 | THE CATASTROPHE. Idomen, or, The vale of Yumuri |  |
5. THE CATASTROPHE.
“At the hour of the siesta I departed with
Benito, who hung, in a neighboring thicket,
my hammock of coloured Indian grass; and
lay down himself, near me, on the fresh turf of
malva—while our horses slightly confined, had
liberty enough to sleep and to feed upon the
verdure around them. Half slumbering, half
reflecting on plans for the future, I lay till the
sun declined; then returned through the woods
to my own dwelling.
“A letter was waiting me, from the friend
who had purchased this retreat. My presence
the paper, had come to take my place while
gone, in directing the labors of my plantation.
`My stay need be only fourteen days, but I
shrunk from leaving, so soon, the woman who
found comfort in my presence.
“Yet the settlement desired in my affairs,
was needful, even to Idomen; for my fast increasing
“cafetal,” was to be for her use as
well as mine. This plantation before my purchase
was called Santa Teresa;[1]
the name
still remained cut in wood, but I changed it
ere I went for that of Idomen, resolving to
procure at Havana, letters of silver to be placed
at my portal.[2]
“To embark for two weeks for Havana required
but an evening's preparation; and before
eleven in the morning, I stood at the door of
her who made every morning cheerful.
“A volante with curtains of green silk,
closely drawn for the morning, had already
preceded my visit; and Lorington and Leonora
were sitting on the sofa, with Idomen.
“A sadness came over the countenance of
my friend, when I said I must be absent for
two weeks; but Lorington smiled, and promised
all the care she might require.
“Benito still lingered at the door, by his
him a moment, and glanced towards the limpid
Yumuri. A black vulture was again stalking
at its margin, with the stateliness of a
plumed hearse.
“Leonora had come to invite Madame Burleigh
to dine at her home, in the heart of Matanzas.
The manner of her living pleased me,
and brought to mind the cities of antiquity.—
We entered by the large door; the hall or
principal apartment was furnished with sofas
of silk, and “butacas” or easy chairs of the
country. A door, curtained with lawn, led
from this to the nuptial chamber, and we passed
through an airy refectory, to the inner
court, planted with flowers and shrubs, and
surrounded by small apartments; while the
side farthest from the front, and allotted to the
use and employments of servitude, was entirely
concealed by screens and foliage. The
floor of the court, (or its alleys between beds
of flowers) was paved, and on a level with the
principal apartment.
“You have seen this form of building; it is
not uncommon in Cuba; but neatness, order
and comfort, distinguished the hospitable dwelling
of Lorington, the friend of the stranger.
“The sparkling black eyes of Leonora spoke
vivacity rather than languor, and instead of
that roundness of form most remarked in the
ladies of this island of ease, in her was seen
the image of lightness.
“Seldom at rest, she changed our seats
from one silken sofa to the other; from the
hall to the open refectory, where birds were
hung in cages decked with ribands of many colors.
The flowers of her court were fragrant in
the dews of evening, when placing herself at the
door of the refectory to inhale the sweet air
around them, she sung a few wild Spanish airs
that thrilled through the bosom of Idomen.—
Leonora had never been taught music, but a
true ear and a natural taste had given her peculiar
sweetness in the expression of strains
on a minor key, and in every chromatic passage.
“Her songs, her pleasing Spanish accents,
and her cheerfulness, were charming to my
guileless Idomen; but still an unwonted dejection
came over her, as she sat or moved
with Leonora.
“I felt, as I looked at her, even as the mother,
who leaves, for the first time, her infant;
for Idomen was dear to my soul as the last
born darling that smiles upon the bosom of
maternity when all its brethren are no more.
“Yet, for fear, there seemed no reason.—
I left her in the care of the same friends with
whom she was safe before I saw her. The manner
of her life, beside, was innocent and regular
as nature.
“At six in the warm, fair morning, the beautiful
bay glowed with light, and the steam
be lurking near the shores, or some bold privateer
of Columbia might be hostile to the
islanders of Ferdinand, but fears entered not
in the scene.[3]
“Mothers, with eyes of love, and forms
rounded by indulgence, sat in indolent happiness,
amid groups of smiling children; young
girls, with long braided black hair, and lashes
curling on their cheeks, cast livelier glances
among the strangers, and waved their small
hands as they saw, from time to time, an acquaintance;
while black female slaves, loving
and obese, sat down upon the floor, around
them, sinking often to sleep upon each other's
laps when their services were not required.
“The ease and content that reigned among
these Cuban families, formed a vivid contrast
to the faces of foreign merchants; playing, as
most of them are, at a desperate game with
Fortune.
“My affairs at Havana were finished, ere the
second week was ended. When arrived at
the port of my home, it was near sunset. The
first being I met was Lorington, who told me
that Madame Burleigh was very ill of a fever;
but begged me to set myself at ease, as every
thing possible had been done for her.
“Perceiving a public volante, I threw myself
into it, and was driven to that dwelling
near the banks of the flowery Yumuri, where
Idomen so lately had met me, in the beauty of
health and sincerity.
“A `mulatress' hired for her nurse, came
softly to the door to receive me. A mild
French physician soon followed, who recommended
perfect stillness, and said that the fever
had already been heightened by imprudence.
“I knew not how to contain myself, but after
whispering a moment, crept softly to the bedside
of Idomen. Good heaven, what a change
had come over her—she slept, but pain was
expressed in every laboured respiration.
“Her long fair hair, which had once been
so carefully arranged, was now half concealed
by a cap of linen, and wet with vinegar to
allay the aching of her head. The roundness
had departed from her cheeks; she had been
profusely bled—on her temples were the traces
of leeches; and burning cataplasms were
bound upon her arms and feet. And all this
change had been wrought in three days!
“From nurse, physician, and the white servant,
who was weeping, I could glean but a
broken account. Madame Burleigh had taken
cold, while walking one evening, after it had
rained, with her Spanish friend, Do a Leonora;
and while still indisposed, had received
had ached, and the slightest uneasiness was
dangerous; but a state of incipient fever, is
too often disregarded at Cuba, and no physician
had been called.
“While Idomen was still in this state, a
planter had come from the country who had
lived on intimate terms with Llewellyn Lloyd,
her uncle.
“The name of this planter was Belton—the
same who passed when I stood, with her who
now lay suffering, by the wild fig-tree near the
bay.
“Belton had been told of my late attendance
on the niece of his friend; and urged by jealousy
or some worse passion, had questioned
her roughly on the subject. He told her that
her character was in jeopardy on account of
the freedom of my visits; and that her present
way of living was ruinous, not only to herself,
but disgraceful to her child and to all her
relations in Canada.
“The brain of the unfortunate Idomen was
already too much inflamed; and the thoughtless
violence of this disturber awoke a thousand
recollections, and touched upon chords
which, before, were too highly strained. Attempting
to frame an answer, she sank back
upon the sofa, and gave evidence of fever and
delirium.
“Belton, surprised and alarmed, had called
friendly Lorington had suspected the approach
of a malady.
“The scene had been past but two days;
and he who caused it had retired to the country,
as if fearing to witness a death which
might be the result of his senseless accusation.
“The most painful thoughts had possessed
themselves of the wandering mind of the sufferer.
Nurse, physician, and every one who
came near, seemed to her, as enemies united
to injure and disgrace her; even her medicine
was rejected as a draught that contained some
treachery. She now slept from exhaustion, but
her fever was still at its climax.
“When poor Idomen opened her eyes, I
gently approached to take her hand, hoping
to soothe and comfort her. She knew me, but
started and shrieked as if in an agony of fear.
“Leave me! leave me,” she said “even your
friendship is denied to me; plots are laid for
my disgrace and dishonor, and death alone
can be my preserver!”
“The cataplasms upon her arms and feet
became more painful from the slightest movement;
and I could almost have cursed myself
for disturbing her. I dared not agitate her
more, but retired to a corner of the room and
listened to her wild incoherency. I would
fain have watched over her all night, but shocked
a being so dear to me; and vexed, wounded,
and astonished at the suspicion which Belton
had cast on me, I knew not how to proceed.
“The wild talking of Idomen ceased, and
perceiving she had again sunk to sleep, I desired
the physician to remain while I went to
consult with Lorington, on the means of quieting
her fears—determined in my heart, that
was bleeding for her, not to leave her again
in this world.
“How vain were my precautions! fatal solicitude,
that defeated the care it would ensure!
“Lorington kindly returned with me, intending
to watch some lucid interval; and to whisper
peace to the sufferer.
“I had gone but half an English mile, and
hastened the `calesero' who drove us. Arriving
half breathless, I found the principal
door standing open as usual for the air, and
Lorington stole softly to the curtained apartment
of Madame Burleigh, to see if she still
were sleeping. What were our feelings?—
The bed was untenanted, but still warm with
the life of her who had pressed it. Both house
and enclosure were searched; but neither
nurse, servant, or any living being was to be
found. We stood a moment as if struck with
a bolt from the skies, and knew not what to
think, or what to do.
“At last, a negro entered the house, and
had he finished when the nurse also entered,
agitated with recent haste. The physician,
she said, had been called suddenly to his own
child, who was sick; and that no blame should
fall on him or on her, for even I, myself, had
thought the Señora asleep when I left her.
“The woman, still trembling, added, as I
frantically questioned her, that she had but
stepped a moment from the bed-room to the
court to get an orange—that while she was
out of sight, the sick lady had sprung from
her bed, and despite of the soreness of her
feet, had flown, like a bird, towards the Yumuri.
“I saw her,” continued the mulatress,
“before she had gone far, and ran after her;
she seemed standing on a small rock; but before
I could reach her she was gone. I called
assistance as soon as I could, and people
still are looking for her. This negro can tell
where she fell, but if they find her she will be
dead; and I must be here to receive her.”
“While the woman still spoke, we were on
our way to the spot. A handkerchief, worked
with the name of Idomen, was hanging on a
shrub on the rock. All night and the next
day was spent in such search as could be
made; but no other trace has been found.”
These last sentences were uttered in broken
tones, and Dalcour left my presence for
the first time since we met, abruptly. While
to retire or to remain, I saw his door open
through the lattice of the hall, and knew that
he again was returning.
Our seats were resumed upon the sofa of
bajuca. The mourner of Idomen had wept, but
his face had since been bathed, and his silver
locks were composed again. “I had thought,”
he resumed, “to have spoken with calmness,
for more than a year has passed since the
scenes so bitter to describe.
“That Idomen Burleigh should have lived
but for such an end, seems so like a frustration
of the plans of Heaven, that I scarcely
can believe she is no more. A vague idea
sometimes takes possession of my mind that
she still lives, and I shall see her again. Powers
above, wherever she may be, deny her
not your protection!
“The boy, Arvon, has not been told that
his mother is dead. I write monthly to Pharamond
Lloyd, and remit sums for the child
that I have kissed, as he sat upon the lap of
her whom I loved to look upon. I now seek
for some trusty friend to go for me to the
shores of the St. Lawrence, and persuade the
son of Idomen to come to these flowery shades,
devoted henceforth to be his paternal domain.
It is very common in Cuba, to name plantations after
favorite ladies; the Spanish names, however, are usually
those of particular saints.
| THE CATASTROPHE. Idomen, or, The vale of Yumuri | |