Ten days later, a lugger full of armed men entered the bayou, and
moored at Viosca's wharf. The visitors were, for the most part,
country gentlemen,--residents of Franklin and neighboring towns, or
planters from the Teche country,--forming one of the numerous
expeditions organized for the purpose of finding the bodies of
relatives or friends lost in the great hurricane, and of punishing the
robbers of the dead. They had searched numberless nooks of the coast,
had given sepulture to many corpses, had recovered a large amount of
jewelry, and--as Feliu afterward learned,--had summarily tried and
executed several of the most abandoned class of wreckers found with
ill-gotten valuables in their possession, and convicted of having
mutilated the drowned. But they came to Viosca's landing only to obtain
information;--he was too well known and liked to be a subject for
suspicion; and, moreover, he had one good friend in the crowd,--Captain
Harris of New Orleans, a veteran steamboat man and a market contractor,
to whom he had disposed of many a cargo of fresh pompano, sheep's-head,
and Spanish-mackerel ... Harris was the first to step to land;--some
ten of the party followed him. Nearly all had lost some relative or
friend in the great catastrophe;--the gathering was serious,
silent,--almost grim,--which formed about Feliu.
Mateo, who had come to the country while a boy, spoke English better
than the rest of the cheniere people;--he acted as interpreter whenever
Feliu found any difficulty in comprehending or answering questions; and
he told them of the child rescued that wild morning, and of Feliu's
swim. His recital evoked a murmur of interest and excitement, followed
by a confusion of questions. Well, they could see for themselves,
Feliu said; but he hoped they would have a little patience;--the child
was still weak;--it might be dangerous to startle her. "We'll arrange
it just as you like," responded the captain;--"go ahead, Feliu!" ...
All proceeded to the house, under the great trees; Feliu and Captain
Harris leading the way. It was sultry and bright;--even the sea-breeze
was warm; there were pleasant odors in the shade, and a soporific
murmur made of leaf-speech and the hum of gnats. Only the captain
entered the house with Feliu; the rest remained without--some taking
seats on a rude plank bench under the oaks--others flinging themselves
down upon the weeds--a few stood still, leaning upon their rifles.
Then Carmen came out to them with gourds and a bucket of fresh water,
which all were glad to drink.
They waited many minutes. Perhaps it was the cool peace of the place
that made them all feel how hot and tired they were: conversation
flagged; and the general languor finally betrayed itself in a silence
so absolute that every leaf-whisper seemed to become separately audible.
It was broken at last by the guttural voice of the old captain emerging
from the cottage, leading the child by the hand, and followed by Carmen
and Feliu. All who had been resting rose up and looked at the child.
Standing in a lighted space, with one tiny hand enveloped by the
captain's great brown fist, she looked so lovely that a general
exclamation of surprise went up. Her bright hair, loose and steeped in
the sun-flame, illuminated her like a halo; and her large dark eyes,
gentle and melancholy as a deer's, watched the strange faces before her
with shy curiosity. She wore the same dress in which Feliu had found
her--a soft white fabric of muslin, with trimmings of ribbon that had
once been blue; and the now discolored silken scarf, which had twice
done her such brave service, was thrown over her shoulders. Carmen had
washed and repaired the dress very creditably; but the tiny slim feet
were bare,--the brine-soaked shoes she wore that fearful night had
fallen into shreds at the first attempt to remove them.
--"Gentlemen," said Captain Harris,--"we can find no clew to the
identity of this child. There is no mark upon her clothing; and she
wore nothing in the shape of jewelry--except this string of coral
beads. We are nearly all Americans here; and she does not speak any
English ... Does any one here know anything about her?"
Carmen felt a great sinking at her heart: was her new-found darling to
be taken so soon from her? But no answer came to the captain's query.
No one of the expedition had ever seen that child before. The coral
beads were passed from hand to hand; the scarf was minutely scrutinized
without avail. Somebody asked if the child could not talk German or
Italian.
--"Italiano? No!" said Feliu, shaking his head.... One of his
luggermen, Gioachino Sparicio, who, though a Sicilian, could speak
several Italian idioms besides his own, had already essayed.
--"She speaks something or other," answered the captain--"but no
English. I couldn't make her understand me; and Feliu, who talks
nearly all the infernal languages spoken down this way, says he can't
make her understand him. Suppose some of you who know French talk to
her a bit ... Laroussel, why don't you try?"
The young man addressed did not at first seem to notice the captain's
suggestion. He was a tall, lithe fellow, with a dark, positive face:
he had never removed his black gaze from the child since the moment of
her appearance. Her eyes, too, seemed to be all for him--to return his
scrutiny with a sort of vague pleasure, a half savage confidence ...
Was it the first embryonic feeling of race-affinity quickening in the
little brain?--some intuitive, inexplicable sense of kindred? She
shrank from Doctor Hecker, who addressed her in German, shook her head
at Lawyer Solari, who tried to make her answer in Italian; and her look
always went back plaintively to the dark, sinister face of
Laroussel,--Laroussel who had calmly taken a human life, a wicked human
life, only the evening before.
--"Laroussel, you're the only Creole in this crowd," said the captain;
"talk to her! Talk gumbo to her! ... I've no doubt this child knows
German very well, and Italian too,"--he added, maliciously--"but not in
the way you gentlemen pronounce it!"
Laroussel handed his rifle to a friend, crouched down before the little
girl, and looked into her face, and smiled. Her great sweet orbs shone
into his one moment, seriously, as if searching; and then ... she
returned his smile. It seemed to touch something latent within the
man, something rare; for his whole expression changed; and there was a
caress in his look and voice none of the men could have believed
possible--as he exclaimed:--
--"Fais moin bo, piti."
She pouted up her pretty lips and kissed his black moustache.