 Book 2 Chapter 7 of The Crossing by Winston Churchill. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 7 I Meet a Hero When left to myself I was want to slide into the common place, and where my own dull life intrudes to clog the action, I cut it down here and pair it away there until I'm merely explanatory, and not too much in evidence. I rode out the wilderness trail, fell in with other travellers, was welcomed by certain old familiar faces at Harrods Town, and pressed on. I have a vivid recollection of a beloved vigorous figure swooping out of a cabin door and scattering a brood of children right and left, Polly Ann, I said, and she halted, trembling. Tom, she cried, Tom, it's Davy come back! And Tom himself flew out of the door, ramrod in one hand and rifle in the other. Never shall I forget them as they stood there, he grinning with sheer joy as of yore, and she, with her hair flying and her blue gowns snapping in the wind, in a tremor between tears and laughter. I leaped to the ground, and she hugged me in her arms as though I had been a child, calling my name again and again, and little Tom pulling at the skirts of my coat. I caught the youngster by the collar. Polly Ann, said I, he's grown to what I was when you picked me up, a foundling. And now it's little Davy no more, she answered, swept me a courtesy and added with a little quiver in her voice. Ye are gentlemen now! My heart is still where it was, said I. Aye, aye, said Tom, I'm sure of that, Davy. I was with them a fourth night in the familiar cabin, and then I took up my journey northward, heavy at leaving again, but promising to see them from time to time. For Tom was often at the falls when he went a scouting into the Illinois country. It was, as of old, Polly Ann who ran the mill and was the real breadwinner of the family. Louisville was even then bursting with importance, and as I rode into it one bright November day, I remembered the wilderness I had seen here, not ten years gone, when I had marched hither with Captain Harrod's company to join Clark on the island. It was even then a thriving little town of log and clabbered houses and schools and churches, and wise men were saying of it what Colonel Clark had long ago predicted, that it would become the first city of commercial importance in the District of Kentucky. I do not mean to give you an account of my struggles that winter to obtain a foothold in the law. The time was a heyday for young barristers, and troubles in those early days grew as plentifully in Kentucky as corn. In short I got a practice for Colonel Clark was here to help me, and thanks to the men who had gone to Kaskaskia and Vincennes, I had a fairly large acquaintance in Kentucky. I hired rooms behind Mr. Creed's store, which was famed for the glass windows which had been fetched all the way from Philadelphia. Mr. Creed was the embodiment of the enterprising spirit of the place, and often of an evening he called me in to see the new fashionable things his barges had brought down the Ohio. The next day certain young sparks would drop into my room to wailay the bells as they came to pick a costume to be worn at Mr. Nichols' dancing school, or at the ball at Fort Finney. The winter slipped away, and one cool evening in May there came a negro to my room with a note from Colonel Clark, bidding me sup with him at the tavern and meet a celebrity. I put on my best blue clothes that I had brought with me from Richmond, and repaired expectantly to the tavern about eight o'clock, pushed through the curious crowd outside, and entered the big room where the company was fast assembling. Against the red blaze in the great chimney-place I spied the figure of Colonel Clark, more portly than of Yor, and beside him stood a gentleman who could be no other than General Wilkinson. He was a man to fill the eye, handsome of face, symmetrical of figure, easy of manner, and he wore a suit of bottle-green that became him admirably. In short, so fascinated and absorbed was I in watching him as he greeted this man and the other that I started as though something had pricked me when I heard my name called by Colonel Clark. Come here, Davy, he cried across the room, and I came and stood abashed before the hero. General, allow me to present to you the drummer-boy of Cascaskia and Vincennes, Mr. David Ritchie. I heard that you drummed them to victory through the very hell of torture of Mr. Ritchie," said the general. It's an honor to grasp the hand of one who did such service at such a tender age. Wilkinson availed himself of that honor and encompassed me with a smile so ignited, so winning in its candor that I could only mutter my acknowledgment, and Colonel Clark must needs apologize, laughing for my youth and timidity. Mr. Ritchie's not good at speeches, General," said he, but I make no doubt he will drink a bumper to your health before we sit down. Gentlemen," he cried, filling his glass from a bottle on the table, a toast to General Wilkinson, emancipator and savior of Kentucky. The company responded with a shout, tossed off the toast, and sat down at the long table. Chance placed me between a young dandy from Lexington, one of several the general had brought in his train, and Mr. Wharton, a prominent planter of the neighborhood with whom I had a speaking acquaintance. This was a backwood's feast, though served in something better than the old backwood's style, and we had venison and bears' meat and prairie fowl, as well as pork and beef, and breads that came stinging hot from the Dutch ovens. Toast to this and that were flung back and forth in jests and jibes, and the butt of many of these was that poor federal government, which, as one gentleman avowed, was like a bantam hen trying to cover a nest full of turkey's eggs and clucking with importance all the time. This picture brought on gusts of laughter. And what say you of the jay? cried one. What will he hatch? Hisses greeted the name, for Mr. J. wished to enter into treaty with Spain, agreeing to close the river for five and twenty years. General Clark stood up and rapped on the table. Gentlemen, said he, Louisville has as her guest of honor tonight, a man of whom Kentucky may well be proud, loud cheering. Five years ago he favored Lexington by making it his home, and he came to us with the laurel of former achievement still clinging to his brow. He fought and suffered for his country, and attained the honorable rank of major in the Continental Line. He was chosen by the people of Pennsylvania to represent them in the august body of their legislature, and now he has got new honor in a new field. Renewed cheering. He has come to Kentucky to show her the way to prosperity and glory. Kentucky had a grievance, loud cries of yes, yes. Her hogs and cattle had no market. Her tobacco and agricultural products of all kinds were rotting because the Spaniards had closed the Mississippi to our traffic. Could the federal government open the river? Shouts of no, no, and hisses. Who opened it? Cries of Wilkinson, Wilkinson. He said to the Kentucky planters, Give your tobacco to me and I will sell it. He put it on barges, he floated down the river, and as became a man of such distinction he was met by Governor General Mirro on the levee at New Orleans. Where is that tobacco now, gentlemen? Colonel Clark was here interrupted by such roars and stamping that he paused a moment, and during this interval Mr. Horton leaned over and whispered quietly in my ear, Aye, where is it? I stared at Mr. Horton blankly. He was a man yearning the Middle Age with a lacing of red in his cheeks, a pleasant gray eye, and a singularly quiet manner. Thanks to the genius of General Wilkinson, Colonel Clark continued waving his hand towards the smilingly placid hero. That tobacco has been deposited in the king's store at $10 per 100, a privilege here to foreconfine to Spanish subjects. Well might Wilkinson return from New Orleans in a chariot in four to a grateful Kentucky. This year we have tripled. May quadrupled our crop of tobacco, and we are here tonight to give thanks to the author of this prosperity. Alas, Colonel Clark's hand was not as steady as of your, and he spilled the liquor on the table as he raised his glass. Gentlemen, a health to our benefactor! He drank it willingly and with all so lengthily and nausily that Mr. Wilkinson stood smiling and bowing for full three minutes before he could be heard. He was a very paragon of modesty was the general, and a man whose attitudes and expressions spoke as eloquently as his words. None looked at him now but knew before he opened his mouth. That he was deprecating such an ovation. Gentlemen, my friends and fellow Kentuckians, he said, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your kindness, but I assure you that I have done nothing worthy of it. Loud protests. I'm a simple, practical man who loves Kentucky better than he loves himself. This is no virtue, for we all have it. I have the misfortune to be governed by a set of worthy gentlemen who know little about Kentucky and her wants, and think less, cries of eye, eye. I'm not decrying General Washington and his cabinet. It is but natural that the wants of the seaboard and the welfare and opulence of the eastern cities should be uppermost in their minds. Another interruption. Kentucky, if she would prosper, must look to her own welfare. And if any credit is due to me, gentlemen, it is because I reserved my decision of his Excellency Governor General Miro and his people until I saw them for myself. A little calm reason. A plain statement of the case will often remove what seems an insupperable difficulty, and I assure you that Governor General Miro is a most reasonable and courteous gentleman who looks with all kindness and neighborliness on the people of Kentucky. Let us drink a toast to him. To him your gratitude is due, for he sends you word that your tobacco will be received in General Wilkinson's barges. Said Mr. Wharton, leaning over and subsiding again at once. The General was the first to drink the toast, and he set down very modestly amidst a thunder of applause. The young man on the other side of me, somewhat flushed, leaped to his feet. Down with the federal government, he cried. What had they done for us indeed? Before General Wilkinson went to New Orleans, the Spaniards seized our flat boats and cargoes and flung our traders into prison. I, and sent them to the mines of Brazil. The federal government takes sides with the Indians against us. And what has that government done for you, Colonel? He demanded, turning to Clark, you who have won for them half of their territory. They have cast you off like an old moccasin. The Continental officers who fought in the East have half pay for life, for five years full pay. And what of you? There was a breathless hush. A swift vision came to me of a man, young, alert, commanding, stern under necessity, self-repossessed at all times. A man who by the very dominance of his character had awed into submission the fierce northern tribes of a continent, who had compelled men to follow him until the life had all but ebbed from their bodies, who had led them to victory in the end. And I remembered a boy who had stood all struck before this man in the Commandant's house at Fort Sackville. I, and I heard again his words as though he had just spoken them. Promise me that you will not forget me if I am unfortunate. I did not understand, then. And now, because of a certain blinding of my eyes, I did not see him clearly as he got slowly to his feet. He clutched the table, he looked around him, I dare not say, vacantly, and then suddenly he spoke with a supreme anger and a supreme bitterness. Not a shilling has this government given me, he cried. Virginia was more grateful. From her I have some acres of wild land, and a sword, he laughed. A sword, gentlemen, and not new at that. Oh, a grateful government we serve, one careful of the honor of her captains. Gentlemen, I stand today a discredited man, because the honest debts I incurred in the service of that government are repudiated. Because my friends, who helped it, father Gabolt, Vigo, and Gradiott, and others, have never been repaid. One of them is ruined. A dozen men had sprung clamoring to their feet before he sat down. One more excited than the rest got the ear of the company. Do we lack leaders? he cried. We have them here with us tonight in this room. Who will stop us? Not the contemptible enemies in Kentucky who call themselves Federalist. Shall we be supine forever? We have fought once for our liberties. Let's fight again. Let's make a common cause with our real friends on the far side of the Mississippi. I rose sick at heart, but every man was standing. And then a strange thing happened. I saw General Wilkinson at the far end of the room. His hand was raised. And there was that on his handsome face which might have been taken for a smile, and yet it was not a smile. Others saw him too. I know not by what exertion of magnetism. They looked at him, and they held their tongues. I fear that we're losing our heads, gentlemen, he said. And I propose to you the health of the first citizen of Kentucky, Colonel George, George Rogers Clark. I found myself out of the tavern and alone in the cool May night. And as I walked slowly down the deserted street, my head in a whirl, a hand was laid on my shoulder. I turned, startled, to face Mr. Horton, the planter. I would speak a word with you, Mr. Richie, he said. May I come to your room for a moment? Certainly, sir, I answered. After that we walked along together in silence, my own mind heavily occupied with what I had seen and heard. We came to Mr. Creed's store, went in at the picket gate beside it, and down the path to my own door which I unlocked. I felt for the candle on the table lighted it, and turned in surprise to discover that Mr. Horton was poking up the fire and pitching on a log of wood. He flung off his great coat and sat down with his feet to the blaze. I sat down beside him and waited, thinking him a sufficiently peculiar man. You are not famous, Mr. Richie, said he, presently. No, sir, I answered. Nor particularly handsome, he continued, nor conspicuous in any way. I agreed to this, perforce. You may thank God for it, said Mr. Horton. That would be a strange outpouring, sir, said I. He looked at me and smiled. What thank you of this paragon, General Wilkinson, he demanded suddenly. I have federal leaning, sir, I answered. He gad, said he, will add caution to your lack of negative accomplishments. I have had an eye on you this winter, though you did not know it. I have made inquiries about you. And hence I am not here tonight entirely through impulse. You have not made a fortune at the law, but you have worked hard, steered wide of sensation, kept your mouth shut. Is it not so? Astonished, I merely nodded in reply. I am not here to waste your time or steal your sleep, you went on, giving the log a push with his foot. And I will come to the point. When I first laid eyes on this fine gentleman, General Wilkinson, I too fell a victim to his charms. It was on the eve of this epic-making trip of which we heard so glowing an account tonight. And I made up my mind that no Spaniard, however wildly, could resist his persuasion. He said to me, Horton, give me your crop of tobacco, and I promise you to sell it in spite of all the royal mandates that go out of Madrid. He went. He saw. He conquered the obdurate Miro as he had apparently conquered the rest of the world. And he actually came back in a chariot and four as befitted him. A heavy crop of tobacco was raised in Kentucky that year. I helped to raise it, and did Mr. Horton dryly. I gave the General my second crop, and he sent it down. Mr. Richie I have to this day never received a piastre for my merchandise, nor am I the only planter in this situation. Yet General Wilkinson is prosperous. My astonishment somewhat prevented me from replying to this, too. Was it possible that Mr. Horton meant to sue the General? I reflected while he paused. I remembered how inconspicuous he had named me, and hope died. Mr. Horton did not look at me but stared into the fire, for he was plainly not a man to rail and rant. Mr. Richie, you are young, but mark my words that man Wilkinson will bring Kentucky to ruin if he is not found out. The whole district from Crab Orchard to Bear Grass is mad about him. Even Clark makes a fool of himself. Colonel Clark, sir? I cried. He put up a hand. So you have some hot blood, he said. I know you love him, so do I, or I should not have been there tonight. Do I blame his bitterness? Do I blame anything he does? The treatment he has had would bring a blush of shame to the cheek of any nation save a republic. Republics are wasteful, sir. In George Rogers Clark they have thrown away a General who might someday have decided the fate of this country. They have left to stagnate a man fit to lead a nation to war. And now he is ready to intrigue against the government, with any adventurer who may have convincing ways and a smooth tongue. Mr. Wharton, I said, rising, did you come here to tell me this? But Mr. Wharton continued to stare into the fire. I like you better, Ford, my dear sir, said he. And I assure you that I mean no offense. Colonel Clark is enshrined in our hearts, Democrats and Federalists alike. Whatever he may do we shall love him always. But this other man, Poo, he exclaimed, which was as near a vigorous expression as he got. Now, sir, to the point. I too am a Federalist, a friend of Mr. Humphrey Marshall, and as you know we are sadly in the minority in Kentucky now. I came here tonight to ask you to undertake a mission in behalf of myself and certain other gentlemen. And I assure you that my motives are not wholly mercenary. He paused, smiled, and put the tips of his fingers together. I would willingly lose every crop for the next ten years to convict this Wilkinson of treason against the Federal Government. Treason, I repeated involuntarily. Mr. Ritchie answered the planter. I gave you credit for some shrewdness. Do you suppose the Federal Government does not realize the danger of this situation in Kentucky? They have tried in vain to open the Mississippi, and are too weak to do it. This man Wilkinson goes down to see Miro, and Miro straightway opens the river to us through him. How do you suppose Wilkinson did it? By his charming personality? I said something, I know not what, as the light began to dawn on me, and then I added, I had not thought about the General. I replied, Mr. Horton, just so. And now you may easily imagine that General Wilkinson has come to a very pretty arrangement with Miro. For a certain stipulated sum best known to Wilkinson and Miro, General Wilkinson agrees gradually to detach Kentucky from the Union and join it to his Catholic Majesty's Dominion of Louisiana, the bribe, the opening of the river. What the Government could not do Wilkinson did by the lifting of his finger. Still Mr. Horton spoke without heat. Mind you, he said, we have no proof of this, and that is my reason for coming here tonight, Mr. Ritchie. I want you to get proof of it if you can. You want me, I said bewildered. I repeat that you're not handsome, I think he emphasized this unduly, that you're self-effacing, inconspicuous. In short, you're not a man to draw suspicion. You might travel anywhere and scarcely be noticed. I have observed that about you. In addition to this you are weary, you are discreet, you are pains-taking. I ask you to go first to St. Louis, in Louisiana Territory, and this for two reasons. First, because it will draw any chance suspicion from your real objective, New Orleans, and second, because it is necessary to get letters to New Orleans from such leading citizens of St. Louis as Colonel Chateau and Monsieur Gratiot, and I will give you introductions to them. You are then to take passage to New Orleans in a barge of furs which Monsieur Gratiot is sending down. Mind, we do not expect that you will obtain proof that Miro is paying Wilkinson money, if you do so much the better, but we believe that both are too sharp to leave any tracks. You will make a report, however, upon the conditions under which our tobacco is being received, and, of all other matters, which you may think germane to the business in hand. Will you go? I had made up my mind. Yes, I will go, I answered. Good, said Mr. Wharton, but with no more enthusiasm than he had previously shown. I thought I had not misjudged you. Is your law business so onerous that you could not go tomorrow? I laughed. I think I could settle what affairs I have by noon, Mr. Wharton, I replied. He gad, Mr. Ritchie, I like your manner, said he. And now for a few details, and you may go to bed. He sat with me half an hour longer, carefully reviewing his instructions, and then he left me to a night of contemplation. End of chapter 7. Book II Chapter 8 of The Crossing by Winston Churchill This Libor-Rox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 8 To St. Louis By eleven o'clock the next morning I had wound up my affairs, having arranged for the young lawyer of my acquaintance to take over such cases as I had, and I was busy in my room packing my saddle-bags for the journey. The warm scents of spring were wafted through the open door and window, smells of the damp earth giving forth the green things, and tender shades greeted my eyes when I paused and raised my head to think. Purple buds littered the black ground before my doorstep, and against the living green of the grass I saw the red stain of a robin's breast, as he hopped spasmodically hither and thither, now pausing immovable with his head raised, now tossing triumphantly a wiggling worm from the sod. Suddenly he flew away, and I heard a voice from the street side that brought me stark upright. Oh, there, neighbor! Can you direct me to the mansion of that celebrated barrister, Mr. Richie? There was no mistaking that voice. It was Nicholas Temples. I heard a laugh and an answer. The gate slammed, and Mr. Temple himself in a long gray writing-coat, booted and spurred, stood before me. Davy, he cried, come out here and hug me. Will you look as if I were your grandmother's ghost? And if you were, I answered, you could not have surprised me more. Where have you been? At Jonesboro, acting the glant with the widow, winning and losing skins and cowbells and land at Rattle and Snap, horse-racing with that wild Mr. Jackson. Faith he nearly shot the top of my head off because I beat him at Greasy Cove. I laughed, despite my anxiety. And Severe, I demanded. You have not heard how Severe got off? exclaimed Nick. He cried that was a crowning stroke of genius. Cosby and Evans, Captain's Green and Gibson, and Severe's two boys whom you met on the Nala Chucky, rode over the mountains to Morganton. Green and Gibson and Severe's boys hid themselves with the horses in a clump outside the town, while Cosby and Evans, disguised as bumpkins and hunting-shirts, jogged into the town with Severe's racing-mare between them. They jogged into the town, I say, through the crowds of white trash, and rode up to the courthouse where Severe was being tried for his life. Evans stood at the open door and held the mare and gaped, while Cosby stalked in and shouldered his way to the front within four feet of the bar, like a big awkward countryman. Jack Severe saw him, and he saw Evans with the mare outside. Then by thunder Cosby takes a step right up to the bar and cries out, Judge! Aren't you about done with that man? Faith it was like Judgment Day, such a mix-up as there was after that, and Nala Chucky Jack made three leaps and got on the mare, and in the confusion Cosby and Evans were off too, and the whole state of North Carolina couldn't catch him then. Nick sighed. I'd have given my soul to have been there, he said. Come in, said I, for lack of something better. Cursed if you haven't given me a sweet reception, Davy, said he. Have you lost your practice, or is there a lady here you rogue? And he poked into the cupboard with his stick. Hello, where are you going now? He added, with his eye falling on the saddle-bags. I had it on my lips to say, and then I remembered Mr. Horton's injunction. I'm going on a journey, said I. When, said Nick. I leave in about an hour, said I. He sat down. Then I leave too, he said. What do you mean, Nick? I demanded. I mean that I will go with you, said he. But I shall be gone three months or more, I protested. I have nothing to do, said Nick placently. A vague trouble had been working in my mind. But now the full horror of it dawned upon me. I was going to St. Louis. Mrs. Temple and Harry Riddle were gone there so Polly Ann had avowed, and Nick could not help meeting Riddle. Sorely beset I bent over to roll up a shirt and refrained from answering. He came and laid a hand on my shoulder. What the devil ailed you, Davy? He cried. If it is an elopement, of course I won't press you. I'm hanged if I'll make a third. It's no elopement, I retorted, my face growing hot in spite of myself. Then I go with you, said he, for I vow you need taking care of. You can't put me off, I say, and never in my life have I had such a reception, and from my own first cousin too. I was in a quandary, so totally unforeseen was this situation. And then a glimmer of hope came to me that perhaps his mother and Riddle might not be in St. Louis after all. I recalled the conversation in the cabin and reflected that this wayward pair had stranded on so many beaches, had drifted off again on so many tides, that one place could scarce hold them long. Perchance they had sunk, who could tell. I turned to Nick, who stood watching me. It was not that I did not want you, I said. You must believe that. I've wondered you ever since that night long ago when I slipped out of your bed and ran away. I'm going first to St. Louis and then to New Orleans on a mission of much delicacy, a mission that requires discretion and secrecy. You may come with all my heart, with one condition only, that you do not ask my business. Done, cried Nick. Davy, I was always sure of you. You're the one fixed quality in my life. To St. Louis and to New Orleans, he gad what havoc we'll make among the Creole girls. May I bring my nigger? He'll do things for you, too. By all means, said I, laughing, only hurry. I'll run to the end, said Nick, and be back in ten minutes. He got as far as the door, slapped his thigh, and looked back. Davy, we may run across. Who? I asked, with a catch of my breath. Harry Riddle, he answered. And if so, may God have mercy on his soul. He ran down the path, the gate clicked, and I heard him whistling in the street on his way to the end. After dinner we rode down to the ferry. Nick on the thoroughbred, which had beat Mr. Jackson's horse, and his man, Benji, on a scraggly pony, behind. Benji was a small black negro with a very squant nose. Alert and talkative, save when Nick turned on him. Benji had been born at Temple Bow. He worshipped his master and all that pertained to him, and he showered upon me all the respect and attention that was due to a member of the Temple family. For this I was very grateful. It would have been an easier journey had we taken a boat down to Fort Massick, but such a proceeding might have drawn too much attention to our expedition. I have no space to describe that trip overland, which reminded me at every stage of the march against Kaskaskia, the woods, the chocolate streams, the coffee-colored swamps flecked with dead leaves, and at length the prairies, the grass not waist-high now but young and tender, giving forth the acrid smell of spring. Nick was delighted. He made me recount every detail of my trials as a drummer-boy, or kept me in continuous spells of laughter over his own escapades. In short, I began to realize that we were as near to each other as though we had never been parted. We looked down upon Kaskaskia from the self-same spot where I had stood on the bluff with Colonel Clark, and the sounds were even then the same, the sweet tones of the church bell and the lowing of the cattle. We found a few Virginians and Pennsylvanians scattered in amongst the French, the forerunners of that change which was to come over this country. And we spent the night with an old friend, Father Gibolt, still the faithful pastor of his flock, cheerful, though the savings of his lifetime had never been repaid by that country to which he had given his allegiance so freely. Travelling by easy stages, on the afternoon of the second day after leaving Kaskaskia, we picked our way down the high bluff that rises above the American bottom, and saw below us that yellow monster among the rivers, the Mississippi. A blind monster he seemed, searching with troubled arms among the islands for his bed, swept onward by an inexorable force, and on his heaving shoulders he carried great trees, pilfered from the unknown forest of the north. Down in the moist and shady bottom we came upon the log hut of a half-breed trapper, and he agreed to ferry us across. As for our horses, a keelboat must be sent after these, and Montseur-Gratiot would no doubt easily arrange for this. And so we found ourselves about five o'clock on that Saturday evening, embarked in a wide parogue on the current, dodging the driftwood, avoiding the eddies, and drawing near to a village set on a low bluff on the Spanish side, and gleaming white among the trees. And as I looked, the thought came again like a twinge of pain that Mrs. Temple and Rital might be there, thinking themselves secure in this spot so removed from the world and its doings. How now, my men of mysterious affairs, cried Nick from the bottom of the boat, you are as puckered as a sour persimmon. Have you a treaty with Spain in your pocket, or a declaration of war? What can trouble you? Nothing, if you do not," answered Smiley. Lord, since we don't admire the same lady then, said Nick, be a row. He cried, turning to one of the boatmen. The man missed a stroke in his astonishment, and the boat swung lengthwise in the swift current. Ah, Monsieur Elion, he answered. Where did you learn French, Nick? I demanded. Mr. Mason had it hammered into me. He answered carelessly his eyes on the line of keelboats, moored along the shore. Our guide shot the canoe deathly between two of these. The prowl grounded in the yellow mud, and we landed on Spanish territory. We looked about us while our packs were being unloaded, and the place had a strange flavor in that year of our Lord, 1789. A swarthy boatman in a tow-shirt with a bright handkerchief on his head stared at us over the gondola of one of the keelboats and spat into the still yellow water. Three high-cheeked Indians with smudgy faces and dirty red blankets regarded us in silent contempt, and by the water side above us was a sled loaded with a huge water cask, a bony mustang pony between the shafts, and a chanting negro dipping gourd voles from the river. A road slanted up the little limestone bluff, and above and below us stone houses could be seen nestling into the hill, houses higher on the river side and with galleries there. We climbed the bluff, bingey at our heels with the saddle bags, and found ourselves on a yellow clay street lined with grass and wildflowers. A great peace hung over the village, an air of a different race, a restfulness strange to a Kentuckian. Clamaras in honeysuckle climbed the high palings, and behind the privacy of these low, big, chimneyed houses of limestone, weathered gray, could be seen. Their roofs sloping in gentle curves to the shaded porches in front, or again houses of posts set upright in the ground, and these filled between with plaster, and so immaculately whitewashed that they gleamed against the green of the trees which shaded them. Behind the houses was often a kind of pink and cream paradise of flowering fruit trees, so dear to the French settlers. There were vineyards, too, and thrifty patches of vegetables and lines of flowers set in the carefully raked mold. We walked on, enraptured by the sights around us, by the heavy scent of the roses and the blossoms. Here was a quaint stone horsemill, a stable, or a barn set uncouthly on the street, a baker's shop with a glimpse of the white-capped baker through the shaded doorway, and an appetizing smell of hot bread in the air. A little farther on we heard the tinkle of the blacksmith's hammer, and the man himself looked up from where the hoof rested on his leather apron to give us a kindly balsua monsieurs as we passed, and here was a cabaret with the inevitable porch from which came the sharp click of billiard balls. We walked on, stopping now and again to peer between the palings, when we heard amidst the rattling of a cart and the jingling of bells a course of voices. A shaggy Indian pony came ambling around the corner between the long shafts of a charrette. A bare-headed young man in tow-shirt and trousers was driving, and three laughing girls were seated on the stools in the cart behind him. Suddenly, before I quite realized what had happened, the young man pulled up the pony, the girls fell silent, and Nick was standing in the middle of the road with his hat in his hand, bowing elaborately. Je vois salut, mamazelles, he cried, Mais on de chavons, Pevoir, mais de gère, Chez Monchur Gratian. C'est priste, exclaimed the young man, but he laughed. The young women stood up, giggling, and peered at Nick over the young man's shoulder. One of them wore a fresh red-and-white Calamenco gown. She had a complexion of ivory tinged with red, raven hair and dusky, long-lashed, mischievous eyes brimming with merriment. Volunteer, Monsieur! She answered before the others could catch their breath. Premier Duat and Premier Gauche! Allons, Gospa! She cried, tapping the young man sharply on the shoulder. Est-ce de fou? Gaspard came to himself, flicked the pony, and they went off down the road with shouts of laughter, while Nick stood waving his hat until they turned the corner. He gad, said he, I'd take to the highway if I could be sure of holding up such a cargo every time. Off with you, Benji, and find out where she lives, he cried. And the obedient Benji dropped the saddle-bags as though such commands were not uncommon. Pick up those bags, Benji, said I, laughing. Benji glanced uncertainly at his master. Do as I tell you, you black scallowag, said Nick, or I'll tan you. What are you waiting for? Marce Davy began Benji rolling his eyes in discomforture. Look you, Nick Temple, said I. When you ship with me you promise that I should command. I can't afford to have the town about our ears. All very well if you put it that way, said Nick. A little honest diversion. Pick up the bags, Benji, and follow the parson. Obeying Mademoiselle's directions we trudged on until we came to a comfortable stone house, surrounded by trees and set in a half block bordered by a seven-foot pailing. Hardly had we opened the gate when a tall gentleman of grave demeanor and sober dress rose from his seat on the porch, and I recognized my friend of Cahokia days, Monsura Gratiot. He was a little more portly, his hair was dressed now in an eagle skin, and he looked every inch the man of affairs that he was. He greeted us kindly and bade us come up on the porch, where he read my letter of introduction. Why, he exclaimed immediately, giving me a cordial grasp of the hand. Of course. The strategist, the John Law, the reader of character of Colonel Clark's army. Yes, and worse, the prophet Mr. Richie. And why worse, sir, I asked. You predicted that Congress would never repay me for the little loan I had bansheeed your Colonel. It was not such a little loan, Monsura, I said. Nimporte, said he. I went to Richmond with my box of scripts and promissory notes, but I was not ill-repaid. If I did not get my money, I acquired, at least, a host of distinguished acquaintances. But Mr. Richie, you must introduce me to your friend. My cousin, Mr. Nicholas Temple, I said. Monsura Gratiot looked at him fixedly. Of the Charleston temples, he asked, and a sudden big fear seized me. Yes, said Temple. There was once a family of that name, and now, said Monsura Gratiot, puzzled. Now, said Nick, now they've become a worthless lot of refugees and outlaws who by good fortune have escaped the gallows. Before Monsura Gratiot could answer, a child came running around the corner of the house and stood, surprised, staring at us. Nick made a face, stooped down, and twirled his finger. Shouting with a terrified glee, the boy fled to the garden path, Nick after him. I like Mr. Temple, said Monsura Gratiot, smiling. He is young, but he seems to have had a history. The revolution ruined many families. His was one. I answered with what firmness of tone I could muster. And then Nick came back, carrying the shouting youngster on his shoulders. At that instant a lady appeared in the doorway, leading another child, and we were introduced to Madame Gratiot. Gentlemen, said Monsura Gratiot, you must make my house your home. I fear your visit will not be as long as I could wish, Mr. Richie. He added, turning to me, if Mr. Horton correctly states your business. I have an engagement to have my furs in New Orleans by a certain time. I am late in loading, and as there is a moon I am sending off my boats to-morrow night. The men will have to work on Sunday. We were fortunate to come in such good season, I answered. After a delicious supper of gumbo, a creole dish, a fricassee, a creme brûlée, of red wine and fresh wild strawberries we set on the porch. The crickets chirped in the garden, the moon cast fantastic shadows from the pecan tree on the grass, while Nick, struggling with his French, talked to Madame Gratiot. And now and then their gay laughter made Monsura Gratiot pause and smile as he talked to me of my errand. It seemed strange to me that a man who had lost so much by his espousal of our cause should still be faithful to the American Republic. Although he lived in Louisiana, he had never renounced the American allegiance which he had taken at Cahokia. He regarded with no favor the pretensions of Spain toward Kentucky, and, remarkably enough, he looked forward even then to the day when Louisiana would belong to the Republic. I exclaimed at this. Mr. Ritchie, said he, the most casual student of your race, must come to the same conclusion. You have seen for yourself how they have overrun and conquered Kentucky and the Cumberland districts, despite a hideous warfare waged by all the tribes. Your people will not be denied, and when they get to Louisiana they will take it, as they take everything else. He was a man strong in argument, was Monsura Gratiott, for he loved it, and he beat me fairly. May, he said finally, Spain might as well try to damn the Mississippi as to damn your commerce on it, as for France, I love her, though my people were exiled to Switzerland by the addict of Nance, but France is rotten through the prodigality of her kings and nobles, and she cannot hold Louisiana. The kingdom is suck in debt. He cleared his throat. As for this Wilkinson of whom you speak, I know something of him. I have no doubt that Miro pensions him, and I know Miro likewise, and you will obtain no proof of that. You will, however, discover in New Orleans many things of interest to your government and to the federal party in Kentucky. Colonel Chateau and I will give you letters to certain French gentlemen in New Orleans who can be trusted. This Song Grey, for instance, who puts a French Louisiana into his prayers, he has never forgiven O'Reilly and his Spaniards for the murder of his father in 69. Song Grey is a good fellow, a cousin of the current Marquis in France, and his ancestors held many positions of trust in the colony under the French regime. He entertains lavishly at Laïl's, his plantation on the Mississippi. He has the gossip of New Orleans at his tongue's tip, and you will be suspected of nothing save a desire to amuse yourself if you go there. He paused, interrupted by the laughter of the others. When strangers of note or position drift here and pass on to New Orleans, I always give them letters to Song Grey. He has a charming daughter and a worthless son. Monsieur Grotiot produced his top of the air and took a pinch of snuff. I summoned my courage for the topic which had trembled all the evening on my lips. Some years ago, Monsieur Grotiot, a lady and a gentleman, were rescued on the Wilderness Trail in Kentucky. They left us for St. Louis. Did they come here? Monsieur Grotiot leaned forward quickly. They were people of quality, he demanded. Yes, and their name. They did not say. It must have been the Cleaves, he cried. It can't have been no other. Tell me, a woman still beautiful, commanding of perhaps eight and thirty, a woman who had a sorrow, a great sorrow, though we have never learned it, and Mr. Cleave, a man of fashion ill-content to, and pining for the life of a capital? Yes, I said eagerly, my voice sinking near to a whisper. Yes, it is they, and are they here? Monsieur Grotiot took another pinch of snuff. It seemed an age before he answered. It's curious that you should mention them, for I gave them letters to New Orleans, amongst others to St. Griggy. Mrs. Cleave was, what shall I say, haunted. Monsieur Cleave talked of nothing but Paris, where they had lived once, and at last she gave in. They have gone there. To Paris, I said, taking breath. Yes, it's more than a year ago, he continued, seeming not to notice my emotion. They went by way of New Orleans, and one of Chateau's boats. Mrs. Cleave seemed a woman with a great sorrow. Cherché la femme Sunday came with the soft haziness of a June morning, and the dew sucked fresh fragrance from the blossoms and the grass. I looked out of our window at the orchard all pink and white in the early sun, and across a patch of clover to the stone kitchen, a pearly feathery smoke was wafted from the chimney. A delicious aroma of Creole coffee pervaded the odor of the blossoms, and a cotton-clad negro apiece nude came down the path with two steaming cups, and knocked at our door. He who has tasted Creole coffee will never forget it. The effect of it was lost upon Nick, for he laid down the cup, sighed, and promptly went to sleep again, while I dressed and went forth to make his excuses to the family. I found Monsieur and Madame with their children walking among the flowers. Madame laughed. He is charming, your cousin, said she. Let him sleep by all means, until after mass. Then you must come with us to Madame Chateau's, my mother's. Her children and grandchildren dine with her every Sunday. Madame Chateau, my mother-in-law, is the queen region of St. Louis, Mr. Richie, said Monsieur Gratiot Gaeli. We're all afraid of her, and I warn you that she's a very determined and formidable personage. She is the widow of the founder of St. Louis, the sewer La Clade, although she prefers her own name. She rules us with a strong hand, dispenses justice, settles disputes, and sometimes indulges in them herself. It is her right. You will see a very pretty French custom of submission to parents, said Madame Gratiot, and afterwards there is a bowl. A ball? I exclaimed involuntarily. It may seem very strange to you, Mr. Richie, but we believe that Sunday was made to enjoy. They will have time to attend the ball before you send them down the river. She added, mischievously, turning to her husband. Certainly, said he, the loading will not be finished before eight o'clock. Presently Madame Gratiot went off to mass while I walked with Monsieur Gratiot to a storehouse near the river's bank. Whence the skins, neatly packed and numbered, were being carried to the boats on the sweating shoulders of the Negroes, the half-breeds, and the Canadian boatmen, bulky bales of yellow elk from the upper plains of the Missouri, a buffalo and deer and bear, and priceless little packages of the otter and the beaver trapped in the green shade of the endless northern forest, and brought hither and pierogues down the swift river by the red tribesmen and Canadian adventurers. Afterwards I strolled about the silent village. Even the cabarets were deserted. A private of the Spanish Louisiana regiment in a dirty uniform slouched behind the palings in front of the Commandant's quarters, a quaint stone house set against the hill. With dormer windows in its curving roof, with a wide porch held by eight sturdy hewn pillars, here and there a muffled figure of a prowling Indian lorded, or a bare-footed Negroes shuffled along by the fence crooning a folk song. All the world had obeyed the call of the church bell, say these, and Nick. I bethought myself of Nick and made my way back to Monsieur Gratiot's. I found my cousin railing at Benji, who had extracted from the saddle bags a wondrous gray suit of London cut in which to array his master. Clothes became Nick's slim figure remarkably. This coat was cut away smartly, like a uniform, towards the tails and was brought in at the waist with an infinite art. Wither now, my conquistador, I said. To mass, said he. To mass, I exclaimed. But you've slept through the greater part of it. The best part is to come, said Nick, giving a final touch to his neck-band. Followed by Benji's adoring eyes, he started out of the door, and I followed him perforce. We came to the little church of upright logs and plaster, with its crudely shingled, peaked roof, with its tiny belfry crowned by a cross, with its porches on each side shading the line of windows there. Beside the church, a little at the back, was the cura's modest house of stone, and at the other hand, under spreading trees, the graveyard with its rough wooden crosses. And behind these graves rose the wooded hill that stretched away towards the wilderness. What a span of life has been theirs who rested here. Their youth, perchance, had been spent amongst the crooked streets of some French village, streets lined by red-tiled houses and crossing limpid streams by quaint bridges. Death had overtaken them beside a monster-tawney river of which their imaginations had not conceived, a river which draws tribute from the remote places of an unknown land, a river indeed which, mixing all the waters, seemed to symbolize a coming race which was to conquer the land by its resistless flow, even as the Mississippi bore relentlessly towards the sea. These were my own thoughts as I listened to the tones of the priest as they came, droningly, out of the door, while Nick was exchanging jokes in doubtful French with some half-breeds leaning against the palings. Then we heard benches scraping on the floor and the congregation began to file out. Those who reached the steps gave back, respectfully, and there came an elderly lady and a sober turban, a black mantilla wrapped tightly about her shoulders, and I made no doubt that she was Moshe Gratiot's mother-in-law, Madame Chateau, she whom he had jestingly called the Queen Regent. I was sure of this when I saw Madame Gratiot behind her. Madame Chateau indeed had the face of authority, a high bridged nose, a determined chin, a mouth that shut tightly. Madame Gratiot presented us to her mother, and as she passed on to the gate, Madame Chateau reminded us that we were to dine with her at two. After her congregation the well-to-do and the poor alike poured out of the church and spread in merry groups over the grass. Keele Boatman in toe-shirts and party-colored worsted belts, the blacksmith, the shoemaker, the farmer of a small plot in the common fields in large cotton pantaloons and light-woven camlet coat, the moor favored in skull-caps, linen small clothes, cotton stockings, and silver-buckled shoes, every man pausing, dipping into his tavatier for a word with his neighbor. The women, too, made a picture strange to our eyes. The matrons in jacket and petticoat, a madras-hacketche flung about their shoulders, the girls in fresh cotton aid or calamanko. All at once cries of Palate, Palate, were heard, and a nimble young man with a jester-like face hopped around the corner of the church, trundling a barrel. Behind Palate came two rotund little men perspiring freely and laden down with various articles, a bird-cage with two yellow birds, a hat-trunk, an inlaid card-box, a roll of scarlet cloth, and I know not what else. They deposited these on the grass beside the barrel which Palate had set on in and proceeded to mount, encouraged by the shouts of his friends who pressed around the barrel. It's an auction, I said, but Nick did not hear me. I followed his glance to the far side of the circle, and my eye was caught by a red ribbon, a blush that matched it, a glance shot from underneath long lashes, but not for me. Beside the girl and palpably uneasy stood the young man who had been called Gaspard. Ah, said I, your angel of the tumble. But Nick had pulled off his hat and was sweeping her abow. The girl looked down, smoothing her ribbon. Gaspard took a step forward, and the other young women near us tittered with delight, the voice of Palate rolling his oars called out in a French dialect. Monsieur the madame s'asor du affait d'un pauvre, officer Kiersmott, who will buy? He opened the hat trunk, produced an antiquated beaver with a gold cord, and surveyed it with a covetedness that was admirably feigned, for Palate was an actor. Assures to own such a hat were a pattern of nobility. Am I bid twenty liveries? There was a loud laughter, and he was bid four. Gaspard cried the auctioneer addressing the young man of the tumble. Suzanne would no longer hesitate if she saw you in such a hat and with the trunk too. Ah, module, can you afford to miss it? The crowd howled. Suzanne simpered, and Gaspard turned as pink as clover. But he was not to be bullied. The hat was sold to an elderly person, the red cloth, like was. A pot of grease went to a housewife, and there was a veritable scramble for the box of playing cards. And at last, Palate held up the wooden cage with the fluttering yellow birds. Ah! he cried, his eyes on Gaspard once more. A gentle present, a present to make a heart relent. And more surely all, for chants you will make a bid, although they are not game-cocks. Instantly from somewhere under the barrel a cock-crew. Even the yellow birds looked surprised, and as for Palate, he nearly dropped the cage. One elderly person crossed himself. I looked at Nick. His face was impassive. But suddenly I remembered his boyhood gift, how he had imitated the monkeys. And I began to shake with inward laughter. There was an uncomfortable silence. Pest, c'est la magique! said an old man at last, searching with an uncertain hand for his snuff. Monsieur cried Nick to the auctioneer. I will make a bid, but first you must tell me whether they are cocks or yellow birds. Our blue answered the puzzled Hippolyte. That I do not know, Monsieur. Everybody looked at Nick, including Suzanne. Very well, said he, I will make a bid. And if they turn out to be game-cocks, I will fight them with more surely all behind the cabaret. Two liveries! There was a laugh as of relief. Three cried Gaspard, and his voice broke. Hippolyte looked insulted. Monsieur's, he shouted. There from the canaries, Diable Unbega, d'huit être genreux. Another laugh, and Gaspard wiped the perspiration from his face. Five, said he. Six, said Nick, and the villagers turned to him in wonderment. What could such a fine Monsieur want with two yellow birds? Ah, avant Gaspard, said Hippolyte. And Suzanne shot another barbed glance in our direction. Seven muttered Gaspard. Eight, said Nick immediately. Nine, said Gaspard. Ten, said Nick. Ten cried Hippolyte. I am offered ten liveries for the yellow birds. Une bagatelle! O's Gaspard! O's! O's liveries! Pour la mort de Suzanne! But Gaspard was silent. No appeals, entreaties, or taunts could persuade him to bid more. And at length Hippolyte, with a gesture of disdain, handed Nick the cage as though he were giving it away. Monsieur, he said, the birds are yours, since there are no more lovers who are worthy of the name. They do not exist. Monsieur, answered Nick, it is to disprove that statement that I have bought the birds. Madame Moussel, he added, turning to the flushing Suzanne, I pray that you will accept this present with every assurance of my humble regard. Madame Moussel took the cage and amidst the laughter of the village at the discomfort here of poor Gaspard, swept Nick a frightened courtesy, one that nevertheless was full of coquetry, and at that instant, to cap the situation, a rotant little man with a round face under linen beretta, grasped Nick by the hand and cried in painful but sincere English. Monsieur, you make my daughter very happy. She won't those birds ever since Captain Lopez he died. Monsieur, I am Jean Baptiste Lenore, Colonel Chateau's Miller, and we are very happy to see you at the pawn. If Monsieur will lead the way, said Nick instantly, taking the little man by the arm. But you are to dine at Madame Chateau's, he expostulated. To be sure, said he. Au revoir, Monsieur, au revoir, Madame Moussel. Petade, Madame Moussel. Petade, la dostreance, Petade. What devil inhabits you, I said, when I got him started on the way to Madame Chateau's. Your own at present, Davy, he answered, laying a hand on my shoulder. Else I should be on the way to the pawn with Lenore. But the ball is to come, and he executed several steps in anticipation. Davy, I'm sorry for you. Why, I demanded, though feeling a little self-commiseration also. You will never know how to enjoy yourself, said he, with conviction. Madame Chateau lived in a stone house, wide and low, surrounded by trees and gardens. It was a pretty tribute of respect her children and grandchildren paid her that day, in accordance with the old French usage of honoring the parent. I should like to linger on the scene and tell how Nick made them all laugh over the story of Suzanne Lenore and the Yellow Birds, and how the children pressed around him and made him imitate all the denizens of wood and field amid deafening shrieks of delight. You have probably delayed Gasparge wooing another year, Mr. Temple. Suzanne is a sad coquette, said Colonel August Chateau, laughing as we set out for the ball. The sun was hanging low over the western hills as we approached the barracks, and out of the open windows came the merry mad sound of violin, guitar, and flageolet, the tinkle of a triangle now and then, the shouts of laughter, the shuffle of many feet over the pungents. Within the door, smiling and benign, unmindful of the stifling atmosphere, set the black-robed village priest talking volubly to an elderly man in a scarlet cap, and several stout ladies ranged along the wall. Beyond them, on a platform, Zeran, the baker, fiddled as though his life depended on it, the perspiration dripping from his brow, frowning, gesticulating at them with the flageolet and the triangle, and in a dim, nausea-heated whirl, the whole village went round and round and round under the low ceiling in the vows, young and old, rich and poor, high and low, the sound of their laughter and the scraping of their feet cut now and again by an agonized squeak from Zeran's fiddle. From time to time a staggering panting couple would fling themselves out, help themselves liberally to pink syrup from the bowl on the side table, and then fling themselves in once more until Zeran stopped from sheer exhaustion to tune up for a potty-doo. Across the room by the syrup-bowl, a pair of red ribbons flaunted, and a pair of eyes sent a swift challenge. Zeran and his assistants struck up again, and there in a corner was Nick Temple, with characteristic effrontery attempting a potty-doo with Susanne. Though Nick was ignorant, he was not ungraceful, and the village laughed and admired, and when Zeran drifted back into a vaults he seized Susanne's plump figure in his arms and bore her, unresisting like a prize among the dancers, avoiding alike the fat and unwieldy, the clumsy and the spiteful. For a while the tune held its mad pace and ended with a shriek and a snap on a high note, for Zeran had broken a string. It met a burst of laughter from the far end of the room. I saw Nick stop before an open window, in which a prying Indian was framed. Swing, Susanne, at arm's length, and bow abruptly at the brave with a grunt that startled him into life. Matin Michante shrieked Susanne excitedly. Poor Gaspard! Poor Hippolyte! They would gain Susanne for a dance, only to have her snatched away at the next by the slim and reckless young gentleman in the gray court clothes. Little Nick cared that the affair soon became the amusement of the company. From time to time, as he glided past with Susanne on his shoulder, he nodded gaily to Colonel Chateau or made a long face at me, and to save our souls we could not help laughing. The girl has met her match, for she has played shuttlecock with all the hearts in the village, said Monsieur Chateau, and perhaps it is just as well that Mr. Temple is leaving tonight. I have signed a bond, Mr. Ritchie, by which you can obtain money at New Orleans, and do not forget to present our letter to Montchure de Saint-Grie. He has a daughter, by the way, who will be more a match for your friend's fascinations than Susanne. The evening faded into twilight, with no signs of weariness from the dancers, and presently there stood beside us Jean-Baptiste Lenore, the Colonel's miller. Valls Monsieur le Colonel, he said, touching his skull cap. The water is very low. You friend, he added, turning to me. He stay long time in St. Louis. He's going away to-night, in an hour or so. I answered with thanksgiving in my heart. I am sorry, said Monsieur Lenore politely, but his looks belied his words. He's very fond, Susanne. Pouditra, he marry her, but I think not. I come away from France to escape the fine gentleman. Long time ago they want to run off with my wife. She was like Susanne. How long ago did you come from France, Monsieur? I asked to get away from an uncomfortable subject. It is twenty years, said he, dreamily, in French. I was born in Accortier Saint-Jean, on the harbour of the city of Marseille, near Notre-Dame d'Aix-la-Nativité, and he told of a tall, uneven house of four stories with a high-pitched roof and a little barred door and window at the bottom, giving out upon the rough cobbles. He spoke of the smell of the sea, of the rollicking sailors who surged through the narrow streets to embark on his majesty's men of war, and of the king's white soldiers in ranks of four going to foreign lands, and how he had become a farmer, the tenant of a country family. Excitement grew on him, and he mopped his brow with his blue, rumble handkerchief. They desire all the nobles, he cried. I make the land good, and they seize it. I marry a pretty wife in Montchur-le-Compte, he want her. Le bon dure, he added bitterly, relapsing into French. France is for the king and the nobility, Montchur. The poor have but little chance there. In the country I've seen the peasants eat roots, and in the city the poor devour the refuse from the houses of the rich. It was we who paid for their luxuries, and with mine own eyes I have seen their gilded coaches ride down weak men and women in the streets. But it cannot last. They will murder Louis and burn the great chateau. I, who speak to you, am of the people, Montchur. I know it. The sun had long set, and with flint and toe they were touching the flame to the candles, which flickered transparent yellow in the deepening twilight. So absorbed had I become in listening to Lenore's description that I had forgotten Nick. Now I searched for him among the promenading figures, and missed him. In vain did I seek for a glimpse of Susanne's red ribbons, and I grew less and less attentive to the miller's reminiscences and arraignments of the nobility. Had Nick indeed run away with his daughter? The dancing went on with unabated zeal, and through the open door in the fainting azure of the sky, the summer moon hung above the hills like a great yellow-orange. Striving to hide my uneasiness, I made my farewells to Madame Chateau's sons and daughters and their friends, and with Colonel Chateau I left the hall and began to walk towards Montchur-Gratiotes, hoping against hope that Nick had gone there to change. But we had scarce reached the road before we could see two figures in the distance, hazily outlined in the mid-light of the departed sun and the coming moon. The first was Montchur-Gratiot himself, the second Benji. Montchur-Gratiot took me by the hand. I regret to inform you, Mr. Ritchie, he said politely, that my keel boats are loaded and ready to leave. Were you on any other errand I should implore you to stay with us? Is temple at your house, I asked faintly. Why, no, said Montchur-Gratiot. I thought he was with you at the ball. Where's your master? I demanded sternly of Benji. I ain't seen him, Marsh Dave, since I put him into them fine clothes that he wear in a courton. He's gone off with the girl, put in Colonel Chateau, laughing. But where, I said, with growing anger at this lack of consideration on Nick's part, I'll warrant that Gaspard or Hippolyte Bogey will know if they can be found, said the Colonel. Neither of them willingly lets the girl out of his sight. As we hurried back towards the throbbing sounds of Zaron's fiddle, I apologized as best I might to Montchur-Gratiot, declaring that if Nick were not found within the half-hour I would leave without him. My host protested that an hour or so would make no difference. We were about to pass through the group of loungers that lauded about the gate when the sound of rapid footsteps arrested us, and we turned to confront two panting and perspiring young men who halted beside us. One was Hippolyte Bogey, more fantastic than ever as he faced the moon, and the other was Gaspard. They had plainly made a common cause. But it was Hippolyte who spoke. Monsieur, he cried, You seek your friend? We have found him. We will lead you to him. Where is he? said Colonel Chateau, repressing another laugh. On the pond, Monsieur, in a boat, Monsieur, with Suzanne, Monsieur le Carnel, and moreover he will come ashore for no one. Parbleau, said the Colonel, I should think not of any arguments that you two could muster, but we will go there. How far is it, I asked, thinking of Montchur-Gratiot. About a mile, said Colonel Chateau, a pleasant walk. We stepped out, Hippolyte and Gaspard running in front, the Colonel in Montchur-Gratiot and myself following, and a snicker which burst out now and then told us that Benjy was in the rear. On any other errand I should have thought the way beautiful, for the country road, rutted by wooden wheels, wound in and out through pleasant veils and over gentle rises, quenched we caught glimpses from time to time of the Mississippi gleaming like molten gold to the eastward. Here and there nestling against the gentle slopes of the hillside clearing was a low-thatched farmhouse among its orchards. As we walked, Nick's escapade, instead of angering Montchur-Gratiot, seemed to present itself to him in a more and more ridiculous aspect, and twice he nudged me to call my attention to the two vengefully triumphant figures silhouetted against the moon ahead of us. From time to time also I saw Colonel Chateau shaking with laughter. As for me, it was impossible to be angry at Nick for any space. Nobody else would have carried off a girl in the face of her rivals for a moonlight row on a pond a mile away. At length we began to go down into the valley where Chateau's pond was, and we caught glimpses of the shimmering of its waters through the trees. I, and presently, heard them tumbling lightly over the mill dam. The spot was made for romance. A sequestered veil clad with forest trees, cleared a little by the water-side, where Montchur-Lenoire raised his maze and his vegetables. Below the mill, so Montchur-Gratiot told me, where the creek lay in pools on its limestone bed, the village washing was done. And every Monday morning bare-legged negruses strode up this road, the bundles of clothes balanced on their heads, the paddles in their hands, followed by a stream of black urchins who tempted provenance to drown them. Down in the valley we came to a path that branched from the road and led under the oaks and hickories towards the pond, and we had not taken twenty paces in it before the notes of a guitar and the sound of a voice reached our ears. And then when the six of us stood huddled in the rank growth at the water's edge, we saw a boat floating idly in the farest shadow on the far side. I put my hand to my mouth. Nick! I shouted. There came for an answer with the careless and unskillful thumping of the guitar, the end of the verse. Thine eyes are bright as the stars at night, thy cheeks like the rose of the dawning, oh! Helus exclaimed to Pilatee sadly. There's no other boat! Nick! I shouted again, reinforced vociferously by the others. The music ceased. There came feminine laughter across the water, then Nick's voice in French that dared everything. Go away and amuse yourselves at the dance. Pest at this scarce an hour ago I threatened to row ashore and break your heads. A la vue au chelou! A scream of delight from Suzanne followed this sally, which was received by Gaspard and Hippolyte with a rattle of sucreys, and, despite our irritation, the Colonel, Monsieur Grottiotte, and myself with a burst of involuntary laughter. Far blue, said the Colonel, choking. It is a pity to disturb such a one. Grottiotte, if it was my boat, I'd delay the departure till morning. Indeed, I shall have had no small entertainment as a solace, said Monsieur Grottiotte. Listen! The tinkle of the guitar was heard again, and Nick's voice strong and full and undisturbed. Supposing I was to go to New Orleans and take sick and die, like a bird into the country my spirit would fly. Go away, old man, and leave me alone, for I'm a stranger and a long way from home. There was a murmur of voices in the boat, the sound of a paddle gurgling as it dipped, and the dugout shot out towards the center of the pond and drifted again. I shouted once more at the top of my lungs. Come in here, Nick, instantly! There was a moment's silence. Bygad, it's Parson Davy! I heard Nick exclaim. Hello, Davy! How the deuce did you get there? No thanks to you! I retorted, hotly. Come in! Lord, said he, is it time to go to New Orleans? One might think New Orleans was across the street, said Monsieur Grottiotte. What an attitude of mind! The dugout was coming towards us now, propelled by easy strokes, and Nick could be heard the while talking in low tones to Suzanne. We could only guess at the tenor of his conversation, which ceased entirely as they drew near. At length the prow slid in among the rushes was seized vigorously by Gaspard and Apoliti, and the boat hauled ashore. Thank you very much, Monsieur's! You're most obliging, said Nick, and, taking Suzanne by the hand, he helped her gallantly over the gunnel. Monsieur, he added, turning in his most irresistible manner to Monsieur Grottiotte, if I have delayed the departure of your boat, I am exceedingly sorry, but I appeal to you if I have not the best of excuses, and debound to Suzanne who stood beside him coyly looking down. As for Apoliti and Gaspard, they were quite breathless between rage and astonishment, but Colonel Chateau began to laugh. Diable, Monsieur, you are right, he cried, and rather than have missed this entertainment, I would pay Grottiotte for his cargo. Au revoir, mademoiselle, said Nick, I will return when I am released from bondage, and when this terrible mentor relaxes vigilance I will escape and make my way back to you through the forest. Oh, cried mademoiselle to me, you will let him come back, Monsieur? Assuredly, mademoiselle, I said, but I have known him longer than you, and I will tell you that in a month you will not wish to come back. Apoliti gave a grunt of approval to this plain speech. Suzanne exclaimed, but before Nick could answer, footsteps were heard in the path, and Lenore himself, perspiring, panting, exhausted, appeared in the midst of us. Suzanne, he cried, Suzanne! And turning to Nick, he added quite simply, So, Monsieur, you did not run off with her after all. There was no place to run, Monsieur, answered Nick. Praise be to God for that, said the miller heartily. There's some advantage in living in the wilderness when everything is said. I shall come back and try, Monsieur, said Nick. The miller raised his hands. I assure you that he will not, Monsieur, I put in. He thanked me profusely, and suddenly an idea seemed to strike him. There is the priest, he cried. Monsieur Le Carré retires late. There is the priest, Monsieur. There was an awkward silence, broken at length by an exclamation from Gaspard. Colonel Chateau turned his back, and I saw his shoulders heave. All eyes were on Nick, but the rascal did not seem at all perturbed. Monsieur, he said, bowing. Marriage is a serious thing, and not to be entered in too lightly. I thank you from my heart, but I am bound now with Mr. Richie on an error in such importance that I must make a sacrifice of my own interests and affairs to his. If Mr. Temple wishes, I began with malicious delight, but Nick took me by the shoulder. My dear Davey, he said, giving me a vicious kick. I could not think of it. I will go with you at once. Adieu, mademoiselle, said he, bending over Suzanne's unresisting hand. Adieu, monsieurs, and I thank you for your great interest in me, this to Gaspard and Epilote. And now, monsieur Gratiot, I have already presumed too much on your patience. I will follow you, monsieurs. We left them, Lenore, Suzanne, and our two suitors standing at the pond, and made our way through the path in the forest. It was not until we reached the road and had begun to climb out of the valley that the silence was broken between us. Monsieur, said Colonel Chateau, slyly. Do you have many such escapes? It might have been closer, said Nick. Closer, ejaculated the Colonel. Assuredly, said Nick, to the extent of abducting Monsieur Lécuré, as for you, Davie, he added between his teeth. I mean to get even with you. It was well for us that the Colonel and Monsieur Gratiot took the escapade with such good nature. And so we walked along through the summer night, talking gaily, until at length the lights of the village twinkled ahead of us, and in the streets we met many parties making merry on their homeward way. We came to Monsieur Gratiot's, bait our farewells to Madame, picked up our saddlebags, the two gentlemen escorting us down to the river bank where the keelboat was tugging at the ropes that held her, impatient to be off. Her captain, a picturesque Canadian, by the name of Xavier Paré, was presented to us. We bait our friend's farewell and stepped across the plank to the deck. As we were casting off, Monsieur Gratiot called to us that he would take the first occasion to send our horses back to Kentucky. The oars were manned, the heavy hulk moved, and we were shot out into the mighty currant of the river, on our way to New Orleans. Nick and I stood for a long time on the deck, and the windows of the little village gleamed like stars among the trees. We passed the last of the houses that nestled against the hill, and below that the forest lay like velvet under the moon. The song of our boatman broke the silence of the night. End of Chapter 9