 | CHAPTER I.
THE SPANISH EMBASSY. The quadroone, or, St. Michael's day |  |
1. CHAPTER I.
THE SPANISH EMBASSY.
Reader! If thou art one of those rigidists who
look for a moral in a story, and seek after instruction
in a legend; who expect a homily in a nursery-tale,
and demand a moral treatise in a fiction; who deem
it sinful to entertain the imagination without improving
the heart, and regard as vanity whatever administers
to the taste and captivates the fancy, then close these
volumes with the reading of this paragraph; for they
will neither humour thee in thy prejudices, nor strengthen
thee in thy philosophy. Yet, if thou canst be content
to admire the lily upon its stalk, and the rose on
its stem, and will cease to search longer for fruits amid
flowers, thou mayst then turn in a right spirit to these
pages; and, should they fail to improve thy morals, to
add either grace to thy mind or dignity to thy intellect,
they may, perchance, have the no less pleasing power
of imparting cheerfulness to thy brow, of communicating
warmth to thy bosom, and of infusing new sensibilities
into thy soul; and while they spiritualize thy
imagination, they may not leave altogether untouched
thy heart.
The “Peace of Paris,” concluded in 1763 between
a few days afterward by that of Hubertsberg, at
length put a period to the “Seven Years' War,” which
had converted the whole of Europe into one gladiatorial
arena, where king contended with king for crown
and sceptre, and emperors wrestled together for imperial
diadems. By this important treaty, the government
of France reluctantly surrendered to the British
Lion her Canadian possessions, which he long had
surveyed with a wistful eye from his island-lair, and
coveted to embrace to his own royal range. The surrender
of Canada compelled France to relinquish with
it a favourite and stupendous design she had cherished
for half a century, of drawing a cordon round the English
colonies by means of a chain of military posts,
extending from the castle of Quebec to the fortress
of St. John in Louisiana, in order to secure her influence
over the tribes of Indians that roamed the vast
wilderness between, and the more firmly to unite her
remote possessions along the Gulf of Mexico with those
in the north. The necessity of relinquishing Canada,
therefore, put an end to this vast project on the part
of France, for uniting the detached wings of her American
empire; and as the territory of Louisiana was of
importance to her only as one of the pillars from which
to suspend this chain, she had come to a determination
to part with that also, if compelled to resign the former.
That this would be demanded of her by England, she
learned several weeks prior to the “Peace of Paris,”
and forthwith, by a secret compact, transferred it to
Spain, with which power she was then in alliance. By
this instrument, the island of Orleans, and all the possessions
of France west of the Mississippi, were ceded
to Spain, and the French dominions in North America
extinguished. The promulgation of this secret compact
did not take place, however, until two years afterward,
when Spain began to look towards her new
acquisitions.
Early one brilliant June morning in the year 1766,
the long repose of the peaceful citizens of New-Orleans
by certain fishermen in the market-place, that a small
Spanish vessel of war had been seen by them at sunset
the previous evening close in with the Rijolets, and
apparently standing towards the head of Lake Borgne,
which penetrates within two leagues of the rear of the
town. Scarcely had the alarmed burghers that chanced
to be abroad in the market-place at that hour of the
morning exchanged their opinions upon the probable
object that could bring the hostile stranger to their remote
province, when the sharp sound of galloping
hoofs was borne noisily through the half-awakened
streets. A moment afterward, a “petit paysan,” mounted
upon one of the wild colts that roam over the prairies
of Louisiana, his leathern shirt and long black hair
streaming behind him in the wind, rode furiously into
the public Plaza.
His story, as he drew up suddenly amid a crowd
of anxious listeners, ran thus: that a war-lugger,
bearing the flag of Spain, had dropped anchor just at
dawn at the end of the lake nighest to the city; and
that a boat, bearing two horsemen, with their horses
saddled and richly-caparisoned, immediately put off
from her and approached the land. Whereupon,
mounting his nag, he had ridden at speed to convey
the news to the governor.
This startling intelligence spread like wildfire
throughout the town, and “The Spaniard! the Spaniard!”
was on every lip. The whole population was
soon astir, thronging not only the market-place, but the
Plaza in front of the governor's palace; and while
they listened in the direction of the road leading
through Faubourg Declouif to the lake, as if momentarily
expecting to hear the approach of the strangers,
their eyes were turned frequently towards the balcony
of the governor's window, in anxious waiting for his
appearance. The stirring news that had disturbed
the repose of the city had already been communicated
to him by an officer of his household.
In the mean time, many and various, as the fears and
conjectures, buzzed about from one citizen to another,
as to the nature of this mysterious visit on the part of
the Spaniard. That it was of a hostile character, the
attitude in which France and Spain had for some time
stood to each other left little room for doubt. Yet the
small size of the vessel, and, consequently, the inadequate
force she must bring, combined with the disadvantageous
position for active hostilities which she had
taken up, seemed to promise intentions of a more pacific
character than the prudent and timid dared to believe.
The situation of the French province of Louisiana
at this period, whether viewed in its civil, political, or
social relations, was peculiarly interesting. For many
years it had reposed under a benign and almost patriarchal
government; and from its remote situation, and
the simple and pastoral habits of the people, it enjoyed
peace and healthy prosperity, while the green bosom
of maternal France was torn with feuds, and red with
the blood of conflicting warriors. At long intervals
of time, as chance directed some solitary vessel to its
distant port, rumours reached them of wars declared,
of sanguinary battles fought, and of kingdoms that had
changed masters; but, ere yet the far-travelled news
came to their ears, the wars had long ceased, the
grass had grown over the graves of the slain, and the
revolutions of empires had become matter of history.
Thus it happened that the long-existing hostilities between
France and Spain had been amicably ended some
months, and, as one of the conditions of the treaty of
peace, Louisiana was ceded to Spain by the former
power, without the knowledge of the native inhabitants
of that lovely province; but they were not, however,
to be suffered much longer to remain in ignorance of
this transfer of their allegiance.
The inhabitants of the city of New-Orleans, although
sharing the characteristics of burghers, and
exhibiting, in a greater or less degree, the peculiar features
that men, herded together in a community, ever
traits of the simple and quiet character of the paysans
of the province, who were far removed from the influence
of towns, and whose life was altogether pastoral.
The Marquis de la Caronde, a gray-headed warrior,
had long governed them, with a mildness of sway and
judicious exercise of power that, while it bound them
together as one family, won for himself the reverential
love of all hearts.
Besides the officers of his household, who were few
in number, advanced in years, and, like their master,
well worn in war, and a few substantial citizens, there
lived in the town several noble French families, whom
reverse fortunes and other causes had driven into exile.
Easily falling into the simple habits, and readily adopting
the customs of their unostentatious fellow-citizens,
they soon became as plain and unassuming in their
manners and mode of life as their good neighbours,
while their days glided on with a calm, quiet tenour, in
which they derived more real peace and contentment
than they could have found amid the splendour and
luxuries they had left behind them. In nearly every
instance, the heads of these families had died on the
scaffold for political offences, or fallen on the field of
battle—two of them alone surviving.
These two old nobles, being as far advanced in life
as the venerable marquis, and of a rank nearly equal
to his own, regularly took an evening pipe with him in
the court of his cabildo, and, in times of intestine trouble,
volunteered to assist in his councils; when, the
weighty affairs discussed, the gray-headed trio would
sit over their glasses of ruby wine, and talk lovingly
and long of la belle France, discoursing, with sparkling
eyes and a tear on the cheek, of the glorious by-gone
days of Louis le Grand.
These ancient families were seven in number. In
each was a noble youth, born to titles, honours, and domains
which he was never destined to share—their
names and those of their fathers having been struck
out ignominiously from the roll of France. Besides
wreck of their confiscated estates, nothing remained
to the widowed mothers and the two old nobles. These
youths were nearly of the same age, of equal rank,
and were bound together by ties of friendship so close,
that the spirits of Damon and Pythias seemed to have
animated their bosoms. They were known everywhere
as “Les Sept Frères,” or the Seven Brothers. The
eldest, Alfrède Charleval, had not reached his twenty-second
year, and Eugene de Thoyras, the youngest,
had scarcely passed his nineteenth summer. Noble
by birth, well-formed and handsome in their persons,
modest in speech and carriage, and possessing bold
and determined spirits, they constituted a gallant band,
who might be relied on whenever duty or chivalry
should call upon them to act. They were the pride of
the town and boast of the whole province, maintaining
an extraordinary influence over the minds of the
provincial youth by their courage and gentle courtesy,
and over the hearts of the maidens by their comely
persons and chivalrous daring.
The governor had not yet made his appearance on
the balcony, from which he was wont to show himself
to the townspeople, and to address them on occasions
of a public nature. The anxiety of the multitude was
momentarily threatening to overstep the bounds of
civic decorum, when the governor's guard, which
formed the whole regular force of the province, consisting
of some threescore grayheaded soldiers, issued
at a quick step from beneath the arched gateway that
led to the inner court of his palace. At this sight the
confidence of the doubtful among the crowd was restored,
and all were assured that proper steps would
be taken, either to receive the expected strangers with
suitable honours, or meet them at the pike's point, as
their present coming should prove of a friendly or hostile
character.
Presently there was a cry from some one, who had
stationed himself far down the road that led towards
the lake, in order to give the signal of their approach,
and the multitude was moved like the deep sea. The
governor at the same instant stepped forth upon the
balcony, clad in his long-disused military costume; his
snowy head covered with a well-worn gold-laced chapeau,
and his good sword girded to his side. He was
a fine specimen of the cavalier of the old school of
Louis Quinze. He was tall, dignified, and numbering
threescore years, which, from the fire in his eye and
the firmness of his carriage, sat upon him with the
lightness of youth. His face expressed remarkable
decision; but its soldier-like firmness was subdued by
the teachings of a gentle temper and benevolent spirit.
No sooner was he discovered, than a shout was
raised from the Plaza, which he acknowledged by uncovering
his head and gracefully waving his chapeau
towards the multitude, while the sun shone upon his
flowing white hair, giving it the hue and brightness of
silver.
“Peace, mes enfans,” he said, in a tone of dignified
yet gentle command; “I am informed that certain
strangers have landed in our province under the flag
of Spain, and are even now approaching the town. Let
them come peaceably. Let not a weapon be drawn
to oppose or intimidate them. Their mission is peaceful,
or they would be better supported than I am told
they are. Leave them with me, with whom, doubtless,
their business lies, and I will see that my children
come to no harm, and that the honour of our
country be sacredly maintained. Ha! they are already
at hand. Fontney,” he added, in a lower tone,
turning to an officer who stood near him, “see that the
groom leads my horse round to the palace gate! I
will meet them mounted like themselves.”
While he was yet speaking, there were approaching,
at a slow pace, along the river road, two horsemen,
who, from the distance formally preserved between
them, were plainly of different rank. The
foremost, who also seemed, from his bearing and age,
which might be about forty one or two, to be of the
worn by Spanish cavaliers of the time, enriched
with gold, and shining with polished steel; his
head was covered with a light casque of glittering
steel, and a short cloak of crimson velvet fell with
graceful negligence from his left shoulder. The saddle
and housings of his horse, which touched the
earth with dainty steps, as if it spurned the ground and
fain would tread the air, were equally costly with the
apparel of the rider; his whole body, save alone his
arched neck, being covered with a fly-net of silver
threads, through which appeared the raven hue of his
glossy hide, shining like floss. His attendant wore a
curiously-fashioned suit of green and scarlet, with the
shield of Spain emblazoned on his breast, while the
crest of the same royal arms was embroidered on the
cuffs of his surcoat. In his left hand he bore a spear,
about which was rolled a gorgeous banner. Besides a
sword suspended at his belt, there hung at his saddle-bow
a silver trumpet, chased with enormous royal devices.
The housings of his saddle also bore, elaborately
wrought in silver, the same regal insignia. But
what more especially fixed the attention of the observing
townsmen, and created no slight degree of sensation
in their bosoms, was a body-guard of twelve halberdiers,
of gigantic stature, armed to the teeth, and
carrying shining battle-axes in their hands, marching
a few paces in the rear of the two horsemen.
In the mean while, the venerable marquis had
mounted his horse in the entrance of the porte cochère,
and, sallying into the square, no sooner discovered
this formidable escort of the cavaliers, than he
commanded the captain of the guard to form his men
into a line in front of the palace, and hold himself in
readiness to give them, if necessary, a hostile reception.
Then riding a little way in advance of his
brave old guard, he stopped, facing the strangers;
and, surrounded by his officers, the gentlemen of his
household, and a thousand hearts that were beating
with anxious expectancy, awaited their approach.
When the Spaniards reached the termination of the
road on the verge of the square, they came to a halt.
The foremost, after communicating in a few words
with the horseman in his rear, then unfolded a small
white flag, and rode forward, looking about him with
careless ease as he pranced along into the thronged
Plaza. As he advanced, the crowd gave way on
either hand, leaving a broad path open up to the very
presence of the governor. When he had got within
five yards of the marquis, he reined his blood horse in
so shortly, though he scarce seemed to press the bridle,
that the animal reared with his fore feet in the air, and
threatened for an instant to fall backward on his rider;
but, while poised with this dangerous inclination to the
rearward, with a sharp blow of his spurred heel he
compelled him to leap fearfully forward; then, with an
almost imperceptible touch of the snaffle, and a single
word, caused the spirited animal to stand as still as if
he had suddenly been converted into stone. After
this brief passage of horsemanship, he waved his
snowy pennon above his head, and the remaining
horseman, galloping across the square, took up a position
in his rear. Then, at a sign from the cavalier,
he disengaged his trumpet from his saddle-bow, and
blew upon it three loud blasts, such as a conqueror
gives when he demands the surrender of a beleaguered
city.
The Spanish cavalier now rose in his stirrups, and
proclaimed, in a loud voice,
“I, Garcia Ramarez, count of Osma, in the name, and
by command of his Catholic majesty, Carlos the Third,
king of Spain, do herewith demand of Eugene Chartres,
marquis de la Caronde, late governor under France of
this province of Louisiana, that he forthwith surrender
the government thereof to the crown of Spain and into
my hands, as the representative of the said power:
the demand and surrender being in accordance with
the late peace made between Spain and France, and
the terms and conditions of the treaty.”
As he ceased, the pursuivant—such his office showed
first on his trumpet, and, at a signal from the Count of
Ramarez, unfolded from the spear a silken flag, on
which were represented, in the richest tints, the gorgeous
arms of Spain. Elevating it above his head, he
flung its broad folds wide to the morning breeze, while
a murmur of indignation and surprise, like the sound
of an approaching tempest, rolled sullenly across the
Place d'Armes. The Marquis de la Caronde pressed
his sword-hilt with a firmer grasp; but age had tempered
the fire of his blood, and, without betraying farther
emotion, he calmly waited the issue. Without
heeding these palpable manifestations of resentment,
the Spaniard extended his hand towards the flag, and
cried, “Behold the insignia of Spain and the emblem
of possession! Hear ye, all men present! I, Garcia
Ramarez, in the name of his Catholic majesty, do
now take possession of this province of Louisiana for
the crown of Spain. God and Don Carlos!”
No sooner had the last words passed the lips of the
haughty Spaniard, than the indignant governor, his
brow crimsoned with shame at the insult, and his eye
flashing with the fires of stern resentment, replied in a
voice that rung defiance:
“Sir Spaniard, thou hast hardly weighed the odds,
that thou comest to insult France in my person.
Neither of treaty nor of the ceding of provinces have
I heard until now! Eugene Chartres must have higher
and less questionable authority than thine, Count
Osma, ere he give to Spain what he hath sworn to
keep for France. Depart, sir, with this answer.”
“Heed thy words, signor marquis, lest they become
darts to pierce thine own bosom,” retorted the Spaniard,
his brow darkening. “That peace hath been
ratified between Spain and France is true, on my
honour as a Castilian knight and gentleman. Ha!
did you speak, signor?”
“I did merely ask my friend, the Baron de Thoyras,
by my side, if it were not the Count of Ramarez
who slew his own brother, and kept an uncle shut up
him and gave him freedom. I did but ask this, and
no more, Sir Spaniard,” replied the marquis, with the
cool, cutting irony of tone and manner that, it would
seem, none knew better how to employ.
“Humph! And what said your friend in reply?”
asked the immoveable Spaniard.
“That I was right; the name of that Castilian
knight and gentleman being Garcia Ramarez.”
“What bearing has this upon the present, signor
marquis?” demanded Ramarez, haughtily, biting his
lip to conceal the effect of the noble Frenchman's
words.
“No more than this: If the honour of a `Castilian
knight and gentleman,' which you have pledged to us
in attestation of your veracity, be of no better metal
than the honour of the only one whom I have the
pleasure to know,” added the governor, bowing low to
the Count of Osma, “why, we had as well have your
naked word; for, though it may be a good round lie,
it will come coupled with no perjury.”
The Count of Ramarez turned pale. The words of
the marquis had poisoned his heart, and his brow grew
dark with revenge. After a moment's silence, during
which he succeeded in keeping down and shutting
within his bosom all signs of emotion, he drew a pacquet
from his breast, and, tossing it on the ground at
the feet of the governor's horse, said, in an even voice,
“There lie papers that confirm what I have said;
though think not,” he added, proudly, “that a Ramarez
would produce written vouchers for his spoken word.”
“Thy parchments hold as little weight with me as
thy speech,” said the governor, reining back as if he
would terminate the controversy. “Until I receive
from my own good king the command to surrender
this province to thy Spanish king. I shall hold it until
the last drop of blood in my veins sink into its sand.”
“You forget, signor marquis, that the dungeons of
the Moro lie between thy paltry province and the
court of Versailles,” said the Castilian, with a menace
warning.
“They are not so deep as those of Osma, count,”
retorted the governor, with a smile that awakened the
revengeful spirit of his antagonist.
With eyes burning like those of a tiger in his lair,
and lips compressed with concentrated rage, he levelled
his sword and drove his spurs deep into the sides
of his horse, to bound forward and reach the veteran
marquis. The animal had scarce moved a muscle to
obey his fierce will, when the bridle was caught close
to the bit by a strong hand, and the horse thrust back
upon his haunches with such sudden force that the rider
rolled from the saddle to the earth: the next instant
a foot was pressed firmly on his breast, and the
point of his own sword was at his throat.
“Hold, Renault!” cried the governor to the person
whose skill and address had doubtless saved his life,
so unexpected to him was the Spaniard's abortive attack;
“let him rise up! In Heaven's name, we want
no crossing blades with them if they will go in peace.”
The person addressed was a young man of extraordinary
personal beauty, seemingly perfect in face
and figure: as symmetrical in limb as a young Apollo,
while neither Greek nor Circassian ever presented
to the sculptor's chisel a finer head or a nobler profile.
His eyes were black, and his hair vied with the
plumage of the raven's wing in its jetty hue. His
complexion was dark, very dark; yet through the
brown of his manly cheek the red blood was seen as
if through a shadow, and richer far for the softness it
lent to it. At the command of the governor he stepped
back from the humbled Spaniard; and, taking up
a slender pike, such as was used by the courreurs du
bois, or hunters of the prairies, which he had dropped
on seizing the horse, disappeared amid the crowd.
The Count of Osma rose slowly from the earth, and,
casting about him a glance of defiance, remounted his
steed, and was preparing to turn from the spot, when
his eye lighted on a flagstaff near him in front of the
floated the snow-white ensign of France. He instantly
changed his intention, and, turning towards the spot
where he had left his halberdiers, made a signal with
his glove, when they rapidly advanced towards him,
and formed immediately in his rear, presenting a formidable
front to any opponents. They were men of
huge stature, and formed both for strength and activity.
Besides their halberds or steel battle-axes, each carried,
slung across his back, a short arquebuss, and
wore at his side a ponderous sword, sheathed in a
massive iron scabbard. Breastplates of untanned hide
covered their broad chests. On their shoulders and
the upper parts of their arms they wore iron pieces;
while their heads were protected by scull-caps, woven
close with wire, so as to be at the same time both light
in weight, and capable of resisting a heavy stroke from
any formidable weapon. Their looks were as stern as
their garniture was warlike; while mustaches and
long heavy beards gave to their visages a still more
formidable appearance. It was plain that they had
been chosen for the present occasion, and were a sort
of gentlemen not to be lightly roused.
The public square in which the meeting between
these rival governors of France and Spain took place
was near the centre of the city, on one side bounded
by the river, and on the opposite one by the Cathedral
and governor's palace; while the two remaining sides,
facing north and south, were enclosed by Moriscolooking
mansions, with deep, narrow windows defended
by iron bars, vast portals opening into inner courts,
light verandahs, and flat roofs, and adorned with urns
and fantastic battlements, every available place upon
which was thronged with interested spectators of the
scene in the Plaza beneath. Near the centre of this
square, a little to the left, was the flagstaff, on which
floated, like a white cloud, the spotless banner of
France.
The Spaniard waited until his men had reached
him, when, with a single bound of his horse, he placed
his sword, severed the cord that kept the flag in its
elevated position, so that, fluttering and wildly floating
in the air, it descended like a stricken swan to the
ground. Ere it reached the earth it was caught by
the herald, and placed beneath him across his saddle.
Before several young townsmen could spring forward
to snatch it from its ignominious situation, by a bold
leap of his horse he placed the halberdiers between
himself and their vengeance, and gained the foot of the
staff beside the knight.
“Ha, Caravello! you are at hand just as you are
wanted. Give me the Spanish flag! Halberds, form
close around me, and cleave to the chine whoever
dares attempt to break your front. Now for Don
Carlos and Spain!”
With coolness and rapidity, he now began to attach
the Spanish colours to the line, the halberdiers at the
same time presenting with their glittering battle-axes a
bristling crescent on the side towards the governor and
his guards; and, before the latter could recover from
their surprise at this manæuvre, or divine his intentions,
he had firmly fastened the flag to the dissevered
cord. The next instant they beheld it rising swiftly
into the air.
“Death and St. Denis! He has done it in our
faces! Charge them, my brave guards!” cried the
marquis, brandishing his sword and riding against the
firm phalanx of halberdiers; while his guards, with
loud cries, pressed forward to the rescue of their dishonoured
flag, and to avenge the insult it had received.
Their advance, however, was soon checked by a
loud shout of triumph from the multitude; and, reining
up within five feet of the immoveable halberdiers, the
governor followed the direction of all eyes upward, and
beheld the Spanish ensign, ere yet it had reached the
summit of the pole, floating loose through the air, and
a light courreur's spear still vibrating in the mast.
“Renault, the Quadroon! Bravo! vive Renault!”
was heard from a hundred tongues, while the surprised
dropped, watched eagerly the course of the silken banner,
as, flashing in the morning sun, and gorgeous as a
rainbow, it floated off on the gentle winds. The stern
halberdiers and the veteran guard both arresting themselves
in full career, and alike forgetful of their hostile
attitude, together with the whole multitude, turned their
gaze upward to this interesting object.
Now whirling round and round in wild gyrations;
now sailing outspread on the bosom of the wind; now
rustling its folds together, as the breeze turned it in its
flight, the beautiful thing floated long above the square.
At one moment it would sweep low over the heads of
the people; then, mocking their grasp, again rise rapidly,
in its ascent flying almost within reach of the hand
of some fair lady on the balconies.
The Spaniard watched its erratic motions with an
earnest and anxious gaze, aware of the ignominious
destiny that awaited it should it fall among the hostile
crowd; and once, as it swept past near his head, he
vainly attempted to secure it with his sword, but, only
piercing it, it eluded him, amid the derisive laugh of
the multitude. On his part, the noble old governor
enjoyed, with the keenest satisfaction, the defeat of the
Spaniard's object, and watched, with the eagerness of a
delighted child, its sportive circles through the air.
Standing on the battlement of one of the dwellings
on the south side of the square was a very young girl
of exceeding beauty; but, from the deep brown of her
cheek, and her flashing, dark eyes, as well as from the
costume of her head, it was clear that she was a quadroone.
Twice the winds had wafted their silken plaything
almost within her reach, and now swept it a
third time close above her head, and bore it past her
in the direction of a square tower that rose from the
midst of the roof. Every eye watched its course
with breathless eagerness. It touched the tower—
fluttered an instant—and then a shout, mingled with
the deep execrations of the Spaniards, announced that
it had become entangled on a projecting point of the
the front of the dwelling, aided by the light columns of
the verandah and the bars of the barricaded windows.
“Les freres! vivant les frères!” was heard on every
tongue, and all eyes were directed towards the
daring young men, who were seven in number, that
appeared on all parts of the front of the edifice, in ambitious
and reckless rivalry to reach the flag. While
they were ascending, the quadroone girl, by an inner
staircase leading from the roof, gained the top of the
tower. Boldly stepping on the verge, she reached
down, and with great peril extricated the ensign.
The waving it once in triumph, she placed it beneath
her symmetrical little feet, and indignantly trampled
upon it.
“Vive, Azèlie! vive! bravissima!” rose tumultuously
from the crowd below, and at the same instant
the young men gained the battlement.
One or two of them were preparing to surmount the
tower, when she cried with a lofty energy, that, either
from the manner in which she spoke, or from the extreme
beauty of the speaker, singularly enforced their
attention,
“Stop, messieurs! The flag is mine, and shall be
given only to the defenders of our fair province.
Swear that you will hold Louisiana free of Spain and
all other power, save God and France, and it shall be
yours!”
Her voice rung with the rich clearness of a clarion,
and her words were distinctly heard by those who stood
on the opposite side of the Plaza.
There was a smile of surprise on the faces of the
young nobles as she ceased, but the lovely girl was a
favourite with all; and, with the native gallantry of
their chivalrous land, now challenged both by patriotism
and beauty, they, with one mind, felt inspired to
give solemnity and importance to what they at first
viewed with levity, and, in an elevated and serious
tone, answered,
“We swear!”
And, laying their right hands one upon the other,
they solemnly bowed their heads upon them: then
placing them upon their hearts, they looked up to
Heaven in attestation of their truth.
“Then receive, each of ye noble youths, these
badges in remembrance of your oath.”
As she spoke, she rent the flag into eight scarves,
and, casting one across her own bosom, threw the rest
from the tower at the feet of the young men. A loud
murmur of applause filled the air at this action, and,
taking up the brilliant scarves, they bound them across
their breasts. At this instant the report of some fire-arm
was heard from the square, and the quadroone,
with a thrilling shriek, fell back upon the tower.
Every eye was turned upon the Spaniard, whom,
with a look of malicious triumph, they beheld in the
act of returning to a halberdier a blunderbuss which
he had discharged at her, as, relieved against the
sky, she presented a prominent mark to his deadly
aim, and a suitable victim to his vengeance.
“Do them to the death!” cried the governor; “close
in upon the demons! Cut in pieces the Spanish
hounds.”
“Be firm and close about me, halberds! Present
them your faces, and retreat slowly,” ordered the
Spaniard, coolly, as if most at home when dangers
thickened about him. “Meet their charge with your
battle-axes, but let not a man leave his place to follow
up a blow. Keep firm and steady, and we shall yet
leave far behind us this pack of French wolves.”
Led on by the marquis, the French guard rushed
forward with fierce cries; and, while the old warrior
sought to reach the Spanish chief, his men became furiously
engaged hand to hand, helm to helm, with the
slowly-retreating halberdiers, who kept firmly together
in line, defending themselves with ponderous blows of
their battle-axes.
For a few moments the mêlée was terrific. The
roar of the heavy muskets of the guard, the sharp
ring of pistols, the clashing of swords, and the dull
into breast or scull, were for a few seconds unceasing.
The marquis having made several ineffectual attempts
to break through the halberdiers, at length, by making
a detour by their flank, succeeded in getting near the
Count of Ramarez. With his herald by his side, the
latter was slowly retreating, step by step, at the head
of his men, coolly giving his orders, and enjoining
them to keep shoulder to shoulder, and steadily fall
back upon him; while, at times, seeing them hard
pressed, he would make in person a fierce charge
upon the guards, and, dispersing them, resume his station,
and conduct the retreat in the same regular order
as before.
“Now shalt thou die the death, Count of Osma!”
shouted the old warrior, as he found the path open between
himself and the Spaniard.
Throwing his body far forward on the horse as he
spoke, he spurred towards him and made a desperate
lunge at his breast; but his sword met the resistance
of a shirt of mail worn beneath his splendid apparel,
and broke short to the hilt. The force of the blow,
nevertheless, nearly unhorsed the Spaniard, who,
speedily recovering his seat, dealt in return so well-aimed
a stroke upon the head of his antagonist, that
he was stunned by it, and would have fallen from his
saddle but for the support of his stirrup: his terrified
horse, at the same time, swerved wildly on one side,
and, when he recovered from the shock, which he did
in a few seconds, he found himself separated from his
antagonist by the intervening bodies of the halberdiers.
At length, after defending themselves desperately
against such odds, fighting and winning every inch of
ground with their faces towards their enemies, the
hard-pressed halberdiers, aided by the skill and coolness
of their chief, succeeded, with the loss of two of
their number, in extricating themselves from the
square, and reaching the entrance to the Borgne road.
Here the marquis, who had lost some of his best men
recalled the guard, and permitted them to continue
their retreat without farther molestation. Not
so the Seven Brothers! After delaying to bear the
wounded maiden to the rooms below, they now made
their appearance in the Place d'Armes. Separating
singly, they moved swiftly from group to group, whispering
a few words to each young man they met, who,
the next moment, silently withdrew and disappeared
from the throng.
Weary, wounded, and sore with revenge, the Spaniards
retreated rapidly towards the lake. At length,
through a distant opening in the trees, they were gladdened
with the sight of their little vessel riding at anchor
upon its placid breast. They hailed the broad
expanse of water with a shout of joy, and with renewed
vigour marched towards the glittering beach.
They were yet a mile distant from the barge, when
a sound like the trampling of numerous horses fell
upon their ears from the direction of the city. Looking
round with startled apprehensions, they beheld, to
their dismay, a body of fifty horsemen, armed with
sabres and courreur-pikes, emerging from the wood and
approaching them at full speed. The Count Osma
could discern that they were headed by several young
men distinguished by crimson scarfs, which were
streaming behind them as they rode.
“Fly for your lives, my brave halberds!” he shouted,
after watching for a few moments their swift coming.
“To the boats! To the boats! We are in no
condition to withstand their mad charge.”
With this rapid and energetic order he put spurs to
his horse, and, urging and encouraging his men forward,
fled towards the barge. But, finding the pursuers
gained each moment on them, he bade his men do
their best if it came to blows, and, leaving them to
their fate, galloped onward, accompanied by his herald,
at the top of his horse's speed. In vain, however,
was the flight of those who were not mounted. Like
a whirlwind the pursuing troop came sweeping towards
to show resistance, they were borne to the ground by
the mere weight of numbers, and trampled in the
earth by a hundred iron-shod hoofs. The work of
death was but of an instant's duration. Their armour
was no defence to them—strength and courage of no
avail! They fell as if a simoon of the desert had
swept over them!
Scarcely without pause, the conquering squadron
galloped onward to the lake side, in hot pursuit of the
two horsemen, who were flying along the sands as if
borne forward on the wings of the wind. The foremost
of the pursuers, a dark, handsome youth, undistinguished
by a scarf, and armed only with a spear,
who seemed to be one of the band that had gained the
lead by the superior speed of his horse, at length came
near the herald, and shouted to him to rein up. But
the fugitive, conspicuous with the white ensign of
France still wound about his body, continued to urge
his steed forward without heeding the call or looking
behind.
“I will soon stop thy flight, gay bird!” said the
youth, in a half tone; and rising, as he spoke, in his
stirrups, he threw himself far backward to give force
and energy to the blow, and launched his light spear
with such unerring aim, that, entering his body through
the folds of the flag, it passed out a third of its length
on the farther side.
“The honour of France is redeemed,” he said, coming,
with two or three tremendous bounds, alongside
of the herald's steed; and, while the two horses were
still flying like eagles along the sands, he seized the
tottering body, and, tearing the enerimsoned banner
from it, hurled it, still warm with life, to the ground.
“Vive, Renault!” cried one of the frères, getting up
with him; “this day hast thou saved the honour of our
belle province. Thy hand, Renault! The drop of
Moorish blood in thy veins shall not come between
thee and my love. Let us be friends, brave Renault.”
“Noble Charleval, you have made this a happy moment
extended to receive his with eloquent gratitude.
The young noble, then fastening the flag to his
sword, elevated it above his head, and, waving it in
triumph, continued his pursuit of the Spanish leader.
Intimidated by the slaughter of his men, and witnessing
the fall of his attendant, the Spanish count
gored his horse to madness, reached, at length, his
barge, and, reckless of all save his own safety, leaped,
mounted as he was, into the midst of his men; while
his voice, commanding them, with oaths and menaces,
to put off from the land, could be heard above the
thunder of the hoofs of the pursuing horse. They
needed no urging; and, while the horsemen were yet
a hundred yards from the water's edge, the boat was
full that distance from the land, and its occupant secure
from their vengeance. After seeing him embark,
and the vessel get under weigh and stand down the
lake, the party of horse, which was composed of young
townsmen, both creoles and quadroons, hastily raised
by the seven young nobles, returned in triumph to the
city.
| CHAPTER I.
THE SPANISH EMBASSY. The quadroone, or, St. Michael's day | |