University of Virginia Library

1. CHAPTER I.

Among the numerous wild and thrilling romances of which the valley
of the South-west has been so often the scene, and which have,
hitherto, escaped the avidious pen of the tourist and story-writer, is
the one which I have chosen for the subject of the following sketch.
Though not strictly Radcliffean in its tone and aspect—for there are
no castles and dungeons thereaway, in which to lay terrific chapters—
yet it may involve sufficient of the romantic to entitle it to preservation.

It was one of those autumnal evenings of the South when Heaven
itself seemed to have descended and enthroned herself with banners of
fire and crimson, and curtains of golden light upon the piles of gorgeous
clouds that lay heaped up in the West, a mass of glory and
splendor too intense for the eye to gaze upon! The majestic flood of
the Mississippi rolled on reflecting from its dark and steely surface a
hue like purple. The centurial trees that lined its shores, were gently
waving their ocean surface—the red sunlight glancing along their green
and billowy tops as if from wave to wave of a vast and heaving deep!

A small but beautiful city, roof rising above roof, terrace above terrace,
with trees picturesquely mingling with, exposing and half concealing
the white dwellings, slept upon the hill-side facing the west. A rich
roseate tint was suffused over it, and the red fire from the setting sun
illumined its windows, so that it looked like a city in flames; each
dwelling a smouldering furnace within, yet, all burning with smokeless,
unconsuming conflagration. Such it seemed indeed, to be to our eyes,
as we approached it from the south, on board that most imperial steamer
the `Empress.' Every passenger stood on deck enjoying with unlimited
expressions of admiration the whole magical and gorgeous scene;
not even excepting the ruder portion of the motly and diverse assemblage
that composed our number, many of whose faces were animated
with the enjoyment which even simple and uncultivated taste is ever
ready to administer to every man who will open his senses to its influence.

We had left New Orleans the morning before with a large and and
agreeable party of passengers, and we were to stop at Vicksburg,
the city before us, to take in another, for whom the best, because it was
the largest and sternmost, state-room had been reserved to this time
There existed, therefore, among a bevy of lovely women on board,
married and single, who had been particularly anxious to obtain this
desirable room for some of their own party, probably because it was
not obtainable, not a little curiosity to learn who the individual was
that had thought him or herself of so much importance as to send to
New Orleans to pre-engage a passage, and the best accommodations.
Among these ladies were two remarkably lovely girls, cousins, on
their passage to Lexington, of which beautiful city one was a resident;
the other being a native of Louisiana, and on her way to make her
cousin a visit. They were under the protection of the charming Kentuckian's
father, a fine old gentleman, and an admirable specimen of
the high chivalric school, characteristic of his state. They were the
life and joy of our cabin party; and seldom has Heaven given such
charms to please, and fascinations to win. Never were two young ladies
so different in person, who were so like in spirit. The elder cousin,
Louise Claviere was a Creole of proud French descent. Her hair was
dark as the plumage of the raven, and worn with a simple polished braid
entwined around her fine head. Her complexion is indiscribable. Its
rich tone has no name. It was like the lotus leaf, pure as snow, and almost
dazzling but for a soft voluptuous shade, living and glowing over it

like sunlight glowing warm upon marble. The color of her cheek was
not set, but was ever beautifully coming and passing away with every
emotion. With the uplifting of the bending lids of her dark rich eyes,
it would suffuse her cheek, but as delicately as if a rose leaf had been
laid near, and the light had poured through upon it. Her brow
was arched and black, and of exquisite workmanship. Never did I
conceive before the beauty that dwelt in a woman's eye-brow. It was a
study, not for a painter, but for the spirit of beauty herself. Her eyes
I have spoken of Deep as wells that at noonday reflect the heavens
with its stars, they seemed themselves to be a heaven of love and delight.
It was impossible to meet their dark dangerous gaze! The eye
dropped suddenly before them worshipingly, while the heart bounded
with emotions strange and powerful. No woman I have seen, ever
possessed like her the wonderful power of beauty. It was a wand which
she had but to wave to command men's homage—a talisman which she
had but to lift to enchain their hearts—a spell which she only had to
exert, and which lay in every glance, look and motion, to overpower
the soul, and fill the mind with awe and adoration. Beauty in itself ever
irresistibly and instinctively commands adoration. The first man's sin,
says the Buddha theology, was the worship of the woman whom God presented
to him in all the freshness of glowing beauty instead of her Creator.
This principle is still existing in the human mind. Every lover
adores the object of his attachment in degree and it is, perhaps, only because
no woman exists (can be supposed to exist) so beautiful as Eve,
who, of necessity, united in her person all the perfections of feminine
loveliness, that she is not now made an idol. If any woman could
command the homage of men, and also the admiration of her own
sex, it was Louise Claviere. Her beauty did not consist in the
chaste, yet voluptuous outline of her face; nor the round and divinely
sculptured cheek and throat; nor in the majestic grace of
her neck and superb bust; nor the sweet majesty of her whole figure; but
rather, these were the glorious fashioning and setting of the shapely
casket which contained the bright and intelligent mind. She seemed
to be created to love, and dispense joy and happiness. Every generous
and lofty feeling dwelt in her bosom—tenderness and pity filled her
glorious eyes, ready to yield their sympathy. She was a woman whose
fate promised to be unalloyedly happy or unalloyedly miserable—who
would love when her heart should be interested, either good or evil,
and love with undying devotion. Her cousin Genevieve, was, on the
contrary, a sweet, graceful, laughing blonde, with a frank, open face,
a bright blue eye, long, soft brown hair, a mischievous pouting mouth,
and a cheek like the bridal of the lily and the rose. Her figure was
petite, and her motions free and light as the doe in its wild freedom.
Her cousin was twenty, but she was two years younger, and not so tall
by three inches. She was a true child of nature. She knew no evil,
and therefore did not know that it existed. She was as guileless as a
child. She would have been just the same as she was if man had never
fallen. I could not but sigh as I gazed on her joyous and happy
face, in which one could read her heart with all its emotions, like an
open book, to think how soon care and sorrow would trace their lines
and shadows upon it. Her heart seemed to be full of love and generous
emotion for all her race. I could conceive an angel, if one came
to dwell on earth awhile, to be like her. There was visible, a shade
of thought in her eyes I perceived, at times, and I observed that her
bright lips would sometimes gently compress when in repose, as if beneath
all her sweet and gentle grace, she possessed a spirit quick and
sensitive; and one which, if called into exercise by a generous appeal
to her sympathies, would act with decision and prompt determination.
I could see that she posessed no moral fear; that her soul was courageous.
It is thus, the gentlest and most delicate women sometimes
present opposites in their composition. In man, firmness and decision
of character are oftener united with physical power; in women it is
usually reversed. Genevieve, the lovely, laughing, enchanting girl of
seventeen, had a bold and fearless spirit. Hitherto, her existence had
flowed from her heart as its source. She scarcely knew that she possessed
a spirit—a spirit that, when once called into action, would unfold
to her a new power and character, of which she knew not she was
the possessor.