Atlantic Monthly, Vol. 1, No. 7, May, 1858 by Various

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Musing thus, he rode under the fantastic festoons he had been admiring,
and saw at his right a long gentle descent, where a small stream of
water glided downward over mossy stones. Trees on either side interlaced
their boughs over it, and formed a vista, cool, dark, and solemn as the
aisle of some old Gothic church. A figure moving upward, by the side of
the little brook, attracted his attention, and he checked his horse
to inquire whether the people at the nearest house would entertain a
stranger for the night. When the figure approached nearer, he saw that
it was a slender, barefooted girl, carrying a pail of water. As she
emerged from the dim aisle of trees, a gleam of the setting sun shone
across her face for an instant, and imparted a luminous glory to her
large brown eyes. Shading them with her hand, she paused timidly before
the stranger, and answered his inquiries. The modulation of her tones
suggested a degree of refinement which he had not expected to meet in
that lonely region. He gazed at her so intently, that her eyes sought
the ground, and their long, dark fringes rested on blushing cheeks. What
was it those eyes recalled? They tantalized and eluded his memory. "My
good girl, tell me what is your name," he said.

"Louisa," she replied, bashfully, and added, "I will show you the way to
the house."

"Let me carry the water for you," said the kind-hearted traveller. He
dismounted for the purpose, but she resisted his importunities, saying
that _she_ would be very angry with her.

"And who is _she_?" he asked. "Is she your mother?"

"Oh, no, indeed!" was the hasty reply. "I am--I--I live there."

The disclaimer was sudden and earnest, as if the question struck on a
wounded nerve. Her eyes swam with tears, and the remainder of her answer
was sad and reluctant in its tones. The child was so delicately formed,
so shy and sensitive, so very beautiful, that she fascinated him
strongly. He led his horse into the lane she had entered, and as he
walked by her side he continued to observe her with the most lively
interest. Her motions were listless and languid, but flexile as a
willow. They puzzled him, as her eyes had done; for they seemed to
remind him of something he had seen in a half-forgotten dream.

They soon came in sight of the house, which was built of logs, but
larger than most houses of that description; and two or three huts in
the rear indicated that the owner possessed slaves. An open porch
in front was shaded by the projecting roof, and there two dingy,
black-nosed dogs were growling and tousling each other. Pigs were
rooting the ground, and among them rolled a black baby, enveloped in a
bundle of dirty rags. The traveller waited while Louisa went into the
house to inquire whether entertainment could be furnished for
himself and his horse. It was some time before the proprietor of the
establishment made his appearance. At last he came slowly sauntering
round the end of the house, his hat tipped on one side, with a rowdyish
air. He was accompanied by a large dog, which rushed in among the pigs,
biting their ears, and making them race about, squealing piteously. Then
he seized hold of the bundle of rags containing the black baby, and
began to drag it over the ground, to the no small astonishment of the
baby, who added his screech to the charivari of the pigs. With loud
shouts of laughter, Mr. Jackson cheered on the rough animal, and was
so much entertained by the scene, that he seemed to have forgotten the
traveller entirely. When at last his eye rested upon him, he merely
exclaimed, "That's a hell of a dog!" and began to call, "_Staboy_!"
again. The negro woman came and snatched up her babe, casting a furtive
glance at her master, as she did so, and making her escape as quickly as
possible. Towzer, being engaged with the pigs at that moment, allowed
her to depart unmolested; and soon came back to his master, wagging his
tail, and looking up, as if expecting praise for his performances.

The traveller availed himself of this season of quiet to renew his
inquiries.

"Well," said Mr. Jackson, "I reckon we can accommodate ye. Whar ar ye
from, stranger?"

Mr. Noble having stated "whar" he was from, was required to tell "whar"
he was going, whether he owned that "bit of horse-flesh," and whether
he wanted to sell him. Having answered all these interrogatories in a
satisfactory manner, he was ushered into the house.

The interior was rude and slovenly, like the exterior. The doors were
opened by wooden latches with leather strings, and sagged so much on
their wooden hinges, that they were usually left open to avoid the
difficulty of shutting them. Guns and fishing-tackle were on the walls,
and the seats were wooden benches or leather-bottomed chairs. A tall,
lank woman, with red hair, and a severe aspect, was busy mending a
garment. When asked if the traveller could be provided with supper, she
curtly replied that she "reckoned so"; and, without further parlance, or
salute, went out to give orders. Immediately afterward, her shrill voice
was heard calling out, "You gal! put the fixens on the table."

The "gal," who obeyed the summons, proved to be the sylph-like child
that had guided the traveller to the house. To the expression of
listlessness and desolation which he had previously noticed, there
was now added a look of bewilderment and fear. He thought she might,
perhaps, be a step-daughter of Mrs. Jackson; but how could so coarse a
man as his host be the father of such gentleness and grace?

While supper was being prepared, Mr. Jackson entered into conversation
with his guest about the usual topics in that region,--the prices
of cotton and "niggers." He frankly laid open his own history and
prospects, stating that he was "fetched up" in Western Tennessee, where
he owned but two "niggers." A rich uncle had died in Alabama, and he had
come in for a portion of his wild land and "niggers"; so he concluded
to move South and take possession. Mr. Noble courteously sustained his
share of the conversation; but his eyes involuntarily followed the
interesting child, as she passed in and out to arrange the supper-table.

"You seem to fancy Leewizzy," said Mr. Jackson, shaking the ashes from
his pipe.

"I have never seen a handsomer child," replied Mr. Noble. "Is she your
daughter?"

"No, Sir; she's my nigger," was the brief response.

The young girl reentered the room at that moment, and the statement
seemed so incredible, that the traveller eyed her with scrutinizing
glance, striving in vain to find some trace of colored ancestry.

"Come here, Leewizzy," said her master. "What d'ye keep yer eyes on the
ground for? You 'a'n't got no occasion to be ashamed o' yer eyes. Hold
up yer head, now, and look the gentleman in the face."

She tried to obey, but native timidity overcame the habit of submission,
and, after one shy glance at the stranger, her eyelids lowered, and
their long, dark fringes rested on blushing cheeks.

"I reckon ye don't often see a poottier piece o' flesh," said Mr.
Jackson.

While he was speaking, his wife had come in from the kitchen, followed
by a black woman with a dish of sweet potatoes and some hot corn-cakes.
She made her presence manifest by giving "Leewizzy" a violent push, with
the exclamation, "What ar ye standing thar for, yer lazy wench? Go and
help Dinah bring in the fixens." Then turning to her husband, she said,
"You'll make a fool o' that ar gal. It's high time she was sold. She's
no account here."

Mr. Jackson gave a knowing wink at his guest, and remarked, "Women-folks
are ginerally glad enough to have niggers to wait on 'em; but ever sence
that gal come into the house, my old woman's been in a desperate hurry
to have me sell her. But such an article don't lose nothing by waiting
awhile. I've some thoughts of taking a tramp to Texas one o' these
days; and I reckon a prime fancy article, like that ar, would bring a
fust-rate price in New Orleans."

The subject of his discourse was listening to what he said; and partly
from tremor at the import of his words, and partly from fear that she
should not place the dish of bacon and eggs to please her mistress, she
tipped it in setting it down, so that some of the fat was spilled upon
the table-cloth. Mrs. Jackson seized her and slapped her hard, several
times, on both sides of her head. The frightened child tried to escape,
as soon as she was released from her grasp, but, being ordered to
remain and wait upon table, she stood behind her mistress, carefully
suppressing her sobs, though unable to keep back the tears that trickled
down her cheeks. The traveller was hungry; but this sight was a damper
upon his appetite. He was indignant at seeing such a timid young
creature so roughly handled; but he dared not give utterance to his
emotions, for fear of increasing the persecution to which she was
subjected. Afterward, when his host and hostess were absent from the
room, and Louisa was clearing the table, impelled by a feeling of pity,
which he could not repress, he laid his hand gently upon her head, and
said, "Poor child!"

It was a simple phrase; but his kindly tones produced a mighty effect on
that suffering little soul. Her pent-up affections rushed forth like
a flood when the gates are opened. She threw herself into his arms,
nestled her head upon his breast, and sobbed out, "Oh, I have nobody to
love me now!" This outburst of feeling was so unexpected, that the
young man felt embarrassed, and knew not what to do. His aversion to
disagreeable scenes amounted to a weakness; and he knew, moreover, that,
if his hostess should become aware of his sympathy, her victim would
fare all the worse for it. Still, it was not in his nature to repel the
affection that yearned toward him with so overwhelming an impulse. He
placed his hand tenderly on her head, and said, in a soothing voice, "Be
quiet now, my little girl. I hear somebody coming; and you know your
mistress expects you to clear the table."

Mrs. Jackson was in fact approaching, and Louisa hastily resumed her
duties.

Had Mr. Noble been guilty of some culpable action, he could not have
felt more desirous to escape the observation of his hostess. As soon
as she entered, he took up his hat hastily, and went out to ascertain
whether his horse had been duly cared for.

He saw Louisa no more that night. But as he lay awake, looking at a star
that peeped in upon him through an opening in the log wall, he thought
of her beautiful eyes, when the sun shone upon them, as she emerged from
the shadows. He wished that his mother and sister were living, that they
might adopt the attractive child. Then he remembered that she was a
slave, reserved for the New Orleans market, and that it was not likely
his good mother could obtain her, if she were alive and willing to
undertake the charge. Sighing, as he had often done, to think how many
painful things there were which he had no power to remedy, he fell
asleep and saw a very small girl dancing with a pail of water, while
a flock of white doves were wheeling round her. The two pictures had
mingled on the floating cloud-canvas of dream-land.

He had paid for his entertainment before going to bed, and had signified
his intention to resume his journey as soon as light dawned. All was
silent in the house when he went forth; and out of doors nothing
was stirring but a dog that roused himself to bark after him, and
chanticleer perched on a stump to crow. He was, therefore, surprised to
find Louisa at the crib where his horse was feeding. Springing toward
him, she exclaimed,--

"Oh, you have come! Do buy me, Sir! I will be _so_ good! I will do
everything you tell me! Oh, I am so unhappy! Do buy me, Sir!"

He patted her on the head, and looked down compassionately into the
swimming eyes that were fixed so imploringly upon his.

"Buy you, my poor child?" he replied. "I have no house,--I have nothing
for you to do."

"My mother showed me how to sew some, and how to do some embroidery,"
she said, coaxingly. "I will learn to do it better, and I can earn
enough to buy something to eat. Oh, do buy me, Sir! Do take me with
you!"

"I cannot do that," he replied; "for I must go another day's journey
before I return to Mobile."

"Do you live in Mobile?" she exclaimed, eagerly. "My father lived in
Mobile. Once I tried to run away there, but they set the dogs after me.
Oh, do carry me back to Mobile!"

"What is your name?" said he; "and in what part of the city did you
live?"

"My name is Louisa Duncan; and my father lived at Pine Grove. It was
such a beautiful place! and I was _so_ happy there! Will you take me
back to Mobile? _Will_ you?"

Evading the question, he said,--

"Your name is Louisa, but your father called you Loo Loo, didn't he?"

That pet name brought forth a passionate outburst of tears. Her voice
choked, and choked again, as she sobbed out,--

"Nobody has ever called me Loo Loo since my father died."

He soothed her with gentle words, and she, looking up earnestly, as if
stirred by a sudden thought, exclaimed,--

"How did you _know_ my father called me Loo Loo?"

He smiled as he answered, "Then you don't remember a young man who ran
after you one day, when you were playing with a little white dog at Pine
Grove? and how your father called to you, 'Come here, Loo Loo, and see
the gentleman'?"

"I don't remember it," she replied; "but I remember how my father used
to laugh at me about it, long afterward. He said I was very young to
have gentlemen running after me."

"I am that gentleman," he said. "When I first looked at you, I thought I
had seen you before; and now I see plainly that you are Loo Loo."

That name was associated with so many tender memories, that she seemed
to hear her father's voice once more. She nestled close to her new
friend, and repeated, in most persuasive tones, "You _will_ buy me?
Won't you?"

"And your mother? What has become of her?" he asked.

"She died of yellow fever, two days before my father. I am all alone.
Nobody cares for me. You _will_ buy me,--won't you?"

"But tell me how you came here, my poor child," he said.

She answered, "I don't know. After my father died, a great many folks
came to the house, and they sold everything. They said my father was
uncle to Mr. Jackson, and that I belonged to him. But Mrs. Jackson won't
let me call Mr. Duncan my father. She says, if she ever hears of my
calling him so again, she'll whip me. Do let me be _your_ daughter! You
_will_ buy me,--won't you?"

Overcome by her entreaties, and by the pleading expression of those
beautiful eyes, he said, "Well, little teaser, I will see whether Mr.
Jackson will sell you to me. If he will, I will send for you before
long."

"Oh, don't _send_ for me!" she exclaimed, moving her hands up and down
with nervous rapidity. "Come _yourself_, and come _soon_. They'll carry
me to New Orleans, if _you_ don't come for me."

"Well, well, child, be quiet. If I can buy you, I will come for you
myself. Meanwhile, be a good girl. I won't forget you."

He stooped down, and sealed the promise with a kiss on her forehead.
As he raised his head, he became aware that Bill, the horse-boy, was
peeping in at the door, with a broad grin upon his black face. He
understood the meaning of that grin, and it seemed like an ugly imp
driving away a troop of fairies. He was about to speak angrily, but
checked himself with the reflection, "They will all think so. Black or
white, they will all think so. But what can I do? I _must_ save this
child from the fate that awaits her." To Bill he merely said that he
wished to see Mr. Jackson on business, and had, therefore, changed his
mind about starting before breakfast.

The bargain was not soon completed; for Mr. Jackson had formed large
ideas concerning the price "Leewizzy" would bring in the market; and
Bill had told the story of what he witnessed at the crib, with sundry
jocose additions, which elicited peals of laughter from his master. But
the orphan had won the young man's heart by the childlike confidence she
had manifested toward him, and conscience would not allow him to break
the solemn promise he had given her. After a protracted conference, he
agreed to pay eight hundred dollars, and to come for Louisa the next
week.

The appearance of the sun, after a long, cold storm, never made a
greater change than the announcement of this arrangement produced in the
countenance and manners of that desolate child. The expression of fear
vanished, and listlessness gave place to a springing elasticity of
motion. Mr. Noble could ill afford to spare so large a sum for the
luxury of benevolence, and he was well aware that the office of
protector, which he had taken upon himself, must necessarily prove
expensive. But when he witnessed her radiant happiness, he could not
regret that he had obeyed the generous impulse of his heart. Now, for
the first time, she was completely identified with the vision of that
fairy child who had so captivated his fancy four years before. He never
forgot the tones of her voice, and the expression of her eyes, when she
kissed his hand at parting, and said, "I thank you, Sir, for buying me."

SCENE III.

In a world like this, it is much easier to plan generous enterprises
than to carry them into effect. After Mr. Noble had purchased the child,
he knew not how to provide a suitable home for her. At first, he placed
her with his colored washerwoman. But if she remained in that situation,
though her bodily wants would be well cared for, she must necessarily
lose much of the refinement infused into her being by that early
environment of elegance, and that atmosphere of love. He did not enter
into any analysis of his motives in wishing her to be so far educated
as to be a pleasant companion for himself. The only question he asked
himself was, How he would like to have his sister treated, if she had
been placed in such unhappy circumstances. He knew very well what
construction would be put upon his proceedings, in a society where
handsome girls of such parentage were marketable; and he had so long
tacitly acquiesced in the customs around him, that he might easily have
viewed her in that light himself, had she not become invested with a
tender and sacred interest from the circumstances in which he had first
seen her, and the innocent, confiding manner in which she had implored
him to supply the place of her father. She was always presented to his
imagination as Mr. Duncan's beloved daughter, never as Mr. Jackson's
slave. He said to himself, "May God bless me according to my dealings
with this orphan! May I never prosper, if I take advantage of her
friendless situation!"

As for his _protegee_, she was too ignorant of the world to be disturbed
by any such thoughts. "May I call you Papa, as I used to call my
father?" said she.

For some reason, undefined to himself, the title was unpleasant to him.
It did not seem as if his sixteen years of seniority need place so wide
a distance between them. "No," he replied, "you shall be my sister." And
thenceforth she called him Brother Alfred, and he called her Loo Loo.

His curiosity was naturally excited to learn all he could of her
history; and it was not long before he ascertained that her mother was a
superbly handsome quadroon, from New Orleans, the daughter of a French
merchant, who had given her many advantages of education, but from
carelessness had left her to follow the condition of her mother, who
was a slave. Mr. Duncan fell in love with her, bought her, and remained
strongly attached to her until the day of her death. It had always
been his intention to manumit her, but, from inveterate habits of
procrastination, he deferred it, till the fatal fever attacked them
both; and so _his_ child also was left to "follow the condition of her
mother." Having neglected to make a will, his property was divided among
the sons of sisters married at a distance from him, and thus the little
daughter, whom he had so fondly cherished, became the property of Mr.
Jackson, who valued her as he would a handsome colt likely to bring
a high price in the market. She was too young to understand all the
degradation to which she would be subjected, but she had once witnessed
an auction of slaves, and the idea of being sold filled her with terror.
She had endured six months of corroding homesickness and constant fear,
when Mr. Noble came to her rescue.

After a few weeks passed with the colored washerwoman, she was placed
with an elderly French widow, who was glad to eke out her small income
by taking motherly care of her, and giving her instruction in music
and French. The caste to which she belonged on the mother's side was
rigorously excluded from schools, therefore it was not easy to obtain
for her a good education in the English branches. These Alfred took upon
himself; and a large portion of his evenings was devoted to hearing her
lessons in geography, arithmetic, and history. Had any one told him,
a year before, that hours thus spent would have proved otherwise than
tedious, he would not have believed it. But there was a romantic charm
about this secret treasure, thus singularly placed at his disposal; and
the love and gratitude he inspired gradually became a necessity of his
life. Sometimes he felt sad to think that the time must come when she
would cease to be a child, and when the quiet, simple relation now
existing between them must necessarily change. He said to the old French
lady, "By and by, when I can afford it, I will send her to one of the
best schools at the North. There she can become a teacher and take care
of herself." Madame Labasse smiled, shrugged her shoulders, and said,
"_Nous verrons_." She did not believe it.

The years glided on, and all went prosperously with the young merchant.
Through various conflicts with himself, his honorable resolution
remained unbroken. Loo Loo was still his sister. She had become
completely entwined with his existence. Life would have been very dull
without her affectionate greetings, her pleasant little songs, and the
graceful dances she had learned to perform so well. Sometimes, when he
had passed a peculiarly happy evening in this fashion, Madame Labasse
would look mischievous, and say, "But when do you think you shall send
her to that school?" True, she did not often repeat this experiment; for
whenever she did it, the light went out of his countenance, as if an
extinguisher were placed upon his soul. "I _ought_ to do it," he said
within himself; "but how _can_ I live without her?" The French widow was
the only person aware how romantic and how serious was this long
episode in his life. Some gentlemen, whom he frequently met in business
relations, knew that he had purchased a young slave, whom he had placed
with a French woman to be educated; but had he told them the true state
of the case, they would have smiled incredulously. Occasionally, they
uttered some joke about the fascination which made him so indifferent
to cards and horses; but the reserve with which he received such jests
checked conversation on the subject, and all, except Mr. Grossman,
discontinued such attacks, after one or two experiments.

As Mr. Noble's wealth increased, the wish grew stronger to place Louisa
in the midst of as much elegance as had surrounded her in childhood.
When the house at Pine Grove was unoccupied, they often went out there,
and it was his delight to see her stand under the Gothic arch of trees,
a beautiful _tableau vivant_, framed in vines. It was a place so full
of heart-memories to her, that she always lingered there as long as
possible, and never left it without a sigh. In one place was a tree her
father had planted, in another a rose or a jessamine her mother had
trained. But dearest of all was a recess among the pine-trees, on the
side of a hill. There was a rustic garden-chair, where her father had
often sat with her upon his knee, reading wonderful story-books, bought
for her on his summer excursions to New York or Boston. In one of her
visits with Alfred, she sat there and read aloud from "Lalla Rookh."
It was a mild winter day. The sunlight came mellowed through the
evergreens, a soft carpet of scarlet foliage was thickly strewn beneath
their feet, and the air was redolent of the balmy breath of pines. Fresh
and happy in the glow of her fifteen summers, how could she otherwise
than enjoy the poem? It was like sparkling wine in a jewelled goblet.
Never before had she read anything aloud in tones so musically
modulated, so full of feeling. And the listener? How worked the wine in
_him?_ A voice within said, "Remember your vow, Alfred! this charming
Loo Loo is your adopted sister"; and he tried to listen to the warning.
She did not notice his tremor, when he rose hastily and said, "The sun
is nearly setting. It is time for my sister to go home."

"Home?" she repeated, with a sigh. "_This_ is my home. I wish I could
stay here always. I feel as if the spirits of my father and mother were
with us here." Had she sighed for an ivory palace inlaid with gold, he
would have wished to give it to her,--he was so much in love!

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