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THE ROSE OF OLD ST. LOUIS
by
MARY DILLON
With Illustrations by André Castaigne and C. M. Relyea
[Illustration: "'Very well, I shall expect to hear from you'"]
[Illustration]
New York
Grosset & Dunlap
Publishers
Copyright, 1904, by
The Century Co.
Published July, 1904
Reprinted July, 1904, August, 1904,
September, 1904, October, 1904,
December, 1904, January, 1906,
February, 1907
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I I MAKE MY BOW IN CAHOKIA 3
II I PROPOSE A TOAST 17
III I MEET AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE 31
IV I MAKE AN ENGAGEMENT 44
V I GO TO A PICNIC ON CHOUTEAU'S POND 55
VI WHIPPOORWILLS 79
VII I TWINE CHRISTMAS GREENS 92
VIII I GO TO MIDNIGHT MASS 104
IX MADAME CHOUTEAU'S BALL 119
X LA GUIGNOLÉE 135
XI CHOISSEZ LE ROI 147
XII A MIDNIGHT FRAY 157
XIII "A PRETTY BOY!" 168
XIV A CREOLE LOVE-SONG 181
XV "AU REVOIR" 203
XVI A VIRGINIA FARMER 212
XVII A GREAT DEBATE 225
XVIII A MAGIC COACH 245
XIX CHECK TO THE ABBÉ! 266
XX BONAPARTE GIVES ENGLAND A RIVAL 281
XXI A TEMPEST IN A BATH-TUB 308
XXII MR. MONROE ARRIVES! 328
XXIII THE CONSUL'S SENTENCE 338
XXIV A NEW CHEVALIER OF FRANCE 363
XXV THE COMTESSE DE BALOIT SENDS FOR HER HUNTER 375
XXVI THE CONSUL'S COMMISSION 386
XXVII "GOOD-BY, SWEETHEART!" 397
XXVIII EXIT LE CHEVALIER 414
XXIX UNDER THE OLD FLAG 426
XXX THE ROSE OF ST. LOUIS 448
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
"'Very well, I shall expect to hear from you'" Frontispiece
"In solitary dignity stood Black Hawk" 152
"He stopped and turned suddenly to the two ministers" 295
The Signing of the Louisiana Purchase Treaty by
Marbois, Livingston, and Monroe 370
FOREWORD
My story does not claim to be history, but in every important
historical detail it is absolutely faithful to the records of the
times as I have found them. Every word of the debate in Congress,
every word of Marbois, Livingston, Decrés, Napoleon, and his two
brothers on the subject of the Louisiana Cession is verbatim from the
most authentic accounts. I am indebted for the historical part of my
story to Gayarré's "History of Louisiana," to Martin's "History of
Louisiana," to James K. Hosmer's "History of the Louisiana Purchase,"
to Lucien Bonaparte's "Memoirs," to numerous lives of Napoleon,
Jefferson, Talleyrand, and others, and particularly to Marbois
himself, whose account of the negotiations on the subject of the
cession is preserved in his own handwriting in the St. Louis
Mercantile Library.
As to the local color of old St. Louis, both in its topographical
setting and in its customs, I have also tried to be exact. And here I
am very largely indebted to that simple and charming old writer, H.
M. Brackenridge, in his "Recollections of the West" and in his "Views
of Louisiana"; and also to Timothy Flint in his "Recollections"; to J.
Thomas Scharf's interesting "History of St. Louis," and especially to
Mr. Frederic L. Billon, St. Louis's historian _par eminence_. I make
also the same claim for exactness as to the local color of Washington
at that early day; for which I have made so many gleanings in many
fields--a little here, a little there--that it seems hardly worth
while to give special credit to each.
In non-essential points I have occasionally taken the liberty
belonging to a writer of fiction, having condensed into one several
debates in Congress, as well as several interviews between Talleyrand
and Livingston, and two interviews between Bonaparte and Marbois.
Nor have I hesitated to use the names of the early St. Louis settlers,
because they are names still well known and honored in the city which
they helped to found. I have touched upon them but lightly, and have
tried to make those touches true to the characters of those estimable
gentlemen and gentlewomen of the old French régime.
MARY DILLON.
THE ROSE OF
OLD ST. LOUIS
THE ROSE OF OLD ST. LOUIS
CHAPTER I
I MAKE MY BOW IN CAHOKIA
"The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men
Gang aft a-gley."
"And this is the village of St. Louis, sir?"
I bowed respectfully to my captain standing in the prow of the boat
and looking across an expanse of swirling muddy water to the village
on the bluffs beyond. I spoke more after the manner of making polite
conversation than because I was desirous of information, for I knew
without asking that it could be none other.
My captain answered me: "Yes, my lad, yonder is St. Louis, and this is
De Soto's river; what dost think of it?"
"I think, sir, 'tis a great river, though not so clear a stream as the
Delaware, and muddier even than the Ohio."
I spoke calmly, but my heart was beating fast, and I could feel the
blood rushing through my veins. I had been ill with what the boatmen
call river fever, and had lain in the bottom of the boat wrapped in
my blanket, alternately shivering with chills and burning with fever,
oblivious to all about me, so that I had not known when we swept out
of the Ohio into the Mississippi, past Fort Massac, nor when we had
tied up at Kaskaskia for a long rest.
We had landed late the evening before at Cahokia, and been most
hospitably entertained by Mr. Gratiot. There had been a great banquet
in honor of Captain Clarke, with dancing far into the night, and many
guests from St. Louis. I, being still an invalid, had been put to bed
in Mr. Gratiot's beautiful guest-chamber, and given a hot posset that
put me to sleep at once, though not so soundly but that I could
dreamily catch occasional strains of the fiddles and the rhythmic
sound of feet on the waxed walnut, and many voices and much laughter.
Had I been well, it would have vexed me sore not to have been able to
lead in the minuet one of the beauties of Cahokia, whose fame had
reached even my distant home in Philadelphia, for I had been carefully
trained in the steps and the figures, and was young enough to be proud
of my skill in the dance. But feeling ill as I did, the sounds of
revelry combined with the posset only to soothe me into a heavy
slumber.
I woke in the early dawn to find Yorke, Captain Clarke's big black,
standing beside my bed, with a bowl of smoking gruel. He showed a
formidable array of white ivory as he grinned amiably in response to
my questioning look:
"Mars' Gratiot send you de gruel wid his complimen's, sah, and he and
de capen bofe say you's not to git up dis mohnen, sah."
Yorke always considered that to state a request of "de capen" was
sufficient to insure compliance. He could not dream of any one setting
his authority at naught. With me, too, Captain Clarke's authority was
paramount. It had only been by a promise of absolute submission to
that authority that I had persuaded my kinsman in Kentucky to allow me
to accompany the captain on his mission to the governor of Illinois at
St. Louis.
So, when Yorke said the captain had ordered me to remain in bed, I
thought for a moment I would have to obey; but having swallowed the
hot gruel, into which Yorke had put a modicum of good Orleans ratafia,
I was straightway infused with new spirit (I meant not that for wit),
and such strength flowed through my limbs as I had not felt for days.
"Yorke," I said, springing out of bed with a haste that made me
light-headed for a moment, "help me into my clothes, and be quick
about it; I think I hear sounds below that betoken getting ready for
departure."
Even as I spoke I ran to a stand on which stood a basin and a small
ewer of water. I filled the basin, and plunged my head into the icy
water. I drew it out, sputtering and shivering, and, seizing a towel,
gave my head and neck and hair so vigorous a rubbing that I did not
see Yorke slip out of the room. When I turned to speak to him I found
him gone, afraid either of being a partner in my disobedience to the
captain, or of being left behind if he delayed longer.
Left to myself, I did my best to hurry with my clothing. I had not
much experience in dressing myself, but I had been compelled to leave
behind me in Philadelphia the black boy who had never before, since I
could remember, been absent from me a day. I had been eager enough to
part with him, thinking it ill befitted a soldier of fortune, as I
intended to be, to be coddled by a valet, and I had not missed him
much, for Yorke had been always ready to lend a helping hand when I
needed it. Now I was of a mind to curse the vanity that had led me to
fit myself out with doeskins that were of so snug a cut they needed
much tugging to get into them, and with endless lacings with which my
awkward fingers, clumsier than ever from the icy water and the
trembling the fever had left me in, fumbled desperately.
But I was ready at last, and seizing my sword-belt in one hand and my
hat in the other, I started with hot haste for the door, fearing I
might be, after all, too late. As I opened it, a sound smote my ears
that struck terror to my heart: the voices and the laughter of young
maidens. I stepped back involuntarily. I had not thought of the
possibility of meeting any one at that early hour but my host and my
captain, and I had not given a thought to my appearance. Now I took an
anxious survey of myself in the small French mirror that hung above
the stand. I was vexed beyond measure at what I saw.
"They will take me for a girl," I muttered between my teeth, "and
flout me accordingly."
It had ever been a source of extreme mortification to me that I should
have rosy cheeks like any maiden's, but now, owing to the hard
scrubbing I had given them, they were all aflame, and their color was
heightened by the pallor my recent illness had given to brow and
temples. My hair, from its wetting, was curling in ringlets all around
my head. I seized a brush and tried desperately to reduce them to
straightness, but the brushing served only to bring out in stronger
relief the glint of gold that I despised, and certainly my eyes had
never looked more blue and shining.
"They will think me a girl or a baby!" I muttered once more, and was
in such disgust with myself I was ready to go back to bed. But
bethinking me that would only leave me the longer in this House of
Dames, I seized my belt once more, buckled it on with a vicious
twitch, and strode boldly to the door.
There I stopped a moment to collect all my courage, soothing myself
with the reflection that I stood a good six feet in my moccasins, and
though I carried no superfluous flesh, my shoulders were as broad as
my captain's and my muscles like whip-cords. Fortified by these
considerations, I strode on boldly to the landing at the head of the
wide staircase leading down to the great hall.
There I stopped again; for while the landing was in gloom, the hall
was brilliantly illuminated by a roaring, blazing lightwood fire,
looking cheery enough in the gray light of the frosty morning, and
throwing into strong relief two groups on either side of the
fireplace. On one side stood my captain, evidently ready for a start,
and making his adieus to his host. I glanced eagerly at Mr. Gratiot
and at the elderly man who stood beside him, who, I thought, was
likely to be none other than Mr. Francis Vigo. I had heard much of
these two men from General George Rogers Clarke, whose lonely retreat
on the Ohio I had often visited during my stay in Kentucky. They had
been General Clarke's best friends and helpers in the early days of
the war, when he had made that daring attack on Vincennes, and I knew
Captain Clarke's mission to St. Louis had something to do with
discharging his brother's obligation to them. They were smaller men
than my captain, of a slender, graceful build, and the hair of both
was quite white, but from my post of observation I could see that they
were men of courtly manners, well used to the ways of the world, and
talking now quite eagerly with all the wealth of gesture and
expression natural to Frenchmen.
The firelight played strongly on the face of my captain, whom I had
already begun to adore, as did every one who came into close
companionship with him. I gazed admiringly at his broad, white brow,
clear-cut features, and firmly knit figure, a little square of build,
but looking every inch the frontier soldier in his leathern doublet
and leggings and high-laced moccasins. Over one shoulder he had thrown
his blue military cloak, for the trip across the river promised to be
a cold one, and he carried in his hand a hat with a drooping plume. I
wondered if the merry group of girls on the other side of the
fireplace was not impressed by such a handsome and soldierly stranger,
and a bachelor to boot. I thought I could detect an occasional
conscious glance in his direction and a furtive preening of skirts and
fluttering of fans, that betokened they were not insensible to the
presence of the brave captain.
There were six of the young maidens, and all but two of them were in
ball costume; flowered silks, and arms and shoulders gleaming white
through fine lace, powdered hair, and patches and paint, they might
have stepped out of a Philadelphia ball-room, I thought, and was
astonished at the thought. I had not expected to find court beauties
on the frontier, yet the Chouteaus, the Gratiots, and the Papins were
names I had often heard in my own home as men of wealth and vast
emprise.
The six girls were chatting gaily in French, and I was so absorbed in
my contemplation of them that I did not at first consider the
strangeness of their appearance in that costume so early in the
morning. When it did occur to me, I concluded the four must have come
over from St. Louis to attend the ball and had no other dress to
return in, and the other two were doubtless Mr. Gratiot's daughters,
which I learned afterward was the true explanation.
But now bethinking me it was high time to make my descent, and running
quickly over in my mind the way to make it most effective,--for I
wished to bear myself bravely before the young maidens,--I determined
to place my left hand on the hilt of my sword, to hold my hat, which
also bore a sweeping plume, in my right hand pressed close to my
heart, and with head held high and borne a little backward, to descend
with the stately minuet step. I flattered myself that with such a
manner as I felt sure I could assume those saucy maidens would forget
my rosy cheeks and my curls and think only of my air of _grand
seigneur_.
I glanced down to see that my costume was all right, and now I was
glad that my doeskins fitted so perfectly, even if they were hard to
get into in a hurry, that my high moccasins were so beautifully and
elaborately beaded in purple and yellow, with broad slashes of fringe
falling from the tops of them, and that my leathern doublet sat so
well, as my peep into the mirror had convinced me it did.
As I started down, feeling well satisfied with my costume, yet
trembling inwardly at the thought of the array of bright eyes I was to
encounter, my glance fell on an untied lacing at one knee. I stooped
to retie it, and at that moment heard what seemed to me the sweetest
voice I had ever listened to, call:
"À moi, Leon, à moi," followed by a clear, soft whistle.
I was still clumsily fumbling with my lacers (my fingers have ever
been all thumbs when there is any dainty task to be performed) when I
heard a rush of soft, padded feet, and down the corridor behind me, in
response to that clear whistle, bounded a great dog. Through the arch
that my bent limbs made in stooping he saw the glow of the firelight
from below and made straight for it. But alas! the arch was narrower
than he thought, and dog and man went rolling and tumbling down the
staircase, bumping and bounding from stair to stair, a wild mêlée of
doeskin legs and shaggy paws and clanging sword and wildly brandished
arms, making vain clutches at the air to stay the headlong descent.
Deep-mouthed yelps voiced the terror of the dog at this unexpected
Sindbad who refused to be shaken off. No words could voice the
overwhelming shame of the man at this unmannerly presentation of
himself before a group of young maidens, when so dignified an entrance
had been planned.
As we struck the polished walnut of the hall floor, I disentangled
myself and sprang to my feet, where I stood, scarlet with shame, head
drooping, a pitiable object indeed. There had been an amazed, and
perhaps on the maidens' side a terrified, silence during our noisy
descent. Now from the maidens there arose first a suppressed giggle
and then an irresistible peal of laughter, joined to the hearty
guffaws of the men. My shame was fast giving place to rising wrath, in
no degree appeased by the consciousness of the spectacle I presented.
The dog, a magnificent mastiff, by that time recovering from his
confusion, and feeling as keenly as I, no doubt, the derogation of his
dignity, and, with a dog's unreason, regarding me as the agent of his
humiliation when I was in fact the victim of his own stupidity, sprang
at me with a vicious growl.
Here was an occasion to vent my boiling wrath. Quick as thought my
sword sprang from its sheath and came down flat-sided with a ringing
blow on the brute's head. I have ever been a merciful man to all
beasts, and dogs and horses I have loved and they have loved me; and
even in my wrath and the quick necessity of defense I remembered to
use the flat of my sword; yet such is the strength of my sword-arm
from much practice, increased, I fear, by a venom instigated by those
silvery peals of laughter, that I bowled the brute over as easily as
if he had been a ninepin.
With a howl of mingled rage and pain he recovered himself instantly
and crouched to spring upon me once more, with such bloodthirst in his
eyes that I saw now I would have to defend myself in earnest. But as
he was almost in the act of springing, from among the group of maidens
there rushed what seemed to my dazzled vision a small whirlwind of
satins and laces and velvets and jewels, and flung itself upon the dog
with a ringing cry of "À bas, Leon! tais-toi, mon ange!"
The brute yielded obedience at once to the restraining arm and tones
of command, though still regarding me with vicious eyes and uttering
threatening growls.
As for me, I stood as if turned to stone, still in an attitude of
defense, the weight of my body thrown forward on the right foot, the
hilt of my sword pressed against my breast, the point presented to
receive the onslaught of the brute. In that attitude I stood frozen,
for never had I beheld such a vision of loveliness. The arm that
encircled the shaggy neck of the dog was bare almost to the shoulder,
the sleeve of finest lace having fallen back in the energy of her
action, and never have I seen an arm so white, so round, or tapering
so finely to the slender wrist and exquisite little hand clutching a
lock of Leon's mane. Masses of wavy dark hair were drawn loosely back
from a brow of dazzling whiteness into a cluster of soft curls on top
of the head, where it seemed to be caught by a jeweled aigret, which
yet permitted tiny ringlets to escape about the temples and the nape
of the snowy neck. She had thrown herself with such abandon on the
dog, and was holding him with such exertion of strength, that the
narrow skirt of her satin gown, flowered in palest pink and silver,
revealed every line of a most exquisite figure down to the little foot
extending backward from her skirts and showing the high arch of the
instep in its stocking of embroidered silk.
I had gazed with impunity, for the drooping white lids and the long,
dark lashes sweeping the perfect curve of the cheek showed all her
looks were for the dog, to whom she incessantly murmured in French
mingled words of command and endearment. But suddenly she lifted her
little head and flung it proudly back, with such a blaze of
indignation and scorn in her dark eyes I felt withered under it. The
scarlet curve of her lips fell away to disclose two rows of pearly
teeth, close set, and through them, with a vicious snap, came the one
word:
"Bête!"
I could not for a moment think that the word was meant for the dog,
and such a rage slowly welled in my veins as restored me at once to
my self-command. I dropped the point of my sword to the floor and
straightened myself to as proud a pose as hers.
"I pray you pardon, Mademoiselle," I said haughtily. The words were
meek enough, but not the tone nor the manner, and so enraged was I
that I hesitated not a moment over my French. My accent, I knew, was
good, for, my aunt having married Monsieur Barbé Marbois, I was thrown
much with French people; but I had been ever careless of my grammar,
and in a moment of less excitement I might have hesitated in venturing
on the native tongue of so fair a creature. But now my French poured
from me in an angry torrent:
"I pray you pardon. Danger alone is my excuse. I do not doubt a dog is
worth much more to Mademoiselle than the life of an American
gentleman. I make you, Mademoiselle, my compliments and my excuses."
Then returning my sword to its scabbard with an angry ring, I made her
a low and sweeping bow of ironical courtesy and strode hotly from the
room. I was in such a tumult of rage and mortification that not until
I reached the landing on the banks of Cahokia Creek, where the boats
were tied and the men busily making ready for the departure, did I
bethink me that I had left the house without a word of adieus or
thanks to my host for his courtesy. I began to fear that my sense of
self-respect would compel my return, and rather would I have faced a
battalion of the British than another flash from those dark eyes; nor
could I hope to make another so masterly a retreat as I plumed myself
this one had been. But as I glanced back toward the house on the
bluffs that had proved my undoing, to my intense relief I saw that the
three gentlemen had followed not far behind me and were even now
descending the pathway to the creek. I hastened to meet them and make
my apologies.
A more courteous gentleman than Mr. Gratiot I never met. He spoke very
good English indeed, his accent I believe not so good as my French
one, but his grammar much better.
"My dear young gentleman, you acquitted yourself nobly," he was kind
enough to say. "In the eyes of the young ladies, if I may possibly
except Mademoiselle Pelagie, you are a hero. But they are much
chagrined that you should have left them without giving them a chance
to express their sympathy or their admiration."
The sound of those silvery peals of laughter was too vividly in my
remembrance to permit me to accept Mr. Gratiot's compliments without a
large grain of allowance for a Frenchman's courtesy, but I bowed low
in seeming to accept them. Then he introduced me to his companion, who
proved not to be Mr. Vigo after all, but Dr. Saugrain, the French
émigré so renowned for his learning. I looked at him keenly as I made
my bow, for I had heard something of him in Philadelphia, and in
Kentucky there had been so many tales of the wonderful things he could
do that I think most people looked upon him as a dealer in black arts.
But he was in no respect my idea of a Mephisto. He was small and wiry
of build, and dressed in black small-clothes, with ruffles of finest
lace at wrist and knee.
Black silk stockings showed a well-turned calf in no whit shrunken
with age, and his silver shoe-buckles glittered with brilliants. His
hair, iron-gray and curly, was tied in a short queue with a black
satin ribbon, and beneath a rather narrow and high brow beamed two as
kindly blue eyes as it had ever been my lot to meet.
His greeting was most cordial, though there was a merry twinkle in his
eye while speaking to me that made me feel he might still be laughing
inwardly at my ridiculous descent of Mr. Gratiot's staircase. With a
very grand manner indeed, and with much use of his hands, as is the
fashion of Frenchmen, he said:
"My dear sir, it mek me mos' proud and mos' 'appy to know you. Vous
êtes véritablement un brave. Le capitaine dîne chez moi to-day; I
s'all be désolé and inconsolable if he bring not also his ver' dear
young frien'." Then, with a sudden and entire change of manner, he
laid his finger beside his nose and said in a loud whisper:
"My frien', I would not min' you kill that dog, moi! I lofe 'im not."
But while his words did not sound kind to me, who am such a lover of
dogs that nothing but the necessity of self-defense would ever make me
lift a hand against one, yet, all the time he spoke, his eyes twinkled
more merrily than ever, and I wondered at the man whose manner could
change so quickly from the grand seigneur's to that of a king's
jester, and I puzzled my brains mightily to know what his connection
with the dog could be.