THE EMBARKATION.

You see, my dear child, at that time one post-office served for three parishes:  St. James, St. John the Baptist, and St. Charles.  It was very far from us, at the extremity of St. John the Baptist, and the mail came there on the first of each month.

We had to pay-though the price was no object-fifty cents postage on a letter.  My father received several journals, mostly European.  There was only one paper, French and Spanish, published in New Orleans-“The Gazette." To send to the post-office was an affair of state.  Our father, you see, had not time to write; he was obliged to come to us himself.  But such journeys were a matter of course in those days.

“And above all things, my children,” said my father, “don’t have too much baggage.”

I should not have thought of rebelling; but Suzanne raised loud cries, saying it was an absolute necessity that we go with papa to New Orleans, so as not to find ourselves on our journey without traveling-dresses, new neckerchiefs, and a number of things.  In vain did poor papa endeavor to explain that we were going into a desert worse than Arabia; Suzanne put her two hands to her ears and would hear nothing, until, weary of strife, poor papa yielded.

Our departure being decided upon, he wished to start even the very next day; and while we were instructing our sisters Elinore and Marie concerning some trunks that we should leave behind us, and which they must pack and have ready for the flatboat, papa recommended to mamma a great slaughter of fowls, etc., and especially to have ready for embarkation two of our best cows.  Ah! in those times if the planter wished to live well he had to raise everything himself, and the poultry yard and the dairy were something curious to see.  Dozens of slaves were kept busy in them constantly.  When my mother had raised two thousand chickens, besides turkeys, ducks, geese, guinea-fowls, and pea-fowls, she said she had lost her crop. And the quantity of butter and cheese!  And all this without counting the sauces, the jellies, the preserves, the gherkins, the syrups, the brandied fruits.  And not a ham, not a chicken, not a pound of butter was sold; all was served on the master’s table, or, very often, given to those who stood in need of them.  Where, now, can you find such profusion?  Ah! commerce has destroyed industry.

The next day, after kissing mamma and the children, we got into the large skiff with papa and three days later stepped ashore in New Orleans.  We remained there a little over a week, preparing our traveling-dresses.  Despite the admonitions of papa, we went to the fashionable modiste of the day, Madame Cinthelia Lefranc, and ordered for each a suit that cost one hundred and fifty dollars.  The costume was composed of a petticoat of camayeu, very short, caught up in puffs on the side by a profusion of ribbons; and a very long-pointed black velvet jacket (casaquin), laced in the back with gold and trimmed on the front with several rows of gilt buttons.  The sleeves stopped at the elbows and were trimmed with lace.  Now, my daughter, do you know what camayeu was?  You now sometimes see an imitation of it in door and window curtains.  It was a stuff of great fineness, yet resembling not a little the unbleached cotton of to-day, and over which were spread very brilliant designs of prodigious size.  For example, Suzanne’s petticoat showed bunches of great radishes-not the short kind-surrounded by long, green leaves and tied with a yellow cord; while on mine were roses as big as a baby’s head, interlaced with leaves and buds and gathered into bouquets graced with a blue ribbon.  It was ten dollars an ell; but, as the petticoats were very short, six ells was enough for each.  At that time real hats were unknown.  For driving or for evening they placed on top of the high, powdered hair what they called a catogan, a little bonnet of gauze or lace trimmed with ribbons; and during the day a sun-bonnet of silk or velvet.  You can guess that neither Suzanne nor I, in spite of papa’s instructions, forgot these.

Our traveling-dresses were gray cirsacas,-the skirt all one, short, without puffs; the jacket coming up high and with long sleeves,-a sunbonnet of cirsacas, blue stockings, embroidered handkerchief or blue cravat about the neck, and high-heeled shoes.

As soon as Celeste heard of our arrival in New Orleans she hastened to us.  She was a good creature; humble, respectful, and always ready to serve.  She was an excellent cook and washer, and, what we still more prized, a lady’s maid and hairdresser of the first order.  My sister and I were glad to see her, and overwhelmed her with questions about Carlo, their children, their plans, and our traveling companions.

“Ah!  Momzelle Suzanne, the little Madame Carpentier seems to me a fine lady, ever so genteel; but the Irish woman!  Ah! grand Dieu! she puts me in mind of a soldier.  I’m afraid of her.  She smokes-she swears-she carries a pistol, like a man.”

At last the 15th of May came, and papa took us on board the flatboat and helped us to find our way to our apartment.  If my father had allowed Carlo, he would have ruined himself in furnishing our room; but papa stopped him and directed it himself.  The flatboat had been divided into four chambers.  These were covered by a slightly arching deck, on which the boat was managed by the moving of immense sweeps that sent her forward.  The room in the stern, surrounded by a sort of balcony, which Monsieur Carpentier himself had made, belonged to him and his wife; then came ours, then that of Celeste and her family, and the one at the bow was the Irishwoman’s.  Carlo and Gordon had crammed the provisions, tools, carts, and plows into the corners of their respective apartments.  In the room which our father was to share with us he had had Mario make two wooden frames mounted on feet.  These were our beds, but they were supplied with good bedding and very white sheets.  A large cypress table, on which we saw a pile of books and our workboxes; a washstand, also of cypress, but well furnished and surmounted by a mirror; our trunks in a corner; three rocking-chairs-this was all our furniture.  There was neither carpet nor curtain.

All were on board except the Carpentier couple.  Suzanne was all anxiety to see the Irishwoman.  Poor Suzanne! how distressed she was not to be able to speak English!  So, while I was taking off my capotte-as the sun-bonnet of that day was called-and smoothing my hair at the glass, she had already tossed her capotte upon papa’s bed and sprung up the ladder that led to the deck. (Each room had one.) I followed a little later and had the satisfaction of seeing Madame Margaretto Gordon, commonly called “Maggie” by her husband and “Maw” by her son Patrick.  She was seated on a coil of rope, her son on the boards at her feet.  An enormous dog crouched beside them, with his head against Maggie’s knee.  The mother and son were surprisingly clean.  Maggie had on a simple brown calico dress and an apron of blue ticking.  A big red kerchief was crossed on her breast and its twin brother covered her well combed and greased black hair.  On her feet were blue stockings and heavy leather shoes.  The blue ticking shirt and pantaloons and waistcoat of Master Pat were so clean that they shone; his black cap covered his hair-as well combed as his mother’s; but he was barefooted.  Gordon, Mario, and Celeste’s eldest son, aged thirteen, were busy about the deck; and papa, his cigar in his mouth and his hands in his pockets, stood looking out on the levee.  I sat down on one of the rough benches that had been placed here and there, and presently my sister came and sat beside me.

“Madame Carpentier seems to be a laggard,” she said.  She was burning to see the arrival of her whom we had formed the habit of calling “the little French peasant.”

[Presently Suzanne begins shooting bonbons at little Patrick, watching the effect out of the corners of her eyes, and by and by gives that smile, all her own,-to which, says Francoise, all flesh invariably surrendered,-and so became dumbly acquainted; while Carlo was beginning to swear “fit to raise the dead,” writes the memoirist, at the tardiness of the Norman pair.  But just then-]

A carriage drove up to within a few feet of our chaland and Joseph Carpentier alighted, paid the driver, and lifted from it one so delicate, pretty, and small that you might take her at first glance for a child of ten years.  Suzanne and I had risen quickly and came and leaned over the balustrade.  To my mortification my sister had passed one arm around the waist of the little Irishman and held one of his hands in hers.  Suzanne uttered a cry of astonishment.  “Look, look, Francoise!” But I was looking, with eyes wide with astonishment.

The gardener’s wife had alighted, and with her little gloved hand shook out and re-arranged her toilet.  That toilet, very simple to the eyes of Madame Carpentier, was what petrified us with astonishment.  I am going to describe it to you, my daughter.

We could not see her face, for her hood of blue silk, trimmed with a light white fur, was covered with a veil of white lace that entirely concealed her features.  Her traveling-dress, like ours, was of cirsacas, but ours was cotton, while hers was silk, in broad rays of gray and blue; and as the weather was a little cool that morning, she had exchanged the unfailing casaquin for a sort of camail to match the dress, and trimmed, like the capotte, with a line of white fur.  Her petticoat was very short, lightly puffed on the sides, and ornamented only with two very long pockets trimmed like the camail.  Below the folds of the robe were two Cinderella feet in blue silk stockings and black velvet slippers.  It was not only the material of this toilet that astonished us, but the way in which it was made.

“Maybe she is a modiste.  Who knows?” whispered Suzanne.

Another thing:  Madame Carpentier wore a veil and gloves, two things of which we had heard but which we had never seen.  Madame Ferrand had mentioned them, but said that they sold for their weight in gold in Paris, and she had not dared import them, for fear she could not sell them in Louisiana.  And here was the wife of a laboring gardener, who avowed himself possessor of but two thousand francs, dressed like a duchess and with veil and gloves!

I could but notice with what touching care Joseph assisted his wife on board.  He led her straight to her room, and quickly rejoined us on deck to put himself at the disposition of his associates.  He explained to Mario his delay, caused by the difficulty of finding a carriage; at which Carlo lifted his shoulders and grimaced.  Joseph added that madame-I noticed that he rarely called her Alix-was rather tired, and would keep her room until dinner time.  Presently our heavy craft was under way.

Pressing against the long sweeps, which it required a herculean strength to move, were seen on one side Carlo and his son Celestino, or ’Tino, and on the other Joseph and Gordon.  It moved slowly; so slowly that it gave the effect of a great tortoise.