Argosy and Railroad Man's Magazine — page 52: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

aa B94 ARGOSY AND RAILROAD MAN’S MAGAZINE. “ Oh, I love it!” I cried. * It is no won- der your women marry at fifteen and six- teen, and your men are lovers from the cradle to the grave. Cupid is in the air! Do you not feel the brush of his wings to- night?” “ No—not that,” she’said absently. And all at once a vague dread, a feeling of im- pending something, began to lay hold of me. I almost wished myself out of this gay city with its undercurrent of tragedy and super- stition. On reaching my room at last, I stepped out of a long French window, and found myself on a balcony that ran all around . and overhung a big, square court. All the rooms gave upon this great space, and sev- eral straight stairways led from the two balconies directly to the ground. To my overwrought imagination it seemed as if I stood before a monster vault, and that the balconies were shelved for storing the bodies. A full white moon aided the illu- sion by casting weird shadows on a fountain standing like some huge ghost in the center, and I thought of the young countess lying there alone for more than a century. “Vou baf am ready,” I jumped at the sound of Susan’s voice. ‘‘ Dem’s the ser- vants’ quarters,” she continued, smiling, and pointing directly across the court. ‘“ All but Mammy’s—she sleep down-stairs nex’ to Mis’ Nita. Her maw done tell Mammy to take care o’ her when Mis’ Nita was a little baby, and Mammy, she mos’ lak Mis’ Nita’s own maw.” I could not sleep, and dragged a chair out on the balcony where I could watch the low-hung moon that dimmed the sparkle of the stars; thrilling, exalting, torturing with its flood of mellow light. The distant sounds of revelry reached me faintly, drift- ° ing up with the odor of honeysuckle and the penetrating sweetness of the night-blooming cereus. As the flowers sleep not, so New Orleans, during the Mardi Gras. It was three o’clock when I finally blew out my light and sank luxuriously into my bed of soft down. I was very tired, but the strong coffee made me wakeful, and I was restlessly tossing about when a’ loud, piercing scream rang through the old rooms. It was a fearful. cry. I sat up in bed, straining in the dark- ness. The blood rushing in my ears was all I heard. I got up, lighted my lamp, and waited for—I knew not what. Not a sound broke the stillness. I went out on the balcony. The ser- vants’ quarters were dark. Gathering up my feeble courage I slipped down-stairs. Nobody was stirring. Clearly I was the only one in all that household who had heard. That this was so seemed unbeliev- able. It somehow filled me with unspeak- able. dread. The walls creaked, and I jumped and looked quickly behind me. I should not have been at all surprised had a De Charleu ghost stalked in. Uneasy, and yet angry at myself for yielding my modern mind to the insidious atmosphere of superstition, I finally lay down and left the lamp burning. The morning found me tired and worn. Susan brought my petite déjeuner and was as smiling as usual. Cautiously I mentioned being wakeful and hearing a noise. ‘“ Was any one sick in the night?” I asked. I saw at once that she, too, had heard that scream. ‘Ah ’spec’ hit was de ghos’,” she sai? after some thought. “What ghost?” ; “Lady Marie. She stay in de room nex’ to yourn. Did hit soun’ close or—down- stairs?” she asked cunningly. Seeing I was on forbidden ground I pre- tended not to hear. “Cause ef hit was down-stairs hit mus’ ’a’ been Mammy,” Susan went on, deter- mined to put my mind at rest. “ She was mos’ possible havin’ one of her nightmares. She plumb full of nightmares, dat ol’ woman is.” I smiled as though satisfied; but Susan was not. She fussed around my room sev- eral minutes after she was through serving me, split some pine fat into kindling, though there was plenty cut, and put the little hatchet that was part of the fireplace equip- ment carefully in place with the poker and tongs. Finally it came out: “Hit worries Mis’ Nita, dem nightmares of Mammy’s,” Susan said. ‘“‘ Mis’ Nita am powerful lovin’, and she am scared Mammy mought die, and maybe so she comicbooks.com