Linda : or, The young pilot of Belle Creole

Front matter

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Chapter I

Linda Walton, at eight years of age, was the most spoiled, petted, warm-hearted, impulsive, generous little tyrant that ever ruled over a Southern plantation. Her mother, a lovely, gentle, pious woman, was the only being that could bend her strong will, direct her wild impulses, and counteract, as far as possible, by firm, yet mild discipline, the baneful effect of her father's excessive indulgence. Little Linda had the misfortune to be a great heiress, for her grandfather, who resided in Louisiana, had bequeathed her a large plantation in one of those rich, luxuriant plains on the banks of the Mississippi, which are fertile as the borders of the Nile, with an hundred and fifty negroes, to convert, by their labour, the cotton, sugar, and rice into accumulating gold. But a far greater, deeper misfortune befell her, about one year previous to the period we have chosen to present our young heiress to the reader. That lovely, gentle, pious mother, who exercised such holy influence on the mind and heart of her child, was taken from her by death, and Linda was left to the guardianship of a father, whosb days were passed in superintending his cotton and iris negroes, and whose evening amusement it was to pet and caress the little orphan, whose beauty and quick intelligence were his pride and delight. But the prime minister of the household was Aunt Judy, her nurse, since promoted to the rank of housekeeper. Linda had loved her mother as few children of her age can love, and her grief at her death was so wild and extraordinary that the negroes regarded her for a time with superstitious terror.

The child, who, in the fearlessness of her sorrow, would go and sit for hours on her mother's grave, was an enigma they could not solve. Mrs. Walton had kept Linda so constantly under her own surveillance, forbidding in her presence those awful stories of ghosts and phantoms that so often freeze the young blood, and palsy the bounding limbs of childhood, that Linda had never yet been led, by the hand of ignorance, into the dark regions of the spirit-laud. She remembered her mother's face, as if it had been the face of an angel, such as she had last seen it, so white, so pure, with that sweet glimmering smile death leaves on the lineaments of human loveliness. For a while, this holy presence was with her during the long day, and in the dreams of night. She was afraid to be passionate and rebellious, lest that sweet, sad smile should vanish from those pale lips. But if time effaces the characters engraven on the granite surface of man's heart, how much sooner will it sweep over those prints traced in sand — the impressions of childhood ? A little while, the angel-face came not near her in the sunshine of day, but when the shadows of night deepened round her, it would bend meekly over her and seem to listen to her evening prayer. A little longer, and Linda learned to revel in the joy of independence, to issue her little imperious command ; sure no mild voice would reprove, no gentle hand restrain, and she tried to forget the mother, who, had she lived, would have rebuked her waywardness and controlled her will. *But no matter how self-willed Linda might be, let Aunt Judy but bind up her head with jimson leaves, and say she felt " mighty poorly," she would glide noiselessly round her, hang tenderly on her sable neck, or pat her dark cheeks with her velvet hands. Sickness and sorrow were sacred things to her — and passion and pride subsided in their presence. Such was Linda at eight years old, such were the influences that acted on her childhood.

One evening Mr. Walton seemed more thoughtful than usual. He ate his supper in silence, took Linda upon his knee, and watched with ominous interest the motions of Judy, who always presided with aristocratic dignity over the ablutions of the tea-cups, having two young negroes under her especial training, who treated her with most deferential respect, though they rolled their black eyes and showed their white teeth metaphorically behind her back. It was evident from Aunt Judy's air and style of dress, that she belonged to the ancient regime, the class of family servants who are admitted into the confidence of their master's household and are treated with kindness and affectionate familiarity. She always wore a stiff white turban coiled round her head, in the fashion of a cornucopia— a nice, starched, checked apron, and carried a white napkin suspended over her left arm. Her African blood had not been corrupted by the base mingling of a paler stream. Black as ebony was her smooth and shining skin, on which the dazzling ivory of her teeth threw gleams bright as the moon on midnight. Judy had loved her gentle mistress : nay, more than loved — adored, reverenced her, as a being of a superior, holier race than her own. She mourned her death with the most unaffected grief, though she said it was a sin in her to mourn after her, for " mistress had appeared to her, the night after she died, with beautiful shining wings on her back, and told her she was gone to heaven, and that she must come and meet her there."

Sincere and lasting as was the sorrow of Judy, she derived great satisfaction from the household dignity with which she was invested. In the morning, her white turban was seen shooting with meteoric swiftness from room to room, while a little negro trotted behind her, jingling a basket of keys, and Linda, like a stray sunbeam, played round and about them, the pet and darling of all.

This evening Judy knew, by a kind of intuition, that there was something on her master's mind that he wished to communicate. The manner in which he glanced into the fire — oh ! the glorious light-wood blaze ! — how it illuminates every nook and corner of the room ! — what comfort and beauty and radiance it imparts to the cool, autumnal nights, while through the open windows steals the mild fragrance of departing summer ! The rays from the silver candelabras, the glittering chandeliers, are pale and cold to the effulgence of the light wood fire. It is the glory of the South. By this the dark cabin of the negro is lighted up as gorgeously as the halls of his master ; and with one of these magnificent torches, he can thread the thick labyrinths of the pine forests with unerring footstep. What lonely traveller ever passed near the Southern planter's habitation, in the darkness of night, that did not bless the hospitable beacon blaze that sunned the shadows of his path? Those tall posts, with three spreading feet, like the tripod of the Grecian Pythoness, surmounted by burning pine-knots, placed here and there in the spacious yard, seen through the tall, cone-shaped trees, are so many brilliant stars, cheering the forest gloom.

" Linda," said Mr. "Walton, " would you not like to have a new mother V

" A new mother !" repeated Linda, fixing her large, brown eyes in unutterable wonder on his face. "Where is she going to come from V

u There is a very nice lady who lives somewhere on this river, who says she is willing to be a kind mother to you, and I hope you will love her very much, and be a very good, quiet, and obedient little girl."

" When is she coming ? How big is she ? Does she look like my own dear mamma ?" cried Linda, out of breath with wonder and curiosity.

Judy gave Minta such a sudden twitch of the ear, that the cup she was wiping dropped from her hand and dashed to pieces on the floor. It was fortunate that Judy found a legitimate channel in which her wrath could find vent, for the idea of a new mistress, who might deprive her of all her household honours, was hateful to her. She gave the unfortunate delinquent several smart slaps on either side of the head, muttering between each blow —

" You good for nothing, no account nigger ; go long into the kitchen this minute. New mistress, sure enough. Well, well, old Judy's tired enough toting the keys from morning till night. 'Spose master thinks she not take care of things — no treat Miss Linda proper enough. Oh, dear, dear — the Lord have mercy on us ! Poor, dear mistress ! When she come with her beautiful spread-out wings and told me to meet her in heaven, I didn't 'spect — oh dear !"

Here the faithful creature, as if impressed with a presentiment of the evils which would follow the stranger's advent, bowed her head in her lap, and rocking to and fro, began to weep bitterly.

Linda slid with lightning rapidity from her father's arms, and buried her head in the lap of her nurse.

" I won't have a new mamma," cried she. " Pa shan' bring her here. I won't have an ugly, old woman, instead of my sweet, pretty mamma. I won't be a good girl ; I won't mind her; that I won't."

" Linda," said Mr. Walton, " you must not talk in that way, or I shall not love you any more ; and Judy, it is very wrong in you to talk so before the child. I'm not at all dissatisfied with your services. I know you are faithful and honest, and do all you can for Linda and myself; but if I choose to get me a wife, you have neither of you a right to dictate. It is for Linda's good, and for the good of the household. She is a lady of fortune, a widow, with one son — "

" A son !" exclaimed Linda, lifting her head ; " how big is he ?"

" Oh, he is a big boy of thirteen or fourteen, who will be a brother to you, and teach you how to ride on the poney, and hunt squirrels in the wood."

Linda smiled through her tears, but Judy groaned louder than ever at the idea of the big boy, whose muddy shoes were going to track her shining waxed floor, and litter her clean-swept yard.

"I shall leave home to-morrow," continued Mr. Walton, " and I expect to find every thing in the best order on my return. Judy, see that your finest linen and whitest counterpanes are brought into service. Have a plenty of nice cakes and pies prepared, and dress my little girl in her prettiest. I know she wants her new brother to love her, and she will be a good girl for my sake."

Mr. Walton was one of those easy, good-natured men, whose equilibrium was never disturbed by the impulses of passion, and whose will was easily swayed by the will of others. Conscious of the extreme flexibility of his character, and fearing opposition exactly where he had met it, he had taken the precaution to arrange every thing before mentioning the subject, so that it would be impossible for him to recede with honour. The lady who had been recommended to him was very wealthy, had the reputation of being one of the best manageiv in the country, raised the most cotton, had the best disciplined negroes, was a doting mother to her own only son, and consequently must be a tender one to his only orphan daughter.

Mr. Walton's affairs were getting into disorder, — his over- Eeer was inefficient, his negroes becoming idle and unruly, Linda terribly spoiled, and Judy growing entirely too consequential. The lady in question would remedy all these evils. Her feminine but powerful influence would harmonize every jarring element, and his days would glide away in tranquil happiness.

Linda, with the quick-changing feelings of childhood, began to think with pleasure of her new brother, and plan many excursions in which he was to be her protector and guide. She was sorry he was so old and so big ; but then he could wait upon her better, and carry her over the brooklets, and climb the trees for her, to get nuts and fruit. The image of a new mother, too, softened down into something that she longed to love. Notwithstanding her passionate assertion that she would not be good, she made an inward resolution that she would be so, for her strong affections yearned for more objects on which to shed their living warmth.

Judy, too, finding the evil inevitable, endeavoured to cultivate the grace of submission. She unlocked the store of snowy white linen, spread out the finest counterpanes, brightened up the family silver, and made most remarkable preparations for a wedding feast. There was a perfect tempest in the kitchen among the rolling pins and beating sticks, a deadly massacre in the poultry yard. The little negroes were poking their woolly heads into the crannies and hollows after eggs, and Linda, in spite of Judy's remonstrances and prophecies that she would get sunburned and freckled, would be the first in every nest, no matter where it mignt be situated. At length all was ready. The floor shone like mirrors in their waxen varnish, through which their rich, dark veins traced bold and graceful figures, resembling the finest ara« besque ; white curtains were tastefully festooned each side of the windows, showing the delicate leaf-work of the vines that clambered round the frames ; green, odoriferous pine-bougha filled the chimneys, though at night to be displaced by the blazing knot ; vases of flowers ornamented the mantel-pieces and tables, and even the shelf in the passage, where the brassbound bucket, with its silver-chased cocoa-nut shell-gourd, was always placed, was adorned in the same floral manner. The negroes, in their holiday dresses, were standing on logs or perched on the fence, watching their master's coming. Aunt Judy's white turban assumed its most majestic peak, and a pair of large, gold ear-rings and a massy finger-ring added to the aristocracy of her appearance. She had arrayed Linda in her prettiest white muslin dress and pantalettes, brushed her short, curly brown locks, till they were as bright and smooth as satin, and " blessed her little heart" a thousand times over. That little heart was throbbing with the most intense emotion. She began to conceive a great awe for the being for whom such splendid preparations had been making. She felt unhappy at her own insignificance. She was dwindling away into a mere mote in comparison with this great lady and her fourteen-year-old boy. She was afraid they would not love her ; that her father would not love her any more. Even Aunt Judy would not care so much about her as she had done. Oh, she intenfled to be very good, and steal like a sweet doveling into the downy nests of their inmost hearts.

With such thoughts as these swelling and softening her 'young bosom, the little girl gazed down through the avenue of trees that led to the house, trying to catch the sound of the carriage wheels, to be the first to announce the coming of the travellers. Her cheeks were pale, her eyes moist. She clung to Aunt Judy's hand as if afraid to let her g<? Was it instinct that led her to nestle closer to that humble friend, a'„ this moment, when all the happiness of her future life was at stake ?

"There they come — there they come!" she exclaimed. " Don't you see the horses ? and don't you hear the wheels hum ?"

I Aunt Judy smoothed down her apron, and leading Linda to he gate, she arranged the negroes in a row on each side, through which the master and mistress were to pass. Minta and Dilsy, her two handmaids, stood next to herself and Linda, grinning from ear to ear.

The carriage rolled up to the gate, and Mr. Walton, alighting, assisted his bride to descend. She was dressed in a plain, lead-coloured silk, a neat white bonnet and great veil. Her figure was good, but her features, being screened by the veil, could not be distinguished.

" Robert, my darling, take care — you are treading on my dress."

This was addressed, in very soft, tender accents, to a tall, rough-looking, but handsome boy, who bounced out of the carriage before his mother had placed her foot on the ground, shoving her unceremoniously on one side, and stamping his feet with violence, to wake them up, he said.

Judy folded her hands over her waist, and dropped several deep curtsies.

" Welcome home, mistress. Hope to see you very well, mistress."

The lady made a little nod, but said nothing.

" This is my daughter, my little Linda," said Mr. Walton, taking Linda's trembling hand, and drawing her towards him. " Linda, this is your new mamma ; you must be a good girl, and she will love you very much."

The lady stooped down, kissed her through her veil, said she " was very fond of good little girls," and the new mistress passed unjder the shadow of the oak trees that hung over the piazza, crossed the threshold, and entered the mansion where she was henceforth to preside, for weal or for wo.

The young Robert was obliged to give vent to his superfluous activity, after being pent up so long in the limits of a carriage, before he could submit to any in-door restraints. He pulled the woolly locks of Judy's handmaids elect, till they screamed, swung Linda half a dozen times round him ia the air, then laughed to see her fall from dizziness, set the dogs after the geese, and the cat after the dogs, — making more commotion in three minutes than a well-bred youth would in so many years. Judy tried in vain to keep down her hot African blood.

" Never mind ! never mind !" muttered she, brushing the dirt from Linda's muslin frock, and smoothing her disordered ringlets. " New mistress, sure enough ; new master, too ; one master plenty. Knock her down, he'll eat green persimmons for his supper."

Linda dared not open her lips. She was terrified by his violence as much as she was disgusted by his rudeness. Her spirit quailed before his bold, wicked-looking, black eyes, and the love which had been welling forth to meet this brother, companion, protector, flowed back to the fountain. She walked slowly into the house, curious to see the face of the strange lady, whom her father had married.

Mrs. Walton stood by the window watching the gambols of her son, so absorbed in the contemplation she noticed not the entrance of the child, who gazed so earnestly and wistfully on her. Could the little step-daughter read the tablet of that smooth, cold countenance ? It required greater skill in physiognomy than Linda possessed, but she had an intuitive perception of character, and there was something in those thin, compressed lips, pale blue eyes, with almost white eyelashes and brows, that struck her very chillingly. She had the shining forehead, caused by the tight-drawn skin; sandy hair, parted with elaborate precision ; and her light eye-brows were strained into a high arch, as if trying to remove as far as possible from the stony, passionless orbs below. Linda looked and wondered what made her father love such a woman. He was so handsome himself, and her mother was so lovely. She did not know, foolish child, how little love had to do with this eligible second marriage, — this marriage of recommendation and convenience — of policy and prudence.

" Oh, I shall never love her I" whispered Linda's sinking heart j "and she will never love me. And there will be no use in my trying to be good." She turned a reproachful glance at her father, thinking she could not love him half as well as before ; but he looked so kindly and affectionately at her, and opened his arms so lovingly, that she rushed into them, and burying her head in his bosom, cried and sobbed aloud.

" What makes her cry f" said Mrs. Walton, in that soft, peculiar voice which startled one, from its want of harmony with her face. " I hope she is not afraid of me. Robert, dear," continued she, putting her head out of the window^ "don't exercise quite so much. It will make you sick. Don't, Robert, make quite so much noise. Dear fellow!" turning with a smile to Mr. Walton, " he is so full of life and spirit, he does not know what to do. He has been still so long, too. You will get accustomed to his little sportive ways, I trust."

" Oh, boys will be boys," said he, with a slight embarrassment of manner. " But you must not think my little girl is crying from fear of you. She's tired and excited, and over glad to see me. That is all. You will find her a good deal spoiled, but her heart is in the right place. Win that and you can do any thing in the world with her."

" I have no doubt we shall be good friends by and by," said Mrs. Walton. " We must give her time to get acquainted."

Who ever heard of children's wanting time to get acquainted ? The soark darts not more instantaneously along the electric chain than the glance of affection into the heart of a child. Time ! — the heart of a young child is full, brimming with love. Give it an outlet, and it gushes forth a crystal stream, carrying freshness and beauty wherever it flows.

Had the step-mother only laid her hand gently on the drooping head, imprinted one kind kiss on the moist check of Linda, the child would have loved her, in spite of her chilling exterior ; but no kiss or caress was proffered, and Linda only clung closer to her father's bosom, assured that he loved her still, and would continue to love her.

When supper was announced, Master Kobert came in with a thundering noise, scraping his shoes, not on the nice mat by the threshold, but on the bright floor.

"Please, young master," said Judy, almost choking with suppressed anger, " please wipe your shoes on the mat."

" Hold your tongue, old unicorn !" he exclaimed, shuffling as hard as he could. " If you don't mind what you say, I'll smash that tower on the top of your head as flat as a pancake. And you, you great goggle eyes," said he, turning to Minta, who, at a signal from Juda, was following him on all-fours, wiping his tracks with a tremendous flourish of the housecloth, " if you don't stop chasing me with that old rag, I'll make you see through the back of your skull."

" Robert," ejaculated the soft voice of his mother, " don't speak quite so loud; and come to supper, my dear. You must be hungry by this time."

Robert obeyed the summons with alacrity, and was the first to seat himself at a table literally covered with dainties. Linda, who had been taught by her mother that there was nothing so disgusting as gluttony and ill-breeding at table, and th^t young persons should always wait modestly till elder ones were served, instead of calling upon the servants to wait upon them first, witnessed with indignant astonishment the behaviour of Robert. He ordered the servants here and there in the most insolent manner, when they were waiting on others ; filled his plate with cake, waffles, wafers, sweetmeats, and meat, at the same time scattering crumbs over the white table-cover, and spilling his coffee every time he carried it to his mouth.

" Here, give me some more sugar, possum," cried he to Dilsy, having christened her already with that charming nickname. " What sort of slop do you call this V Then filling his cup half full of loaf sugar, he declared it was not fit to drink, and pushing it back so suddenly that the contents flew into the preserve dishes and butter plates, he called for a tumbler of butter-milk, which was no sooner received than he issued his orders for a glass of water. After having eaten voraciously of every thing on the table, asking all the time what stuff this was, and what thing that, he leaned back in his chair with a loud hiccup, and began to drum his feet together under the table. His mother occasionally put in a "don't Robert/' or "be patient, dear;" but she seemed not to have the faintest perception that the comfort of others could be disturbed by his youthful impetuosity, as she called it. Mr. "Walton tried to look pleased and cheerful, but even his imperturbable good nature was tried beyond endurance. Was this the commencement of his tranquil domestic life, on which his fancy had been luxuriating ? Was the woman who had allowed her own son to arrive at his present years, without exerting one restraining influence on his animal propensities, till they had acquired a giant's strength and a tyrant's power one who was fitted to act a mother's part to his affectionate and wayward child ? Was she worthy to be the successor of his sweet and holy-minded wife ?

Ah ! " Mr. Walton, these mental interrogatories are made too late. You never even saw the woman to whom you havo given the sacred name of wife, till all necessary preliminaries had been arranged by a mutual friend. You never saw the graceless boy, whom you must now acknowledge as a son, till you went to breathe the marriage vows, and swear before God and man to love and cherish his mother, till death did ye part. You were told it was an eligible match ; that she was a great manager, and looked well to the ways of her household. You thought it too much trouble to take a long journey to see her beforehand, and judge of her feminine attractions. She had one husband, and that was a surety for her charms. The heyday of your youth was past, and the golden tints of romance faded into the gray tints of reality. It is true, when you first met this future bride, and beheld those pale, hardlooking eyes, those high arched, white brows, and those thin, pinched lips, your heart-springs recoiled with a sudden jar that destroyed the delicate machinery within. And when that darling boy of hers first exhibited his rare domestic accomplishments, several cold shudders ran through your frame, premonitory symptoms of future wretchedness. The image of your first love stole across your memory, in all the freshness of her virgin beauty, the delicacy of her matron loveliness, and you tried to shut it out. Your little Linda, too ; you thought of her and sighed, and wished you had not been so precipitate, had exercised your own judgment instead of following blindly the counsels of others. But it was too late : your honour as a gentleman was pledged, and you could not retract. You would probably get accustomed to all this, and become reconciled to your lot. Yes ! and your child will become accustomed to have all her warm affections driven back into her breast, and turned to fiery scorpions there. She will be accustomed to the icy rod that will rule her by night and by day ; to the goad that spurs when weary nature sighs for repose, to the rein that chafes when the roused spirit bounds for action. — "But know thou, for all this, thou shalt be brought unto judgment."

Chapter II

As Aunt Judy had anticipated, the keys were taken from her possession, and she was reduced to the level of a common servant. This was a sad wound to the faithful creature's pride, for she had watched over her master's interests with scrupulous fidelity and real attachment. But this was not all the humiliation she was called upon to suffer. She, as well as the other household servants, had always partaken of the same food that was placed on their master's table, and they had never been stinted in their portion. It is true, they waited till his board was served, and his room swept and garnished; but then their meals were partaken in uninterrupted enjoyment and with contented spirits. The new Mrs. Walton made a material change in this arrangement. The meal was measured and the bacon weighed for their daily food, and whatever dainties were left upon the table were set aside for Master Robert's luncheons. She discovered that it was a great waste to supply servants with sugar, and that coffee was very bad for their constitutions. But the greatest trial and mortification poor Judy was doomed to suffer, was the withdrawal of Linda from her influence and presence.

" Linda has been left entirely too much with the negroes," said Mrs. Walton to her husband. " I can do nothing with her while Judy stays in the house and interferes with my authority. I shall put Judy in the weaving-room, and Minta and Dilsy in the spinning-room. I have servants of my own, already trained, whom I shall substitute in their place."

What could Mr. Walton say ? She was literally conforming to his wishes, in separating Linda from her sable companions, and in superintending her constantly with her own eye; but he could not, without many secret pangs, see the faithful servants, who doated on his child, banished from the household, and strangers fulfilling their duties with coldness and constraint. Linda was outrageous when she learned the new organization of the family. She declared that " Aunt Judy shouldn't be put out of the house ; that she would go and live in the weaving-room ; that pa ought to be ashamed to let his old servants be treated so bad ; that she was an heiress, and a big heiress, and she had a right to be minded."