Chapter Fifty Three. My Sister’s Spirit
For the remainder of that day and throughout the next, this unsatisfactory state of things continued, during which time the three of us – my friend, my sister, and myself – acted under a polite reserve. It was triangular, for I had not made Gallagher my confidant, but left him entirely to his conjectures. He was a true gentleman; and never even hinted at what he must have well-known was engrossing the whole of my thoughts. It was my intention to unbosom myself to him, and seek his friendly advice, but not until a little time had elapsed – not till I had obtained a full éclaircissement from Virginia.
I waited for an opportunity to effect this. Not but that many a one offered – many a time might I have found her alone; but, on each occasion, my resolution forsook me. I actually dreaded to bring her to a confession.
And yet I felt that it was my duty. As her brother – the nearest male relative, it was mine to guard her honour – to preserve the family escutcheon pure and untarnished.
For days was I restrained from this fraternal duty – partly through a natural feeling of delicacy – partly from a fear of the disclosure I might draw forth. I dreaded to know the truth. That a correspondence had passed between my sister and the Indian chief – that it was in all probability still going on – that a clandestine meeting had taken place – more than one, mayhap – all this I knew well enough. But to what length had these proceedings been carried? How far had my poor sister compromised herself? These were the interrogatories to which I dreaded the answer.
I believed she would tell me the truth – that is, if entreated; if commanded, no.
Of the last, I felt satisfied. I knew her proud spirit – prouder of late. When roused to hostility, she could be capable of the most obstinate resistance – firm and unyielding. There was much of my mother’s nature in her, and little of my father’s. Personally, as already stated, she resembled her mother; intellectually, there was also a similitude. She was one of those women – for she now deserved the title – who have never known the restraint of a severe discipline, and who grow up in the belief that they have no superior, no master upon earth. Hence the full development of a feeling of perfect independence, which, among American women, is common enough, but, in other lands, can only exist among those of the privileged classes. Uncontrolled by parent, guardian, or teacher – for this last had not been allowed to “rule by the rod” – my sister had grown to the age of womanhood, and she felt herself as masterless as a queen upon her throne.
She was independent in another sense – one which exerts a large influence over the freedom of the spirit – her fortune was her own.
In the States of America, the law of entail is not allowed; it is even provided against by statute. Those statesmen presidents who in long line succeeded the Father of the Republic, were wise legislators. They saw lurking under this wicked law – which, at most, appears only to affect the family relations – the strong arm of the political tyrant; and, therefore, took measures to guard against its introduction to the land. Wisely did they act, as time will show, or, indeed, has shown already; for had the congress of Washington’s day but sanctioned the law of entail, the great American republic would long since have passed into an oligarchy.
Untrammelled by any such unnatural statute, my father had acted as all men of proper feeling are likely to do; he had followed the dictates of the heart, and divided his property in equal shares between his children. So far as independence of fortune went, my sister was my equal.
Of course, our mother had not been left unprovided for, but the bulk of the patrimonial estate now belonged to Virginia and myself.
My sister, then, was an heiress – quite independent of either mother or brother – bound by no authority to either, except that which exists in the ties of the heart – in filial and sororal affection.
I have been minute with these circumstances, in order to explain the delicate duty I had to perform, in calling my sister to an account.
Strange that I reflected not on my own anomalous position. At that hour, it never entered my thoughts. Here was I affianced to the sister of this very man, with the sincere intention of making her my wife.
I could perceive nothing unnatural, nothing disgraceful in the alliance – neither would society. Such, in earlier times, had done honour to Rolfe, who had mated with a maiden of darker skin, less beauty, and far slighter accomplishments than Maümee. In later days, hundreds of others had followed his example, without the loss either of caste or character; and why should not I? In truth, the question had never occurred to me, for it never entered my thoughts that my purpose in regard to my Indian fiancée was otherwise than perfectly en règle.
It would have been different had there been a taint of African blood in the veins of my intended. Then, indeed, might I have dreaded the frowns of society – for in America it is not the colour of the skin that condemns, but the blood – the blood. The white gentleman may marry an Indian wife; she may enter society without protest – if beautiful, become a belle.
All this I knew, while, at the same time, I was slave to a belief in the monstrous anomaly that where the blood is mingled from the other side – where the woman is white and the man red – the union becomes a mésalliance, a disgrace. By the friends of the former, such a union is regarded as a misfortune – a fall; and when the woman chances to be a lady– ah! then, indeed —
Little regard as I had for many of my country’s prejudices, regarding race and colour, I was not free from the influence of this social maxim. To believe my sister in love with an Indian, would be to regard her as lost – fallen! No matter how high in rank among his own people – no matter how brave – how accomplished he might be – no matter if it were Osceola himself!