University of Virginia Library

THE CREOLE VILLAGE.
A SKETCH FROM A STEAMBOAT.

First published in 1837.

In travelling about our motley country, I am often reminded of
Ariosto's account of the moon, in which the good paladin Astolpho
found every thing garnered up that had been lost on earth. So
I am apt to imagine, that many things lost in the old world, are
treasured up in the new; having been handed down from generation
to generation, since the early days of the colonies. A
European antiquary, therefore, curious in his researches after the
ancient and almost obliterated customs and usages of his country,
would do well to put himself upon the track of some early
band of emigrants, follow them across the Atlantic, and rummage
among their descendants on our shores.

In the phraseology of New England might be found many an
old English provincial phrase, long since obsolete in the parent
country; with some quaint relics of the roundheads; while Virginia
cherishes peculiarities characteristic of the days of Elizabeth
and Sir Walter Raleigh.

In the same way, the sturdy yeomanry of New Jersey and
Pennsylvania keep up many usages fading away in ancient Germany;
while many an honest, broad-bottomed custom, nearly extinct
in venerable Holland, may be found flourishing in pristine
vigor and luxuriance in Dutch villages, on the banks of the Mohawk
and the Hudson.

In no part of our country, however, are the customs and peculiarities,
imported from the old world by the earlier settlers,
kept up with more fidelity than in the little, poverty-stricken villages
of Spanish and French origin, which border the rivers of
ancient Louisiana. Their population is generally made up of the
descendants of those nations, married and interwoven together,
and occasionally crossed with a slight dash of the Indian. The
French character, however, floats on top, as, from its buoyant
qualities, it is sure to do, whenever it forms a particle, however
small, of an intermixture.

In these serene and dilapidated villages, art and nature stand
still, and the world forgets to turn round. The revolutions that distract
other parts of this mutable planet, reach not here, or pass over
without leaving any trace. The fortunate inhabitants have none
of that public spirit which extends its cares beyond its horizon,
and imports trouble and perplexity from all quarters in newspapers.
In fact, newspapers are almost unknown in these villages, and as
French is the current language, the inhabitants have little community
of opinion with their republican neighbors. They retain,
therefore, their old habits of passive obedience to the decrees of
government, as though they still lived under the absolute sway of
colonial commandants, instead of being part and parcel of the
sovereign people, and having a voice in public legislation.

A few aged men, who have grown gray on their hereditary
acres, and are of the good old colonial stock, exert a patriarchal
sway in all matters of public and private import; their opinions
are considered oracular, and their word is law.

The inhabitants, moreover, have none of that eagerness for
gain, and rage for improvement, which keep our people continually
on the move, and our country towns incessantly in a state of transition.
There the magic phrases, “town lots,” “water privileges,”
“railroads,” and other comprehensive and soul-stirring words,
from the speculator's vocabulary, are never heard. The residents
dwell in the houses built by their forefathers, without thinking
of enlarging or modernizing them, or pulling them down and turning
them into granite stores. The trees, under which they have
been born, and have played in infancy, flourish undisturbed;
though, by cutting them down, they might open new streets, and
put money in their pockets. In a word, the almighty dollar, that
great object of universal devotion throughout our land, seems to
have no genuine devotees in these peculiar villages; and unless
some of its missionaries penetrate there, and erect banking houses
and other pious shrines, there is no knowing how long the inhabitants
may remain in their present state of contented poverty.

In descending one of our great western rivers in a steamboat,
I met with two worthies from one of these villages, who had been
on a distant excursion, the longest they had ever made, as they
seldom ventured far from home. One was the great man, or Grand
Seigneur of the village; not that he enjoyed any legal privileges
or power there, every thing of the kind having been done away
when the province was ceded by France to the United States.
His sway over his neighbors was merely one of custom and convention,

out of deference to his family. Beside, he was worth full
fifty thousand dollars, an amount almost equal, in the imaginations
of the villagers, to the treasures of King Solomon.

This very substantial old gentleman, though of the fourth or
fifth generation in this country, retained the true Gallic feature
and deportment, and reminded me of one of those provincial potentates,
that are to be met with in the remote parts of France.
He was of a large frame, a ginger-bread complexion, strong features,
eyes that stood out like glass knobs, and a prominent nose,
which he frequently regaled from a gold snuff-box, and occasionally
blew with a colored handkerchief, until it sounded like a trumpet.

He was attended by an old negro, as black as ebony, with a
huge mouth, in a continual grin; evidently a privileged and
favorite servant, who had grown up and grown old with him.
He was dressed in creole style—with white jacket and trousers,
a stiff shirt collar, that threatened to cut off his ears, a
bright madras handkerchief tied round his head, and large gold
ear-rings. He was the politest negro I met with in a western
tour; and that is saying a great deal, for, excepting the
Indians, the negroes are the most gentlemanlike personages to be
met with in those parts. It is true, they differ from the Indians in
being a little extra polite and complimentary. He was also one
of the merriest; and here, too, the negroes, however we may deplore
their unhappy condition, have the advantage of their masters.
The whites are, in general, too free and prosperous to be
merry. The cares of maintaining their rights and liberties,
adding to their wealth, and making presidents, engross all their
thoughts, and dry up all the moisture of their souls. If you hear
a broad, hearty, devil-may-care laugh, be assured it is a negro's.

Beside this African domestic, the seigneur of the village had
another no less cherished and privileged attendant. This was a
huge dog, of the mastiff breed, with a deep, hanging mouth, and
a look of surly gravity. He walked about the cabin with the air
of a dog perfectly at home, and who had paid for his passage. At
dinner time he took his seat beside his master, giving him a
glance now and then out of a corner of his eye, which bespoke
perfect confidence that he would not be forgotten. Nor was he—
every now and then a huge morsel would be thrown to him, peradventure
the half-picked leg of a fowl, which he would receive with
a snap like the springing of a steel-trap—one gulp, and all was
down; and a glance of the eye told his master that he was ready
for another consignment.

The other village worthy, travelling in company with the seigneur,
was of a totally different stamp. Small, thin, and weazen-faced,
as Frenchmen are apt to be represented in caricature, with
a bright, squirrel-like eye, and a gold ring in his ear. His dress
was flimsy, and sat loosely on his frame, and he had altogether the
look of one with but little coin in his pocket. Yet, though one of
the poorest, I was assured he was one of the merriest and most
popular personages in his native village.

Compere Martin, as he was commonly called, was the factotum
of the place—sportsman, schoolmaster, and land-surveyor.
He could sing, dance, and, above all, play on the fiddle, an invaluable
accomplishment in an old French creole village, for the inhabitants
have a hereditary love for balls and fètes; if they work
but little, they dance a great deal, and a fiddle is the joy of their
heart.

What had sent Compere Martin travelling with the Grand

Seigneur I could not learn; he evidently looked up to him with
great deference, and was assiduous in rendering him petty attentions;
from which I concluded that he lived at home upon the
crumbs which fell from his table. He was gayest when out of
his sight; and had his song and his joke when forward, among the
deck passengers; but altogether Compere Martin was out of his
element on board of a steamboat. He was quite another being,
I am told, when at home, in his own village.

Like his opulent fellow-traveller, he too had his canine follower
and retainer—and one suited to his different fortunes—one of the
civilest, most unoffending little dogs in the world. Unlike the
lordly mastiff, he seemed to think he had no right on board of
the steamboat; if you did but look hard at him, he would throw
himself upon his back, and lift up his legs, as if imploring
mercy.

At table he took his seat a little distance from his master;
not with the bluff, confident air of the mastiff, but quietly and
diffidently; his head on one side, with one ear dubiously slouched,
the other hopefully cocked up; his under teeth projecting beyond
his black nose, and his eye wistfully following each morsel that
went into his master's mouth.

If Compere Martin now and then should venture to abstract
a morsel from his plate, to give to his humble companion, it was
edifying to see with what diffidence the exemplary little animal
would take hold of it, with the very tip of his teeth, as if he
would almost rather not, or was fearful of taking too great a liberty.
And then with what decorum would he eat it! How many
efforts would he make in swallowing it, as if it stuck in his throat;
with what daintiness would he lick his lips; and then with what

an air of thankfulness would he resume his seat, with his teeth
once more projecting beyond his nose, and an eye of humble expectation
fixed upon his master.

It was late in the afternoon when the steamboat stopped at the
village which was the residence of these worthies. It stood on the
high bank of the river, and bore traces of having been a frontier
trading post. There were the remains of stockades that once
protected it from the Indians, and the houses were in the ancient
Spanish and French colonial taste, the place having been successively
under the domination of both those nations prior to the cession
of Louisiana to the United States.

The arrival of the seigneur of fifty thousand dollars, and his
humble companion, Compere Martin, had evidently been looked
forward to as an event in the village. Numbers of men, women,
and children, white, yellow, and black, were collected on the river
bank; most of them clad in old-fashioned French garments, and
their heads decorated with colored handkerchiefs, or white night-caps.
The moment the steamboat came within sight and hearing,
there was a waving of handkerchiefs, and a screaming and
bawling of salutations, and felicitations, that baffle all description.

The old gentleman of fifty thousand dollars was received by a
train of relatives, and friends, and children, and grandchildren,
whom he kissed on each cheek, and who formed a procession in
his rear, with a legion of domestics, of all ages, following him
to a large, old-fashioned French house, that domineered over the
village.

His black valet de chambre, in white jacket and trousers, and
gold ear-rings, was met on the shore by a boon, though rustic companion,

a tall negro fellow, with a long, good-humored face, and
the profile of a horse, which stood out from beneath a narrow-rimmed
straw hat, stuck on the back of his head. The explosions
of laughter of these two varlets on meeting and exchanging
compliments, were enough to electrify the country
round.

The most hearty reception, however, was that given to Compere
Martin. Every body, young and old, hailed him before he
got to land. Every body had a joke for Compere Martin, and
Compere Martin had a joke for every body. Even his little dog
appeared, to partake of his popularity, and to be caressed by
every hand. Indeed, he was quite a different animal the moment
he touched the land. Here he was at home; here he was of consequence.
He barked, he leaped, he frisked about his old friends,
and then would skim round the place in a wide circle, as if
mad.

I traced Compere Martin and his little dog to their home. It
was an old ruinous Spanish house, of large dimensions, with verandas
overshadowed by ancient elms. The house had probably
been the residence, in old times, of the Spanish commandant.
In one wing of this crazy, but aristocratical abode, was nestled the
family of my fellow-traveller; for poor devils are apt to be magnificently
clad and lodged, in the cast-off clothes and abandoned palaces
of the great and wealthy.

The arrival of Compere Martin was welcomed by a legion of
women, children, and mongrel curs; and, as poverty and gayety
generally go hand in hand among the French and their descendants,
the crazy mansion soon resounded with loud gossip and light-hearted
laughter.

As the steamboat paused a short time at the village, I took
occasion to stroll about the place. Most of the houses were in
the French taste, with casements and rickety verandas, but most
of them in flimsy and ruinous condition. All the waggons, ploughs,
and other utensils about the place were of ancient and inconvenient
Gallic construction, such as had been brought from France in
the primitive days of the colony. The very looks of the people
reminded me of the villages of France.

From one of the houses came the hum of a spinning wheel, accompanied
by a scrap of an old French chanson, which I have heard
many a time among the peasantry of Languedoc, doubtless a traditional
song, brought over by the first French emigrants, and
handed down from generation to generation.

Half a dozen young lasses emerged from the adjacent dwellings,
reminding me, by their light step and gay costume, of scenes in
ancient France, where taste in dress comes natural to every class
of females. The trim bodice and colored petticoat, and little
apron, with its pockets to receive the hands when in an attitude
for conversation; the colored kerchief wound tastefully round the
head, with a coquettish knot perking above one ear; and the
neat slipper and tight drawn stocking, with its braid of narrow
ribbon embracing the ancle where it peeps from its mysterious
curtain. It is from this ambush that Cupid sends his most inciting
arrows.

While I was musing upon the recollections thus accidentally
summoned up, I heard the sound of a fiddle from the mansion of
Compere Martin, the signal, no doubt, for a joyous gathering. I
was disposed to turn my steps thither, and witness the festivities
of one of the very few villages I had met with in my wide tour,

that was yet poor enough to be merry; but the bell of the steamboat
summoned me to re-embark.

As we swept away from the shore, I cast back a wistful eye
upon the moss-grown roofs and ancient elms of the village, and
prayed that the inhabitants might long retain their happy ignorance,
their absence of all enterprise and improvement, their respect for
the fiddle, and their contempt for the almighty dollar.[1] I fear,
however, my prayer is doomed to be of no avail. In a little while,
the steamboat whirled me to an American town, just springing
into bustling and prosperous existence.

The surrounding forest had been laid out in town lots; frames
of wooden buildings were rising from among stumps and burnt
trees. The place already boasted a court-house, a jail, and two
banks, all built of pine boards, on the model of Grecian temples.
There were rival hotels, rival churches, and rival newspapers; together
with the usual number of judges, and generals, and governors;
not to speak of doctors by the dozen, and lawyers by the
score.

The place, I was told, was in an astonishing career of improvement,
with a canal and two railroads in embryo. Lots doubled
in price every week; every body was speculating in land; every
body was rich; and every body was growing richer. The community,
however, was torn to pieces by new doctrines in religion

and in political economy; there were camp meetings, and agrarian
meetings; and an election was at hand, which, it was expected,
would throw the whole country into a paroxysm.

Alas! with such an enterprising neighbor, what is to become
of the poor little creole village!