The rose of old St. Louis 13 – Dillon · Verses Across
Literature · Historical Fiction
The rose of old St. Louis 13A Midnight Fray
18
Literature · Historical Fiction
The rose of old St. Louis 13
A Midnight Fray
DillonEnglish
"Out of this nettle, danger, we pluck this flower, safety."
Josef Papin was the first to bow the knee to me in mock homage, and as his laughing eyes met mine he said, in a tone not so low but that mademoiselle might have heard if she had listened:
"I owe you a grudge, sire. You have stolen the honors I so dearly coveted."
A sudden impulse seized me.
"Would you like to be detailed on some special service to your king and queen?" I asked.
"Most certainly, sire."
"Then stay by me, and when the ceremony of choosing the next king begins I will tell you about it."
Here was a heart as true as steel, ready to be generous to a successful rival and loyal unto death to his queen. It would not hurt to have one more guard for mademoiselle on our midnight ride; we would then more nearly match in numbers the chevalier's band, and by numbers alone might intimidate him from even making the attack. Which was much to be desired, since there would be two ladies in our party, and fighting and bloodshed are not for tender hearts like theirs to know.
But more than that, I thought I could give him no greater pleasure than the chance to prove himself of some real service to mademoiselle, and I would like to atone for stealing the honors he had felt so sure of. And more still: we had decided, in our hasty conference a little while before,--Dr. Saugrain, my captain, and I,--that it would not do at all to wait until the day before the Jour des Rois, as we had at first intended. Since the boat was in readiness, and the captain's business finished, there was no reason why we should not start at once. We had decided, therefore, on the next morning for our departure, for we all felt that as long as the chevalier was lurking about there was no safety for mademoiselle until she was well on her way to France.
To spirit mademoiselle away without a chance of saying good-by to so good a friend as young Papin seemed to me unkind to them both. We could trust him fully, and he should have his chance to say good-by. The captain and Dr. Saugrain had intrusted me with the entire arrangement for mademoiselle's safety and given me command of our little force, so I could make my offer to him with authority. When the opportunity offered to explain to him, a very few minutes sufficed to tell him our fears for mademoiselle's safety. His eyes flashed fire as he listened, and when I said to him, "Would you like to make one of our guard on our way home?" he grasped my hand and wrung it.
"I thank you, monsieur," he said, and then he muttered in my ear:
"What would I not give for one good chance at the chevalier!"
Half an hour later our little cavalcade set off from the governor's house, the governor himself waving us an adieu from the gallery steps. We had placed madame and mademoiselle in the center, with Josef Papin on one side and myself on the other. Black Hawk and Yorke were in the van, and Captain Clarke and Dr. Saugrain brought up the rear.
It had been necessary to make to the two ladies some explanation of these warlike arrangements, but we had said nothing of the presence of the chevalier. I knew it would distress mademoiselle, nor was I sure that her heart would not dictate a surrender, and he would at last accomplish his purpose and bear her away with him, a willing captive, to France. We had only said that a suspicious band of Osages was lurking about, and we thought it wise to take some precautions.
There was, on the Rue de l'Église, which was our direct way home, one spot peculiarly fitted for an ambuscade, where the road dipped suddenly into a deep gully and rose again on the farther side, and where, owing to the marshy nature of the soil, the forest had not been cleared away. It was a lonely bit of road, without houses on either side for a quarter of a mile, and I thought it more than likely that the chevalier would select this spot for an attack, if he intended to make one.
To cheat him, if possible, we rode up the hill of the Rue de la Tour and turned to the left at the fort, which was dark and silent, a proof to me that the troops had left it, and had, no doubt, ere this rid the village of our enemy. The Rue des Granges, down which we rode, ran along the crest of the hill, and there was no marsh here to be crossed, and the gully had run out to a mere depression. We bore no torches, and moving as silently as possible through the blackness of the night, we hoped we might escape detection. But as we came to the head of the gully I glanced down, and at that moment a swift spark as from a tinder flashed into the air, followed by a steady glow, and I knew the chevalier was there and that, deeming himself securely hidden among the trees, he had just lighted a cigar to keep him company in his stealthy watch. And I knew, too, that if I but drew my pistol and took steady aim at that glow-worm in the dark there would be no more trouble or anxiety for any of us on mademoiselle's account. For one moment I hesitated, and Fatima, feeling the involuntary grasp of her bridle-rein, half stopped. But could I have brought my mind to the committing of a cold-blooded murder like that, the memory of mademoiselle's plea for the chevalier's safety would have palsied my arm. Yet my generosity had like to have been our undoing. What it was that betrayed us I know not. It may have been the tramp of our horses' feet, conveyed down the gully as by an ear-trumpet; or it is possible that in spite of the darkness our moving figures were silhouetted against the faint light in the western sky; or a stone, loosened by one of our horses, may have rolled down the gully to the chevalier's feet. Whatever it was, I knew we were discovered. There was suddenly a soft call of a whippoorwill from below us, answered quickly and softly by a half-dozen others, and then a sound as of hasty but cautious stirrings. I knew what it meant: they had seen us, and they would cut us off before we reached our gates. I gave a quick word of command:
"Ride as hard and as fast as you can; never mind the noise you make. We are discovered! Our only hope of avoiding a fight is by reaching the gates first."
Black Hawk and Yorke were off like a shot: Yorke, I have no doubt, with the intention of getting to cover as quickly as possible, but Black Hawk, I believe, after a scalp or two. I had to call to them both to come back and keep close to the ladies. Mademoiselle had uttered not a word, only urged her little La Bette to do her utmost, but madame, since the embargo of silence was removed, did not cease to utter a string of prayers and entreaties to "le bon Dieu" to save us all from the savages.
We were on the crest of the hill, and looking down to the Rue de l'Église I could get an inkling of what progress the savages were making from an occasional flash of shining metal in a ray of light from some window; for though the hour was late the town was still astir from the governor's ball, and lights were in most of the houses. As yet they were some distance behind us, but though we were on horses and they afoot, they had a much shorter distance to travel and they were fleet runners. We were like a chain, only as strong as our weakest link; we were only as fleet as our slowest horse, and that was the one that bore madame's plump figure. La Bette was not much faster, and I began to get in a fever of impatience, as I could see the savages were steadily gaining on us. Should we meet them in that dark lane leading down from the Rue des Granges to the Rue de l'Église we were almost certainly at their mercy. In a few minutes it was evident to me that at our present rate of progress they were sure to meet us there, and there seemed no possible way of hurrying our two slow ponies. I would have turned back but that I believed the chevalier was sharp enough to have sent part of his men up the gully to cut off our retreat, should we attempt one. There was but one thing to do: Fatima had saved mademoiselle once; she should save her again. I leaned back of mademoiselle and spoke to Josef Papin:
"We will never reach the house before the savages at this rate. I shall take mademoiselle on Fatima and get her safe inside the gates. You and Black Hawk follow me as quickly as possible, and the other three will remain to protect Madame Saugrain."
Then I called a halt and explained my plan to the others. It needed but a word, and there was no demur but a low wail from Madame Saugrain, who, I make no doubt, believed Pelagie was going to certain death. Mademoiselle herself said nothing; I think for the first time she realized that the chevalier was leading the Osages and that their only aim was to get possession of her.
My explanation had not consumed a minute, and as I finished it I turned in my saddle.
"By your leave, Mademoiselle," I said, bent over and lifted her from La Bette's back (and never was I more thankful for my great strength and that she was but a feather-weight, else had the feat proved a difficult one) and placed her securely in front of me on Fatima. 'Twas not so comfortable a seat as at my back, no doubt, but I dared not risk her where I could not see what befell her. One word to Fatima:
"Sweetheart, for our lives!" I laid the reins low on her neck, and we were off with a long swinging stride that soon left even Black Hawk and Papin far behind, though they were urging their good horses to the utmost.
There was not a moment to be lost, for I could see that the savages were nearing the junction of the lane and the Rue de l'Église, and we must pass that point before them and ride some twenty paces down the Rue de l'Église before we should reach the gates and a safe refuge behind the walls of Émigré's Retreat. I did not cease to urge Fatima by my voice, though never touching her reins. One arm held mademoiselle securely, and my right hand lay on the holster of my pistol, ready for instant service.
Out of the Rue des Granges we shot like a bolt, into the steep and rough lane leading down the hill. Had I not held mademoiselle so firmly I think that swift swerve at the sharp corner might have unseated us both. Faster and faster we flew, like a swallow on the wing, Fatima's dainty feet as surely placed among the rocks and holes of the rough road as if she had been pacing in Rotten Row. Well she knew that a misstep of hers now might mean death to all three of us, and well she knew that her master trusted her perfectly.
I could feel mademoiselle's heart fluttering like a caged bird for terror; my own was beating like a trip-hammer, for I was near enough now to perceive that the savages too were redoubling their efforts and it was still a chance which of us would reach the corner of the Rue de l'Église first.
"Faster, Sweetheart, faster!" I urged in an agony of apprehension as I pressed my knees close to Fatima's hot sides, and felt her breath beginning to come in long laboring moans as my great weight (with mademoiselle's added one, which might yet prove the last feather) began to tell on her. Bravely she responded to my voice and stretched out farther and faster at every stride, and in another moment, with another tremendous swerve, we had turned the corner into the Rue de l'Église with the foremost of the savages not twenty feet behind us. I expected nothing less than a bullet in my back, and was glad indeed that mademoiselle was in front of me, fully shielded by my broad shoulders, for I knew whatever befell me Fatima would carry mademoiselle into the garden and to the very door of Émigré's Retreat before any savage could possibly reach her. But I felt no bullet, nor did any whistle by my ears, and I wondered why, until I saw, what the savage possibly saw too in the dim light, that mademoiselle (whose head had been cowering on my breast like a child in great terror trying to hide from the sight of danger) had, as we turned into the Rue de l'Église, raised her head and looked boldly over my shoulder.
I have no doubt the savage feared to shoot, lest he should hit that white face, and I did not doubt that was mademoiselle's plan, to use herself as a shield for me. I was very angry with her, but I had only time to draw her head roughly down on my shoulder again when we were within the gates and, in a dozen mighty strides, at the very door of Émigré's Retreat.
At the sound of clattering hoofs, Narcisse and half a dozen servants, among them mademoiselle's maid, Clotilde, came running out on the gallery. I sprang from my horse and lifted mademoiselle down, in too great haste to be gentle, I fear.
"Take your mistress into the house and bar every door and window!" I cried sharply. "The savages are after us!"
It needed but that word "savages" to lend wings of terror to the usually slow and lazy movements of the negroes. With shrieks of women and shouts of men, they dragged mademoiselle into the house, and I heard the hasty putting up of bars. Then I turned to meet that one savage who was so far in advance and who must by this time have reached the gates. I had no fear, now that I was free of mademoiselle, for I felt myself good for two or three of them, and I could even now hear the clattering hoofs of Josef Papin's and Black Hawk's horse coming down the lane, and they were a host in themselves. But by the time I had reached the gate there was a great noise of shouts and firing and wild halloos at the corner, and I ran on, knowing that Papin and Black Hawk must have met the savages, and knowing that the two would be outnumbered and greatly in need of my assistance.
But I had hardly got into the thick of the mêlée, cutting and slashing with my sword for fear a shot would go astray and hit one of my friends should I use my pistol, when the savages suddenly turned tail and ran off, disappearing in the night like shadows. For a moment I thought it was my prowess that had put them to flight, and I began in my heart to plume myself thereon. But only for a moment, for up the Rue des Granges and down the steep lane there came charging the belated troops of Spanish horsemen (they had stupidly been scouring the other end of the village, it seems), and would have charged full upon us, no doubt,--since in the dark one could not tell friend from foe,--had not young Papin called out in Spanish that we were friends and belonged to Dr. Saugrain's party. Whereupon the officer halted long enough to inquire in which direction the savages had fled, and with many a round Spanish oath that he would not leave one of the red dogs alive if he had to follow them to Cape Girardeau, he led his troop clattering off toward the stockade. And no sooner had they disappeared than down the steep lane came the rest of the party, Madame Saugrain half dead with fright (for she had heard the sounds of firing and of fighting, and feared the worst for Pelagie), the doughty doctor and my captain not a little disappointed that they should have missed the fray, and Yorke almost as much so, since it had turned out to be such an easy victory.
But when I had told madame that Pelagie was safe in the house and the savages had fled and, except for a scratch on my forehead that scarce drew blood, no one was hurt (though at that very moment Black Hawk came creeping back out of the darkness hanging a dripping scalp to his belt, which when I perceived I was nigh sick unto death for a moment)--when I told her all this (and, fortunately, madame did not see Black Hawk's ugly trophy), she broke forth into a Te Deum and went happily up to the house, where Pelagie herself came running out to meet her, and they fell into each other's arms and, after the manner of women, wept long and loud for joy, though they had shed no tears when there might have been occasion for them.
