Drum (28 page)

His absinthe frappes, made with costly ice which came, packed in sawdust, down the long stretches of the Mississippi, were veritable masterpieces. After a week, his fame began to spread, and soon men were coming to Alix' not primarily to indulge in the carnal deUghts she offered but to have one of Drum's drinks. That the Uquor put them in a mood to taste other delights was entirely to Alix' profit

Usually about eleven o'clock, there came a hiatus in Dnmi's activities. The crowd that had come in the evening after dinner had foxmd their companions and drifted off to the girls' rooms. Those who had dropped in merely for a few drinks and a round of gossip had left. Not unfil the opera or the ball of the evening was over would the second crowd arrive. For this quiet hoiu-, provided he had no customers, Alix had given Drum permission to leave the bar, but had resistricted him to the courtyard where he would be on call. He had, over the course of a few weeks, chosen a seat

|: on the far side of the courtyard under the shadow of the ' gargonnikre, where his room was. Here he could observe without being seen. Sometimes one of the girls would forget to close her shutters, knowing that the windows faced only on the courtyard, and then, from his vantage point below, he could watch an interesting tableau vivant in the rooms above. These were gala nights for Drum but the scenes he witnessed were as disturbing as they were interesting. Except for the kiss he had received from Titine the first day he arrived, he had had no feminine contact, despite the fact that he was surroimded with nothing but women—the only cock in a pen of chickens.

Damnel It kindled an unquenchable fire in a manl He cursed Madame Alix softly under his breath. She had forgotten her promise to supply him with a wench. What did she think he was made of? In a few days more even the fear of being ringed would not deter him. He'd timible one of the girls on her bed, hein? No man, especially not himself, could sit in the courtyard, knowing full well what was going on in over a dozen rooms above him. At Dominique's he had had more liberty than this. There he was free to go to Congo Square for the Sunday afternoon promenade and dances. With his good looks, he was never alone for long. After it was dark there were many alleyways and dim comers around the old square where the slave girls entertained then- friends of the evening. But here! Madame never allowed him to get away from the house.

He shufiSed his feet nervously, rubbed his hands together, pulled at his knuckles, adjusted the stretched cloth of his trousers. He could not sit any longer. He stood up, stretched himself and danced on his toes. Aie! He was restless. He knew exactly what every one of those men upstairs was getting. It must be wonderful to be white I To be rich! To be like M. Bernard de Marigny who everyone said was the richest man in the United States. Even being a blacksmith was a lot better than this. At least one's body became tired and with fatigue desire vanished. And there were the Sundays in Congo Square.

Someone was rapping on the door that led out into the back alley. Glad of an excuse for something to do. Drum trotted the length of the courtyard and opened the door. A veritable behemoth of a black man stood there, his long coat, his tall hat and the whip in his hand announcing to the world that he was a coachman.

I

"I Pompey," he announced. "M'sieur Brulatour he don' tor me to call fur him 'zactly at midnight." He regarded Drum pompously. "He tol' me to come in and wait fer him. Ain' yo' new here, boy?"

"What yo' wan'?" The coachman was black and Drum condescendingly spoke to him in Gombo.

"What I wan'?" Pompey from his exalted position as the Brulatour coachman sneered at Drum as a mere house servant. "Better git to know who I am, boy. Ain' you knowin' that I Pompey? Ain' yo' knowin' I'se de Brulatour cocher?" He started to step inside the door but Drum barred his way.

"Out of my way, nigguh." Pompey brushed Drum aside. "M'sieur Brulatour say fer me come inside and wait fur him and I'se comin*."

"Whom are you shoving?" Drum no longer spoke Gombo but had switch to his French which was pure and perfectly accented. "Madame Alix allows no slaves in here. If you wait, you wait outside."

Pompey, sure in his exalted position as coachman, paid no attention. He lumbered to the center of the courtyard, pulled up a chair, placed his top hat on the ground and sat down with the permanence of a mountain.

Drum's taut nerves after the weeks of enforced continence, and his temper, like his mother's, always close to the surface, were both strained to the breaking point. He had dogged Pompey's footsteps and now stood before him, feet far apart, hands on hips.

"You heard me, you brutl Madame Alix allows no slaves here."

"You here," Pompey snickered. "You here and you nothin* but a nigger slave even tho' you's a little bit bright-skinned."

"I'm Madame Alix' slave."

"Ho, ho." Pompey rocked back and forth on the chair in laughter. "Ho, ho. Yo' braggin' cause you slave to de biggest goddam who' in New Orleans. Ho, ho! Maybe dat big fat ol' who', Madame Alix, makes yo' sleep wid her like she did po' On6sime. She sho' drain that black boy all out." He looked up at Drum. "Ain' yo' shamed, slaving in a who'house. Me, I'se a Brulatour slave. Brulatours quality, they is. Ain' nd cheap who'house dirt."

Drum leaped.

With both feet he struck the coachman in the chest, toppling over the chair and throwing the big black on the:

ground In a moment Drum was upon him, kicking, punching, jumping on the recumbent figure, but not for long.

Pompey struggled up, dragging Drum with him and flung him away, much as a baited bear shakes off a dog. With the whip still in his hand, he lifted his arm and brought it down on Drum's shoulders. It bit through the thin cotton coat that Drum was wearing and he let out a shriek of pain. Once again the whip bit into him but he backed up, ducked low, and ran, ramming his head into the belly of the big black. Pompey dodged sufficiently to escape the full force of the blow, but Drum, unable to stop his headlong rush, stimibled on the flags and fell. Again the whip lashed him and again he cried out but he was up on his feet and his fist crashed into the big black's face.

Howling, snarling and shrieking at each other, they fought. They fought like a couple of mad bulls. Nothing was barred, no effort was too great or too little if it yielded an advantage. Pompey grabbed the chair he had been sitting on and splintered it over Drum's head. Drum's light coat was ripped off and he in turn clawed at the heavy coat the coachman wore, until it parted in shreds. Drum's arms, strengthened by his days at the forge, were as hard as the iron that had molded them and although the other man was bigger and heavier, Drum was the stronger and more agile. Fist beat against flesh, accompanied by curses which the smithy and the stables had taught them.

In his utter concentration on either maiming or killing his opponent. Drum had not noticed that the balconies were now filled with men and that a party of latecomers, who had just entered the front door, were standing only a few feet away. Suddenly the courtyard became lighter, as lanterns were brought in and held aloft, but still the fight continued.

Alix appeared on the second floor balcony, wringing her hands, a distraught Rachel behind her.

"Stop this! Stop it immediately! I'll not have it!" Alix saw the reputation of her house ruined. "Gentlemen, gentlemen, I appeal to you. Stop it! Call the police! Drum!"

His nose was spurting blood and one eye was partially closed but Drum heard his mistress. Didn't she know he couldn't stop? If he stopped for one second, Pompey would I kill him.

"Drum!" she shrieked again, "Stop, or I'll have you flogged 1 within an inch of your life. Oh, somebody do something. Rachel, Rachel, go down and stop your son."

I

"Madame," young de Marigny called up from the flagstones below, "for the love of God, do not stop them. Thisi is the most exciting sight I've seen in years. Let them gol A thousand dollars to the owner of the winner."

"The man's mine," Brulatour shouted. "Let them go on."

"A hxmdred dollars on madame's Drum." Another waved a fistful of bills in the air.

"TakenI" The beaux of New Orleans dearly loved to gamble on anything.

'Two hundred on Brulatour's Pompeyl He's a real brut."

"But not as strong as Drum. Five hundred says so."

"Madame, will you hold the money?"

Alix sank back into a chair as her lap was flooded with bills and gold. Still the money came—a hundred dollars, fifty doUars, three hundred dollars, a thousand. New Orleans had found something more exciting than cards or dice to gamble on.

Now the cries that Drum heard were different. He heard his name shouted over and over again, coupled with Pom-pey's. He was getting tired but he sensed that the other man was more exhausted than he. Hitting Pompey was like poimding a feather bed. His blows had no effect on the brut. They clinched and for a moment they hung together, each gasping for air to ease his strained lungs. It was Drum's opportunity and in a flash he brought his knee up with all the strength he possessed, straight imto Pompey's groin.

The big Negro screamed and fell back on the pavement, his hands clutching at his pain, his body writhing on the flagstones. It was the advantage that Drum had wanted. He leaped for the man's chest and when he landed, he heard the cnmch of ribs beneath him. His hands sought the screaming throat and the screams choked into silence. He looked up to see the circle of men close aroimd him and recognized Bernard de Marigny, who was a nightly patron.

Drum could hardly speak but he managed to gasp out a few words.

"Do I kUl him, monsieirr?"

"Heavens no. Drum, Jean Brulatour would never be able to explain to his wife that her favorite coachman was killec at Madame Alix'. Let the bastard go. You've won!" He stepped over to Drum and lifted him off the other's chest raising Drum's hand high in victory.

"Gentlemen, I proclaim Madame Alix' Drum the wmner.'

"Why did you stop it?" someone asked.

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"This is not Rome." Marigny bowed in the direction of the voice. "We are not watching a battle of gladiators to the death. One gentleman has the right to kill another in a duel but one slave cannot ruin another man's property in a fight."

"He should have killed the brut."

Marigny addressed the speaker again. "And would you have recompensed Brulatour for tire death of his slave? No, messieurs, it was a fair fight and Drum has won. Collect your bets and be sure to give Madame Alix a generous lagniappe for staging this interesting spectacle for us. Dr. Roberts, are you here?"

"Here, Bernard," said a voice from the edge of the crowd.

"Come over here and see if Drum is all right."

"I'm no nigger doctor, Bernard."

"And Drum's no ordinary nigger. Any man who can fight like that is not ordinary. Tomorrow he'll be the toast of New Orleans. Think of the honor, Roberts. Someday you can tell your grandchildren that you attended the famous Drum after his first fight."

"I'm all right, m'sieur." Drum had got his breath. "Better see about the other man."

"He's Brulatour's worry. Hey, Jean, come over here and arrange to get this carcass out of here. He's still alive but something tells me he'll never breed any more pickanirmies. He's still hanging onto his balls."

A middle-aged man pushed through the crowd and came to where Pompey was stretched out on the flags. He prodded the black with hfs toe. "Of all the cowards," he spat on the groaning man. "Get up! Tomorrow I'll sell you at auction. I'll not even sell you at Maspero's. He wouldn't handle merde Uke you."

Marigny called for a bucket of water and with his own hands sponged Drum's face and torso. Drum was not badly hurt. Once the coagulated blood was washed away from his face, he had suffered little except a closed eye which was already purple and some bruises on his body. Then Marigny led him triumphantly through the crowd of men and up the stairs to where Alix was sitting, busily occupied in counting the bills and gold in her lap.

Marigny bowed low to Alix.

"Chirie, tonight you have accomplished a miracle! Your Bernard is no longer bored. Only this evening, I said to myself, 'Bernard, shall we go to Madame Alix' or shall we stay home and quietly cut our own throat from sheer ennui?'

Fortunately, chirie, I argued myself into coming and I wouldn't have missed it for anything in the world." He drew his porte-monnaie from his inside pocket, opened it and drew out a thousand-dollar bill which he tossed among the others in Alix' lap. "To the owner of the winnerl We must have a similar performance again, madame. Something tells! me that you have started a new vogue in this old city. Tomorrow I shall go to my plantation early and line up my slaves. If I can find one big enough and strong enough, I! shall bring him to the city and we'll stage another fight with Drum."

Alix looked up at him. Things had been happening much too rapidly for her to comprehend but the pile of money in her lap was suflBcient evidence that whatever had happened was to her advantage. It had come through Drum and now Drum, in his tatters, was standing before her. She remembered that she had threatened to have him flogged. Have him flogged? Mon Dieu! She fingered the thousand-dollar bill that Marigny had tossed in her lap. Le beau Drum hadi earned her more money tonight than all her girls together. She gathered up the money, wadding the bills and the coins into a little bundle, and stuffed them into her bodice. Once again, Alix was mistress of the situation. She reached oul her hand to Marigny and hoisted herself up.

"Cher ami," she tapped Bernard on the cheek lightly with the tip of her fan. "How could you ever believe that the Academy of Music would not allay your ennui? To entertain my beaux has always been my greatest ambition and tonight I have done well, hein?" She turned to Drum and her fan gave him an equally affectionate tap.

"You were quite wonderful. Drum. I shall most certainlj reward you tomorrow."

"Merci, madame." Drum was enjoying his position in thi spotlight, his mistress' commendation, and the admirinj stares of the men around him. He squared his shoulders flexed the muscles of his arms and in sheer exuberanct danced a few steps on the balls of his feet. At this moment he would have welcomed another fight. His blood coursec through his throbbing arteries, demanding some sort of ao tion. More than anything else, he wanted a woman.

"Reward him tonight, madame," Marigny spoke up. "Wha do you have in mind for him tomorrow?"

Alix hedged. She had no intention of doing anj^hing a

dram SOS

all for Drum tomorrow but she could afford to be magnanimous with promises.

"Tomorrow I had planned to visit Maspero's. I had intended buying a wench for the kitchen and letting Drum have her for his own. You know how it is with these young bucks —it's hard to control them unless they're ringed and 'twould be a shame to ring Drum-, hein?"

Marigny looked down at Drum.

" Twould be a sacrilege, madame, Vraiment, a crime." Hand on chin, lips pursed, regarding Drum with wide-open eyes, Marigny pondered. The fist of one hand smashed into the palm of the other with sudden inspiration.

"Messieurs!" He walked to the rail of the balcony the better to be overheard by those below in the courtyard. "We have a most important mission to perform—now and immediately. We leave Madame Alix' en masse on a mission of charity."

"Charity?" someone shouted up. "Since when have you been interested in charity, Bernard?"

"For the space of two whole seconds," Marigny shouted back. "But, messieurs, this is a most worthy charity. Voildr He pushed Drum to the rail in full sight of those below. "Behold our Drum! Has ever a man battled more gloriously without hope of any reward? Jamais, messieurs, jamais! Never! So the brave Drum shall be rewarded, hein? We shall go as a delegation to Maspero's, taking the victorious Drum with us. There, we shall awaken the good Maspero from his well-earned slumbers. We shall demand admittance and Maspero will not refuse for we are all good customers of his. And, once inside, we shall enthrone our Drum in the place of honor. We shall have Maspero parade his entire stock of wenches before our Drum. He shaU have his choice and whatever one he desires, we shall purchase her for him— share and share alike the expense."

"Vive le bon Bernard!" they shouted. Leave it to the fertile mind of Bernard de Marigny to think of the unusual, the different, the titillating.

"With your permission, of course, madame." Bernard bowed to Alix.

Veritably this Drum was making her fortune tonight. Alix was conscious of the wad of bills in her bodice and now these dear boys were going to buy the slave she had considered—only considered—spending her money for.

"My permission is granted. But you must allow Drum time

to dress. Attired as he is, he certainly could not appear on the streets."

"We bow to your wisdom, madame." Marigny regarded Drum with a smile. "I vow if le bon Dieu had been as gen-i erous with me as with Drum, I would Uke nothing bettel than to parade the streets of New Orleans bare-assed for all to see. But, come, Drum, get ready I"

"And while you wait, messieurs,"—Alix could well afford to be generous—"champagne on the house. Rachel, attend to my wonderful boys."

chapter iv

The colorful old city of New Orleans had seen many parades marching through her narrow streets, but never one more fantastic than that which set out from Madame Alix' Academy of Music shortly after midnight. Two slaves with flambeaux led the procession of nearly thirty men—the majority of them representing the oldest and wealthiest Creole families in the city. Immediately behind the slaves marched Drum, attired in all his green and yellow finery, flanked on one side by Bernard de Marigny and on the other by Marigny's constant companion, Lazare LeToscan, over both of whom Drum towered. In the excitement of the moment, distinctions of color had been forgotten. Drum was temporarily as important as a horse which had just won a race, and as the owner's arm might have encircled the neck of his horse, so now did de Marigny's arm circle Drum's waist and LeToscan's arm his neck. Drum was a conquering hero and several magnums of Alix' finest champagne had raised the spirits of the crowd to a point where white blood sportingly acknowledged the superiority of colored. Drum, with his first two glasses of champagne—at LeToscan's insistence— already producing a floating lightness in his head, walked along with his varnished boots scarcely touching the cobbles, so intoxicated was he with victory, flattery and . . . the unaccustomed taste of wine.

As they marched along they sang the popular Gombo song ...

|,_.._„,„.

^f the fact that they were waking the good citizens of the

city. But then these citizens were accustomed to being awak-

' ened by the antics of the young bloods. They merely rolled

207

Danse, Calinda, bou-djoumb! bou-djoumbi Danse, Calinda, bou-djoumb! bou-djoumbl

over in their beds, more than a few among them wishing their own young days were not already passed and they were with the group outside, participating in whatever exciting deviltry was afoot.

Flambeaux leading and the singing pacing their steps, they arrived at the comer of St. Louis, where the tall arches of Maspero's Exchange presented a bleak and shuttered appearance. A dim light burned in one of the upper windows of the old building, once the property of Jean and Pierre Lafitte, and the site, along with Dominique You's blacksmith shop, of many of the ofl-color deals those three worthies hatched— deals that had resulted in piracy on the high seas, sunken ships, men and women walking the plank, and the capture of entire slave settlements on the African coast. But Maspero, like Dominique You, had eschewed piracy after Louisiana became a part of the United States and now his establishment was the city's most popular auction mart, where the choicest slaves—the exotic, the unusual, the erotic and the perverted were offered for sale to ready bidders. Once arrived, the crowd halted on the banquette, all eyes raised to the second story where the light burned.

"Hey there, M. Maspero." De Marigny led the shouting. "Wake up! A delegation of New Orleans' most distinguished citizens awaits you below."

"Up, Maspero!" LeToscan joined in with his shouts. "We honor you this night by doing business with you."

The others echoed similarly loud-voiced demands until they were rewarded by the appearance, on the balcony above, of Maspero himself, a candlestick with a dripping candle in one hand and a pistol in the other.

"What in hell's going on down there?" He peered down at the mass of faces below. "Can't an honest citizen enjoy a night's rest?"

"Whoever claimed you were honest, Maspero?" de Marigny laughed. "Nobody ever expected you to be honest or even wanted you to be honest. We love you because you're a rascal. But, dear Maspero, be careful with that goddamned pistol. You wouldn't want to shoot your best customers."

The sound of French words and aristocratic voices convinced Masi)ero that this was no roving band of Kaintucks from the levee. He leaned over the iron railing, trying to identify the faces below him. "Who are you and what do you want?"

De Marigny, always the leader and spokesman, called

back. "Your good friend, Bernard de Marigny, Maspero, and here beside me is another good friend and patron of yours, Lazare LeToscan, and I could name many more. That's who we are and as to our business, we have come to buy a slave—a wench to be specific—and we want only the best that you have."

"But my slaves are not here," Maspero remonstrated. "I only sell them here. They are all down in the slave pens."

"As we well know. But come, M. Maspero. Dress and take us there and stop brandishing that pistol. We can see your slaves there as well as here and as our time is valuable, hurry. You'll be well paid for your trouble."

Maspero hesitated, but to offend Bernard de Marigny would be fatal to his business. Just as all New Orleans imitated Bernard's new way of tying a cravat, so did they follow him in everything he did. Maspero well knew that if Marigny chose to buy his slaves elsewhere, not a single customer would turn up for his auctions.

"Mon cher Bernard," he shouted back, "if you and the gentlemen can wait but five minutes imtil I draw on my trousers and my shoes, I shall accompany you. Five minutes, messieurs, d tout a I'heure!" He disappeared back into the window and in less than the allotted time, he was down on the street, his nightgown billowing out over the top of his trousers, his tasseled nightcap still askew on his head.

Once again the procession started, this time down St. Louis and along the levee to the edge of the canal where a low stuccoed building, with grated windows, stretched out dismally alongside the stagnant water. Maspero fitted a huge iron key into the iron-bossed wooden door and let them in. His shouts awakened the sleeping slave guards and soon there were more flambeaux lighted. In their flickering light, rough benches were hurriedly placed in front of a low wooden stand. From the cages around the central courtyard came a low wailing and moaning; the awakened slaves were frightened. They could not imagine what might be about to happen to them as they saw the finely dressed white men take their seats on the benches. However, they finally deduced from the lighted auction block that they were to be sold and their cries of fright turned to pleadings to be purchased.

"Buy me, masta' buy me I I'se strong, I is. I'se a good boy. Ask 'em for Grosjean."

"Buy me, masta'! I'se trained houseman, fitten for to serve you yo' dinner, masta'."

210 kyle onstott

"Don' buy. no slave 'til yo' sees me, masta'. I'se de best I cuts cane all day and jumps de wenches all night fo' yo'."

"Quiet!" Maspero's voice conunanded silence. "One more yip out of any of you and you'll taste the whip." In the sudden silence that ensued, he mounted the platform, took his place on a straight-backed chair and looked down on his audience.

"And now, messieurs, what can I do for you at this imusual hour and under these most unusual circumstances?"

De Marigny pushed Drum forward.

"Do you want this man sold?" Maspero inventoried Drumj in his green coat and pale yellow trousers.

"Hell no, Masperol" Le Toscan answered. "There's not enough money in all New Orleans tonight to buy this buck. He's Madame Alix' Drum, the best goddamned fighter in the' city. We're buying the slave for him, Maspero, and Drum is picking her out. Show us your best wenches, Maspero, and shuck them down before you bring them in. Only the best is good enough for Drum and the one he wants will be the one we buy."

Maspero conferred with his white overseer, who had tumbled out of bed on hearing the noise. The man left, running in his bare feet to a cage at the end of the courtyard. In a few moments he was back, leading some twenty female slaves, who were pulling their rough osnaburg dresses off over their heads as they walked along.

They Uned up in the shadows behind the platform and after a few more whispered words of consultation with the white man Maspero turned to his audience.

"Here, messieurs, are the best females I have. I've been culling the good ones out for a special auction next week. I warn you, they are not cheap,"

"We don't want a cheap one." De Marigny pushed Drum forward. "Up on the platform with you. You'll want a good look at them as they come along. The decision's up to you."

Drum jvunped up on the platform and stood alongside th© seated Maspero, who motioned for the first woman in the line to come up. She ascended the steps slowly, a brazen: wench of some twenty years, probably an os rouge, a cross between an Indian and a Negro, because her skin was copper colored and her hair straight and long. Her lips parted in a professional smile of invitation and she lifted both breasts with her hands as she sidled up to Maspero and then turned and faced the audience.