This is situated at the
termination of an elevated plat extending from thence to the
mansion, nearly a mile distant. Three negroes lay basking on the
bank; they were sent to wait our coming. Tonio! Murel! Pompe!-they
ejaculate, calling one another, as we surprise them. They are
cheerful and polite, are dressed in striped shirts and trousers,
receive us with great suavity of manner, present master's
compliments, tell us with an air of welcome that master will be
"right glad" to see us, and conclude by making sundry inquiries
about our passage and our "Missuses." Pompe, the "most important
nigger" of the three, expresses great solicitude lest we get our
feet in the mud. Black as Afric's purest, and with a face of great
good nature, Pompe, in curious jargon, apologises for the bad state
of the landing, tells us he often reminds Mas'r how necessary it is
to have it look genteel. Pompe, more than master, is deeply
concerned lest the dignity of the plantation suffer.
Planks and slabs are lain from the water's edge to the high ground
on the ridge, upon which we ascend to the crown, a piece of natural
soil rising into a beautiful convex of about six rods wide,
extending to the garden gate. We wend our way to the mansion,
leaving Pompe and his assistants in charge of our luggage, which
they will see safely landed. The ridge forms a level walk,
sequestered by long lines of huge oaks, their massive branches
forming an arch of foliage, with long trailing moss hanging like
mourning drapery to enhance its rural beauty.
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