The Count De Sanguine: Part I
Finally, after years of hardship, we were released from the Yankee stronghold, called Rock Island. Rock Island, a place filled with misery, every day soldiers died from one thing or the other. The weather was extreme, and we were plagued by disease all year round. I took a riverboat down the Mississippi to my hometown of Jackson. My family estate was left in shambles after the emancipation. Both my parents had died of malnutrition during the war. The only thing of value inside the mansion which I picked up was this Colt Walker which we had kept. And of course, a big old whip which we used on the field negroes to keep their spirits up whenever they were getting slow on the cotton field. They’re all gone now. The last thing they did was to bury the old folks behind the house. I took the gun and the whip with me as I walked down to the old Jones’ place a few miles down the road from our place. I was gonna propose to my belle, Miss Ashley there. I hadn’t seen her for a good four years. Being away from home all I could do was thinking about her growing up to become a lady. So, I took out pa’s Sunday clothes from the old closet and put them on. They fit me just right. I also put on some of ma’s perfume to smell nice. While I was at it, I shaved off the long beard and mustache to look more cordial and presentable to the young lady and her family. As I reached the old Jones’ place, I knocked on the door where I was greeted by Mr. Jones himself. He was this nice old man who was always talking about how John Wilkes Booth was really a government agent, set up by this ominous group of people called the Deep State to kill President Lincoln to push for more gun control, but I thought of him as a generally agreeable man.
I said “Good day to you, Mister Jones, I’ve come freshly emancipated from the oppressive chains of Yankees to confess my love for Miss Ashley and to ask for her hand in marriage.”
Mr. Jones with all his manhood and large physicality burst into tears like a spring cloud pouring down.
I said “Well, I’d never thought you’d be so overjoyed to hear me take away your little girl from you.”
He said “No, it’s not that. It must have to do with what we’ve been eating during these harsh times. You see we’ve been cooking and eating the frogs from the Mississippi river, and I’ve come to realize the frogs have turned to sodomites ever since the Yankees had forced our hand to war. I think they put something in the water to turn the frogs into sodomites. But by Jove! They be tastin’ good.”
I straightened my hat and said “So anyway? May I speak to Miss Ashley, sir?”
He suddenly stopped weeping like it had never happened and said “Oh, Ashley. She’s gone.”
“Gone?”
“Yep, gone. Vanished. Disappeared. Haven’t seen her in a coon’s age.”
“But where has she gone to?”
“You better come in.” He said as he took me firmly by the wrist and pulled me into his house but not before he took a final sinister look around his porch. Then he shut the door and bolted it with a thick heavy iron bolt.
Then he shouted “Mama, we have company! Prepare some frog tea.”
We sat down on the old wooden chairs. The house hadn’t changed at all. I remembered our childhood antics around their house vividly. I couldn’t hold my patience any longer. The silence and the ticking of the old grandfather clock was making me anxious. I finally said “Mr. Jones, Where’s Ashley?”
“Ashley’s been kidnapped.”
“Kidnapped?” I said as I jumped on my feet.
He nodded his head.
“By who? Where to?”
“By Count De Sanguine. Some rich European guy who only shows up late at night. Has this pasty pale complexion, sharp teeth. He’s a really nice guy.”
“Shows up late at night? You mean you’ve seen him after the kidnapping?”
“Oh, sure. He visits us once in a while.”
“He visits you? And you’ve never asked him to return Miss Ashley?”
“Why would I? Every time he comes around, he offers me a bag of gold coins. I can’t be rude towards his generosity”
“So, he has kidnapped Miss Ashley and is paying you off and you’re alright with this ordeal?”
“Oh, yes.”
Mrs. Jones entered the living room with a tray of green tea and sawdust teacakes as she said “My stars! If it ain’t old Jimmy Brown all grown up.”
I said “Mrs. Jones, where is Ashley?”
“Oh, she’s been taken by this nice fella, called Count De Sanguine. She keeps him in his mansion called, Buckingham.”
“And you’ve accepted this ordeal?”
“Oh, yes. He’s such a nice man. Here’s your frog tea, sonny. How many lumps of sugar you want?”
I put away the cup and saucer she had handed me on the table and said “I cannot sit here and drink this toadstool tea while Miss Ashley is left defenseless under these perilous conditions!”
Mr. Jones said “I mean we thought about this and how other people might assume we’re a bit too forward thinking, you know, letting our daughter live with another man under the same roof under common-law marriage. But then we thought you might have died in the war and Ashley was getting old. She’s twenty years old now! Soon she’ll be a spinster or Lord forbid she was even considering to have a Boston marriage with another woman like them heathens up north.”
I looked at Mr. Jones and told him “Sir, you might’ve reached a compromise with the count, but I’m not letting some foreigner to just waltz in here and take away our women and tarnish our good name and reputation.”
“That may be” said Mr. Jones “But it is not too late. I mean the count was here last night and he said that this was his last payment as he had exhausted Ashley and by the next full moon, they shall be one in soul and body in unholy matrimony.”
“Sir, this is outrageous” said I “This count is obviously some fiend who has abused the good and innocent nature of Miss Ashley. I cannot stand here another moment and accept this madness like you have.”
“Of course, you can’t.” Said Mr. Jones “You don’t have a heap of gold like we do. How can a poor niggerless bachelor like yourself understand us? I mean a couple of years ago we considered you a possible suitor with your niggers and little plantation and all but now you ain’t got nothing.”
“Sir, I’m going to save Miss Ashley from the clutches of this godless foreigner. If it is the last thing I do.”
Mr. Jones shrugged and said “That’s totally fine by me.”
“It is?” I asked while shocked by his indifference.
“Yep. I mean the count has already paid us and doesn’t intend to do so again. And who knows? Maybe she’ll find you a better suitor. If you take her away from the count you can have her.”
“Just like that? Without her consent or opinion regarding this marriage?”
Mr. Jones cackled loudly and said “What are you on about? This is the 1800s. Women have no rights to think and make decisions. They depend on us! I mean look at Mama Jones over there. She’s in this story and she’s had like three lines so far. By the end of this story, she has one more line where she says My heavens! It was just yesterday when I was washing her soiled flats.” He quoted Mrs. Jones in a falsetto voice.
“Alright,” I said “Where is the count’s mansion? Where is this Buckingham?”
“It’s this big old place” said Mr. Jones “By the Bayou Pierre, right next to the Daniell Cemetery. The count told us we can go there the day after tomorrow and only during daytime to visit her there and I told him, that arrangement couldn’t have been any better.”
“You mean to tell me he intends to kill her?!” I said not believing a word he said.
Mr. Jones contemplated what he just said and replied “I don’t know. Maybe. She’s his property now. We shouldn’t meddle in their life. It’s not courteous.”
I clenched my jaw, got up and unbolted the door and left their house.
Mrs. Jones walked to the door to wave me good-bye and said “Bye-bye, sonny and good luck.”
Mr. Jones slammed his fist on the table and shouted “Dammit, woman! You’ve already reached your daily verbal quota.”
I went straight down to the town square to find a carriage. I hired one with this old raw-boned stallion harnessed to it. I checked my gun and saw all the chambers are already loaded and ready from when I left home to fight in the war. I also cracked my whip at a few tinned cans I had placed on a low wall to practice my whipping. It reminded me of the good old days when I cracked my whip in the air and them niggers flinched at it, the only other thing that I cracked in those days was a smile. It was about to get dark. I bought some extra gunpowder, caps and balls for the gun and left Jackson for Claiborne.
By sundown I had reached the cemetery and a few yards after that, there stood Buckingham, the two-story mansion of Count De Sanguine. As I pulled on the old horse to stop the carriage before the mansion’s gates, a house negro all dressed-up walked up to me and said “Owa massuhz been waiting fo you, suh. Follow me, please.”
His face was expressionless as if he was under a spell of some sort. I tied the horse to the picket fence and followed the negro inside the mansion. He held an oil lamp in front of him and lead me to the door. He opened the door and stood by it awaiting my entrance. I entered the door as I felt a cold damp sensation in the air. The house was very poorly lit even by the candlelight from the candle sconces and chandeliers.
“Dis way please, suh.” Said the negro as he directed me to the dining room, already set for dinner yet to be served.
He directed me to the far end of the table as he pulled my chair back awaiting me to be seated. As I sat down, he pushed the chair firmly forward.
“Mastuh will receive you shawtly, suh.” He said as he walked away like an animated colossus.
As I realized I’ve been left to myself, and quite shocked at the notion of how the count has been alerted of my intentions to visit him and yet puzzled if he has knowledge of my intention to rescue Miss Ashley, I quickly checked my gun and whip to reassure myself of their presence and functionality.
End of Part I