"to the wild Indians," dominated the | Indians; to be torn limb from limb and whole establishment. In this determination eaten, even as they were now eating the Chloe was steadily upheld by Ransom, who spring chickens before them. But as this knew by many conflicts from which he had view was somewhat discouraging, and as retreated worsted, that it was idle to try to Aunt Chloe, after having once solemnly dictate to her, while at the same time he impressed it upon Eunice, had been told had views as decided as ever on the infe- by Silas Perry that she should be locked up riority of French cookery to that of New for a day in the lock-house if she ever said England. The preparation of this master another such word to anybody, it was less breakfast had called upon Chloe and her publicly expressed in the farewells of the allies long before light. Cæsar and his morning, though not held any the less allies, also preparing for a voyage which implicitly. would take them from home for many days, were as early and as noisy. The only wonder, indeed, was that the girl, who was the center of the idolatry of them all, or her aunt, who was hardly less a favorite, could either of them sleep a wink, in the neighborhood of such clamors, after midnight passed. When they did meet at breakfast, they found the table lighted with bougies, and preparations for such a repast as if the Governor and his staff, the commandant with his, and half the merchants of Orleans had been invited. Besides François and Laurent, who were in regular attendance on the table, Ransom was hovering round, somewhat as a chief butler might have done in another form of luxurious civilization. "Eat a bit of breast, Miss Inez; and here's the second j'int; try that. Don't know nothin',-niggers, but I see to this myself. Miss Eunice, them eggs is freshtook 'em myself from four different nests. Niggers don't know nothin' about eggs. Made a fire in the barn chamber and biled 'em right myself, jest as your father likes 'em, Miss Inez. Them others is as hard as rocks." Inez was in the frolic of a new expedition now, and the traces of parting, if indeed they existed, could not be discerned. She balanced Ransom's attentions against the equal attention of the two boys, pretended to eat from more dishes, and to drink from more cups than would have served Cleopatra for a month, amused herself in urging Aunt Eunice to do the same, and pretended to wrap in napkins, for the "smoking halt," the viands upon which her aunt would not try experiments. The meal, on the whole, was not unsatisfactory to Aunt Chloe's pride, to Ransom's prevision, or to the public opinion of the household. All who were left behind were, in private, unanimous on one point-namely, that Miss Eunice and Miss Inez were both to be roasted alive within a week by the Caddo In truth, the bougies were a wholly unnecessary elegance or precaution; for the noisy party did not, in fact, get under way till the sun had well risen, and every sign of early exhalation had passed from the river. Such had been Mr. Perry's private orders to his sister. And, although the general custom of a start at sunrise was too well fixed to be broken in upon in form, Eunice and Ransom had no lack of methods of delaying the final embarkation, even at the risk of a little longer pull before the "smoke." The glory of the morning as seen from the elevated quarter-deck was a new delight to Inez. She watched at first for a handkerchief, or some other token of farewell from one or another veranda as they passed plantations which were within the range of a ride or sail from her own home. Afterward, even as the settlement became rather more sparse, there was still the matchless beauty of heavy clumps of green, and of the long shadows of early morning. Even in the autumn colors nothing can tame the richness of the foliage, and the contrast rendered by patches of ripening sugar-cane or other harvests, is only the more striking from the loyal and determined verdure of trees which will not change, but always speak, not of spring, but of perennial summer. The crew felt all the importance of the expedition. Often as they had gone down the river with one or another cargo to Orleans, few of them had ever voyaged for any considerable distance up the stream. This was terra incognita into which they were coming. Not but they had heard many a story, extravagant enough, too, of the marvels of the river, from one or another flat-boatman who had availed himself of the hospitalities of the plantation for his last night before arriving at the city. But these stories were not very consistent with each other; and while the negroes half believed them, they half disbelieved at the same time. To go bodily into the presence of these unknown marvels was an experience wholly unexpected by each of them. Even Cæsar, the old cook, Sancho, and Paul, the bosman, were shaken from their balance or propriety by an adventure so strange. And the preparations they had made for the voyage, and the orders they had given to the men who were to leave home for a period so unusual, all showed that they regarded this event as by far the most important of their lives. All the same the bosman gave out a familiar and sonorous song, and all the same the rowers joined heartily in the words. And when he cunningly inserted some new words, with an allusion to the adventures before them, and to the treasures of silver which all parties would bring back from the Caddo mines, a guffaw of satisfaction showed that all parties were well pleased. And the readiness with which they caught up such of the words as came into the refrain, showed that they were in no sort dispirited either by the fatigue or the danger of the undertaking before them. The song was in the crudest French dialect used by the plantation slaves. The air was that of a little German marching song, which the quick-eared negroes had caught from German neighbors on the coast-old veterans of Frederick's, very likely. In the more polished rendering into which Inez and her aunt reduced it, before their long voyage was over, still crude enough to give some idea of the simplicity of the original, it re-appeared in these words: "Darkeys make this dug-out hurry; Tirez. Boys behind begin to row; Tirez. And don't let misses have to worry, Misses have to worry when the light of day is gone; Tirez. "Lazy dogs there behind, are your paddles all broke? Lazy dogs there before, have you all lost the stroke? Farewell! Farewell! Farewell-Farewell, "Up the Mississippi River; Tirez. My sweetheart takes to all I give her, Caddoes have a silver-mine; Tires. All that I can give her when my misses is come home; Tirez. "Lazy dogs there behind, are your paddles all broke? Lazy dogs there before, have you all lost the stroke? Farewell! Farewell! Farewell-Farewell, Farewell! Dear Girl! Farewell-Farewell."* It will not do, however, to describe the detail from day to day, even of adventures so new to Inez and all her companions as were these. For a day or two the arrangements which Mr. Perry had made were such, that they made harbor for each night with some outlying frontiersman's family. The only adventure which startled them took place one morning after they were a little wonted to their voyage in the wilder ness. By the laws of all river craft the hands were entitled every day, at the end of two hours, to a rest, if only to take breath. Everybody lighted a pipe, and the rest was called the "smoking halt." The boat was run up to the shore and the ladies would walk along a little way, ordering the boatmen to take them up when they should overtake them. Inez had, one morning, already collected a brilliant bouquet, when, at a turning of the river, she came out on an unexpected encampment. A cloud of smoke rose from a smoldering fire, a dozen Indian children were chasing each other to and fro in the shrubbery, the mothers of some of them were at work by the fire, and the men of the party were lounging upon the grass. Four or five good-sized canoes drawn up upon the shore showed where the whole party had come from, each canoe bore at the head a stag's head fixed on a pronged stick, as a sort of banner, whether of triumph or of festivity * Readers who find themselves on some placid lake, river, or bayou in an autumn day, should autumn ever come again, may like to entwine the words of the song in the meshes of the German air. Here it is: Inez and Eunice had so often welcomed such parties at the plantation, that neither of them showed any alarm or anxiety when they came so suddenly out upon the little encampment. But Inez did have a chance to say, "Dear old Chloe, she is a true prophet so soon. There are the fires, and here are we. Dear Auntie, pray take the first turn." Both of them, very likely, would have been glad enough to avoid the rencontre; but as they were in for it, and had no near base to retreat upon, they advanced as if cordially, and greeted the nearest woman with a smile and a few words of courtesy. In a minute the half-naked children had gathered in three little groups, the smaller hiding behind the larger, and all staring at the ladies with a curiosity so fresh and undisguised that it seemed certain they had never seen such people, or at the least, such costumes before. It was clear enough in a minute more that the Indian women did not understand a syllable of the words which their fairer sisters addressed to them. One or two of the men rose from the ground and joined in the interview; but with little satisfaction, as far as any interchange of ideas went. Both parties, however, showed a friendly spirit. The Indian women went so far as to offer broiled fish and fresh grapes to the ladies. These declined the hospitality; but Inez, taking from her neck a little scarlet scarf, beckoned to her the prettiest child in the group nearest to her and tied it round the girl's neck. The little savage was pleased beyond words with the adornment, slipped from her grasp, and ran with absurd vanity from one group to another to show off her new acquisition. "What would my dear Madame Faustine say, if she knew that her dearly beloved scarf was so soon adorning the neck of a dirty savage?" "She would say, if she were not a goose," said Eunice, " that you will have the whole tribe on you for scarfs now, and as you have not thirty, that you have parted with your pretty scarf for nothing." Sure enough, every little brat of the halfnaked company came around them to try the natural languages of beggary. Inez laughed heartily enough, but shook her head, and tried if they would not understand "No! no! no!" if she only said it fast enough. "We can do better than that," said Eunice. "We may as well make a treaty with them, as you have begun. We will wait here for the boat. I am horribly afraid The Eunice had torn from the book she held in her hand the blank leaf at the end. She folded a strip of the paper six or eight times, and then, with her pocket scissors cut out the figure of a leaping Indian. The feathers in his head-dress were, as she said to Inez, quite expressive, and his posture was savage enough for the reddest. children watched her with amazement, the group enlarging itself from moment to moment. So soon as the leaping savage was completed, Eunice unfolded the paper, and, of course, produced eight leaping savages, who held each other by the hands. These she brought round into a ring, and by a stitch fastened the outer hands together. She placed the ring of dancers, thus easily made, upon her book, and then made them slide up and down upon the cover. The reticence of these babes of the woods was completely broken. They shouted and sang in their delight, and even their phlegmatic fathers and mothers were obliged to draw near. Eunice followed up her advantage. This time her ready scissors cut out a deer, with his nose down; and, as the paper was unfolded, two deer were smelling at the same root in the ground. Rings of horses, groups of buffaloes, rabbits, antelopes, and other marvels followed, and the whole company was spell-bound, and, indeed, would have remained so as long as Eunice continued her magic creations, when Inez whispered to her "I see the boat coming." Eunice made no sign of the satisfaction she felt, but bade Inez walk quietly to the bend of the stream and wave her handkerchief, and the girl did so. Eunice quietly finished the group which engaged her; and then singling out the youngest of the girls, with a pointed gesture gave one of the much coveted marvels to each of them, flung away the scraps of cut paper from her lap, and sprang quickly to her feet. The flying bits of paper were quite enough to arrest the attention of the warriors, and they scattered in eager pursuit of them. A minute more and the boat was at the rudiment of a levee which had already begun to form itself. The girls sprang on board again, not sorry to regain the protection of their party, and Eunice inwardly resolved to run no more such risks while she was commander of the expedition. "Wouldn't have dared to do nothin'," said old Ransom, concealing by a square lie his own anxiety at the rencontre. "They's all cowards and liars, them redskins be; but if you go walkin' agin, Miss Eunice, better call me to go with you. They's all afraid of a white man." Ah, well, Ransom, they were very civil to us to-day, and I believe I have made forty friends at the cost of a little white paper." None the less was Eunice mortified and annoyed that she should have had a fright, for a fright it was, so early in their enterprise. It had been arranged with care, that at night they should tarry at plantations, while plantations lasted. But from Point But from Point Coupée to Natchitoches, where they were to join Captain Nolan's party, was fifty-five leagues, which, at the best the "patron could do, would cost them six or seven days, and she did not hope for even a log cabin on the way for all that distance. And now, even before that weakest spot in their line, she had walked into a camp of these red rascals, who would have made no scruple of stripping from them all that they carried or wore. "All's well that ends well, Auntie," said Inez, as she saw her aunt's anxiety. But none the less did Eunice feel that anxiety. Ransom, she saw, felt it, and the good fellow was, not more careful, but ten times more eager to show that he was careful at every encampment. The patron, who was wholly competent to the charge given him, with the utmost respect and deference, vied with Ransom in his arrangements. From this moment forward the ladies were watched with a surveillance which would have made Eunice angry, had she not seen that it was meant so kindly. This caution and assiduity were not without their effect upon her. But, all the same, her relief was infinite, when on the night when they hauled up, rather later than usual, below the rapids of the Red River, she was surprised by hearing her own name in a friendly voice, and Captain Nolan sprang on board. He had met them two or three days earlier than he expected. CHAPTER III. PHILIP NOLAN. "Bid them stand in the King's name." To Philip Nolan and his companions is due that impression of American courage and resource, which for nearly half a century, impressed the Spanish occupants of Texas, until, in the year 1848, they finally surrendered this beautiful region, however unwillingly, to the American arms and arts. For ten years before the period of this story scarcely any person had filled a place more distinguished among the American voyagers on the Mississippi, or the American settlers on its eastern banks, than had PHILIP NOLAN. His reputation was founded first on his athletic ability, highly esteemed among an athletic race. He had had intimate relations with the Spanish governors of Louisiana, but no one doubted his loyalty to his native land. He understood the Indians thoroughly, as the reader will have occasion to see. He had a passion for the wilderness, and for the life of the forest and prairie; but he was well educated, whether for commerce or for command, and Spanish governors, Orleans merchants, and American Generals and Secretaries of State, alike were glad to advise with him, and profited by his rare information of the various affairs intrusted to their care, information which he had gained by personal inspection and inquiry. Once and again had Philip Nolan, fortified by official safeguards, crossed into Texas, hunted wild horses there, and brought them back into the neighborhood of New Orleans, or the new American settlements of the Mississippi, to a good market. A perfect judge of horses, an enthusiastic lover of them, he was more pleased with such adventure than with what he thought the hum-drum lines of trade. His early training, indeed, had been so far that of a soldier, that he was always hoping for a campaign. With every new breath of a quarrel between the United States and Spain, he hoped that his knowledge of the weak spots in the Spanish rule might prove of service to his own country. Indeed, if the whole truth could be told, it would probably appear that, for the last year or two, before the reader meets him, Nolan had been lying on his oars, or looking around him, waiting for the hoped-for war, which, as he believed, would sweep the forces of the King of Spain out from this magnificent country, which they held to such little purpose. Disappointed in such hopes, he had now undertaken, for the third time, an expedition to collect horses in Texas for sale on the Mississippi.* Silas Perry knew Nolan so well, and placed in him confidence so unlimited, that he had, with little hesitation, accepted the offer of his escort, made first in jest, but renewed in utter earnest, as soon as the handsome young adventurer found that his old friend looked upon it seriously. Nolan had represented that he had a party large enough to secure the ladies from Indians or from stragglers. The ways were perfectly familiar to him, and to more than one of those with him. Their business itself would take them very near to San Antonio, if not quite there. And, without the slightest difficulty, he could and would see that the ladies were safely confided to Major Barelo's care. So soon as this proposal had been definitely stated, it met with the entire approval of Miss Inez. This needs scarcely be said. To a young lady of her age, three hundred miles of riding on horseback seems three hundred times as charming as one mile, and even one with a good horse and a good cavalier is simply perfection. All the votes Miss Inez could give from the beginning were given in plumpers for the plan. Nor had it met the objection which might have been expected from the more sedate and venerable Miss Eunice. It is true this lady was more than twice Inez's age. But The writer of this tale, by an oversight, which he regrets, and has long regretted, spoke of this venturous and brave young Kentuckian as Stephen Nolan in a story published in 1863. The author had created an imaginary and mythical brother of Nolan's, to whom he gave the name of Philip Nolan, and to whom he gave a place in the army of the United States. Ever since he discovered his mistake, he has determined to try to give to the true Philip Nolan such honors as he could pay to a name to which this young man gave true honor. With this wish he attempts the little narrative of his life which forms a part of this story. even at thirty-five one is not a pillar of salt, nor wholly indisposed to adventure. Eunice's watchful eye also had observed many reasons, some physical and some more subtle, why it would be for the advantage of Inez to be long absent from Orleans. Perhaps she would have shed no tears had she been told that the girl should never see that town again. So long as she was a child, it had not been difficult to arrange that the society she kept should be only among children whose language, thought, and habit would not hurt her. But Inez was a woman now. A very lovely, simple, pure, and conscientious woman, it was true; but, for all that, Eunice was not more inclined to see the girl exposed to the follies and extravagances of the exaggerated French or Spanish life of the little colony, especially while her father was in Europe. And Eunice was afraid, at the same time, that the life, only too luxurious, which they led in the city and on the plantation did not strengthen the girl, as she would fain have her strengthened, against the constitutional weakness which had brought her mother to an early grave. Eunice saw no reason why, at sixteen years of age, Inez should not lead a life as simple, as much exposed to the open climate, and as dependent on her own resources, as she herself, with the advantages and disadvantages of Squam Bay, had led when she was a girl just beginning to be a woman. Eunice Perry and Philip Nolan were almost of the same age. And those who knew them both, and who saw how intimate the handsome young Kentuckian was in the comfortable New England household of Silas Perry, whether in the town house or plantation house, were forever gossiping and wondering-were saying now that he was in love with Eunice-now that she was in love with him-now that they were to be married at Easter, and now that the match was broken off at Michaelmas. From the time when he first appeared in Orleans, almost a boy, with the verdure of his native village still clinging to him, but none the less cheerful, manly, courageous, enterprising, and handsome, he had found a friend in Silas Perry, and the office of the New England merchant was one of the first places to which he would have gone for counsel. It was not long before the shrewd and hearty New Englander, who knew men, and knew what men to trust, began to take the youngster home with him. Those were in the days when Inez was in her cradle, and when Eunice was a stranger in Louisiana. |