The Octoroon; or, Life in Louisiana. A Play in Five acts

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.
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.