The Flower of the ChapdelainesCable, George Washington
General
The Flower of the Chapdelaines
Cable, George Washington
Love stories; New Orleans (La.) -- Fiction
Tom returned to say: "Dem done to'e up de cote-house and de Jedge's
house, an' now dem goin' Bay Street too tear up de sto'es."
Gilbert came up from the fort telling what he had seen. The blacks had
tried to scale the ramparts, on one another's shoulders, howling for
freedom and defying the garrison to fire. But the commander had not
dared without orders from the governor, and his courier had not
returned. A leading merchant standing on the fort wall was less
discreet: "Take the responsibility! Fire! Every white man on the
island will sustain you, and you'll end the whole thing here!"
Upon that word off again up-town had gone the whole black swarm, had
sacked the bold merchant's store, and seemed now, by the noises they
made, to be sacking others. "I come," Gilbert said, "with an offer of
the ship-captains to take the white people aboard the ships."
As he turned away groups of negroes began to dash by laden with all
sorts of "prog" [booty] from the wrecked stores. Grandmamma had lain
down, my aunts were trying to make up some sort of midday meal, and I
was standing alone behind the jalousies, when a ferocious-looking negro
rattled them with his bill.
"Lidde gal, gi' me some watah."
"Wait a minute," I said, and left the room. If I hid he might burst in
and murder us. So I brought a bowl of water.
"Tankee, lidde missee," he said, returned the bowl, and went away. Tom
was thereupon set to guard the gate, which he did poorly. Another
negro slipped in and sat down on our steps. He looked around the
pretty enclosure, gave a tired grunt, and said:
"Please, missee, lemme res'; I done bruk up." He held in his hands the
works of a clock, fell to studying them, and became wholly absorbed.
Rachel asked him who had broken it. He replied:
"Obbe" [our] "Ca'lina. She no like de way it talkin'. She say: 'W'at
mek you say, night und day, night und day?' Un' she tuk her bill un'
bruk it up. Un' Georgina chop' up de pianneh, 'caze it wouldn' talk
foo her like it talk too buckra. Da shame!"
But now came yells and cheers in the street, the rush and trample of
hundreds, and the cry:
"De gub'nor! de gub'nor a-comin'!"
XXXII
(FREEDOM AND CONFLAGRATION)
We ran to the windows. In an open carriage, with two official
attendants, surrounded by a mounted guard and clad in the uniform of a
Danish general, the aged governor came. On his breast were the
insignia of the order of Dannebrog. His cavalcade could hardly make
its way, and when one of the crowd made bold to seize the horses' reins
the equipage, just before our house, stopped. The governor sat still,
very pale.
Suddenly he rose, uncovered, and with graceful dignity bowed. Then he
unfolded a paper with large seals attached, and in a trembling but
clear voice began to read. In the name and by the authority of his
Majesty Christian VIII, King of Denmark, he proclaimed freedom to every
slave in the Danish West Indies.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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