The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Octoroon; or, Life in Louisiana. A Play in Five acts
    
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Title: The Octoroon; or, Life in Louisiana. A Play in Five acts

Author: Dion Boucicault

Release date: June 24, 2014 [eBook #46091]

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Roger Burch, from scans obtained from the Internet Archive


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OCTOROON; OR, LIFE IN LOUISIANA. A PLAY IN FIVE ACTS ***




Produced by Roger Burch, from scans obtained from the Internet Archive




  THE OCTOROON;
  OR, LIFE IN LOUISIANA.
  A PLAY, IN FIVE ACTS

  BY, DION BOUCICAULT, ESQ.,
  AUTHOR OF "The Coleen Bawn," "West End," etc.

  PRINTED, NOT PUBLISHED




                    Boston Museum, 1861.    Howard Athenaeum, 1861.
  George Peyton,       _Mr. John Wilson._              _L. F. Rand._
  Salem Scudder,        _William Warren._             _D. Setchell._
  Mr. Sunnyside,       _R. F. McClannin._            _W. H. Curtis._
  Jacob McClosky,        _Jos. Wheelock._              _H. Langdon._
  Wahnotee,            _William Whalley._         _E. L. Davenport._
  Captain Ratts,         _G. F. Ketchum._             _D. Hanchett._
  Colonel Pointdexter,  _Louis Mestayer._            _W. S. Lennox._
  Jules Thibodeaux,      _J. E. Whiting._            _T. E. Litton._
  Judge Caillou,        _Sol. Smith, Jr._            _S. H. Verney._
  Lafouche,                 _J. H. Ring._            _J. H. Browne._
  Jackson,                   _Bartlett._               _Blaisdell._
  Old Pete,             _F. Hardenbergh._          _F. Hardenburgh._
  Paul (a boy slave),      _Josie Orton._        _Miss O. Marshall._
  Solon,                   _J. S. Nolan._               _W.H. Otis._

  Mrs. Peyton,     _Miss Emily Mestayer._    _Mrs. J. E. Sylvester._
  Zoe,                  _Kate Reignolds._        _Miss Josie Orton._
  Dora Sunnyside,          _Annie Clark._        _Mrs. H. W. Smith._
  Grace,               _Louise Anderson._            _Miss Burbank._
  Minnie,                 _Lizzie Baker._             _Miss Ramsey._
  Dido,               _Mrs. E. Thompson._

* * * * *

COSTUMES.

  George Peyton.--Light travelling suit.
  Jacob McClosky.--Dark coat, light waistcoat, brown trousers.
  Scudder.--Light plantation suit.
  Pete and Negroes.--Canvas trousers, shoes, striped calico shirts.
  Sunnyside.--Planter's nankeen suit, broad-brimmed straw hat.
  Ratts.--(Captain of a steamer.) Black coat, waistcoat, and trousers.
  Planters.--Various characteristic suits.
  Indian.--Deer-skin trousers and body, blanket, moccasons, Indian
    knot and feathers for the hair.
  Mrs. Peyton.--Black silk dress.
  Zoe.--White muslin dress.
  Dora.--Fashionable morning dress, hat and feather.
  Female Slaves.--Striped skirts and calico jackets, some with
    kerchiefs round the head.




THE OCTOROON.




ACT I.


Scene I.--_A view of the Plantation Terrebonne, in Louisiana.--A
branch of the Mississippi is seen winding through the Estate.--A low
built, but extensive Planter's Dwelling, surrounded with a veranda,
and raised a few feet from the ground, occupies the_ L. _side.--A
table and chairs,_ R. C.

Grace _discovered sitting at breakfast-table with_ Children.

_Enter_ Solon, _from house,_ L.

_Solon._ Yah! you bomn'ble fry--git out--a gen'leman can't pass for
you.

_Grace._ [_Seizing a fly whisk._] Hee! ha--git out! [_Drives_
Children _away; in escaping they tumble against and trip up_ Solon,
_who falls with tray; the_ Children _steal the bananas and rolls that
fall about._]

_Enter_ Pete, R. U. E. [_he is lame_]; _he carries a mop and pail._

_Pete._ Hey! laws a massey! why, clar out! drop dat banana! I'll
murder this yer crowd, [_He chases Children about; they leap over
railing at back. Exit_ Solon, R. U. E.] Dem little niggers is a
judgment upon dis generation.

_Enter_ George, _from house,_ L.

_George._ What's the matter, Pete.

_Pete._ It's dem black trash, Mas'r George; dis ere property wants
claring; dem's getting too numerous round; when I gets time I'll
kill some on 'em, sure!

_George._ They don't seem to be scared by the threat.

_Pete._ Top, you varmin! top till I get enough of you in one place!

_George._ Were they all born on this estate?

_Pete._ Guess they nebber was born--dem tings! what, dem?--get away!
Born here--dem darkies? What, on Terrebonne! Don't b'lieve it, Mas'r
George; dem black tings never was born at all; dey swarmed one
mornin' on a sassafras tree in the swamp; I cotched 'em; dey ain't
no 'count. Don't b'lieve dey'll turn out niggers when dey're growed;
dey'll come out sunthin else.

_Grace._ Yes, Mas'r George, dey was born here; and old Pete is fonder
on 'em dan he is of his fiddle on a Sunday.

_Pete._ What? dem tings--dem?--getaway [_makes blow at the_ Children.]
Born here! dem darkies! What, on Terrebonne? Don't b'lieve it, Mas'r
George,--no. One morning dey swarmed on a sassafras tree in de swamp,
and I cotched 'em all in a sieve.--dat's how dey come on top of dis
yearth--git out, you,--ya, ya! [_Laughs._] [_Exit_ Grace, R. U. E.

_Enter_ Mrs. Peyton, _from house._

_Mrs. P._ So, Pete, you are spoiling those children as usual!

_Pete._ Dat's right, missus! gib it to ole Pete! he's allers in for
it. Git away dere! Ya! if dey aint all lighted, like coons, on dat
snake fence, just out of shot. Look dar! Ya! ya! Dem debils. Ya!

_Mrs. P._ Pete, do you hear?

_Pete._ Git down dar!--I'm arter you! [_Hobbles off,_ R. 1. E.

_Mrs. P._ You are out early this morning, George.

_George._ I was up before daylight. We got the horses saddled, and
galloped down the shell road over the Piney Patch; then coasting the
Bayou Lake, we crossed the long swamps, by Paul's Path, and so came
home again.

_Mrs. P._ [_Laughing._] You seem already familiar with the names of
every spot on the estate.

_Enter_ Pete.--_Arranges breakfast, &c._

_George._ Just one month ago I quitted Paris. I left that siren city
as I would have left a beloved woman.

_Mrs. P._ No wonder! I dare say you left at least a dozen beloved
women there, at the same time.

_George._ I feel that I departed amid universal and sincere regret. I
left my loves and my creditors equally inconsolable.

_Mrs. P._ George, you are incorrigible. Ah! you remind me so much of
your uncle, the judge.

_George._ Bless his dear old handwriting, it's all I ever saw of him.
For ten years his letters came every quarter-day, with a remittance
and a word of advice in his formal cavalier style; and then a joke
in the postscript, that upset the dignity of the foregoing. Aunt,
when he died, two years ago, I read over those letters of his, and
if I didn't cry like a baby--

_Mrs. P._ No, George; say you wept like a man. And so you really kept
those foolish letters?

_George._ Yes; I kept the letters, and squandered the money.

_Mrs. P._ [_Embracing him._] Ah! why were you not my son--you are so
like my dear husband.

_Enter_ Salem Scudder, R.

_Scud._ Ain't he! Yes--when I saw him and Miss Zoe galloping through
the green sugar crop, and doing ten dollars' worth of damage at every
stride, says I, how like his old uncle he do make the dirt fly.

_George._ O, aunt! what a bright, gay creature she is!

_Scud._ What, Zoe! Guess that you didn't leave anything female in
Europe that can lift an eyelash beside that gal. When she goes along,
she just leaves a streak of love behind her. It's a good drink to see
her come into the cotton fields--the niggers get fresh on the sight
of her. If she ain't worth her weight in sunshine you may take one of
my fingers off, and choose which you like.

_Mrs. P._ She need not keep us waiting breakfast, though. Pete, tell
Miss Zoe that we are waiting.

_Pete._ Yes, missus. Why, Minnie, why don't you run when you hear,
you lazy crittur? [Minnie _runs off._] Dat's de laziest nigger on dis
yere property. [_Sits down._] Don't do nuffin.

_Mrs. P._ My dear George, you are left in your uncle's will heir to
this estate.

_George._ Subject to your life interest and an annuity to Zoe, is it
not so?

_Mrs. P._ I fear that the property is so involved that the strictest
economy will scarcely recover it. My dear husband never kept any
accounts, and we scarcely know in what condition the estate really
is.

_Scad._ Yes, we do, ma'am; it's in a darned bad condition. Ten years
ago the judge took as overseer a bit of Connecticut hardware called
M'Closky. The judge didn't understand accounts--the overseer did. For
a year or two all went fine. The judge drew money like Bourbon
whiskey from a barrel, and never turned off the tap. But out it flew,
free for everybody or anybody to beg, borrow, or steal. So it went,
till one day the judge found the tap wouldn't run. He looked in to
see what stopped it, and pulled out a big mortgage. "Sign that," says
the overseer; "it's only a formality." "All right," says the judge,
and away went a thousand acres; so at the end of eight years, Jacob
M'Closky, Esquire, finds himself proprietor of the richest half of
Terrebonne--

_George._ But the other half is free.

_Scud._ No, it ain't; because, just then, what does the judge do, but
hire another overseer--a Yankee--a Yankee named Salem Scudder.

_Mrs. P._ O, no, it was--

_Scud._ Hold on, now! I'm going to straighten this account clear out.
What was this here Scudder? Well, he lived in New York by sittin'
with his heels up in front of French's Hotel, and inventin'--

_George._ Inventing what?

_Scud._ Improvements--anything, from a stay-lace to a fire-engine.
Well, he cut that for the photographing line. He and his apparatus
arrived here, took the judge's likeness and his fancy, who made him
overseer right off. Well, sir, what does this Scudder do but
introduces his inventions and improvements on this estate. His new
cotton gins broke down, the steam sugar-mills burst up, until he
finished off with his folly what Mr. M'Closky with his knavery began.

_Mrs. P._ O, Salem! how can you say so? Haven't you worked like a
horse?

_Scud._ No, ma'am, I worked like an ass--an honest one, and that's
all. Now, Mr. George, between the two overseers, you and that good
old lady have come to the ground; that is the state of things, just
as near as I can fix it. [Zoe _sings without,_ L.]

_George._ 'Tis Zoe.

_Scud._ O, I have not spoiled that anyhow. I can't introduce any
darned improvement there. Ain't that a cure for old age; it kinder
lifts the heart up, don't it?

_Mrs. P._ Poor child! what will become of her when I am gone? If you
haven't spoiled her, I fear I have. She has had the education of a
lady.

_George._ I have remarked that she is treated by the neighbors with a
kind of familiar condescension that annoyed me.

_Scud._ Don't you know that she is the natural daughter of the judge,
your uncle, and that old lady thar just adored anything her husband
cared for; and this girl, that another woman would a hated, she
loves as if she'd been her own child.

_George._ Aunt, I am prouder and happier to be your nephew and heir
to the ruins of Terrebonne, than I would have been to have had half
Louisiana without you.

_Enter_ Zoe, _from house,_ L.

_Zoe._ Am I late? Ah! Mr. Scudder, good morning.

_Scud._ Thank'ye. I'm from fair to middlin', like a bamboo cane, much
the same all the year round.

_Zoe._ No; like a sugar cane; so dry outside, one would never think
there was so much sweetness within.

_Scud._ Look here; I can't stand that gal! if I stop here, I shall hug
her right off. [_Sees_ Pete, _who has set his pail down_ L. C. _up
stage, and goes to sleep on it_.] If that old nigger ain't asleep,
I'm blamed. Hillo! [_Kicks pail from under_ Pete, _and lets him
down._] [_Exit,_ L. U. E.

_Pete._ Hi! Debbel's in de pail! Whar's breakfass?

_Enter_ Solon _and_ Dido _with coffee-pot, dishes, &c.,_ R. U. E.

_Dido._ Bless'ee, Missey Zoe, here it be. Dere's a dish of
pen-pans--jess taste, Mas'r George--and here's fried bananas; smell
'em, do, sa glosh.

_Pete._ Hole yer tongue, Dido. Whar's de coffee? [_Pours out._] If it
don't stain de cup, your wicked ole life's in danger, sure! dat
right! black as nigger; clar as ice. You may drink dat, Mas'r George.
[_Looks off._] Yah! here's Mas'r Sunnyside, and Missey Dora, jist
drov up. Some of you niggers run and hole de hosses; and take dis,
Dido. [_Gives her coffee-pot to hold, and hobbles off, followed by_
Solon _and_ Dido, R. U. E.]

_Enter_ Sunnyside _and_ Dora, R. U. E.

_Sunny._ Good day, ma'am. [_Shakes hands with_ George.] I see we are
just in time for breakfast. [_Sits,_ R.]

_Dora._ O, none for me; I never eat. [_Sits,_ R. C.]

_George._ [_Aside._] They do not notice Zoe.--[_Aloud._] You don't
see Zoe, Mr. Sunnyside.

_Sunny._ Ah! Zoe, girl; are you there?

_Dora._ Take my shawl, Zoe. [Zoe _helps her._] What a good creature
she is.

_Sunny._ I dare say, now, that in Europe you have never met any lady
more beautiful in person, or more polished in manners, than that
girl.

_George._ You are right, sir; though I shrank from expressing that
opinion in her presence, so bluntly.

_Sunny._ Why so?

_George._ It may be considered offensive.

_Sunny._ [_Astonished._] What? I say, Zoe, do you hear that?

_Dora._ Mr. Peyton is joking.

_Mrs. P._ [L. C.] My nephew is not acquainted with our customs in
Louisiana, but he will soon understand.

_George._ Never, aunt! I shall never understand how to wound the
feelings of any lady; and, if that is the custom here, I shall
never acquire it.

_Dora._ Zoe, my dear, what does he mean?

_Zoe._ I don't know.

_George._ Excuse me, I'll light a cigar. [_Goes up._]

_Dora._ [_Aside to_ Zoe.] Isn't he sweet! O, dear Zoe, is he in love
with anybody?

_Zoe._ How can I tell?

_Dora._ Ask him, I want to know; don't say I told you to inquire, but
find out. Minnie, fan me, it is so nice--and his clothes are French,
ain't they?

_Zoe._ I think so; shall I ask him that too?

_Dora._ No, dear. I wish he would make love to me. When he speaks to
one he does it so easy, so gentle; it isn't bar-room style; love
lined with drinks, sighs tinged with tobacco--and they say all the
women in Paris were in love with him, which I feel _I_ shall be;
stop fanning me; what nice boots he wears.

_Sunny._ [_To_ Mrs. Peyton.] Yes, ma'am, I hold a mortgage over
Terrebonne; mine's a ninth, and pretty near covers all the property,
except the slaves. I believe Mr. M'Closky has a bill of sale on them.
O, here he is.

_Enter_ M'Closky, R. U. E.

_Sunny._ Good morning, Mr. M'Closky.

_M'Closky._ Good morning, Mr. Sunnyside; Miss Dora, your servant.

_Dora._ [_Seated,_ R. C.] Fan me, Minnie.--[_Aside._] I don't like
that man.

_M'Closky._ [_Aside,_ C.] Insolent as usual.--[_Aloud._] You begged
me to call this morning. I hope I'm not intruding.

_Mrs. P._ My nephew, Mr. Peyton.

_M'Closky._ O, how d'ye do, sir? [_Offers hand,_ George _bows
coldly,_ R. C.] [_aside._] A puppy, if he brings any of his European
airs here we'll fix him.--[_Aloud._] Zoe, tell Pete to give my mare a
feed, will ye?

_George._ [_Angrily._] Sir.

_M'Closky._ Hillo! did I tread on ye?

_Mrs. P._ What is the matter with George?

_Zoe._ [_Takes fan from_ Minnie.] Go, Minnie, tell Pete; run! [_Exit_
Minnie, R.

_Mrs. P._ Grace, attend to Mr. M'Closky.

_M'Closky._ A julep, gal, that's my breakfast, and a bit of cheese,

_George._ [_Aside to_ Mrs. Peyton.] How can you ask that vulgar
ruffian to your table?

_Mrs. P._ Hospitality in Europe is a courtesy; here, it is an
obligation. We tender food to a stranger, not because he is a
gentleman, but because he is hungry.

_George._ Aunt, I will take my rifle down to the Atchafalaya. Paul
has promised me a bear and a deer or two. I see my little Nimrod
yonder, with his Indian companion. Excuse me ladies. Ho! Paul!
[_Enters house._]

_Paul._ [_Outside._] I'ss, Mas'r George.

_Enter_ Paul, R. U. E., _with_ Indian, _who goes up._

_Sunny._ It's a shame to allow that young cub to run over the Swamps
and woods, hunting and fishing his life away instead of hoeing cane.

_Mrs. P._ The child was a favorite of the judge, who encouraged his
gambols. I couldn't bear to see him put to work.

_George._ [_Returning with rifle._] Come, Paul, are you ready?

_Paul._ I'ss, Mas'r George. O, golly! ain't that a pooty gun.

_M'Closky._ See here, you imps; if I catch you, and your red skin
yonder, gunning in my swamps, I'll give you rats, mind; them
vagabonds, when the game's about, shoot my pigs.

[_Exit_ George _into house._]

_Paul._ You gib me rattan, Mas'r Clostry, but I guess you take a berry
long stick to Wahnotee; ugh, he make bacon of you.

_M'Closky._ Make bacon of me, you young whelp. Do you mean that I'm a
pig? Hold on a bit. [_Seizes whip, and holds_ Paul.]

_Zoe._ O, sir! don't, pray, don't.

_M'Closky._ [_Slowly lowering his whip,_] Darn you, red skin, I'll
pay you off some day, both of ye. [_Returns to table and drinks._]

_Sunny._ That Indian is a nuisance. Why don't he return to his nation
out West.

_M'Closky._ He's too fond of thieving and whiskey.

_Zoe._ No; Wahnotee is a gentle, honest creature, and remains here
because he loves that boy with the tenderness of a woman. When Paul
was taken down with the swamp fever the Indian sat outside the hut,
and neither ate, slept, or spoke for five days, till the child could
recognize and call him to his bedside. He who can love so well is
honest--don't speak ill of poor Wahnotee.

_Mrs. P._ Wahnotee, will you go back to your people.

_Wahnotee._ Sleugh.

_Paul._ He don't understand; he speaks a mash-up of Indian and
Mexican. Wahnotee Patira na sepau assa wigiran.

_Wahnotee._ Weal Omenee.

_Paul._ Says he'll go if I'll go with him. He calls me Omenee, the
Pigeon, and Miss Zoe is Ninemoosha, the Sweetheart.

_Wahnotee._ [_Pointing to_ Zoe.] Ninemoosha.

_Zoe._ No, Wahnotee, we can't spare Paul.

_Paul._ If Omenee remain, Wahnotee will die in Terrebonne. [_During
the dialogue_ Wahnotee _has taken_ George's _gun._]

_Enter_ George, L.

_George._ Now I'm ready. [George _tries to regain his gun;_ Wahnotee
_refuses to give it up;_ Paul _quietly takes it from him and
remonstrates with him._]

_Dora._ Zoe, he's going; I want him to stay and make love to me
that's what I came for to-day.

_Mrs. P._ George, I can't spare Paul for an hour or two; he must run
over to the landing; the steamer from New Orleans passed up the river
last night, and if there's a mail they have thrown it ashore.

_Sunny._ I saw the mail-bags lying in the shed this morning.

_Mrs. P._ I expect an important letter from Liverpool; away with you,
Paul; bring the mail-bags here.

_Paul._ I'm 'most afraid to take Wahnotee to the shed, there's
rum there.

_Wahnotee._ Rum!

_Paul._ Come, then, but if I catch you drinkin', O, laws a mussey,
you'll get snakes! I'll gib it you! now mind. [_Exit with_ Indian,
R. U. E.

_George._ Come, Miss Dora, let me offer you my arm.

_Dora._ Mr. George, I am afraid, if all we hear is true, you have led
a dreadful life in Europe.

_George._ That's a challenge to begin a description of my feminine
adventures.

_Dora._ You have been in love, then?

_George._ Two hundred and forty-nine times! Let me relate you the
worst cases.

_Dora._ No! no!

_George._ I'll put the naughty parts in French.

_Dora._ I won't hear a word! O, you horrible man! go on. [_Exit_
George _and_ Dora _to house._

_M'Closky._ Now, ma'am, I'd like a little business, if agreeable. I
bring you news; your banker, old Lafouche, of New Orleans, is dead;
the executors are winding up his affairs, and have foreclosed on all
overdue mortgages, so Terrebonne is for sale. Here's the Picayune
[_producing paper_] with the advertisement.

_Zoe._ Terrebonne for sale!

_Mrs. P._ Terrebonne for sale, and you, sir, will doubtless become
its purchaser.

_M'Closky._ Well, ma'am, I spose there's no law agin my bidding for
it. The more bidders, the better for you. You'll take care, I guess,
it don't go too cheap.

_Mrs. P._ O, sir, I don't value the place for its price, but for the
many happy days I've spent here; that landscape, flat and
uninteresting though it may be, is full of charm for me; those poor
people, born around me, growing up about my heart, have bounded my
view of life; and now to lose that homely scene, lose their black,
ungainly faces; O, sir, perhaps you should be as old as I am, to feel
as I do, when my past life is torn away from me.

_M'Closky._ I'd be darned glad if somebody would tear my past life
away from me. Sorry I can't help you, but the fact is, you're in
such an all-fired mess that you couldn't be pulled out without a
derrick.

_Mrs. P._ Yes, there is a hope left yet, and I cling to it. The house
of Mason Brothers, of Liverpool, failed some twenty years ago in my
husband's debt.

_M'Closky._ They owed him over fifty thousand dollars.

_Mrs. P._ I cannot find the entry in my husband's accounts; but you,
Mr. M'Closky, can doubtless detect it. Zoe, bring here the judge's
old desk; it is in the library. [_Exit_ Zoe _to house_.

_M'Closky._ You don't expect to recover any of this old debt, do you?

_Mrs. P._ Yes; the firm has recovered itself, and I received a notice
two months ago that some settlement might be anticipated.

_Sunny._ Why, with principal and interest this debt has been more
than doubled in twenty years.

_Mrs. P._ But it may be years yet before it will be paid off, if
ever.

_Sunny._ If there's a chance of it, there's not a planter round here
who wouldn't lend you the whole cash, to keep your name and blood
amongst us. Come, cheer up, old friend.

_Mrs. P._ Ah! Sunnyside, how good you are; so like my poor Peyton.
[_Exit_ Mrs. Peyton _and_ Sunnyside _to house._

_M'Closky._ Curse their old families--they cut me--a bilious,
conceited, thin lot of dried up aristocracy. I hate 'em. Just
because my grandfather wasn't some broken-down Virginia transplant,
or a stingy old Creole, I ain't fit to sit down with the same meat
with them. It makes my blood so hot I feel my heart hiss. I'll sweep
these Peytons from this section of the country. Their presence keeps
alive the reproach against me that I ruined them; yet, if this money
should come. Bah! There's no chance of it. Then, if they go, they'll
take Zoe--she'll follow them. Darn that girl; she makes me quiver
when I think of her; she's took me for all I'm worth.

_Enter_ Zoe _from house,_ L., _with the desk._

O, here, do you know what annuity the old judge left you is worth
to-day? Not a picayune.

_Zoe._ It's surely worth the love that dictated it; here are the
papers and accounts. [_Putting it on the table,_ R. C.]

_M'Closky._ Stop, Zoe; come here! How would you like to rule the
house of the richest planter on Atchafalaya--eh? or say the word, and
I'll buy this old barrack, and you shall be mistress of Terrebonne.

_Zoe._ O, sir, do not speak so to me!

_M'Closky._ Why not! look here, these Peytons are bust; cut 'em; I am
rich, jine me; I'll set you up grand, and we'll give these first
families here our dust, until you'll see their white skins shrivel
up with hate and rage; what d'ye say?

_Zoe._ Let me pass! O, pray, let me go!

_M'Closky._ What, you won't, won't ye? If young George Peyton was to
make you the same offer, you'd jump at it, pretty darned quick, I
guess. Come, Zoe, don't be a fool; I'd marry you if I could, but you
know I can't; so just say what you want. Here then, I'll put back
these Peytons in Terrebonne, and they shall know you done it; yes,
they'll have you to thank for saving them from ruin.

_Zoe._ Do you think they would live here on such terms?

_M'Closky,_ Why not? We'll hire out our slaves, and live on their
wages.

_Zoe._ But I'm not a slave.

_M'Closky._ No; if you were I'd buy you, if you cost all I'm worth.

_Zoe._ Let me pass!

_M'Closky._ Stop.

_Enter_ Scudder, R.

_Scud._ Let her pass.

_M'Closky._ Eh?

_Scud._ Let her pass! [_Takes out his knife._] [_Exit_ Zoe _to
house._

_M'Closky._ Is that you, Mr. Overseer? [_Examines paper._]

_Scud._ Yes, I'm here, somewhere, interferin'.

_M'Closky._ [_Sitting,_ R. C.] A pretty mess you've got this estate
in--

_Scud._ Yes--me and Co.--we done it; but, as you were senior partner
in the concern, I reckon you got the big lick.

_M'Closky._ What d'ye mean.

_Scud._ Let me proceed by illustration. [_Sits,_ R.] Look thar!
[_Points with knife off,_ R.] D'ye see that tree?--it's called a live
oak, and is a native here; beside it grows a creeper; year after year
that creeper twines its long arms round and round the tree--sucking
the earth dry all about its roots--living on its life--overrunning
its branches, until at last the live oak withers and dies out. Do you
know what the niggers round here call that sight? they call it the
Yankee hugging the Creole. [_Sits._]

_M'Closky._ Mr. Scudder, I've listened to a great many of your
insinuations, and now I'd like to come to an understanding what they
mean. If you want a quarrel--

_Scudder._ No, I'm the skurriest crittur at a fight you ever see; my
legs have been too well brought up to stand and see my body abused;
I take good care of myself, I can tell you.

_M'Closky._ Because I heard that you had traduced my character.

_Scud._ Traduced! Whoever said so lied. I always said you were the
darndest thief that ever escaped a white jail to misrepresent the
North to the South.

_M'Closky._ [_Raises hand to back of his neck._] What!

_Scud._ Take your hand down--take it down. [M'Closky _lowers his
hand._] Whenever I gets into company like yours, I always start with
the advantage on my side.

_M'Closky._ What d'ye mean?

_Scud._ I mean that before you could draw that bowie-knife, you wear
down your back, I'd cut you into shingles. Keep quiet, and let's talk
sense. You wanted to come to an understanding, and I'm coming thar as
quick as I can. Now, Jacob M'Closky, you despise me because you think
I'm a fool; I despise you because I know you to be a knave. Between
us we've ruined these Peytons; you fired the judge, and I finished
off the widow. Now, I feel bad about my share in the business. I'd
give half the balance of my life to wipe out my part of the work.
Many a night I've laid awake and thought how to pull them through,
till I've cried like a child over the sum I couldn't do; and you know
how darned hard 'tis to make a Yankee cry.

_M'Closky._ Well, what's that to me?

_Scud._ Hold on, Jacob, I'm coming to that--I tell ye, I'm such a
fool--I can't bear the feeling, it keeps at me like a skin
complaint, and if this family is sold up--

_M'Closky._ What then?

_Scud._ [_Rising._] I'd cut my throat--or yours--yours I'd prefer.

_M'Closky._ Would you now? why don't you do it?

_Scud._ 'Cos I's skeered to try! I never killed a man in my life--and
civilization is so strong in me I guess I couldn't do it--I'd like
to, though!

_M'Closky._ And all for the sake of that old woman and that young
puppy--eh? No other cause to hate--to envy me--to be jealous of
me--eh?

_Scud._ Jealous! what for?

_M'Closky._ Ask the color in your face; d'ye think I can't read you,
like a book? With your New England hypocrisy, you would persuade
yourself it was this family alone you cared for; it ain't--you know
it ain't--'tis the "Octoroon;" and you love her as I do; and you hate
me because I'm your rival--that's where the tears come from, Salem
Scudder, if you ever shed any--that's where the shoe pinches.

_Scud._ Wal, I do like the gal; she's a--

_M'Closky._ She's in love with young Peyton; it made me curse, whar
it made you cry, as it does now; I see the tears on your cheeks now.

_Scud._ Look at 'em, Jacob, for they are honest water from the well
of truth. I ain't ashamed of it--I do love the gal; but I ain't
jealous of you, because I believe the only sincere feeling about you
is your love for Zoe, and it does your heart good to have her image
thar; but I believe you put it thar to spile. By fair means I don't
think you can get her, and don't you try foul with her, 'cause if you
do, Jacob, civilization be darned. I'm on you like a painter, and
when I'm drawed out I'm pizin. [_Exit_ Scudder _to house,_ L.

_M'Closky._ Fair or foul, I'll have her--take that home with you!
[_Opens desk._] What's here--judgments? yes, plenty of 'em; bill of
costs; account with Citizens' Bank--what's this? "Judgment, 40,000,
'Thibodeaux against Peyton,'"--surely, that is the judgment under
which this estate is now advertised for sale--[_takes up paper and
examines it_]; yes, "Thibodeaux against Peyton, 1838." Hold on! whew!
this is worth taking to--in this desk the judge used to keep one
paper I want--this should be it. [_Reads._] "The free papers of my
daughter, Zoe, registered February 4th, 1841." Why, judge, wasn't you
lawyer enough to know that while a judgment stood against you it was
a lien on your slaves? Zoe is your child by a quadroon slave, and you
didn't free her; blood! if this is so, she's mine! this old Liverpool
debt--that may cross me--if it only arrive too late--if it don't come
by this mail--Hold on! this letter the old lady expects--that's it;
let me only head off that letter, and Terrebonne will be sold before
they can recover it. That boy and the Indian have gone down to the
landing for the post-bags; they'll idle on the way as usual; my mare
will take me across the swamp, and before they can reach the shed,
I'll have purified them bags--ne'er a letter shall show this mail.
Ha, ha!--[_Calls._] Pete, you old turkey-buzzard, saddle my mare.
Then, if I sink every dollar I'm worth in her purchase, I'll own that
Octoroon. [_Stands with his hand extended towards the house,
and tableau._]

END OF THE FIRST ACT.




ACT II.



_The Wharf--goods, boxes, and bales scattered about--a camera on
stand,_ R.

Scudder, R., Dora, L., George _and_ Paul _discovered;_ Dora _being
photographed by_ Scudder, _who is arranging photographic apparatus,_
George _and_ Paul _looking on at back._

_Scud._ Just turn your face a leetle this way--fix your--let's
see--look here.

_Dora._ So?

_Scud._ That's right. [_Puts his head under the darkening apron._]
It's such a long time since I did this sort of thing, and this old
machine has got so dirty and stiff, I'm afraid it won't operate.
That's about right. Now don't stir.

_Paul._ Ugh! she look as though she war gwine to have a tooth
drawed!_

_Scud._ I've got four plates ready, in case we miss the first shot.
One of them is prepared with a self-developing liquid that I've
invented. I hope it will turn out better than most of my notions. Now
fix yourself. Are you ready?

_Dora._ Ready!

_Scud._ Fire!--one, two, three. [Scudder _takes out watch._]

_Paul._ Now it's cooking, laws mussey, I feel it all inside, as if it
was at a lottery.

_Scud._ So! [_Throws down apron._] That's enough. [_With-draws slide,
turns and sees_ Paul.] What! what are you doing there, you young
varmint! Ain't you took them bags to the house yet?

_Paul._ Now, it ain't no use trying to get mad, Mas'r Scudder. I'm
gwine! I only come back to find Wahnotee; whar is dat ign'ant Ingiun?

_Scud._ You'll find him scenting round the rum store, hitched up by
the nose. [_Exit into room,_ R.

_Paul._ [_Calling at door._] Say, Mas'r Scudder, take me in dat
telescope?

_Scud._ [_Inside room._] Get out, you cub! clar out!

_Paul._ You got four of dem dishes ready. Gosh, wouldn't I like to
hab myself took! What's de charge, Mas'r Scudder? [_Runs off,
R. U. E.

_Enter_ Scudder, _from room,_ R.

_Scud._ Job had none of them critters on his plantation, else he'd
never ha' stood through so many chapters. Well, that has come out
clear, ain't it? [_Shows plate._]

_Dora._ O, beautiful! Look, Mr. Peyton.

_George._ [_Looking._] Yes, very fine!

_Scud._ The apparatus can't mistake. When I travelled round with this
machine, the homely folks used to sing out, "Hillo, mister, this
ain't like me!" "Ma'am," says I, "the apparatus can't mistake."
"But, mister, that ain't my nose." "Ma'am, your nose drawed it. The
machine can't err--you may mistake your phiz but the apparatus
don't." "But, sir, it ain't agreeable." "No, ma'am, the truth seldom
is."

_Enter_ Pete, L. U. E., _puffing._

_Pete._ Mas'r Scudder! Mas'r Scudder!

_Scud._ Hillo! what are you blowing about like a steamboat with one
wheel for?

_Pete._ You blow, Mas'r Scudder, when I tole you; dere's a man from
Noo Aleens just arriv' at de house, and he's stuck up two papers on
de gates; "For sale--dis yer property," and a heap of oder tings--and
he seen missus, and arter he shown some papers she burst out crying--I
yelled; den de corious of little niggers dey set up, den de hull
plantation children--de live stock reared up and created a
purpiration of lamentation as did de ole heart good to har.

_Dora._ What's the matter?

_Scud._ He's come.

_Pete._ Dass it--I saw'm!

_Scud._ The sheriff from New Orleans has taken possession--Terrebonne
is in the hands of the law.

_Enter_ Zoe, L. U. E.

_Zoe._ O, Mr. Scudder! Dora! Mr. Peyton! come home--there are
strangers in the house.

_Dora._ Stay, Mr. Peyton; Zoe, a word! [_Leads her forward--aside._]
Zoe, the more I see of George Peyton the better I like him; but he is
too modest--that is a very impertinent virtue in a man.

_Zoe._ I'm no judge, dear.

_Dora._ Of course not, you little fool; no one ever made love to you,
and you can't understand; I mean, that George knows I am an heiress;
my fortune would release this estate from debt.

_Zoe._ O, I see!

_Dora._ If he would only propose to marry me I would accept him, but
he don't know that, and he will go on fooling, in his slow European
way, until it is too late.

_Zoe._ What's to be done?

_Dora._ You tell him.

_Zoe._ What? that he isn't to go on fooling in his slow--

_Dora._ No, you goose! twit him on his silence and abstraction--I'm
sure it's plain enough, for he has not spoken two words to me all the
day; then joke round the subject, and at last speak out.

_Scud._ Pete, as you came here, did you pass Paul and the Indian with
the letter-bags?

_Pete._ No, sar; but dem vagabonds neber take de 'specable straight
road, dey goes by de swamp. [_Exit up path,_ L. U. E.

_Scud._ Come, sir!

_Dora._ [_To_ Zoe.] Now's your time.--[_Aloud._] Mr. Scudder, take us
with you--Mr. Peyton is so slow, there's no getting him, on. [_Exit_
Dora _and_ Scudder, L. U. E.

_Zoe._ They are gone!--[_Glancing at_ George.] Poor fellow, he has
lost all.

_George._ Poor child! how sad she looks now she has no resource.

_Zoe._ How shall I ask him to stay?

_George._ Zoe, will you remain here? I wish to speak to you.

_Zoe._ [_Aside._] Well, that saves trouble.

_George._ By our ruin, you lose all.

_Zoe._ O, I'm nothing; think of yourself.

_George._ I can think of nothing but the image that remains face to
face with me; so beautiful, so simple, so confiding, that I dare not
express the feelings that have grown up so rapidly in my heart.

_Zoe._ [_Aside._] He means Dora.

_George._ If I dared to speak!

_Zoe._ That's just what you must do, and do it at once, or it will be
too late.

_George._ Has my love been divined?

_Zoe._ It has been more than suspected.

_George._ Zoe, listen to me, then. I shall see this estate pass from
me without a sigh, for it possesses no charm for me; the wealth I
covet is the love of those around me--eyes that are rich in fond
looks, lips that breathe endearing words; the only estate I value is
the heart of one true woman, and the slaves I'd have are her
thoughts.

_Zoe._ George, George, your words take away my breath!

_George._ The world, Zoe, the free struggle of minds and hands, if
before me; the education bestowed on me by my dear uncle is a noble
heritage which no sheriff can seize; with that I can build up a
fortune, spread a roof over the heads I love, and place before them
the food I have earned; I will work--

_Zoe._ Work! I thought none but colored people worked.

_George._ Work, Zoe, is the salt that gives savor to life.

_Zoe._ Dora said you were slow; if she could hear you now--

_George._ Zoe, you are young; your mirror must have told you that you
are beautiful. Is your heart free?

_Zoe._ Free? of course it is!

_George._ We have known each other but a few days, but to me those
days have been worth all the rest of my life. Zoe, you have suspected
the feeling that now commands an utterance--you have seen that I love
you.

_Zoe._ Me! you love me?

_George._ As my wife,--the sharer of my hopes, my ambitions, and my
sorrows; under the shelter of your love I could watch the storms of
fortune pass unheeded by.

_Zoe._ My love! My love? George, you know not what you say. I the
sharer of your sorrows--your wife. Do you know what I am?

_George._ Your birth--I know it. Has not my dear aunt forgotten
it--she who had the most right to remember it? You are illegitimate,
but love knows no prejudice.

_Zoe._ [_Aside._] Alas! he does not know, he does not know! and will
despise me, spurn me, loathe me, when he learns who, what, he has so
loved.--[_Aloud._] George, O, forgive me! Yes, I love you--I did not
know it until your words showed me what has been in my heart; each of
them awoke a new sense, and now I know how unhappy--how very unhappy
I am.

_George._ Zoe, what have I said to wound you?

_Zoe._ Nothing; but you must learn what I thought you already knew.
George, you cannot marry me; the laws forbid it!

_George._ Forbid it?

_Zoe._ There is a gulf between us, as wide as your love, as deep as my
despair; but, O, tell me, say you will pity me! that you will not
throw me from you like a poisoned thing!

_George._ Zoe, explain yourself--your language fills me with
shapeless fears.

_Zoe._ And what shall I say? I--my mother was--no, no--not her! Why
should I refer the blame to her? George, do you see that hand you
hold? look at these fingers; do you see the nails are of a bluish
tinge?

_George._ Yes, near the quick there is a faint blue mark.

_Zoe._ Look in my eyes; is not the same color in the white?

_George._ It is their beauty.

_Zoe._ Could you see the roots of my hair you would see the same
dark, fatal mark. Do you know what that is?

_George._ No.

_Zoe._ That is the ineffaceable curse of Cain. Of the blood that
feeds my heart, one drop in eight is black--bright red as the rest
may be, that one drop poisons all the flood; those seven bright drops
give me love like yours--hope like yours--ambition like yours--Life
hung with passions like dew-drops on the morning flowers; but the
one black drop gives me despair, for I'm an unclean thing--forbidden
by the laws--I'm an Octoroon!

_George._ Zoe, I love you none the less; this knowledge brings no
revolt to my heart, and I can overcome the obstacle.

_Zoe._ But I cannot.

_George._ We can leave this country, and go far away where none
can know.

_Zoe._ And our mother, she who from infancy treated me with such
fondness, she who, as you said, had most reason to spurn me, can
she forget what I am? Will she gladly see you wedded to the child of
her husband's slave? No! she would revolt from it, as all but you
would; and if I consented to hear the cries of my heart, if I did not
crush out my infant love, what would she say to the poor girl on whom
she had bestowed so much? No, no!

_George._ Zoe, must we immolate our lives on her prejudice?

_Zoe._ Yes, for I'd rather be black than ungrateful! Ah, George, our
race has at least one virtue--it knows how to suffer!

_George._ Each word you utter makes my love sink deeper into my
heart.

_Zoe._ And I remained here to induce you to offer that heart to Dora!

_George._ If you bid me do so I will obey you--

_Zoe._ No, no! if you cannot be mine, O, let me not blush when I think
of you.

_George._ Dearest Zoe! [_Exit_ George _and_ Zoe, L. U. E.

_As they exit,_ M'Closky _rises from behind rock,_ R., _and looks
after them._

_M'Olosky._ She loves him! I felt it--and how she can love!
[_Advances._] That one black drop of blood burns in her veins and
lights up her heart like a foggy sun. O, how I lapped up her words,
like a thirsty bloodhound! I'll have her, if it costs me my life!
Yonder the boy still lurks with those mail-bags; the devil still
keeps him here to tempt me, darn his yellow skin. I arrived just too
late, he had grabbed the prize as I came up. Hillo! he's coming this
way, fighting with his Injiun. [_Conceals himself._]

_Enter_ Paul, _wrestling with_ Wahnotee, R. 3. E.

_Paul._ It ain't no use now; you got to gib it up!

_Wahno._ Ugh!

_Paul._ It won't do! You got dat bottle of rum hid under your
blanket--gib it up now, you--Yar! [_Wrenches it from him._] You
nasty, lying Injiun! It's no use you putting on airs; I ain't gwine
to sit up wid you all night and you drunk. Hillo! war's de crowd
gone? And dar's de 'paratus--O, gosh, if I could take a likeness ob
dis child! Uh--uh, let's have a peep. [_Looks through camera_] O,
golly! yar, you Wahnotee! you stan' dar, I see you Ta demine usti.
[_Goes_ R., _and looks at_ Wahnotee, L., _through the camera;_
Wahnotee _springs back with an expression of alarm._]

_Wahno._ No tue Wahnotee.

_Paul._ Ha, ha! he tinks it's a gun. You ign'ant Injiun, it can't
hurt you! Stop, here's dem dishes--plates--dat's what he call 'em,
all fix; I see Mas'r Scudder do it often--tink I can take
likeness--stay dere, Wahnotee.

_Wahno._ No, carabine tue.

_Paul._ I must operate and take my own likeness too--how debbel I do
dat? Can't be ober dar an' here too--I ain't twins. Ugh' ach! 'Top;
you look, you Wahnotee; you see dis rag, eh? Well when I say go, den
lift dis rag like dis, see! den run to dat pine tree up dar
[_points,_ L. U. E.] and back agin, and den pull down de rag so, d'ye
see?

_Wahno._ Hugh!

_Paul._ Den you hab glass ob rum.

_Wahno._ Rum!

_Paul._ Dat wakes him up. Coute Wahnotee in omenee dit go Wahnotee,
poina la fa, comb a pine tree, la revieut sala, la fa.

_Wahno._ Fire-water!

_Paul._ Yes, den a glass ob fire-water; now den. [_Throws mail bags
down and sits on them,_ L. C.] Pret, now den go. [Wahnotee _raises
apron and runs off,_ L. U. E. Paul _sits for his picture_--M'Closky
_appears from_ R. U. E.]

_M'Closky._ Where are they? Ah. yonder goes the Indian!

_Paul._ De time he gone just 'bout enough to cook dat dish plate.

_M'Closky._ Yonder is the boy--now is my time! What's he doing; is he
asleep? [_Advances._] He is sitting on on my prize! darn his carcass!
I'll clear him off there--he'll never know what stunned him. [_Takes
Indian's tomahawk and steals to_ Paul.]

_Paul._ Dam dat Injiun! is dat him creeping dar? I daren't move fear
to spile myself. [M'Closky _strikes him on the head--he falls dead._]

_M'Closky._ Hooraw! the bags are mine--now for it!--[_Opens
mail-bags._] What's here? Sunnyside, Pointdexter, Jackson, Peyton;
here it is--the Liverpool post-mark, sure enough!--[_Opens
letter--reads._] "Madam, we are instructed by the firm of Mason and
Co., to inform you that a dividend of forty per cent, is payable on
the 1st proximo, this amount in consideration of position, they send
herewith, and you will find enclosed by draft to your order, on the
Bank of Louisiana, which please acknowledge--the balance will be paid
in full, with interest, in three, six, and nine months--your drafts
on Mason Brothers at those dates will be accepted by La Palisse and
Compagnie, N. O., so that you may command immediate use of the whole
amount at once, if required. Yours, &c, James Brown." What a find!
this infernal letter would have saved all. [_During the reading of
letter he remains nearly motionless under the focus of the camera._]
But now I guess it will arrive too late--these darned U. S. mails are
to blame. The injiun! he must not see me. [_Exit rapidly,_ L.

[Wahnotee _runs on, pulls down apron--sees_ Paul, _lying on ground--
speaks to him--thinks he's shamming sleep--gesticulates and jabbers--
goes to him--moves him with feet, then kneels down to rouse him--to
his horror finds him dead--expresses great grief--raises his eyes--
they fall upon the camera--rises with savage growl, seizes tomahawk
and smashes camera to pieces, then goes to Paul--expresses grief,
sorrow, and fondness, and takes him in his arms to carry him away.--
Tableau._]

END OF THE SECOND ACT.




ACT III.



_A Room in Mrs. Peyton's house; entrances,_ R. U. E. _and_
L. U. E.--_An Auction Bill stuck up,_ L.--_chairs,_ C., _and tables,_
R. _and_ L.

Solon _and_ Grace _discovered._

_Pete._ [_Outside,_ R. U. E.] Dis way--dis way.

_Enter_ Pete, Pointdexter, Jackson, Lafouche, _and_ Caillou, R. U. E.

_Pete._ Dis way, gen'l'men; now Solon--Grace--dey's hot and
tirsty--sangaree, brandy, rum.

_Jackson._ Well, what d'ye say, Lafouche--d'ye smile?

_Enter_ Thibodeaux _and_ Sunnyside, R. U. E.

_Thibo._ I hope we don't intrude on the family.

_Pete._ You see dat hole in dar, sar. [R. U. E.] I was raised on dis
yar plantation--neber see no door in it--always open, sar, for
stranger to walk in.

_Sunny._ And for substance to walk out.

_Enter_ Ratts, R. U. E.

_Ratts._ Fine southern style that, eh!

_Lafouche._ [_Reading bill._] "A fine, well-built old family mansion,
replete with every comfort."

_Ratts._ There's one name on the list of slaves scratched, I see.

_Lafouche._ Yes; No. 49, Paul, a quadroon boy, aged thirteen.

_Sunny._ He's missing.

_Point._ Run away, I suppose.

_Pete._ [_Indignantly._] No, sar; nigger nebber cut stick on
Terrebonne; dat boy's dead, sure.

_Ratts._ What, Picayune Paul, as we called, him, that used to come
aboard my boat?--poor little darkey, I Hope not; many a picayune he
picked up for his dance and nigger-songs, and he supplied our table
with fish and game from the Bayous.

_Pete._ Nebber supply no more, sar--nebber dance again. Mas'r Ratts,
you hard him sing about de place where de good niggers go, de last
time.

_Ratts._ Well!

_Pete._ Well, he gone dar hisself; why, I tink so--'cause we missed
Paul for some days, but nebber tout nothin' till one night dat Injiun
Wahnotee suddenly stood right dar 'mongst us--was in his war paint,
and mighty cold and grave--he sit down by de fire. "Whar's Paul?" I
say--he smoke and smoke, but nebber look out ob de fire; well knowing
dem critters, I wait a long time--den he say, "Wahnotee, great
chief;" den I say nothing--smoke anoder time--last, rising to go, he
turn round at door, and say berry low--O, like a woman's voice, he
say, "Omenee Pangeuk,"--dat is, Paul is dead--nebber see him since.

_Ratts._ That red-skin killed him.

_Sunny._ So we believe; and so mad are the folks around, if they
catch the red-skin they'll lynch him sure.

_Ratts._ Lynch him! Darn his copper carcass, I've got a set of Irish
deck-hands aboard that just loved that child; and after I tell them
this, let them get a sight of the red-skin, I believe they would eat
him, tomahawk and all. Poor little Paul!

_Thibo._ What was he worth?

_Ratts._ Well, near on five hundred dollars.

_Pete._ [_Scandalized._] What, sar! You p'tend to be sorry for Paul,
and prize him like dat. Five hundred dollars!--[_To_ Thibodeaux.]
Tousand dollars, Massa Thibodeaux.

_Enter_ Scudder, L. U. E.

_Scud._ Gentlemen, the sale takes place at three. Good morning,
Colonel. It's near that now, and there's still the sugar-houses to be
inspected. Good day, Mr. Thibodeaux--shall we drive down that way?
Mr. Lafouche, why, how do you do, sir? you're looking well.

_Lafouche._ Sorry I can't return the compliment.

_Ratts._ Salem's looking a kinder hollowed out.

_Scud._ What, Mr. Ratts, are you going to invest in swamps?

_Ratts._ No; I want a nigger.

_Scud._ Hush.

_Pete._ [R.] Eh! wass dat?

_Scud._ Mr. Sunnyside, I can't do this job of showin' round the
folks; my stomach goes agin it. I want Pete here a minute.

_Sunny._ I'll accompany them certainly.

_Scud._ [_Eagerly._] Will ye? Thank ye; thank ye.

_Sunny._ We must excuse Scudder, friends. I'll see you round the
estate.

_Enter_ George _and_ Mrs. Peyton, L. U. E.

_Lafouche._ Good morning, Mrs. Peyton. [_All salute._]

_Sunny._ This way, gentlemen.

_Ratts._ [_Aside to_ Sunnyside.] I say, I'd like to say summit soft
to the old woman; perhaps it wouldn't go well, would it?

_Thibo._ No; leave it alone.

_Ratts._ Darn it, when I see a woman in trouble, I feel like selling
the skin off my back. [_Exit_ Thibodeaux, Sunnyside, Ratts,
Pointdexter, Grace, Jackson, Lafouche, Caillou, Solon, R. U. E.

_Scud._ [_Aside to_ Pete.] Go outside, there; listen to what you
hear, then go down to the quarters and tell the boys, for I can't do
it. O, get out.

_Pete._ He said I want a nigger. Laws, mussey! What am goin' to cum
ob us! [_Exit slowly, as if concealing himself,_ R. U. E.

_George._ [C.] My dear aunt, why do you not move from this painful
scene? Go with Dora to Sunnyside.

_Mrs. P._ [R.] No, George; your uncle said to me with his dying
breath, "Nellie, never leave Terrebonne," and I never will leave it,
till the law compels me.

_Scud._ [L.] Mr. George, I'm going to say somethin' that has been
chokin' me for some time. I know you'll excuse it. Thar's Miss
Dora--that girl's in love with you; yes, sir, her eyes are startin'
out of her head with it; now her fortune would redeem a good part of
this estate.

_Mrs. P._ Why, George, I never suspected this!

_George._ I did, aunt, I confess, but--

_Mrs. P._ And you hesitated from motives of delicacy?

_Scud._ No, ma'am; here's the plan of it. Mr. George is in love with
Zoe.

_George._ Scudder!

_Mrs. P._ George!

_Scud._ Hold on now! things have got so jammed in on top of us, we
ain't got time to put kid gloves on to handle them. He loves Zoe, and
has found out that she loves him. [_Sighing._] Well, that's all
right; but as he can't marry her, and as Miss Dora would jump at
him--

_Mrs. P._ Why didn't you mention this before?

_Scud._ Why, because I love Zoe, too, and I couldn't take that young
feller from her; and she's jist living on the sight of him, as I saw
her do; and they so happy in spite of this yer misery around them,
and they reproachin' themselves with not feeling as they ought. I've
seen it, I tell you; and darn it, ma'am, can't you see that's what's
been a hollowing me out so--I beg your pardon.

_Mrs. P._ O, George,--my son, let me call you,--I do not speak for my
own sake, nor for the loss of the estate, but for the poor people
here; they will be sold, divided, and taken away--they have been born
here. Heaven has denied me children; so all the strings of my heart
have grown around and amongst them, like the fibres and roots of an
old tree in its native earth. O, let all go, but save them! With them
around us, if we have not wealth, we shall at least have the home
that they alone can make--

_George._ My dear mother--Mr. Scudder--you teach me what I ought to
do; if Miss Sunnyside will accept me as I am, Terrebonne shall be
saved; I will sell myself, but the slaves shall be protected.

_Mrs. P._ _Sell_ yourself, George! Is not Dora worth any man's--

_Scud._ Don't say that, ma'am; don't say that to a man that loves
another gal. He's going to do an heroic act; don't spile it.

_Mrs. P._ But Zoe is only an Octoroon.

_Scud._ She's won this race agin the white, anyhow; it's too late now
to start her pedigree.

_Enter_ Dora, L. U. E.

_Scud._ [Seeing Dora.] Come, Mrs. Peyton, take my arm. Hush! here's
the other one; she's a little too thoroughbred--too much of the
greyhound; but the heart's there, I believe. [_Exit_ Scudder _and_
Mrs. Peyton, R. U. E.

_Dora._ Poor Mrs. Peyton.

_George._ Miss Sunnyside, permit me a word; a feeling of delicacy has
suspended upon my lips an avowal, which--

_Dora._ [_Aside._] O, dear, has he suddenly come to his senses?

_Enter_ Zoe, L. U. E., _she stops at back._

_George._ In a word, I have seen and admired you!

_Dora._ [_Aside._] He has a strange way of showing it. European, I
suppose.

_George._ If you would pardon the abruptness of the question, I would
ask you, Do you think the sincere devotion of my life to make yours
happy would succeed?

_Dora._ [_Aside._] Well, he has the oddest way of making love.

_George._ You are silent?

_Dora._ Mr. Peyton, I presume you have hesitated to make this avowal
because you feared, in the present condition of affairs here, your
object might be misconstrued, and that your attention was rather to
my fortune than myself. [_A pause._] Why don't he speak?--I mean, you
feared I might not give you credit for sincere and pure feelings.
Well, you wrong me. I don't think you capable of anything else than--

_George._ No, I hesitated because an attachment I had formed before I
had the pleasure of seeing you had not altogether died out.

_Dora._ [_Smiling._] Some of those sirens of Paris, I presume,
[_Pause._] I shall endeavor not to be jealous of the past; perhaps I
have no right to be. [_Pause._] But now that vagrant love is--eh?
faded--is it not? Why don't you speak, sir?

_George._ Because, Miss Sunnyside, I have not learned to lie.

_Dora._ Good gracious--who wants you to?

_George._ I do, but I can't do it. No, the love I speak of is not
such as you suppose,--it is a passion that has grown up here since I
arrived; but it is a hopeless, mad, wild feeling, that must perish.

_Dora._ Here! since you arrived! Impossible; you have seen no one;
whom can you mean?

_Zoe._ [_Advancing,_ C.] Me.

_George._ [L.] Zoe!

_Dora._ [R.] You!

_Zoe._ Forgive him, Dora; for he knew no better until I told him.
Dora, you are right. He is incapable of any but sincere and pure
feelings--so are you. He loves me--what of that? You know you can't
be jealous of a poor creature like me. If he caught the fever, were
stung by a snake, or possessed of any other poisonous or unclean
thing, you could pity, tend, love him through it, and for your gentle
care he would love you in return. Well, is he not thus afflicted now?
I am his love--he loves an Octoroon.

_George._ O, Zoe, you break my heart!

_Dora._ At college they said I was a fool--I must be. At New Orleans,
they said, "She's pretty, very pretty, but no brains." I'm afraid
they must be right; I can't understand a word of all this.

_Zoe._ Dear Dora, try to understand it with your heart. You love
George; you love him dearly; I know it; and you deserve to be loved
by him. He will love you--he must. His love for me will pass away--it
shall. You heard him say it was hopeless. O, forgive him and me!

_Dora._ [_Weeping._] O, why did he speak to me at all then? You've
made me cry, then, and I hate you both! [_Exit_ L., _through room._

_Enter_ Mrs. Peyton _and_ Scudder, M'Closky _and_ Pointdexter, R.

_M'Closky._ [C.] I'm sorry to intrude, but the business I came upon
will excuse me.

_Mrs. Pey._ Here is my nephew, sir.

_Zoe._ Perhaps I had better go.

_M'Closky._ Wal, as it consarns you, perhaps you better had.

_Scud._ Consarns Zoe?

_M'Closky._ I don't know; she may as well hear the hull of it. Go on,
Colonel--Colonel Pointdexter, ma'am--the mortgagee, auctioneer, and
general agent.

_Point._ [R. C.] Pardon me, madam, but do you know these papers?
[_Hands papers to_ Mrs. Peyton.]

_Mrs. Pey._ [_Takes them._] Yes, sir; they were the free papers of
the girl Zoe; but they were in my husband's secretary. How came they
in your possession?

_M'Closky._ I--I found them.

_George._ And you purloined them?

_M'Closky._ Hold on, you'll see. Go on, Colonel.

_Point._ The list of your slaves is incomplete--it wants one.

_Scud._ The boy Paul--we know it.

_Point._ No, sir; you have omitted the Octoroon girl, Zoe.

[_Together._] _Mrs. Pey._ Zoe!
_Zoe._ Me!

_Point._ At the time the judge executed those free papers to his
infant slave, a judgment stood recorded against him; while that was
on record he had no right to make away with his property. That
judgment still exists; under it and others this estate is sold
to-day. Those free papers ain't worth the sand that's on 'em.

_Mrs. Pey._ Zoe a slave! It is impossible!

_Point._ It is certain, madam; the judge was negligent, and doubtless
forgot this small formality.

_Scud._ But the creditors will not claim the gal?

_M'Closky._ Excuse me; one of the principal mortgagees has made the
demand. [_Exit_ M'Closky _and_ Pointdexter, R. U. E.

_Scud._ Hold on yere, George Peyton; you sit down there. You're
trembling so, you'll fall down directly. This blow has staggered me
some.

_Mrs. Pey._ O, Zoe, my child! don't think too hardly of your poor
father.

_Zoe._ I shall do so if you weep. See, I'm calm.

_Scud._ Calm as a tombstone, and with about as much life. I see it in
your face.

_George._ It cannot be! It shall not be!

_Scud._ Hold your tongue--it must. Be calm--darn the things; the
proceeds of this sale won't cover the debts of the estate. Consarn
those Liverpool English fellers, why couldn't they send something by
the last mail? Even a letter, promising something--such is the
feeling round amongst the planters. Darn me, if I couldn't raise
thirty thousand on the envelope alone, and ten thousand more on the
post-mark.

_George._ Zoe, they shall not take you from us while I live.

_Scud._ Don't be a fool; they'd kill you, and then take her, just as
soon as--stop; Old Sunnyside, he'll buy her! that'll save her.

_Zoe._ No, it won't; we have confessed to Dora that we love each
other. How can she then ask her father to free me?

_Scud._ What in thunder made you do that?

_Zoe._ Because it was the truth; and I had rather be a slave with a
free soul, than remain free with a slavish, deceitful heart. My
father gives me freedom--at least he thought so. May Heaven bless him
for the thought, bless him for the happiness he spread around my
life. You say the proceeds of the sale will not cover his debts. Let
me be sold then, that I may free his name. I give him back the
liberty he bestowed upon me; for I can never repay him the love he
bore his poor Octoroon child, on whose breast his last sigh was
drawn, into whose eyes he looked with the last gaze of affection.

_Mrs. Pey._ O, my husband! I thank Heaven you have not lived to see
this day.

_Zoe._ George, leave me! I would be alone a little while.

_George._ Zoe! [_Turns away overpowered._]

_Zoe._ Do not weep, George. Dear George, you now see what a miserable
thing I am.

_George._ Zoe!

_Scud._ I wish they could sell me! I brought half this ruin on this
family, with my all-fired improvements. I deserve to be a nigger this
day--I feel like one, inside. [_Exit_ Scudder, L. U. E.

_Zoe._ Go now, George--leave me--take her with you. [_Exit_ Mrs.
Peyton _and_ George, L. U. E.] A slave! a slave! Is this a dream--for
my brain reels with the blow? He said so. What! then I shall be
sold!--sold! and my master--O! [_falls on her knees, with her face in
her hands_] no--no master, but one. George--George--hush--they come!
save me! No, [_looks off,_ R.] 'tis Pete and the servants--they come
this way. [_Enters inner room,_ R. U. E.]

_Enter_ Pete, Grace, Minnie, Solon, Dido, _and all_ Niggers, R. U. E.

_Pete._ Cum yer now--stand round, cause I've got to talk to you
darkies--keep dem chil'n quiet--don't make no noise, de missus up dar
har us.

_Solon._ Go on, Pete.

_Pete._ Gen'l'men, my colored frens and ladies, dar's mighty bad news
gone round. Dis yer prop'ty to be sold--old Terrebonne--whar we all
been raised, is gwine--dey's gwine to tak it away--can't stop here no
how.

_Omnes._ O-o!--O-o!

_Pete._ Hold quiet, you trash o' niggers! tink anybody wants you to
cry? Who's you to set up screching?--be quiet! But dis ain't all.
Now, my culled brethren, gird up your lines, and listen--hold on yer
bref--it's a comin. We tought dat de niggers would belong to de ole
missus, and if she lost Terrebonne, we must live dere allers, and we
would hire out, and bring our wages to ole Missus Peyton.

_Omnes._ Ya! ya! Well--

_Pete._ Hush! I tell ye, 't'ain't so--we can't do it--we've got to be
sold--

_Omnes._ Sold!

_Pete._ Will you hush? she will har you. Yes! I listen dar jess
now--dar was ole lady cryin'--Mas'r George--ah! you seen dem big
tears in his eyes. O, Mas'r Scudder, he didn't cry zackly; both ob
his eyes and cheek look like de bad Bayou in low season--so dry dat I
cry for him. [_Raising his voice._] Den say de missus, "'Tain't for
de land I keer, but for dem poor niggars--dey'll be sold--dat wot
stagger me." "No," say Mas'r George, "I'd rather sell myself fuss;
but dey shan't suffer, nohow,--I see 'em dam fuss."

_Omnes._ O, bless um! Bless Mas'r George.

_Pete._ Hole yer tongues. Yes, for you, for me, for dem little ones,
dem folks cried. Now, den, if Grace dere wid her chil'n were all
sold, she'll begin screechin' like a cat. She didn't mind how kind
old judge was to her; and Solon, too, he'll holler, and break de ole
lady's heart.

_Grace._ No, Pete; no, I won't. I'll bear it.

_Pete._ I don't tink you will any more, but dis here will; 'cause de
family spile Dido, dey has. She nebber was 'worth much 'a dat nigger.

_Dido._ How dar you say dat, you black nigger, you? I fetch as much
as any odder cook in Louisiana.

_Pete._ What's de use of your takin' it kind, and comfortin' de
missus heart, if Minnie dere, and Louise, and Marie, and Julie is to
spile it?

_Minnie._ We won't, Pete; we won't.

_Pete._ [_To the men._] Dar, do ye hear dat, ye mis'able darkies, dem
gals is worth a boat load of kinder men dem is. Cum, for de pride of
de family, let every darky look his best for the judge's sake--dat
ole man so good to us, and dat ole woman--so dem strangers from New
Orleans shall say, Dem's happy darkies, dem's a fine set of niggars;
every one say when he's sold, "Lor' bless dis yer family I'm gwine
out of, and send me as good a home."

_Omnes._ We'll do it, Pete; we'll do it.

_Pete._ Hush! hark! I tell ye dar's somebody in dar. Who is it?

_Grace._ It's Missy Zoe. See! see!

_Pete._ Come along; she har what we say, and she's cryin' for us.
None o' ye ign'rant niggars could cry for yerselves like dat. Come
here quite; now quite. [_Exit_ Pete _and all the_ Negroes, _slowly,_
R. U. E.

_Enter_ Zoe [_supposed to have overheard the last scene_], L. U. E.

_Zoe._ O! must I learn from these poor wretches how much I owed, how
I ought to pay the debt? Have I slept upon the benefits I received,
and never saw, never felt, never knew that I was forgetful and
ungrateful? O, my father! my dear, dear father! forgive your poor
child. You made her life too happy, and now these tears will be. Let
me hide them till I teach my heart. O, my--my heart! [Exit, with a
low, wailing, suffocating cry, L. U. E.

_Enter_ M'Closky, Lafouche, Jackson, Sunnyslde, _and_ Pointdexter,
R. U. E.

_Point._ [_Looking at watch._] Come, the hour is past. I think we may
begin business. Where is Mr. Scudder? Jackson, I want to get to
Ophelensis to-night.

_Enter_ Dora, R.

_Dora._ Father, come here.

_Sunny._ Why, Dora, what's the matter? Your eyes are red.

_Dora._ Are they? thank you. I don't care, they were blue this
morning, but it don't signify now.

_Sunny._ My darling! who has been teasing you?

_Dora._ Never mind. I want you to buy Terrebonne.

_Sunny._ Buy Terrebonne! What for?

_Dora._ No matter--buy it!

_Sunny._ It will cost me all I'm worth. This is folly, Dora.

_Dora._ Is my plantation at Comptableau worth this?

_Sunny._ Nearly--perhaps.

_Dora._ Sell it, then, and buy this.

_Sunny._ Are you mad, my love?

_Dora._ Do you want me to stop here and bid for it?

_Sunny._ Good gracious! no.

_Dora._ Then I'll do it, if you don't.

_Sunny._ I will! I will! But for Heaven's sake go--here comes the
crowd. [_Exit_ Dora, L. U. E.] What on earth does that child mean or
want?

_Enter_ Scudder, George, Ratts, Caillou, Pete, Grace, Minnie, _and
all the Negroes. A large table is in the_ C., _at back._ Pointdexter
mounts the table with his hammer, his Clerk sits at his feet. The
Negro mounts the table from behind_ C. _The Company sit._

_Point._ Now, gentlemen, we shall proceed to business. It ain't
necessary for me to dilate, describe, or enumerate; Terrebonne is
known to you as one of the richest bits of sile in Louisiana, and its
condition reflects credit on them as had to keep it. I'll trouble you
for that piece of baccy, Judge--thank you--so, gentlemen, as life is
short, we'll start right off. The first lot on here is the estate in
block, with its sugar-houses, stock, machines, implements, good
dwelling-houses and furniture. If there is no bid for the estate and
stuff, we'll sell it in smaller lots. Come, Mr. Thibodeaux, a man has
a chance once in his life--here's yours.

_Thib._ Go on. What's the reserve bid?

_Point._ The first mortgagee bids forty thousand dollars.

_Thib._ Forty-five thousand.

_Sunny._ Fifty thousand.

_Point._ When you have done joking, gentlemen, you'll say one hundred
and twenty thousand. It carried that easy on mortgage.

_Lafouche._ [R.] Then why don't you buy it yourself, Colonel?

_Point._ I'm waiting on your fifty thousand bid.

_Caillou._ Eighty thousand.

_Point._ Don't be afraid; it ain't going for that, Judge.

_Sunny._ [L.] Ninety thousand.

_Point._ We're getting on.

_Thib._ One hundred--

_Point._ One hundred thousand bid for this mag--

_Caillou._ One hundred and ten thousand--

_Point._ Good again--one hundred and--

_Sunny._ Twenty.

_Point._ And twenty thousand bid. Squire Sunnyside is going to sell
this at fifty thousand advance to-morrow.--[_Looks round._] Where's
that man from Mobile that wanted to give one hundred and eighty
thousand?

_Thib._ I guess he ain't left home yet, Colonel.

_Point._ I shall knock it down to the Squire--going--gone--for one
hundred and twenty thousand dollars. [_Raises hammer._] Judge, you
can raise the hull on mortgage--going for half its value. [_Knocks._]
Squire Sunnyside, you've got a pretty bit o' land, Squire. Hillo,
darkey, hand me a smash dar.

_Sunny._ I got more than I can work now.

_Point._ Then buy the hands along with the property. Now, gentlemen,
I'm proud to submit to you the finest lot of field hands and house
servants that was ever offered for competition; they speak for
themselves, and do credit to their owners.--[_Reads._] "No. 1, Solon,
a guess boy, and good waiter."

_Pete._ [R. C.] That's my son--buy him, Mas'r Ratts; he's sure to
sarve you well.

_Point._ Hold your tongue!

_Ratts._ [L.] Let the old darkey alone--eight hundred for that boy.

_Caillou._ Nine.

_Ratts._ A thousand.

_Solon._ Thank you, Mas'r Ratts; I die for you, sar; hold up for me,
sar.

_Ratts._ Look here, the boy knows and likes me, Judge; let him come
my way?

_Caillou._ Go on--I'm dumb.

_Point._ One thousand bid. [_Knocks._] He's yours, Captain Ratts,
Magnolia steamer. [Solon _goes down and stands behind_ Ratts.] "No.
2, the yellow girl Grace, with two children--Saul, aged four, and
Victoria five." [_They get on table._]

_Scud._ That's Solon's wife and children, Judge.

_Grace._ [_To_ Ratts.] Buy me, Mas'r Ratts, do buy me, sar?

_Ratts._ What in thunder should I do with you and those devils on
board my boat?

_Grace._ Wash, sar--cook, sar--anyting.

_Ratts._ Eight hundred agin, then--I'll go it.

_Jackson._ Nine.

_Ratts._ I'm broke, Solon--I can't stop the Judge.

_Thib._ What's the matter, Ratts? I'll lend you all you want. Go it,
if you're a mind to.

_Ratts._ Eleven.

_Jackson._ Twelve.

_Sunny._ O, O!

_Scud._ [_To_ Jackson.] Judge, my friend. The Judge is a little deaf.
Hello! [_Speaking in his ear-trumpet._] This gal and them children
belong to that boy Solon there. You're bidding to separate them,
Judge.

_Jackson._ The devil I am! [_Rises._] I'll take back my bid, Colonel.

_Point._ All right, Judge; I thought there was a mistake. I must keep
you, Captain, to the eleven hundred.

_Ratts._ Go it.

_Point._ Eleven hundred--going--going--sold! "No. 3, Pete, a house
servant."

_Pete._ Dat's me--yer, I'm comin'--stand around dar. [_Tumbles upon
the table._]

_Point._ Aged seventy-two.

_Pete._ What's dat? A mistake, sar--forty-six.

_Point._ Lame.

_Pete._ But don't mount to nuffin--kin work cannel. Come, Judge, pick
up. Now's your time, sar.

_Jackson._ One hundred dollars.

_Pete._ What, sar? me! for me--look ye here! [_Dances._]

_George._ Five hundred.

_Pete._ Mas'r George--ah, no, sar--don't buy me--keep your money for
some udder dat is to be sold. I ain't no count, sar.

_Point._ Five hundred bid--it's a good price. [_Knocks._] He's yours,
Mr. George Peyton. [_Pete goes down._] "No. 4, the Octoroon girl,
Zoe."

_Enter_ Zoe, L. U. E., _very pale, and stands on table._--M'Closky
_hitherto has taken no interest in the sale, now turns his chair._

_Sunny._ [_Rising._] Gentlemen, we are all acquainted with the
circumstances of this girl's position, and I feel sure that no one
here will oppose the family who desires to redeem the child of our
esteemed and noble friend, the late Judge Peyton.

_Omnes._ Hear! bravo! hear!

_Point._ While the proceeds of this sale promises to realize less
than the debts upon it, it is my duty to prevent any collusion for
the depreciation of the property.

_Ratts._ Darn ye! You're a man as well as an auctioneer, ain't ye?

_Point._ What is offered for this slave?

_Sunny._ One thousand dollars.

_M'Closky._ Two thousand.

_Sunny._ Three thousand.

_M'Closky._ Five thousand.

_George._ [R.] Demon!

_Sunny._ I bid seven thousand, which is the last dollar this family
possesses.

_M'Closky._ Eight.

_Thibo._ Nine.

_Omnes._ Bravo!

_M'Closky._ Ten. It's no use, Squire.

_Scud._ Jacob M'Closky, you shan't have that girl. Now, take care what
you do. Twelve thousand.

_M'Closky._ Shan't I! Fifteen thousand. Beat that any of ye.

_Point._ Fifteen thousand bid for the Octoroon.

_Enter_ Dora, L. U. E.

_Dora._ Twenty thousand.

_Omnes._ Bravo!

_M'Closky._ Twenty-five thousand.

_Omnes._ [Groan.] O! O!

_George._ [L.] Yelping hound--take that. [_Rushes on_
M'Closky--M'Closky _draws his knife._]

_Scud._ [_Darts between them._] Hold on, George Peyton--stand back.
This is your own house; we are under your uncle's roof; recollect
yourself. And, strangers, ain't we forgetting there's a lady present.
[_The knives disappear._] If we can't behave like Christians, let's
try and act like gentlemen. Go on, Colonel.

_Lafouche._ He didn't ought to bid against a lady.

_M'Closky._ O, that's it, is it? Then I'd like to hire a lady to go
to auction and buy my hands.

_Point._ Gentlemen, I believe none of us have two feelings about the
conduct of that man; but he has the law on his side--we may regret,
but we must respect it. Mr. M'Closky has bid twenty-five thousand
dollars for the Octoroon. Is there any other bid? For the first time,
twenty-five thousand--last time! [_Brings hammer down._] To Jacob
M'Closky, the Octoroon girl, Zoe, twenty-five thousand dollars.
[_Tableaux._]

END OF ACT THIRD.




Act IV


Scene.--_The Wharf, The Steamer "Magnolia" alongside,_ L.; _a bluff
rock,_ R. U. E.

Ratts _discovered, superintending the loading of ship. Enter_
Lafouche _and_ Jackson, L.

_Jackson._ How long before we start, captain?

_Ratts._ Just as soon as we put this cotton on board.

_Enter_ Pete, _with lantern, and_ Scudder, _with note book,_ R.

_Scud._ One hundred and forty-nine bales. Can you take any more?

_Ratts._ Not a bale. I've got engaged eight hundred bales at the next
landing, and one hundred hogsheads of sugar at Patten's
Slide--that'll take my guards under--hurry up thar.

_Voice._ [_Outside._] Wood's aboard.

_Ratts._ All aboard then.

_Enter_ M'Closky, R.

_Scud._ Sign that receipt, captain, and save me going up to the
clerk.

_M'Closky._ See here--there's a small freight of turpentine in the
fore hold there, and one of the barrels leaks; a spark from your
engines might set the ship on fire, and you'd go with it.

_Ratts._ You be darned! Go and try it, if you've a mind to.

_Lafouche._ Captain, you've loaded up here until the boat is sunk so
deep in the mud she won't float.

_Ratts._ [_Calls off._] Wood up thar, you Polio--hang on to the
safety valve--guess she'll crawl off on her paddles. [_Shouts heard,_
R.]

_Jackson._ What's the matter?

_Enter_ Solon, R.

_Solon._ We got him!

_Scud._ Who?

_Solon._ The Injiun!

_Scud._ Wahnotee? Where is he? D'ye call running away from a fellow
catching him?

_Ratts._ Here he comes.

_Omnes._ Where? Where?

_Enter_ Wahnotee, R.; _they are all about to rush on him._

_Scud._ Hold on! stan' round thar! no violence--the critter don't
know what we mean.

_Jackson._ Let him answer for the boy, then.

_M'Closky._ Down with him--lynch him.

_Omnes._ Lynch him! [_Exit_ Lafouche, R.

_Scud._ Stan' back, I say I I'll nip the first that lays a finger
on Him. Pete, speak to the red-skin.

_Pete._ Whar's Paul, Wahnotee? What's come ob de child?

_Wahnotee._ Paul wunce--Paul pangeuk.

_Pete._ Pangeuk--dead.

_Wahnotee._ Mort!

_M'Closky._ And you killed him? [_They approach again._]

_Scud._ Hold on!

_Pete._ Um, Paul reste?

_Wahnotee._ Hugh vieu. [_Goes_ L.] Paul reste el!

_Scud._ Here, stay! [_Examines the ground._] The earth has been
stirred here lately.

_Wahnotee._ Weenee Paul. [_Points down, and shows by pantomime how he
buried_ Paul.]

_Scud._ The Injiun means that he buried him there! Stop! here's a bit
of leather; [_draws out mail-bags_] the mail-bags that were lost!
[_Sees tomahawk in_ Wahnotee's _belt--draws it out and examines it._]
Look! here are marks of blood--look thar, red-skin, what's that?

Wahnotee. Paul! [_Makes sign that_ Paul _was killed by a blow on the
head._]

_M'Closky._ He confesses it; the Indian got drunk, quarreled with
him, and killed him.

_Re-enter_ Lafouche, R., _with smashed apparatus._

_Lafouche._ Here are evidences of the crime; this rum-bottle half
emptied--this photographic apparatus smashed--and there are marks of
blood and footsteps around the shed.

_M'Closky._ What more d'ye want--ain't that proof enough? Lynch him!

_Omnes._ Lynch him! Lynch him!

_Scud._ Stan' back, boys! He's an Injiun--fair play.

_Jackson._ Try him, then--try him on the spot of his crime.

_Omnes._ Try him! Try him!

_Lafouche._ Don't let him escape!

_Ratts._ I'll see to that. [_Draws revolver._] If he stirs, I'll put
a bullet through his skull, mighty quick.

_M'Closky._ Come, form a court then, choose a jury--we'll fix this
varmin.

_Enter_ Thibodeaux _and_ Caillou, L.

_Thibo._ What's the matter?

_Lafouche._ We've caught this murdering Injiun, and are going to try
him. [Wahnotee _sits_ L., _rolled in blanket._]

_Pete._ Poor little Paul--poor little nigger!

_Scud._ This business goes agin me, Ratts--'tain't right.

_Lafouche._ We're ready; the jury's impanelled--go ahead--who'll be
accuser?

_Ratts._ M'Closky.

_M'Closky._ Me?

_Ratts._ Yes; you was the first to hail Judge Lynch.

_M'Closky._ [R.] Well, what's the use of argument whar guilt sticks
out so plain; the boy and Injiun were alone when last seen.

_Scud._ (L. C.) Who says that?

_M'Closky._ Everybody--that is, I heard so.

_Scud._ Say what you know--not what you heard.

_M'Closky._ I know then that the boy was killed with that
tomahawk--the red-skin owns it--the signs of violence are all round
the shed--this apparatus smashed--ain't it plain that in a drunken
fit he slew the boy, and when sober concealed the body yonder?

_Omnes._ That's it--that's it.

_Ratts._ Who defends the Injiun?

_Scud._ I will; for it is agin my natur' to b'lieve him guilty; and
if he be, this ain't the place, nor you the authority to try him. How
are we sure the boy is dead at all? There are no witnesses but a rum
bottle and an old machine. Is it on such evidence you'd hang a human
being?

_Ratts._ His own confession.

_Scud._ I appeal against your usurped authority. This lynch law is a
wild and lawless proceeding. Here's a pictur' for a civilized
community to afford; yonder, a poor, ignorant savage, and round him
a circle of hearts, white with revenge and hate, thirsting for his
blood; you call yourselves judges--you ain't--you're a jury of
executioners. It is such scenes as these that bring disgrace upon our
Western life.

_M'Closky._ Evidence! Evidence! Give us evidence. We've had talk enough;
now for proof.

_Omnes._ Yes, yes! Proof, proof.

_Scud._ Where am I to get it? The proof is here, in my heart.

_Pete._ [_Who has been looking about the camera._] Top, sar! Top a
bit! O, laws-a-mussey, see dis; here's a pictur' I found stickin' in
that yar telescope machine, sar! look sar!

_Scud._ A photographic plate. [_Pete holds lantern up._] What's this,
eh? two forms! The child--'tis he! dead--and above him--Ah! ah! Jacob
M'Closky, 'twas you murdered that boy!

_M'Closky._ Me?

_Scud._ You! You slew him with that tomahawk; and as you stood over
his body with the letter in your hand, you thought that no witness
saw the deed, that no eye was on you--but there was, Jacob M'Closky,
there was. The eye of the Eternal was on you--the blessed sun in
heaven, that, looking down, struck upon this plate the image of the
deed. Here you are, in the very attitude of your crime!

_M'Closky._ 'Tis false!

_Scud._ 'Tis true! the apparatus can't lie. Look there, jurymen.
[_Shows plate to jury._] Look there. O, you wanted evidence--you
called for proof--Heaven has answered and convicted you.

_M'Closky._ What court of law would receive such evidence? [_Going._]

_Ratts._ Stop; this would. You called it yourself; you wanted to make
us murder that Injiun; and since we've got our hands in for justice,
we'll try it on you. What say ye? shall we have one law for the
red-skin and another for the white?

_Omnes._ Try him! Try him!

_Ratts._ Who'll be accuser?

_Scud._ I will! Fellow-citizens, you are convened and assembled here
under a higher power than the law. What's the law? When the ship's
abroad on the ocean, when the army is before the enemy where in
thunder's the law? It is in the hearts of brave men, who can tell
right from wrong, and from whom justice can't be bought. So it is
here, in the wilds of the West, where our hatred of crime is measured
by the speed of our executions--where necessity is law! I say, then,
air you honest men? air you true? Put your hands on your naked
breasts, and let every man as don't feel a real American heart there,
bustin' up with freedom, truth, and right, let that man step
out--that's the oath I put to ye--and then say, Darn ye, go it!

_Omnes._ Go on. Go on.

_Scud._ No! I won't go on; that man's down. I won't strike him, even
with words. Jacob, your accuser is that picter of the crime--let that
speak--defend yourself.

_M'Closky._ [_Draws knife._] I will, quicker than lightning.

_Ratts._ Seize him, then! [_They rush on_ M'Closky, _and disarm
him._] He can fight though he's a painter; claws all over.

_Scud._ Stop! Search him, we may find more evidence.

_M'Closky._ Would you rob me first, and murder me afterwards?

_Ratts._ [_Searching him._] That's his programme--here's a
pocket-book.

_Scud._ [_Opens it._] What's here? Letters! Hello! To "Mrs. Peyton,
Terrebonne, Louisiana, United States." Liverpool post mark. Ho! I've
got hold of the tail of a rat--come out. [Reads.] What's this? A
draft for eighty-five thousand dollars, and credit on Palisse and
Co., of New Orleans, for the balance. Hi! the rat's out. You killed
the boy to steal this letter from the mail-bags--you stole this
letter, that the money should not arrive in time to save the
Octoroon; had it done so, the lien on the estate would have ceased,
and Zoe be free.

_Omnes._ Lynch him! Lynch him! Down with him!

_Scud._ Silence in the court; stand back, let the gentlemen of the
jury retire, consult, and return their verdict.

_Ratts._ I'm responsible for the crittur--go on.

_Pete._ [_To_ Wahnotee.] See Injiun; look dar [_shows him plate_],
see dat innocent; look, dar's de murderer of poor Paul.

_Wahnotee._ Ugh! [_Examines plate._]

_Pete._ Ya!--as he? Closky tue Paul--kill de child with your tomahawk
dar; 'twasn't you, no--ole Pete allus say so. Poor Injiun lub our
little Paul. [Wahnotee _rises and looks at_ M'Closky--_he is in his
war paint and fully armed._]

_Scud._ What say ye, gentlemen? Is the prisoner guilty, or is he not
guilty?

_Omnes._ Guilty!

_Scud._ And what is to be his punishment?

_Omnes._ Death! [_All advance._]

_Wahnotee._ [_Crosses to_ M'Closky.] Ugh!

_Scud._ No, Injiun; we deal out justice here, not revenge. 'Tain't
you he has injured, 'tis the white man, whose laws he has offended.

_Ratts._ Away with him--put him down the aft hatch, till we rig his
funeral.

_M'Closky._ Fifty against one! O! if I had you one by one, alone in
the swamp, I'd rip ye all. [_He is borne off in boat, struggling._]

_Scud._ Now then to business.

_Pete._ [_Re-enters from boat._] O, law, sir, dat debil Closky, he
tore hisself from de gen'lam, knock me down, take my light, and trows
it on de turpentine barrels, and de shed's all afire! [_Fire seen,_
R.]

_Jackson._ [_Re-entering._] We are catching fire forward; quick, set
free from the shore.

_Ratts._ All hands aboard there--cut the starn ropes--give her
headway!

_All._ Ay, ay! [_Cry of "fire" heard--Engine bells heard--steam
whistle noise._]

_Ratts._ Cut all away for'ard--overboard with every bale afire.

_The Steamer moves off--fire kept up_--M'Closky _re-enters,_ R.,
_swimming on._

_M'Closky._ Ha! have I fixed ye? Burn! burn! that's right. You
thought you had cornered me, did ye? As I swam down, I thought I
heard something in the water, as if pursuing me--one of them darned
alligators, I suppose--they swarm hereabout--may they crunch every
limb of ye! [_Exit,_ L.

Wahnote _swims on--finds trail--follows him. The Steamer floats on at
back, burning. Tableaux._

CURTAIN.

END OF ACT FOURTH.




ACT V



Scene I.--_Negroes' Quarters in_ 1. _Enter_ Zoe, L. 1. E.


_Zoe._ It wants an hour yet to daylight--here is Pete's
hut--[_Knocks._] He sleeps--no; I see a light.

_Dido._ [_Enters from hut,_ R. F.] Who dat?

_Zoe._ Hush, aunty! 'Tis I--Zoe.

_Dido._ Missey Zoe! Why you out in de swamp dis time ob night--you
catch de fever sure--you is all wet.

_Zoe._ Where's Pete?

_Dido._ He gone down to de landing last night wid Mas'r Scudder; not
come back since--kint make it out.

_Zoe._ Aunty, there is sickness up at the house; I have been up all
night beside one who suffers, and I remembered that when I had the
fever you gave me a drink, a bitter drink, that made me sleep--do you
remember it?

_Dido._ Didn't I? Dem doctors ain't no 'count; dey don't know nuffin.

_Zoe._ No; but you, aunty, you are wise--you know every plant, don't
you, and what it is good for?

_Dido._ Dat you drink is fust rate for red fever. Is de folks head
bad?

_Zoe._ Very bad, aunty; and the heart aches worse, so they can get no
rest.

_Dido._ Hold on a bit, I get you de bottle. [_Exit,_ L. R.

_Zoe._ In a few hours that man, my master, will come for me; he has
paid my price, and he only consented to let me remain here this one
night, because Mrs. Peyton promised to give me up to him to-day.

_Dido._ [_Re-enters with phial._] Here 'tis--now you give one
timble-full--dat's nuff.

_Zoe._ All there is there would kill one, wouldn't it?

_Dido._ Guess it kill a dozen--nebber try.

_Zoe._ It's not a painful death, aunty, is it? You told me it
produced a long, long sleep.

_Dido._ Why you tremble so? Why you speak so wild? What you's gwine
to do, missey?

_Zoe._ Give me the drink.

_Dido._ No. Who dat sick at de house?

_Zoe._ Give it to me.

_Dido._ No. You want to hurt yourself. O, Miss Zoe, why you ask ole
Dido for dis pizen?

_Zoe._ Listen to me. I love one who is here, and he loves me--George.
I sat outside his door all night--I heard his sighs--his agony--torn
from him by my coming fate; and he said, "I'd rather see her dead
than his!"

_Dido._ Dead!

_Zoe._ He said so--then I rose up, and stole from the house, and ran
down to the bayou; but its cold, black, silent stream terrified
me--drowning must be so horrible a death. I could not do it. Then, as
I knelt there, weeping for courage, a snake rattled beside me. I
shrunk from it and fled. Death was there beside me, and I dared not
take it. O! I'm afraid to die; yet I am more afraid to live.

_Dido._ Die!

_Zoe._ So I came here to you; to you, my own dear nurse; to you, who
so often hushed me to sleep when I was a child; who dried my eyes and
put your little Zoe to rest. Ah! give me the rest that no master but
One can disturb--the sleep from which I shall awake free! You can
protect me from that man--do let me die without pain. [_Music._]

_Dido._ No, no--life is good for young ting like you.

_Zoe._ O! good, good nurse; you will, you will.

_Dido._ No--g'way.

_Zoe._ Then I shall never leave Terrebonne--the drink, nurse; the
drink; that I may never leave my home--my dear, dear home. You will
not give me to that man? Your own Zoe, that loves you, aunty, so
much, so much.--[_Gets phial._] Ah! I have it.

_Dido._ No, missey. O! no--don't.

_Zoe._ Hush!  [_Runs off,_ L. 1. E.

_Dido._ Here, Solon, Minnie, Grace.

_They enter._

_All._ Was de matter?

_Dido._ Miss Zoe got de pizen. [_Exit,_ L.

_All._ O! O!

_Exeunt,_ L.



Scene II.--_Cane-brake Bayou.--Bank,_ C.--_Triangle Fire,_
R. C.--_Canoe,_ C.--M'Closky _discovered asleep._


_M'Closky._ Burn, burn! blaze away! How the flames crack. I'm not
guilty; would ye murder me? Cut, cut the rope--I choke--choke!--Ah!
[_Wakes._] Hello! where am I? Why, I was dreaming--curse it! I can
never sleep now without dreaming. Hush! I thought I heard the sound
of a paddle in the water. All night, as I fled through the
cane-brake, I heard footsteps behind me. I lost them in the cedar
swamp--again they haunted my path down the bayou, moving as I moved,
resting when I rested--hush! there again!--no; it was only the wind
over the canes. The sun is rising. I must launch my dug-out, and put
for the bay, and in a few hours I shall be safe from pursuit on board
of one of the coasting schooners that run from Galveston to
Matagorda. In a little time this darned business will blow over, and
I can show again. Hark! there's that noise again! If it was the ghost
of that murdered boy haunting me! Well--I didn't mean to kill him,
did I? Well, then, what has my all-cowardly heart got to skeer me so
for? [_Music._]

[_Gets in canoe and rows off,_ L.--Wahnotee _paddles canoe on,_
R.--_gets out and finds trail--paddles off after him,_ L.]



Scene III.--_Cedar Swamp._


_Enter_ Scudder _and_ Pete, L. 1. E.

_Scud._ Come on, Pete, we shan't reach the house before midday.

_Pete._ Nebber mind, sar, we bring good news--it won't spile for de
keeping.

_Scud._ Ten miles we've had to walk, because some blamed varmin
onhitched our dug-out. I left it last night all safe.

_Pete._ P'r'aps it floated away itself.

_Scud._ No; the hitching line was cut with a knife.

_Pete._ Say, Mas'r Scudder, s'pose we go in round by de quarters and
raise de darkies, den dey cum long wid us, and we 'proach dat ole
house like Gin'ral Jackson when he took London out dar.

_Scud._ Hello, Pete, I never heard of that affair.

_Pete._ I tell you, sar--hush!

_Scud._ What? [_Music._]

_Pete._ Was dat?--a cry out dar in de swamp--dar agin!

_Scud._ So it is. Something forcing its way through the
undergrowth--it comes this way--it's either a bear or a runaway
nigger. [_Draws pistol_--M'Closky _rushes on and falls at_ Scudder's
_feet._]

_Scud._ Stand off--what are ye?

_Pete._ Mas'r Clusky.

_M'Closky._ Save me--save me! I can go no farther. I heard voices.

_Scud._ Who's after you?

_M'Closky._ I don't know, but I feel it's death! In some form, human,
or wild beast, or ghost, it has tracked me through the night. I fled;
it followed. Hark! there it comes--it comes--don't you hear a
footstep on the dry leaves?

_Scud._ Your crime has driven you mad.

_M'Closky._ D'ye hear it--nearer--nearer--ah! [Wahnotee _rushes on,
and at_ M'Closky, L. H.]

_Scud._ The Injiun! by thunder.

_Pete._ You'se a dead man, Mas'r Clusky--you got to b'lieve dat.

_M'Closky._ No--no. If I must die, give me up to the law; but save me
from the tomahawk. You are a white man; you'll not leave one of your
own blood to be butchered by the red-skin?

_Scud._ Hold on now, Jacob; we've got to figure on that--let us look
straight at the thing. Here we are on the selvage of civilization.
It ain't our sile, I believe, rightly; but Nature has said that where
the white man sets his foot, the red man and the black man shall up
sticks and stand around. But what do we pay for that possession? In
cash? No--in kind--that is, in protection, forbearance, gentleness;
in all them goods that show the critters the difference between the
Christian and the savage. Now, what have you done to show them the
distinction? for, darn me, if I can find out.

_M'Closky._ For what I have done, let me be tried.

_Scud._ You have been tried--honestly tried and convicted. Providence
has chosen your executioner. I shan't interfere.

_Pete._ O, no; Mas'r Scudder, don't leave Mas'r Closky like
dat--don't, sa--'tain't what good Christian should do.

_Scud._ D'ye hear that, Jacob? This old nigger, the grandfather of
the boy you murdered, speaks for you--don't that go through you? D'ye
feel it? Go on, Pete, you've waked up the Christian here, and the old
hoss responds. [_Throws bowie-knife to_ M'Closky.] Take that, and
defend yourself.

_Exit_ Scudder _and_ Pete, R. 1. E.--Wahnotee _faces him.--Fight--buss._
M'Closky _runs off,_ L. 1. E.--Wahnote _follows him.--Screams
outside._



Scene IV.--_Parlor at Terrebonne._


Enter Zoe, C. [_Music._]

_Zoe._ My home, my home! I must see you no more. Those little flowers
can live, but I cannot. To-morrow they'll bloom the same--all will be
here as now, and I shall be cold. O! my life, my happy life; why has
it been so bright?

_Enter_ Mrs. Peyton _and_ Dora, C.

_Dora._ Zoe, where have you been?

_Mrs. P._ We felt quite uneasy about you.

_Zoe._ I've been to the negro quarters. I suppose I shall go before
long, and I wished to visit all the places, once again, to see the
poor people.

_Mrs. P._ Zoe, dear, I'm glad to see you more calm this morning.

_Dora._ But how pale she looks, and she trembles so.

_Zoe._ Do I? [_Enter_ George, C.] Ah! he is here.

_Dora._ George, here she is!

_Zoe._ I have come to say good-by, sir; two hard words--so hard, they
might break many a heart; mightn't they?

_George._ O, Zoe! can you smile at this moment?

_Zoe._ You see how easily I have become reconciled to my fate--so it
will be with you. You will not forget poor Zoe! but her image will
pass away like a little cloud that obscured your happiness a
while--you will love each other; you are both too good not to join
your hearts. Brightness will return amongst you. Dora, I once made
you weep; those were the only tears I caused any body. Will you
forgive me?

_Dora._ Forgive you--[_Kisses her._]

_Zoe._ I feel you do, George.

_George._ Zoe, you are pale. Zoe!--she faints!

_Zoe._ No; a weakness, that's all--a little water. [_Dora gets
water._] I have a restorative here--will you poor it in the glass?
[Dora _attempts to take it._] No; not you--George. [George _pours
contents of phial in glass._] Now, give it to me. George, dear
George, do you love me?

_George._ Do you doubt it, Zoe?

_Zoe._ No! [_Drinks._]

_Dora._ Zoe, if all I possess would buy your freedom, I would gladly
give it.

_Zoe._ I am free! I had but one Master on earth, and he has given me
my freedom!

_Dora._ Alas! but the deed that freed you was not lawful.

_Zoe._ Not lawful--no--but I am going to where there is no law--where
there is only justice.

_George._ Zoe, you are suffering--your lips are white--your cheeks
are flushed.

_Zoe._ I must be going--it is late. Farewell, Dora. [_Retires._]

_Pete._ [_Outside,_ R.] Whar's Missus--whar's Mas'r George?

_George._ They come.

_Enter_ Scudder.

_Scud._ Stand around and let me pass--room thar! I feel so big with
joy, creation ain't wide enough to hold me. Mrs. Peyton, George
Peyton, Terrebonne is yours. It was that rascal M'Closky--but he got
rats, I avow--he killed the boy, Paul, to rob this letter from the
mail-bags--the letter from Liverpool you know--he sot fire to the
shed--that was how the steamboat got burned up.

_Mrs. P._ What d'ye mean?

_Scud._ Read--read that. [_Gives letter._]

_George._ Explain yourself.

_Enter_ Sunnyside.

_Sunny._ Is it true?

_Scud._ Every word of it, Squire. Here, you tell it, since you know
it. If I was to try, I'd bust.

_Mrs. P._ Read, George. Terrebonne is yours.

_Enter_ Pete, Dido, Solon, Minnie, _and_ Grace.

_Pete._ Whar is she--whar is Miss Zoe?

_Scud._ What's the matter?

_Pete._ Don't ax me. Whar's de gal? I say.

_Scud._ Here she is--Zoe!--water--she faints.

_Pete._ No--no. 'Tain't no faint--she's a dying, sa; she got pison
from old Dido here, this mornin'.

_George._ Zoe.

_Scud._ Zoe! is this true?--no, it ain't--darn it, say it ain't. Look
here, you're free, you know nary a master to hurt you now; you will
stop here as long as you're a mind to, only don't look so.

_Dora._ Her eyes have changed color.

_Pete._ Dat's what her soul's gwine to do. It's going up dar, whar
dere's no line atween folks.

_George._ She revives.

_Zoe._ [_On sofa,_ C.] George--where--where--

_George._ O, Zoe! what have you done?

_Zoe._ Last night I overheard you weeping in your room, and you said,
"I'd rather see her dead than so!"

_George._ Have I prompted you to this?

_Zoe._ No; but I loved you so, I could not bear my fate; and then I
stood your heart and hers. When I am dead she will not be jealous of
your love for me, no laws will stand between us.  Lift me;
so--[_George raises her head_]--let me look at you, that your face
may be the last I see of this world. O! George, you may without a
blush confess your love for the Octoroon! [_Dies._--George _lowers
her head gently.--Kneels.--Others form picture._]

_Darken front of  house and stage._

[_Light fires.--Draw flats and discover_ Paul's _grave._--M'Closky
_dead on top of it._--Wahnotee _standing triumphantly over him._]

SLOW CURTAIN




Transcriber's Notes


Scene I is announced for Act I, though there is only one scene.

Original spellings left in this book

  travelling
  moccason
  judgment(s)
  compagnie
  travelled
  fibres
  Both "hillo" and "hello" are used by the author

Typo?  In several places a contraction "wan't" appears where the
context requires the verb "want."  The change was made.

There is a large amount of slang, dialect and colloquialisms in the
play that have been left.

RBB







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