Sea and Shore | Page 8

figuratively at all. She was, I had been told, a
_bourgeoise_, of good class, who had taken part in the early revolution,
but who, when the canaille triumphed and drenched the land in blood,
in the second phase of that fearful outburst of volcanic feeling, had fled
before the whirlwind with her child and husband to embark for
America. At the point of embarcation--like Evangeline--the husband
and wife had been separated accidentally, and on her arrival in a
strange land she found herself alone and penniless with her son, scarce
six years old. Her husband had been carried to a Southern port, she
learned by the merest chance, and, disguising herself in man's attire,
and leading her little son by the hand, she set forth in quest of him,
carrying with her a violin, which, together with the clothes she wore,
had been found in the trunk of Monsieur Grambeau, brought on the
vessel in which she came, but which depository she had been obliged to
abandon, when setting forth on her pilgrimage.
She was no unskillful performer on this instrument, and solely by such
aid she gained her food and lodging to the interior of Georgia.
Reaching her destination after a long and painful journey and delays of
many kinds, she found her husband living in a log-hut, on the border of
Talupa River, a hut which he had built himself, and earning his bread
by ferrying travellers across that stream.
Yet here, with the characteristic contentment of her people under all
circumstances, she settled down quietly to aid him and make his home
happy; bore him many children (most of whom were dead at the time I
saw her, as those living were separated from her at that period), reared
and educated them herself, toiled for and with them, late and early,
strained every nerve in the arduous cause of duty, and found herself, in
extreme old age, widowed and alone, having amassed but little of the
world's lucre, yet cheerful and energetic even if dependent still on her
own exertions.
All this and much more I had heard before I saw Madame Grambeau or
her abode--a picturesque affair in itself, however humble--consisting
originally of a log-house, to which more recently white frame wings
had been attached, projecting a few feet in front of the primitive
building, and connected thereto by a shed-roofed gallery, which
embraced the whole front of the log-cottage, along which ran puncheon
steps the entire length of the grand original tree-trunk, as of the porch

itself. It was a triumph of rural art.
Over this portico, so low in front as barely to admit the passage of a tall
man beneath its eaves, without stooping, a wild multiflora rose, then in
full flower, was artistically trained so as to present a series of arches to
the eye as the wayfarer approached the dwelling; no tapestry was ever
half so lovely.
The path which led from the little white gate, with its swinging chain
and ball, was covered with river-pebbles and shells, and bordered by
box, trimly clipped and kept low, and the two broad steps, that led to
the porch, bore evidence of recent scouring, though rough and
unpainted.
Framed in one of those pointed natural cathedral-windows of vivid
green, gemmed with red roses, of which the division-posts of the porch
formed the white outlines, stood the most remarkable-looking aged
woman I have ever seen. At a first glance, indeed, the question of sex
would have arisen, and been found difficult to decide. Her attire
seemed that of a friar, even to the small scalloped cape that scantily
covered her shoulders, and the coarse black serge, of which her strait
gown was composed, leaving exposed her neatly though coarsely clad
feet, with their snow-white home-knit stockings, and low-quartered,
well-polished calf-skin shoes, confined with steel buckles, and elevated
on heels, then worn by men alone.
She wore a white habit shirt, the collar, bosom, and wristbands of
which were visible; but no cap covered her silver hair, which was
cropped in the neck, and divided at one side in true manly fashion. It
was brushed well back from her expansive, fair, and unwrinkled
forehead, beneath which large blue eyes looked out with that strange
solemnity we see alone in the orbs of young, thoughtful children, or the
very old.
Scott's description of the "Monk of Melrose Abbey" occurred to me, as
I gazed on this calm and striking figure!
"And strangely on the knight looked he, And his blue eyes gleamed
wild and wide."
She stood watching our approach, leaning with both hands on her
ebony, silver-headed cane, above which she stooped slightly, her aged
and somewhat severe, but serene face fully turned toward us, in the
clear light of morning, with a grave majesty of