Atlantic Monthly, Volume 8, No. 47, September, 1861 by Various

V >> Various >> Atlantic Monthly, Volume 8, No. 47, September, 1861

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20

"What a d--d fool!"

I was glad to perceive that he began to admit my wisdom and his
stolidity. And so I told him.

"A---," said he, using my abhorred name in full, "I believe you are a
greater ass than your father was."

"Sir," said I, much displeased, "these intemperate ebullitions will
necessarily terminate our conference."

"Conference be hanged!" he rejoined. "You may as well give it up. You
are not going to get the first red cent out of me."

"Have I referred, Sir," said I, "to the inelegant coin you name?"

The creature grinned. "I shall pay your mother's income quarterly, and
do the best I can by her," he continued; "and if you want to make a
man of yourself, I'll give you a chance in the bakery with me; or Sam
Bratley will take you into his brewery; or Bob into his pork-packery."

I checked my indignation. The vulgarian wished to drag me, a Chylde,
down to the Bratley level. But I suppressed my wrath, for fear he might
find some pretext for suppressing the quarterly income, and alleged my
delicate health as a reason for my refusing his insulting offer.

"Well," said he, "I don't see as there is anything else for you to do,
except to find some woman fool enough to marry you, as Betsey did your
father. There's a hundred dollars!"

I have seldom seen dirtier bills than those he produced and handed to
me. Fortunately I was in deep mourning and my gloves were dark lead
color.

"That's right," says he,--"grab 'em and fob 'em. Now go to Newport and
try for an heiress, and don't let me see your tallow face inside of my
door for a year."

He had bought the right to be despotic and abusive. I withdrew and
departed, ruminating on his advice. Singularly, I had not before thought
of marrying. I resolved to do so at once.

Newport is the mart where the marriageable meet. I took my departure for
Newport next day.

II.

THE HEROINE.

I need hardly say, that, on arriving at Newport, one foggy August
morning, I drove at once to the Millard.

The Millard attracted me for three reasons: First, it was new; second,
it was fashionable; third, the name would be sure to be in favor with
the class I had resolved to seek my spouse among. The term _spouse_ I
select as somewhat less familiar than _wife_, somewhat more permanent
than _bride_, and somewhat less amatory than _the partner of my bosom_.
I wish my style to be elevated, accurate, and decorous. It is my object,
as the reader will have already observed, to convey heroic sentiments in
the finest possible language.

It was upon some favored individual of the class Southern Heiress that
I designed to let fall the embroidered handkerchief of affectionate
selection. At the Millard I was sure to find her. That enormously
wealthy and highly distinguished gentleman, her father, would naturally
avoid the Ocean House. The adjective _free_, so intimately connected
with the _substantive_ ocean, would constantly occur to his mind and
wound his sensibilities. The Atlantic House was still more out of the
question. The name must perpetually remind the tenants of that hotel of
a certain quite objectionable periodical devoted to propagandism. In
short, not to pursue this process of elimination farther, and perhaps
offend some friend of the class Hotel-Keeper, the Millard was not only
about the cheese, _per se_,--I punningly allude here to the creaminess
of its society,--but inevitably the place to seek my charmer.

The clock of the Millard was striking eleven as I entered the _salle a
manger_ for a late breakfast after my night-journey from New York by
steamboat.

I flatter myself that I produced, as I intended, a distinct impression.
My deep mourning gave me a most interesting look, which I heightened
by an air of languor and abstraction as of one lost in grief. My
shirt-studs were jet. The plaits of my shirt were edged with black. My
Clarendon was, of course, black, and from its breast-pocket appeared a
handkerchief dotted with spots, not dissimilar to black peppermint-drops
on a white paper. In consequence of the extreme heat of the season, I
wore waistcoat and trousers of white duck; but they, too, were qualified
with sombre contrasts of binding and stripes.

The waiters evidently remarked me. It may have been the hope of
pecuniary reward, it may have been merely admiration for my dress and
person; but several rushed forward, diffusing that slightly oleaginous
perfume peculiar to the waiter, and drew chairs for me.

I had, however, selected my position at the table at the moment of
my entrance. It was _vis-a-vis_ a party of four persons,--two of the
sterner, two of the softer sex. A back view interpreted them to me.
There is much physiognomy in the backs of human heads, because--and here
I flatter myself that I enunciate a profound truth--people wear that
well-known mask, the human countenance, on the front of the human head
alone, and think it necessary to provide such concealment nowhere else.

"A rich Southern planter and his family!" I said to myself, and took my
seat opposite them.

"Nothing, Michel," I replied to the waiter's recital of his
bill-of-fare. "Nothing but a glass of iced water and bit of dry toast.
Only that, thank you, Michel."

My appetite was good, particularly as, in consequence of the agitation
of the water opposite Point Judith, my stomach had ceased to be occupied
with relics of previous meals. My object in denying myself, and
accepting simply hermit fare, was to convey to observers my grief for my
bereavement. I have always deemed it proper for persons of distinguished
birth to deplore the loss of friends in public. Hunger, if extreme, can
always be reduced by furtive supplies from the pastry-cook.

I could not avoid observing that the party opposite had each gone
through the whole breakfast bill-of-fare in a desultory, but exhaustive
manner.

As I ordered my more delicate meal, the younger of the two gentlemen
cast upon me a look of latent truculence, such as I have often remarked
among my compatriots of the South. He seemed to detect an unexpressed
sarcasm in the contrast between my gentle refection and his robust
_dejeuner_.

I hastened to disarm such a suspicion by a half-articulate sigh. No one,
however crass, could have failed to be touched by this token of a grief
so bitter as to refuse luxurious nutriment.

As I sighed, I glanced with tender meaning at the young lady. Her
feminine heart, I hoped, would interpret and pity me.

I fancied, that, at my look, her cheeks, though swarthy, blushed. She
was certainly interested, and somewhat confused, and paused a moment
in her mastication. Ham was the viand she was engaged upon, and she
(playfully, I have no doubt) ate with her knife. I have remarked the
same occasional superiority to what might be called Fourchettism and its
prejudices in others of established position in society.

I lavished a little languid and not too condescending civility upon the
party by passing them, when Michel was absent, the salt, the butter, the
bread, and other commonplace condiments. Presently I withdrew, that my
absence might make me desired. Before I did so, however, I took pains,
by the exhibition of the "New York Herald" in my hands, to show that my
political sentiments were unexceptionable.

I lost no time in consulting the books of the hotel for the names and
homes of the strangers.

I read as follows:--

_Sachary Mellasys and Lady, } Bayou La
Miss Saccharissa Mellasys, } Farouche,
Mellasys Plickaman, } La._

Saccharissa Mellasys! I rolled the name like a sweet morsel under
my tongue. I forgot that she was not beautiful in form, feature, or
complexion. How slight, indeed, is the charm of beauty, when compared
with other charms more permanent! Ah, yes!

The complexion of Miss Mellasys announced a diet of alternate pickles
and _pralines_ during her adolescent years,--the pickles taken to excite
an appetite for the _pralines_, the _pralines_ absorbed to occupy the
interval until pickle-time approached. Neither her form nor her features
were statuesque. But the name glorified the person.

Sachary Mellasys was, as I was well aware, the great sugar-planter of
Louisiana, and Saccharissa his only child.

I am an imaginative man. I have never doubted, that, if I should ever
give my fancies words, they would rank with the great creations of
genius. At the dulcet name of Mellasys a fairy scene grew before
my eyes. I seemed to see an army of merry negroes cultivating the
sugar-cane to the inspiring music of a banjo band. Ever and anon a
company of the careless creatures would pause and dance for pure
gayety of heart. Then they would recline under the shade of the wild
bandanna-tree,--I know this vegetable only through the artless poetry of
the negro minstrels,--while sleek and sprightly negresses, decked with
innocent finery, served them beakers of iced _eau sucre_.

As I was shaping this Arcadian vision, Mr. Mellasys passed me on his
way to the bar-room. I hastened to follow, without the appearance of
intention.

My reader is no doubt aware that at the fashionable bar-room the cigars
are all of the same quality, though the prices mount according to the
ambition of the purchaser. I found Mr. Mellasys gasping with efforts to
light a dime cigar. Between his gasps, profane expressions escaped him.

"Sir," said I, "allow a stranger to offer you a better article."

At the same time I presented my case filled with choice
Cabanas,--smuggled. My limited means oblige me to employ these judicious
economies.

Mr. Mellasys took a cigar, lighted, whiffed, looked at me, whiffed
again,--

"Sir," says he, "dashed if that a'n't the best cigar I've smoked sence I
quit Bayou La Farouche!"

"Ah! a Southerner!" said I. "Pray, allow the harmless weed to serve as a
token of amity between our respective sections."

Mr. Mellasys grasped my hand.

"Take a drink, Mr. ----?" said he.

"Bratley Chylde," rejoined I, filling the hiatus,--"and I shall be most
happy."

The name evidently struck him. It was a combination of all aristocracy
and all plutocracy. As I gave my name, I produced and presented my card.
I was aware, that, with the uncultured, the possession of a card is a
proof of gentility, as the wearing of a coat-of-arms proves a long line
of distinguished ancestry.

Mr. Mellasys took my card, studied it, and believed in it with
refreshing _naivete_.

"I'm proud to know you, Mr. Chylde," said he. "I haven't a card;
but Mellasys is my name, and I'll show it to you written on the
hotel-books."

"We will waive that ceremony," said I. "And allow me to welcome you to
Newport and the Millard. Shall we enjoy the breeze upon the piazza?"

Before our second cigar was smoked, the great planter and I were on the
friendliest terms. My political sentiments he found precisely in accord
with his own. Indeed, our general views of life harmonized.

"I dare say you have heard," said Mellasys, "from some of the bloated
aristocrats of my section that I was a slave-dealer once."

"Such a rumor has reached me," rejoined I. "And I was surprised to find,
that, in some minds of limited intelligence and without development of
the logical faculty, there was a prejudice against the business."

"You think that buyin' and sellin' 'em is just the same as ownin' 'em?"

"I do."

"Your hand!" said he, fervently.

"Mr. Mellasys," said I, "let me take this opportunity to lay down my
platform,--allow me the playful expression. Meeting a gentleman of your
intelligence from the sunny South, I desire to express my sentiments as
a Christian and a gentleman."

Here I thought it well to pause and spit, to keep myself in harmony with
my friend.

"A gentleman," I continued, "I take to be one who confines himself to
the cultivation of his tastes, the decoration of his person, and the
preparation of his whole being to shine in the _salon_. Now to such
a one the condition of the laboring classes can be of no possible
interest. As a gentleman, I cannot recognize either slaves or laborers.
But here Christianity comes in. Christianity requires me to read and
interpret my Bible. In it I find such touching paragraphs as, 'Cursed
be Canaan!' Canaan is of course the negro slave of our Southern States.
Curse him! then, I say. Let us have no weak and illogical attempts to
elevate his condition. Such sentimentalism is rank irreligion. I view
the negro as _a man permanently upon the rack_, who is to be punished
just as much as he will bear without diminishing his pecuniary value.
And the allotted method of punishment is hard work, hard fare, the
liberal use of the whip, and a general negation of domestic privileges."

"Mr. Chylde," said Mr. Mellasys, rising, "this is truth! this is
eloquence! this is being up to snuff! You are a high-toned gentleman!
you are an old-fashioned Christian! you should have been my partner in
slave-driving! Your hand!"

The quality of the Mellasys hand was an oleaginous clamminess. My only
satisfaction, in touching it, was, that it seemed to suggest a deficient
circulation of the blood. Mr. Mellasys would probably go off early with
an apoplexy, and the husband of Miss Mellasys would inherit without
delay.

"And now," continued the planter, "let me introduce you to my daughter."

I felt that my fortune was made.

I knew that she would speedily yield to my fascinations.

And so it proved. In three days she adored me. For three days more I was
coy. In a week she was mine.

III.

THE SUNNY SOUTH.

We were betrothed, Saccharissa Mellasys and I.

In vain did Mellasys Plickaman glower along the corridors of the
Millard. I pitied him for his defeat too much to notice his attempts
to pick a quarrel. Firm in the affection of my Saccharissa and in the
confidence of her father, I waived the insults of the aggrieved and
truculent cousin. He had lost the heiress. I had won her. I could afford
to be generous.

We were to be married in December, at Bayou La Farouche. Then we were
to sail at once for Europe. Then, after a proud progress through the
principal courts, we were to return and inhabit a stately mansion in New
York. How the heart of my Saccharissa throbbed at the thought of bearing
the elevated name of Chylde and being admitted to the sacred circles of
fashion, as peer of the most elevated in social position!

I found no difficulty in getting a liberal credit from my tailor. Upon
the mere mention of my engagement, that worthy artist not only provided
me with an abundant supply of raiment, but, with a most charming
delicacy, placed bank-notes for a considerable amount in the pockets
of my new trousers. I was greatly touched by this attention, and very
gladly signed an acknowledgment of debt.

I regret, that, owing to circumstances hereafter to be mentioned, the
diary kept jointly by Saccharissa and myself during our journey to the
sunny South has passed out of my possession. Its pages overflowed with
tenderness. How beautiful were our dreams of the balls and _soirees_ we
were to give! How we discussed the style of our furniture, our carriage,
and our coachman! How I fed Saccharissa's soul with adulation! She
was ugly, she was vulgar, she was jealous, she was base, she had had
flirtations of an intimate character with scores; but she was rich, and
I made great allowances.

At last we arrived at Bayou La Farouche.

I cannot state that the locality is an attractive one. Its land scenery
is composed of alligators and mud in nearly equal proportions.

I never beheld there my fancy realized of a band of gleeful negroes
hoeing cane to the music of the banjo. There are no wild bandanna-trees,
and no tame ones, either. The slaves of Mr. Mellasys never danced,
except under the whip of a very noisome person who acted as overseer.
There were no sleek and sprightly negresses in gay turbans, and no iced
_eau sucre_. Canaan was cursed with religious rigor on the Mellasys
plantation at Bayou La Farouche.

All this time Mellasys Plickaman had been my _bete noir_.

I know nothing of politics. Were our country properly constituted,
I should be in the House of Peers. The Chylde family is of sublime
antiquity, and I am its head in America. But, alas! we have no
hereditary legislators; and though I feel myself competent to wear the
strawberry-leaves, or even to sit upon a throne, I have not been willing
to submit to the unsavory contacts of American political life. Mr.
Mellasys Plickaman took advantage of my ignorance.

When several gentlemen of the neighborhood were calling upon me in the
absence of Mr. Mellasys, my defeated rival introduced the subject of
politics.

"I suppose you are a good Democrat, Mr. Chylde?" said one of the
strangers.

"No, I thank you," replied I, sportively,--meaning, of course, that
they should understand I was a good Aristocrat.

"Who's your man for President?" my interlocutor continued, rather
roughly.

I had heard in conversation, without giving the fact much attention,
that an election for President was to take place in a few days. These
struggles of commonplace individuals for the privilege of residing in
a vulgar town like Washington were without interest to me. So I
answered,--

"Oh, any of them. They are all alike to me."

"You don't mean to say," here another of the party loudly broke in,
"that Breckenridge and Lincoln are the same to you?"

The young man wore long hair and a black dress-coat, though it was
morning. His voice was nasal, and his manner intrusive. I crushed
him with a languid "Yes." He was evidently abashed, and covered his
confusion by lighting a cigar and smoking it with the lighted end in
his mouth. This is a habit of many persons in the South, who hence are
called Fire-Eaters.

Mellasys Plickaman here changed the subject to horses, which I _do_
understand, and my visitors presently departed.

"How happily the days of Thalaba went by!"

as the poet has it. My Saccharissa and myself are both persons of a
romantic and dreamy nature. Often for hours we would sit and gaze
upon each other with only occasional interjections,--"How warm!" "How
sleepy!" "Is it not almost time for lunch?" As Saccharissa was not in
herself a beautiful object, I accustomed myself to see her merely as a
representative of value. Her yellowish complexion helped me in imagining
her, as it were, a golden image which might be cut up and melted down.
I used to fancy her dresses as made of certificates of stock, and
her ribbons as strips of coupons. Thus she was always an agreeable
spectacle.

So time flew, and the sun of the sixth of November gleamed across the
scaly backs of the alligators of Bayou La Farouche.

In three days I was to be made happy with the possession of one
hundred thousand dollars ($100,000) on the nail,--excuse the homely
expression,--great expectations for the future, and the hand of my
Saccharissa.

For these I exchanged the name and social position of a Chylde, and my
own, I trust, not unattractive person.

I deemed that I gave myself away dirt-cheap,--excuse again the
colloquialism; the transaction seems to require such a phrase,--for
there is no doubt that Mr. Mellasys was greatly objectionable. It was
certainly very illogical; but his neighbors who owned slaves insisted
upon turning up their noses at Mellasys, because he still kept up his
slave-pen on Touchpitchalas Street, New Orleans. Besides,--and here
again the want of logic seems to culminate into rank absurdity,--he was
viewed with a purely sentimental abhorrence by some, because he had
precluded a reclaimed fugitive from repeating his evasion by roasting
the soles of his feet before a fire until the fellow actually died. The
fact, of coarse, was unpleasant, and the loss considerable,--a prime
field-hand, with some knowledge of carpentry and a good performer on
the violin,--but evasions must be checked, and I cannot see why Mr.
Mellasys's method was too severe. Mr. Mellasys was also considered a
very unscrupulous person in financial transactions,--indeed, what would
be named in some communities a swindler; and I have heard it whispered
that the estimable, but somewhat obese and drowsy person who passed as
his wife was not a wife, ceremonially speaking. The dusky hues of her
complexion were also attributed to an infusion of African blood. There
was certainly more curl in her hair than I could have wished; and
Saccharissa's wiggy looks waged an irrepressible conflict with the
unguents which strove to reduce their crispness.

Indeed, why should I not be candid? Mellasys _per se_ was a pill, Mrs.
Mellasys was a dose, and Saccharissa a bolus, to one of my refined and
sensitive taste.

But the sugar coated them.

To marry the daughter of the great sugar-planter of Louisiana I would
have taken medicines far more unpalatable and assafoetidesque than any
thus far offered.

Meanwhile Mr. Mellasys Plickaman, cousin of my betrothed, had changed
his tactics and treated me with civility and confidence. We drank
together freely, sometimes to the point of inebriation. Indeed, unless
he put me to bed, on the evening before the day of the events I am about
to describe, I do not know how I got there.

Morning dawned on the sixth of November.

I was awakened, as usual, by the outcries of the refractory negroes
receiving their matinal stripes in the whipping-house. Feeling a little
languid and tame, I strolled down to witness the spectacle.

It stimulated me quite agreeably. The African cannot avoid being comic.
He is the grotesque element in our civilization. He will be droll even
under the severest punishment. His contortions of body, his grimaces,
his ejaculations of "O Lor'! O Massa!" as the paddle or the lash strikes
his flesh, are laughable in the extreme.

I witnessed the flagellation of several pieces of property of either
sex. The sight of their beating had the effect of a gentle tickling upon
me. The tone of my system was restored. I grew gay and lightsome. I
exchanged jokes with the overseer. He appreciated my mood, and gave a
farcical turn to the incidents of the occasion.

I enjoyed my breakfast enormously. Saccharissa never looked so sweet;
Mr. Mellasys never so little like--pardon the expression--a cross
between a hog and a hyena; and I began to fancy that my mother-in-law's
general flabbiness of flesh and drapery was not so very offensive.

After breakfast, Mr. Mellasys left us. It was, he said, the day of the
election for President. How wretched that America should not be governed
by hereditary sovereigns and an order of nobles trained to control!

The day passed. It was afternoon, and I sat reading one of the novels
of my favorite De Balzac to my Saccharissa. At the same time my
imagination, following the author, strayed to Paris, and recalled to me
my bachelor joys in that gay capital. I resolved to repeat them again,
on our arrival there, at my bride's expense. How charming to possess a
hundred thousand dollars, ($100,000,) even burdened with a wife!

My reading and my reverie were interrupted by the tramp of horses
without. Six persons in dress-coats rode up, dismounted, and approached.
All were smoking cigars with the lighted ends in their mouths. Mellasys
Plickaman led the party. I recognized also the persons who had
questioned me as to my politics. They entered the apartment where I sat
alone with Saccharissa.

"Thar he is!" said Mellasys Plickaman. "Thar is the d--d Abolitionist!"

Seeing that he indicated me, and that his voice was truculent, I
looked to my betrothed for protection. She burst into tears and drew a
handkerchief.

An odor of musk combated for an instant with the whiskey reek diffused
by Mr. Plickaman and his companions. The balmy odor was, however,
quelled by the ruder scent.

"I am surprised, Mr. Plickaman," said I, mildly, but conscious of
tremors, "at your use of opprobrious epithets in the presence of a
lady."

"Oh, you be blowed!" returned he, with unpardonable rudeness. "You can't
skulk behind Saccharissy."

"To what is this change in tone and demeanor owing, Sir?" I asked, with
dignity.

"Don't take on airs, you little squirt!" said he.

It will be observed that I quote his very language. His intention was
evidently insulting.

"Mr. Chylde," remarked Judge Pyke, one of the gentlemen who had been
inquisitive as to my political sentiments, "The Vigilance Committee of
Fire-Eaters of Bayou La Farouche have come to the conclusion that you
are a spy, an Abolitionist, and a friend of Beecher and Phillips. We
intend to give you a fair trial; but I may as well state that we have
all made up our minds as to the law, the facts, and the sentence.
Therefore, prepare for justice. Colonel Plickaman, have you given
directions about the tar?"

"It'll be b'ilin' in about eight minutes," replied my quondam rival,
with a boo-hoo of vulgar laughter.

"Culprit!" said Judge Pyke, looking at me with a truly terrible
expression, "I have myself heard you avow, with insolent audacity,
that you were not a Democrat. Do you not know, Sir, that nothing but
Democrats are allowed to breathe the zephyrs of Louisiana? Silence,
culprit! Not a word! The court cannot be interrupted. I have also heard
you state that the immortal Breckenridge, Kentucky's favorite son,
was the same to you as the tiger Lincoln, the deadly foe of Southern
institutions. Silence, culprit!"

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20