CHAPTER I.
About seventy years ago a young man of strong physique and prepossessingappearance arrived at New Orleans. He had come from New York, of whichcity he was a native, and had brought with him a considerable sum ofmoney, supplemented by a letter of introduction to Judge Favart deCaumartin, who was then at the flood tide of his fame.
It would not be fair to call our young man ("our hero" would be the goodold phrase) an adventurer, without taking pains to qualify theimpression that might be produced. Hepworth Coleman had his own way oflooking at life. Fifty years later he would have been atragedian--probably a famous one, but the conditions were not favorableto awakening histrionic ambition at the time when his character, histastes, his ambition should have been forming. What he saw that was mostfascinating to him had no distinct form; it lay along the south-westernhorizon, a dreamy, mist-covered something not unlike the confines ofromance.
Hepworth Coleman was rich, and what was, perhaps, a greater misfortune,he had no living kinsfolk for whom he cared or who cared for him.Practically speaking, he was alone in the world: moreover, he had animagination. Scott's novels, Byron's poetry, the French romances, and Iknow not what else of the sort, had been his chief reading. For physicalrecreation he had turned to fencing and pistol practice. When I add thathe was but twenty-two and unmarried, the rest might be guessed, butColeman was not a young man of the world in the worst sense--he had notturned to evil sources of dissipation. Healthy, vigorous, full ofspirit, he nevertheless had sentimental longings as indefinite as theywere persistent.
Youth is the spring time when "Longen folk to gon on pilgrimages," asold Chaucer words it, and it would be hard to find the young man who hasnot felt the vaguely outlined yet irresistible desire to wander, to goover the horizon into a strange, new world. Hepworth Coleman, when hewas taken with this longing, felt no restraint cast around him. He wasabsolutely free, had all the means necessary--why should he not go wherehe pleased? If it seems strange that he should have been attracted toNew Orleans rather than to the Old World, we must remember what NewOrleans was in 1820. No other city, not even Paris, could at that timecompare with it as a center of genuine romance, nor was this romanceunmixed with lawlessness of the most picturesque kind. Money poured intoit from a hundred sources more or less illegitimate, besides the streamsof wealth produced by cotton, sugar, and rice industries. Gambling wasindeed a fine art, duelling appeared more a pastime than anything else,and what went on in the gilded halls and melody-filled salles may beimagined, I suppose, though, I do not care to cast a glance that way.
Hepworth Coleman had heard much of the gay city, of its warm, odorousatmosphere, its hospitality, its social charm, the smack of recklessromance in all its ways. Somehow the desire to go there got hold of hisimagination and he went.
The letter to Judge Favart de Caumartin was given to Coleman by hisbanker, who in handing it to him said:
"I don't know the Judge personally, never saw him; but he has done a lotof business through us. He is very rich, evidently very influential, andcertainly will be of use to you. I feel that I can take the liberty ofsending you to him, because--well, he is under many obligations to thebank, and is likely to want many more large favors. I fancy that you'llfind him a trifle eccentric, but enthusiastically hospitable. A creoleof the creoles I judge him to be, and a representative of the nabobs."
Young Coleman considered himself lucky to carry with him a document thatwould give him introduction to a person so renowned as Judge Favart deCaumartin, of whom he had been recently reading a good deal owing to aduel fought between the Judge and one Colonel Sam Smith, of the UnitedStates army, in which the latter had been killed. The duel had broughtout history from which it appeared that Judge Favart de Caumartin hadfought before, not once only, but many times, and always to the death ofhis antagonist. Along with these facts were disclosed numerouspicturesque details of the Judge's past life, with more than hints thatin his young days he had been a pirate or something of the sort. Theaccount also made the most of his wealth, his almost recklessliberality, his eccentricity, and, most of all, the air of mystery whichstill hung over his business operations.
All this was rich food for an imagination already thoroughly saturatedwith the spirit of romantic adventure, and during the voyage from NewYork to New Orleans Hepworth Coleman found deep satisfaction inanticipating what he felt was in store for him. In every fiber of hisframe he felt the assurance that he was on the way to new and strangeexperiences.
His banker had sent a letter to precede his arrival by a few days,asking a friend to secure suitable apartments for Mr. Hepworth Coleman,gentleman, the consequence being that a dark young man, small butwell-built and handsome, met him at the landing to conduct him to hissuit of elegant rooms on Royal Street.
"Is you Meestu Coleman, sah?" inquired this young stranger in a musicaland respectful tone of voice. "I look fo' zat ma' at prayson."
"Yes, sir, that is my name," said Coleman briskly, at the same time heshowed by his look that he would like to know whom he was meeting.
"Varee glad you come, Meestu Coleman; varee glad, sah, indeed. Got yourrooms all prepare fo' you, sah. Yes, sah, zey is beautifu' an' sharmingrooms."
"Thank you; I am much indebted. Are you the gentleman to whom Mr.Cartwright, the banker, wrote in my behalf?"
"Nah, sah, not any banker write to me; I been told to meet you at zisplace at prayson. Happy to see you. Mist Coleman; varee happy."
There was an elegant carriage at hand waiting for our friend. A negrodriver in livery and a small black footman stood by.
Coleman entered the vehicle, followed closely by the young creole whohad met him on the landing. He saw his baggage hoisted into a littlewagon to come after the carriage.
For some reason not exactly explained this whole proceeding affectedColeman peculiarly; he felt a sort of vague uneasiness, as if he werepassing into an atmosphere of mystery, if not of danger.
As he was whirled through the narrow streets he caught glimpses of queertile-covered houses with curious hanging galleries. High walls andgloomy courts flanked these, and here and there a dusky palm or a brightorange tree flung up its foliage. Blooming magnolia clumps filled theair with a heavy, languid odor.
But what most attracted the attention of Coleman was a company of fouror five young men dressed like dandies, swaggering along on one of the_banquettes_ (sidewalks) and singing a drinking song at the top of theirvoices. One of these hilarious fellows made a lasting impression on ouryoung friend's imagination. He was a tall, olive-skinned, handsome man,apparently about twenty-five, strikingly dressed in a plaid coat, a vestof red and black velvet, gray trousers, and a profusely ruffled shirt.Evidently he was the leading spirit of the party. At all events he wassomewhat in front, with his black cap set well back on his shapely head,while his jet black hair fell in shining curls over his strongshoulders. He was shouting forth the French drinking carol in a voice assweet as it was loud, and at the same time waving in the air a smallcane. The entire group looked the worse for wine, their faces flushedand their eyes brilliant.
"Who is that strange-looking man in front?" inquired Coleman of hiscreole companion, as they passed them by.
"Zat ge'man ees ze goozh Favart de Caumartin," was the answer thatfairly startled the interrogator.
Coleman actually grew red in the face and exclaimed:
"_That_ Judge Favart de Caumartin! Surely, sir, you are mistaken."
"Beg pahdon, sah, zat ees Monsieur le Juge Favart de Caumartin. I himknow varee well myself at prayson."
Coleman turned and stared back through the window at the struttingyouthful figure leading the noisy rout.
How could that be the celebrated duellist, the guardian pirate!
"It cannot be," he muttered aloud. "It is impossible."
"Varee well, Meestu Coleman," said the young Creole dryly; "but I mus'inqui yo' pahdon, sah. Monsieur le Juge Favart de Caumartin ees to mewell acquainted. I wemark to you, sah, zat zare ees not any mistake."
> "Oh certainly, sir; I beg a thousand pardons!" exclaimed Coleman,pulling himself together and seeing his breach of etiquette. "Of courseyou were right; but I was so surprised to see the Judge looking soyoung. I had supposed he was an aged man. I am astonished."
"Oh, Monsieur le Juge ees not so young--not so varee--hees hair not muchgray." While they were still discussing this matter the carriage stoppedin front of a square, heavy-looking house, which, painted a dull red andprojecting its upper gallery over the _banquette_, flung out on eitherside a heavy brick wall on whose top was a jagged dressing of brokenbottles and jags. It looked more like a convent than like anapartment-house.
Hepworth Coleman found his suit of rooms admirable in every respect,large, airy, luxuriously furnished. His creole conductor parted with himat the door without giving his name or address and without anyexplanation whatever of his connection with the matter of securing theseelegant apartments or with making his arrival easy and pleasant.
Some silent and obsequious negro servants were at hand to do hisbidding; but he soon dismissed them; while he flung himself upon a sofaand lit his pipe. Altogether incomprehensible to him were thesuggestions of secrecy and mystery connected with his reception;scarcely less so was the youthful, nay, boyish appearance of JudgeFavart de Caumartin.
As if the mysterious atmosphere meant to continue growing denser, it waswhile he lay along the luxuriant scarlet sofa, smoking, resting, andmeditating, that a beautiful girl came and stood for a moment in thedoorway of his chamber. She blushed sweetly at sight of him, recoiledviolently, and then slipped swiftly away, leaving behind her a rustle offine stuff, a sparkle of rare jewels, and a lingering bouquet of violetsand roses.
Coleman felt the delicious shock of her magnetic beauty thrill throughhim. A sort of shimmering outline of her body wavered or appeared towaver in the door after she had gone, so dazzling had been the effect ofher fresh, pure, flower-like, yet intensely human, beauty. He heard herfeet tap swiftly and lightly along the hall. Involuntarily and withunpardonable curiosity he sprang up and, hurrying to the door, lookedout, but she was not in sight. For the first time in his life, he felthis heart beating unnaturally.
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