The Octoroon - or, Life in Louisiana; A Play in Five acts by Dion Boucicault

Dionysius Lardner Boursiquot (26 December 1820 (or 1822) – 18 September 1890), commonly known as Dion Boucicault was an Irish actor and playwright famed for his melodramas. By the later part of the 19th century, Boucicault had become known on both sides of the Atlantic as one of the most successful actor-playwright-managers then in the English-speaking theatre. The New York Times heralded him in his obituary as "the most conspicuous English dramatist of the 19th century.





Scene I.—A view of the Plantation Terrebonne, in Louisiana.—A branch of the Mississippi is seen winding through the Estate.—A low built, but extensive Planter's Dwelling, surrounded with a veranda, and raised a few feet from the ground, occupies the L. side.—A table and chairs, R. C.

Grace discovered sitting at breakfast-table with Children.

Enter Solon, from house, L.

Solon. Yah! you bomn'ble fry—git out—a gen'leman can't pass for you.

Grace. [Seizing a fly whisk.] Hee! ha—git out! [Drives Children away; in escaping they tumble against and trip up Solon, who falls with tray; the Children steal the bananas and rolls that fall about.]

Enter Pete, R. U. E. [he is lame]; he carries a mop and pail.

Pete. Hey! laws a massey! why, clar out! drop dat banana! I'll murder this yer crowd, [He chases Children about; they leap over railing at back. Exit Solon, R. U. E.] Dem little niggers is a judgment upon dis generation.

Enter George, from house, L.

George. What's the matter, Pete.

Pete. It's dem black trash, Mas'r George; dis ere property wants claring; dem's getting too numerous round; when I gets time I'll kill some on 'em, sure!

George. They don't seem to be scared by the threat.

Pete. Top, you varmin! top till I get enough of you in one place!

George. Were they all born on this estate?

Pete. Guess they nebber was born—dem tings! what, dem?—get away! Born here—dem darkies? What, on Terrebonne! Don't b'lieve it, Mas'r George; dem black tings never was born at all; dey swarmed one mornin' on a sassafras tree in the swamp: I cotched 'em; dey ain't no 'count. Don't b'lieve dey'll turn out niggers when dey're growed; dey'll come out sunthin else.

Grace. Yes, Mas'r George, dey was born here; and old Pete is fonder on 'em dan he is of his fiddle on a Sunday.

Pete. What? dem tings—dem?—getaway [makes blow at the Children.] Born here! dem darkies! What, on Terrebonne? Don't b'lieve it, Mas'r George,—no. One morning dey swarmed on a sassafras tree in de swamp, and I cotched 'em all in a sieve.—dat's how dey come on top of dis yearth—git out, you,—ya, ya! [Laughs.]