with the raven blackness of her hair. She wore no ornaments excepting the broad gold rings that glittered against the rich glow of her cheeks; and upon her finger one other circlet of gold – the token of her betrothal. I knew it well.
I buried myself in the crowd, slouching my hat on that side towards the rostrum. I desired she should not see me, while I could not help gazing upon her. I had taken my stand in such a situation, that I could still command a view of the entrance. More than ever was I anxious about the coming of D’Hauteville.
Aurore had been placed near the foot of the rostrum. I could just see the edge of her turban over the shoulders of the crowd. By elevating myself on my toes, I could observe her face, which by chance was turned towards me. Oh! how my heart heaved as I struggled to read its expression – as I endeavoured to divine the subject of her thoughts!
She looked sad and anxious. That was natural enough. But I looked for another expression – that unquiet anxiety produced by the alternation of hope and fear.
Her eye wandered over the crowd. She scanned the sea of faces that surrounded her. She was searching for some one. Was it for me?
I held down my face as her glance passed over the spot. I dared not meet her gaze. I feared that I could not restrain myself from addressing her. Sweet Aurore!
I again looked up. Her eye was still wandering in fruitless search – oh! surely it is for me!
Again I cowered behind the crowd, and her glance was carried onward.
I raised myself once more. I saw the shadow darkening upon her face. Her eye filled with a deeper expression – it was the look of despair.
“Courage! courage!” I whispered to myself. “Look again, lovely Aurore! This time I shall meet you. I shall speak to you from mine eyes – I shall give back glance for glance – ”
“She sees – she recognises me! That start – the flash of joy in her eyes – the smile curling upon her lips! Her glance wanders no more – her gaze is fixed – proud heart! It was for me!”
Yes, our eyes met at length – met, melting and swimming with love. Mine had escaped from my control. For some moments I could not turn them aside, but surrendered them to the impulse of my passion. It was mutual. I doubted it not. I felt as though the ray of love-light was passing between us. I had almost forgotten where I stood!
A murmur from the crowd, and a movement, restored me to my senses. Her stedfast gaze had been noticed, and by many – skilled to interpret such glances – had been understood. These, in turning round to see who was the object of that glance, had caused the movement. I had observed it in time, and turned my face in another direction.
I watched the entrance for D’Hauteville. Why had he not arrived? My anxiety increased with the minutes.
True, it would still be an hour – perhaps two – before her time should come. – Ha! – what?
There was silence for a moment – something of interest was going on. I looked towards the rostrum for an explanation. A dark man had climbed upon one of the steps, and was whispering to the auctioneer.
He remained but a moment. He appeared to have asked some favour, which was at once conceded him, and he stepped back to his place among the crowd.
A minute or two intervened, and then, to my horror and astonishment, I saw the overseer take Aurore by the arm, and raise her upon the block! The intention was plain. She was to be sold next!
In the moments that followed, I cannot remember exactly how I acted. I ran wildly for the entrance. I looked out into the street. Up and down I glanced with anxious eyes. No D’Hauteville!
I rushed back into the hall – again through the outer circles of the crowd, in the direction of the rostrum.
The bidding had begun. I had not heard the preliminaries, but as I re-entered there fell upon my ears the terrible words —
“A thousand dollars for the Quadroon. —A thousand dollars bid!”
“O Heaven! D’Hauteville has deceived me. She is lost! – lost!”
In my desperation I was about to interrupt the sale. I was about to proclaim aloud its unfairness, in the fact that the Quadroon had been taken out of the order advertised! Even on this poor plea I rested a hope.
It was the straw to the drowning man, but I was determined to grasp it.
I had opened my lips to call out, when some one pulling me by the sleeve caused me to turn round. It was D’Hauteville! Thank Heaven, it was D’Hauteville!
I could scarce restrain myself from shouting with joy. His look told me that he was the bearer of bright gold.
“In time, and none to spare,” whispered he, thrusting a pocket-book between my fingers; “there is three thousand dollars – that will surely be enough; ’tis all I have been able to procure. I cannot stay here – there are those I do not wish to see. I shall meet you after the sale is over. Adieu!”
I scarce thanked him. I saw not his parting. My eyes were elsewhere.
“Fifteen hundred dollars bid for the Quadroon! – good housekeeper – sempstress – fifteen hundred dollars!”
“Two thousand!” I called out, my voice husky with emotion. The sudden leap over such a large sum drew the attention of the crowd upon me. Looks, smiles, and innuendoes were freely exchanged at my expense.
I saw, or rather heeded them not. I saw Aurore, only Aurore, standing upon the daïs like a statue upon its pedestal – the type of sadness and beauty. The sooner I could take her thence, the happier for me; and with that object in view I had made my “bid.”
“Two thousand dollars bid – two thousand – twenty-one hundred dollars – two thousand, one, two – twenty-two hundred dollars bid – twenty-two – ”
“Twenty-five hundred dollars!” I again cried out, in as firm a voice as I could command.
“Twenty-five hundred dollars,” repeated the auctioneer, in his monotonous drawl; “twenty-five – six – you, sir? thank you! twenty-six hundred dollars for the Quadroon – twenty-six hundred!”
“Oh God! they will go above three thousand; if they do – ”
“Twenty-seven hundred dollars!” bid the fop Marigny.
“Twenty-eight hundred!” from the old Marquis.
“Twenty-eight hundred and fifty!” assented the young merchant, Moreau.
“Nine!” nodded the tall dark man who had whispered to the auctioneer.
Twenty-nine hundred dollars bid – two thousand nine hundred.
“Three thousand!” I gasped out in despair.
It was my last bid. I could go no farther.
I waited for the result, as the condemned waits for the falling of the trap or the descent of the axe. My heart could not have endured very long that terrible suspense. But I had not long to endure it.
“Three thousand one hundred dollars! – three thousand one hundred bid – thirty-one hundred dollars – ”
I cast one look upon Aurore. It was a look of hopeless despair; and turning away, I staggered mechanically across the hall.
Before I had reached the entrance I could hear the voice of the auctioneer, in the same prolonged drawl, calling out, “Three thousand five hundred bid for the Quadroon girl?”
I halted and listened. The sale was coming to its close.
“Three thousand five hundred – going at three thousand five hundred – going – going – ”
The sharp stroke of the hammer fell upon my ear. It drowned the final word “gone!” but my heart pronounced that word in the emphasis of its agony.
There was a noisy scene of confusion, loud words and high excitement among the crowd of disappointed bidders. Who was the fortunate one?
I leant over to ascertain. The tall dark man was in conversation with the auctioneer. Aurore stood beside him. I now remembered having seen the man on the boat. He was the agent of whom D’Hauteville had spoken. The Creole had guessed aright, and so, too, had Le Ber.
Gayarre had outbid them all!
Chapter Sixty Two
The Hackney-Carriage
For a while I lingered in the hall, irresolute and almost without purpose. She whom I loved, and who loved me in return, was wrested from me by an infamous law, ruthlessly torn from me. She would be borne away before my eyes, and I might, perhaps, never behold her again. Probable enough was this thought – I might never behold her again! Lost to me, more hopelessly lost, than if she had become the bride of another. Far more hopelessly lost. Then, at least, she would have been free to think, to act, to go abroad, to – . Then I might have hoped to meet her again, to see her, to gaze upon her, even if only at a distance, to worship her in the secret silence of my heart, to console myself with the belief that she still loved me. Yes; the bride, the wife of another! Even that I could have borne with calmness. But now, not the bride of another, but the slave, the forced, unwilling leman, and that other – . Oh! how my heart writhed under its horrible imaginings!
What next? How was I to act? Resign myself to the situation? Make no further effort to recover, to save her?
No! It had not come to that. Discouraging as the prospect was, a ray of hope was visible; one ray yet illumed the dark future, sustaining and bracing my mind for further action.
The plan was still undefined; but the purpose had been formed, and that purpose was to free Aurore, to make her mine at every hazard! I thought no longer of buying her. I knew that Gayarre had become her owner. I felt satisfied that to purchase her was no longer possible. He who had paid such an enormous sum would not be likely to part with her at any price. My whole fortune would not suffice. I gave not a thought to it. I felt certain it would be impossible.
Far different was the resolve that was already forming itself in my mind, and cheering me with new hopes. Forming itself, do I say? It had already taken a definite shape, even before the echoes of the salesman’s voice had died upon my ears! With the clink of his hammer my mind was made up. The purpose was formed; it was only the plan that remained indefinite.
I had resolved to outrage the laws – to become thief or robber, whichever it might please circumstances to make me. I had resolved to steal my betrothed!
Disgrace there might be – danger I knew there was, not only to my liberty, but my life. I cared but little about the disgrace; I recked not of the danger. My purpose was fixed – my determination taken.
Brief had been the mental process that conducted me to this determination – the more brief that the thought had passed through my mind before – the more brief that I believed there was positively no other means I could adopt. It was the only course of action left me – either that, or yield up all that I loved without a struggle – and, passion-led as I was, I was not going to yield. Certain disgrace, – even death itself, appeared more welcome than this alternative.
I had formed not yet the shadow of a plan. That, must be thought of afterwards; but even at that moment was action required. My poor heart was on the rack; I could not bear the thought that a single night should pass and she under the same roof with that hideous man!
Wherever she should pass the night, I was determined that I should not be far-distant from her. Walls might separate us, but she should know I was near. Just that much of a plan had I thought of.
Stepping to a retired spot, I took out my note-book, and wrote upon one of its leaves:
“Ce soir viendrai! – Edouard.”
I had no time to be more particular, for I feared every moment she would be hurried out of my sight. I tore out the leaf; and, hastily folding it, returned to the entrance of the Rotundo.
Just as I got back to the door a hackney-carriage drove up, and halted in front. I conjectured its use, and lost no time in providing another from a stand close by. This done, I returned within the hall. I was yet in time. As I entered, I saw Aurore being led away from the rostrum.
I pressed into the crowd, and stood in such a position that she would have to pass near me. And she did so, our hands met, and the note parted from my fingers. There was no time for a further recognition – not even a love-pressure – for the moment after she was hurried on through the crowd, and the carriage-door closed after her.
The mulatto girl accompanied her, and another of the female slaves. All were put into the carriage. The negro-dealer climbed to the box alongside the coachman, and the vehicle rattled off over the stony pavement.
A word to my driver was enough, who, giving the whip to his horses, followed at like speed.
Chapter Sixty Three
To Bringiers
Coachmen of New Orleans possess their full share of intelligence; and the ring of a piece of silver, extra of their fare, is a music well understood by them. They are the witnesses of many a romantic adventure – the necessary confidants of many a love-secret. A hundred yards in front rolled the carriage that had taken Aurore; now turning round corners, now passing among drays laden with huge cotton-bales or hogsheads of sugar – but my driver had fixed his knowing eye upon it, and I had no need to be uneasy.
It passed up the Rue Chartres but a short distance, and then turned into one of the short streets that ran from this at right angles towards the Levee. I fancied for a moment, it was making for the steamboat wharves; but on reaching the corner, I saw that it had stopped about half way down the street. My driver, according to the instructions I had given him, pulled up at the corner, and awaited my further orders. The carriage I had followed was now standing in front of a house; and just as I rounded the corner, I caught a glimpse of several figures crossing the banquette and entering the door. No doubt, all that had ridden in the carriage – Aurore with the rest – had gone inside the house.
Presently a man came out, and handing his fare to the hackney-coachman, turned and went back into the house. The latter, gathering up his reins, gave the whip to his horses, and, wheeling round, came back by the Rue Chartres. As he passed me, I glanced through the open windows of his vehicle. It was empty. She had gone into the house, then.
I had no longer any doubt as to where she had been taken. I read on the corner, “Rue Bienville.” The house where the carriage had stopped was the town residence of Monsieur Dominique Gayarre.
I remained for some minutes in the cab, considering what I had best do. Was this to be her future home? or was she only brought here temporarily, to be afterwards taken up to the plantation?
Some thought, or instinct perhaps, whispered me that she was not to remain in the Rue Bienville; but would be carried to the gloomy old mansion at Bringiers. I cannot tell why I thought so. Perhaps it was because I wished it so.
I saw the necessity of watching the house – so that she might not be taken away without my knowing it. Wherever she went I was determined to follow.
Fortunately I was prepared for any journey. The three thousand dollars lent me by D’Hauteville remained intact. With that I could travel to the ends of the earth.
I wished that the young Creole had been with me. I wanted his counsel – his company. How should I find him? he had not said where we should meet – only that he would join me when the sale should be over. I saw nothing of him on leaving the Rotundo. Perhaps he meant to meet me there or at my hotel; but how was I to get back to either of these places without leaving my post?
I was perplexed as to how I should communicate with D’Hauteville. It occurred to me that the hackney-coachman – I had not yet dismissed him – might remain and watch the house, while I went in search of the Creole. I had only to pay the Jehu; he would obey me, of course, and right willingly.
I was about arranging with the man, and had already given him some instructions, when I heard wheels rumbling along the street; and a somewhat old-fashioned coach, drawn by a pair of mules, turned into the Rue Bienville. A negro driver was upon the box.
There was nothing odd in all this. Such a carriage and such a coachman were to be seen every hour in New Orleans, and drawn by mules as often as horses. But this pair of mules, and the negro who drove them, I recognised.
Yes! I recognised the equipage. I had often met it upon the Levee Road near Bringiers. It was the carriage of Monsieur Dominique!
I was further assured upon this point by seeing the vehicle draw up in front of the avocat’s house.
I at once gave up my design of going back for D’Hauteville. Climbing back into the hack, I ensconced myself in such a position, that I could command a view of what passed in the Rue Bienville.
Some one was evidently about to become the occupant of the carriage. The door of the house stood open, and a servant was speaking to the coachman. I could tell by the actions of the latter, that he expected soon to drive off.
The servant now appeared outside with several parcels, which he placed upon the coach; then a man came out – the negro-trader – who mounted the box. Another man shot across the banquette, but in such a hurried gait that I could not recognise him. I guessed, however, who he was. Two others now came from the house – a mulatto woman and a young girl. In spite of the cloak in which she was enveloped I recognised Aurore. The mulatto woman conducted the girl to the carriage, and then stepped in after. At this moment a man on horseback appeared in the street, and riding up, halted by the carriage. After speaking to some one inside, he again put his horse in motion and rode off. This horseman was Larkin the overseer.
The clash of the closing door was immediately followed by the crack of the coachman’s whip; and the mules, trotting off down the street, turned to the right, and headed up the Levee.
My driver, who had already been instructed, gave the whip to his hack, and followed, keeping a short distance in the rear.
It was not till we had traversed the long street of Tehoupitoulas, through the Faubourg Marigny, and were some distance upon the road to the suburban village of Lafayette, that I thought of where I was going. My sole idea had been to keep in sight the carriage of Gayarre.
I now bethought me for what purpose I was driving after him. Did I intend to follow him to his house, some thirty miles distant, in a hackney-coach?
Even had I been so determined, it was questionable whether the driver of the vehicle could have been tempted to humour my caprice, or whether his wretched hack could have accomplished such a feat.
For what purpose, then, was I galloping after? To overtake these men upon the road, and deliver Aurore from their keeping? No, there were three of them – well armed, no doubt – and I alone.
But it was not until I had gone several miles that I began to reflect on the absurdity of my conduct. I then ordered my coachman to pull up.
I remained seated; and from the window of the hack gazed after the carriage, until it was hidden by a turn in the road.
“After all,” I muttered to myself, “I have done right in following. I am now sure of their destination. Back to the Hotel Saint Luis!”
The last phrase was a command to my coachman, who turning his horse drove back.
As I had promised to pay for speed, it was not long before the wheels of my hackney rattled over the pavé of the Rue Saint Luis.
Having dismissed the carriage, I entered the hotel. To my joy I found D’Hauteville awaiting my return, and in a few minutes I had communicated to him my determination to carry off Aurore.
Bare friendship his! he approved of my resolve. Rare devotion! he proposed to take part in my enterprise, I warned him of its perils – to no purpose. With an enthusiasm I could not account for, and that greatly astonished me at the time, he still insisted upon sharing them.
Perhaps I might more earnestly have admonished him against such a purpose, but I felt how much I stood in need of him.
I could not explain the strange feeling of confidence, with which the presence of this gentle but heroic youth had inspired me. The reluctance with which I accepted his offer was only apparent – it was not felt. My heart was struggling against my will. I was but too glad when he stated his determination to accompany me.
There was no boat going up that night; but we were not without the means to travel. A pair of horses were hired – the best that money could procure – and before sun-down we had cleared the suburbs of the city, and were riding along the road that conducts to the village of Bringiers.