CHAPTER IV
THE FIRST MAYOR OF VINCENNES
Governor Abbott probably never so much as heard of the dame jeanne ofFrench brandy sent to him by his creole friend in New Orleans. He hadbeen gone from Vincennes several months when the batteau arrived,having been recalled to Detroit by the British authorities; and henever returned. Meantime the little post with its quaint cabins and itsdilapidated block-house, called Fort Sackville, lay sunning drowsily bythe river in a blissful state of helplessness from the military pointof view. There was no garrison; the two or three pieces of artillery,abandoned and exposed, gathered rust and cobwebs, while the pickets ofthe stockade, decaying and loosened in the ground by winter freezes andsummer rains, leaned in all directions, a picture of decay andinefficiency.
The inhabitants of the town, numbering about six hundred, lived verymuch as pleased them, without any regular municipal government, eachfamily its own tribe, each man a law unto himself; yet for mutualprotection, they all kept in touch and had certain common rights whichwere religiously respected and defended faithfully. A large pasturingground was fenced in where the goats and little black cows of thevillagers browsed as one herd, while the patches of wheat, corn andvegetables were not inclosed at all. A few of the thriftier and moreimportant citizens, however, had separate estates of some magnitude,surrounding their residences, kept up with care and, if the time andplace be taken into account, with considerable show of taste.
Monsieur Gaspard Roussillon was looked upon as the aristocrat parexcellence of Vincennes, notwithstanding the fact that his name bore nosuggestion of noble or titled ancestry. He was rich and in a measureeducated; moreover the successful man's patent of leadership, acommanding figure and a suave manner, came always to his assistancewhen a crisis presented itself. He traded shrewdly, much to his ownprofit, but invariably with the excellent result that the man, white orIndian, with whom he did business felt himself especially favored inthe transaction. By the exercise of firmness, prudence, vastassumption, florid eloquence and a kindly liberality he had greatlyendeared himself to the people; so that in the absence of a militarycommander he came naturally to be regarded as the chief of the town,Mo'sieu' le maire.
He returned from his extended trading expedition about the middle ofJuly, bringing, as was his invariable rule, a gift for Alice. This timeit was a small, thin disc of white flint, with a hole in the centerthrough which a beaded cord of sinew was looped. The edge of the discwas beautifully notched and the whole surface polished so that it shonelike glass, while the beads, made of very small segments of porcupinequills, were variously dyed, making a curiously gaudy show of brightcolors.
"There now, ma cherie, is something worth fifty times its weight ingold," said M. Roussillon when he presented the necklace to his fosterdaughter with pardonable self-satisfaction. "It is a sacredcharm-string given me by an old heathen who would sell his soul for apint of cheap rum. He solemnly informed me that whoever wore it couldnot by any possibility be killed by an enemy."
Alice kissed M. Roussillon.
"It's so curious and beautiful," she said, holding it up and drawingthe variegated string through her fingers. Then, with her mischievouslaugh, she added; "and I'm glad it is so powerful against one's enemy;I'll wear it whenever I go where Adrienne Bourcier is, see if I don't!"
"Is she your enemy? What's up between you and la petite Adrienne, eh?"M. Roussillon lightly demanded. "You were always the best of goodfriends, I thought. What's happened?"
"Oh, we are good friends," said Alice, quickly, "very good friends,indeed; I was but chaffing."
"Good friends, but enemies; that's how it is with women. Who's theyoung man that's caused the coolness? I could guess, maybe!" He laughedand winked knowingly. "May I be so bold as to name him at a venture?"
"Yes, if you'll be sure to mention Monsieur Rene de Ronville," shegayly answered. "Who but he could work Adrienne up into a perfect greenmist of jealousy?"
"He would need an accomplice, I should imagine; a young lady of somebeauty and a good deal of heartlessness."
"Like whom, for example?" and she tossed her bright head. "Not me, I amsure."
"Poh! like every pretty maiden in the whole world, ma petite coquette;they're all alike as peas, cruel as blue jays and as sweet asapple-blossoms." He stroked her hair clumsily with his large hand, as aheavy and roughly fond man is apt to do, adding in an almost serioustone:
"But my little girl is better than most of them, not a foolishmischief-maker, I hope."
Alice was putting her head through the string of beads and letting thetranslucent white disc fall into her bosom.
"It's time to change the subject," she said; "tell me what you haveseen while away. I wish I could go far off and see things. Have youbeen to Detroit, Quebec, Montreal?"
"Yes, I've been to all, a long, hard journey, but reasonablyprofitable. You shall have a goodly dot when you get married, my child."
"And did you attend any parties and balls?" she inquired quickly,ignoring his concluding remark. "Tell me about them. How do the fineladies dress, and do they wear their hair high with great big combs? Dothey have long skirts and--"
"Hold up, you double-tongued chatterbox!" he interrupted; "I can'tanswer forty questions at once. Yes, I danced till my legs ached withwomen old and girls young; but how could I remember how they weredressed and what their style of coiffure was? I know that silk rustledand there was a perfume of eau de Cologne and mignonette and my heartexpanded and blazed while I whirled like a top with a sweet lady in myarms."
"Yes, you must have cut a ravishing figure!" interpolated MadameRoussillon with emphatic disapproval, her eyes snapping. "A bull in alace shop. How delighted the ladies must have been!"
"Never saw such blushing faces and burning glances--such flutteringbreasts, such--"
"Big braggart," Madame Roussillon broke in contemptuously, "it's apiastre to a sou that you stood gawping in through a window whilegentlemen and ladies did the dancing. I can imagine how you looked--Ican!" and with this she took her prodigious bulk at a waddling gait outof the room. "I remember how you danced even when you were not clumsyas a pig on ice!" she shrieked back over her shoulder.
"Parbleu! true enough, my dear," he called after her, "I should thinkyou could--you mind how we used trip it together. You were theprettiest dancer them all, and the young fellows all went to the swordsabout you!"
"But tell me more," Alice insisted; "I want to know about what you sawin the great towns--in the fine houses--how the ladies looked, how theyacted--what they said--the dresses they wore--how--"
"Ciel! you will split my ears, child; can't you fill my pipe and bringit to me with a coal on it? Then I'll try to tell you what I can," hecried, assuming a humorously resigned air. "Perhaps if I smoke I canremember everything."
Alice gladly ran to do what he asked. Meantime Jean was out on thegallery blowing a flute that M. Roussillon had brought him from Quebec.
The pipe well filled and lighted apparently did have the effect tosteady and encourage M. Roussillon's memory; or if not his memory, thenhis imagination, which was of that fervid and liberal sort common tonatives of the Midi, and which has been exquisitely depicted by thelate Alphonse Daudet in Tartarin and Bompard. He leaned far back in astrong chair, with his massive legs stretched at full length, and gazedat the roof-poles while he talked.
He sympathized fully, in his crude way, with Alice's lively curiosity,and his affection for her made him anxious to appease her longing afternews from the great outside world. If the sheer truth must come out,however, he knew precious little about that world, especially thepolite part of it in which thrived those femininities so dear to theheart of an isolated and imaginative girl. Still, as he, too, lived inArcadia, there was no great effort involved when he undertook to blow adreamer's flute.
In the first place he had not been in Quebec or Montreal during hisabsence from home. Most of the time he had spent disposing of pelts andfurs at Detroit and in extending his trading relations with otherposts;
but what mattered a trifling want of facts when his meridionalfancy once began to warm up? A smattering of social knowledge gained atfirst hand in his youthful days in France while he was a student whoseparents fondly expected him to conquer the world, came to his aid, andbesides he had saturated himself all his life with poetry and romance.Scudery, Scarron, Prevost, Madame La Fayette and Calprenede were thechief sources of his information touching the life and manners, moralsand gayeties of people who, as he supposed, stirred the surface of thatresplendent and far-off ocean called society. Nothing suited him betterthan to smoke a pipe and talk about what he had seen and done; and theless he had really seen and done the more he had to tell.
His broad, almost over-virile, kindly and contented face beamed withthe warmth of wholly imaginary recollections while he recounted withminute circumstantiality to the delighted Alice his gallant adventuresin the crowded and brilliant ball-rooms of the French-Canadian towns.The rolling burr of his bass voice, deep and resonant, gave force tothe improvised descriptions.
Madame Roussillon heard the heavy booming and presently came softlyback into the door from the kitchen to listen. She leaned against thefacing in an attitude of ponderous attention, a hand, on her bulginghip. She could not suppress her unbounded admiration of her liegelord's manly physique, and jealous to fierceness as she was of hisexperiences so eloquently and picturesquely related, her woman's naturetook fire with enjoyment of the scenes described.
This is the mission of the poet and the romancer--to sponge out ofexistence, for a time, the stiff, refractory, and unlovely realitiesand give in their place a scene of ideal mobility and charm. The twowomen reveled in Gaspard Roussillon's revelations. They saw thebrilliant companies, the luxurious surroundings, heard the rustle ofbrocade and the fine flutter of laces, the hum of sweet voices,breathed in the wafts of costly perfumeries, looked on while thedancers whirled and flickered in the confusion of lights; and over alland through all poured and vibrated such ravishing music as only thesouthern imagination could have conjured up out of nothing.
Alice was absolutely charmed. She sat on a low wooden stool and gazedinto Gaspard Roussillon's face with dilating eyes in which burned thatrich and radiant something we call a passionate soul. She drank in hisflamboyant stream of words with a thirst which nothing but experiencecould ever quench. He felt her silent applause and the admiringinvoluntary absorption that possessed his wife; the consciousness ofhis elementary magnetism augmented the flow of his fine descriptions,and he went on and on, until the arrival of Father Beret put an end toit all.
The priest, hearing of M. Roussillon's return, had come to inquireabout some friends living at Detroit. He took luncheon with the family,enjoying the downright refreshing collation of broiled birds, onions,meal-cakes and claret, ending with a dish of blackberries and cream.
M. Roussillon seized the first opportunity to resume his successfulromancing, and presently in the midst of the meal began to tell FatherBeret about what he had seen in Quebec.
"By the way," he said, with expansive casualness in his voice, "Icalled upon your old-time friend and co-adjutor, Father Sebastien,while up there. A noble old man. He sent you a thousand good messages.Was mightily delighted when I told him how happy and hale you havealways been here. Ah, you should have seen his dear old eyes full ofloving tears. He would walk a hundred miles to see you, he said, butnever expected to in this world. Blessings, blessings upon dear FatherBeret, was what he murmured in my ear when we were parting. He saysthat he will never leave Quebec until he goes to his home above--ah!"
The way in which M. Roussillon closed his little speech, his large eyesupturned, his huge hands clasped in front of him, was very effective.
"I am under many obligations, my son," said Father Beret, "for what youtell me. It was good of you to remember my dear old friend and go tohim for his loving messages to me. I am very, very thankful. Help me toanother drop of wine, please."
Now the extraordinary feature of the situation was that Father Berethad known positively for nearly five years that Father Sebastien wasdead and buried.
"Ah, yes," M. Roussillon continued, pouring the claret with one handand making a pious gesture with the other; "the dear old man loves youand prays for you; his voice quavers whenever he speaks of you."
"Doubtless he made his old joke to you about the birth-mark on myshoulder," said Father Beret after a moment of apparently thoughtfulsilence. "He may have said something about it in a playful way, eh?"
"True, true, why yes, he surely mentioned the same," assented M.Roussillon, his face assuming an expression of confused memory; "it wassomething sly and humorous, I mind; but it just escapes myrecollection. A right jolly old boy is Father Sebastien; indeed veryamusing at times."
"At times, yes," said Father Beret, who had no birth-mark on hisshoulder, and had never had one there, or on any other part of hisperson.
"How strange!" Alice remarked, "I, too, have a mark on my shoulder--apink spot, just like a small, five-petaled flower. We must be of kin toeach other, Father Beret."
The priest laughed.
"If our marks are alike, that would be some evidence of kinship," hesaid.
"But what shape is yours, Father?"
"I've never seen it," he responded.
"Never seen it! Why?"
"Well, it's absolutely invisible," and he chuckled heartily, meantimeglancing shrewdly at M. Roussillon out of the tail of his eye.
"It's on the back part of his shoulder," quickly spoke up M.Roussillon, "and you know priests never use looking-glasses. The markis quite invisible therefore, so far as Father Beret is concerned!"
"You never told me of your birth-mark before, my daughter," said FatherBeret, turning to Alice with sudden interest. "It may some day be goodfortune to you."
"Why so, Father?"
"If your family name is really Tarleton, as you suppose from theinscription on your locket, the birth-mark, being of such singularshape, would probably identify you. It is said that these marks runregularly in families. With the miniature and the distinguishingbirth-mark you have enough to make a strong case should you once findthe right Tarleton family."
"You talk as they write in novels," said Alice. "I've read about justsuch things in them. Wouldn't it be grand if I should turn out to besome great personage in disguise!"
The mention of novels reminded Father Beret of that terrible book,Manon Lescaut, which he last saw in Alice's possession, and he couldnot refrain from mentioning it in a voice that shuddered.
"Rest easy, Father Beret," said Alice; "that is one novel I have foundwholly distasteful to me. I tried to read it, but could not do it, Iflung it aside in utter disgust. You and mother Roussillon are welcometo hide it deep as a well, for all I care. I don't enjoy reading aboutlow, vile people and hopeless unfortunates; I like sweet and lovelyheroines and strong, high-souled, brave heroes."
"Read about the blessed saints, then, my daughter; you will find inthem the true heroes and heroines of this world," said Father Beret.
M. Roussillon changed the subject, for he always somehow dreaded tohave the good priest fall into the strain of argument he was about tobegin. A stray sheep, no matter how refractory, feels a touch oflonging when it hears the shepherd's voice. M. Roussillon was aCatholic, but a straying one, who avoided the confessional and oftenforgot mass. Still, with all his reckless independence, and with allhis outward show of large and breezy self-sufficiency, he was notaltogether free from the hold that the church had laid upon him inchildhood and youth. Moreover, he was fond of Father Beret and had donea great deal for the little church of St. Xavier and the mission itrepresented; but he distinctly desired to be let alone while he pursuedhis own course; and he had promised the dying woman who gave Alice tohim that the child should be left as she was, a Protestant, withoutundue influence to change her from the faith of her parents. Thispromise he had kept with stubborn persistence and he meant to keep itas long as he lived. Perhaps the very fact that his innermostconscience smote him with vague yet
telling blows at times for thisdeparture from the strict religion of his fathers, may have intensifiedhis resistance of the influence constantly exerted upon Alice by FatherBeret and Madame Roussillon, to bring her gently but surely to thechurch. Perverseness is a force to be reckoned with in all originalcharacters.
A few weeks had passed after M. Roussillon's return, when thatbig-hearted man took it into his head to celebrate his successfultrading ventures with a moonlight dance given without reserve to allthe inhabitants of Vincennes. It was certainly a democratic functionthat he contemplated, and motley to a most picturesque extent.
Rene de Ronville called upon Alice a day or two previous to theoccasion and duly engaged her as his partenaire; but she insisted uponhaving the engagement guarded in her behalf by a condition so obviouslyfanciful that he accepted it without argument.
"If my wandering knight should arrive during the dance, you promise tostand aside and give place to him," she stipulated. "You promise that?You see I'm expecting him all the time. I dreamed last night that hecame on a great bay horse and, stooping, whirled me up behind thesaddle, and away we went!"
There was a childish, half bantering air in her look; but her voicesounded earnest and serious, notwithstanding its delicious timbre ofsuppressed playfulness.
"You promise me?" she insisted.
"Oh, I promise to slink away into a corner and chew my thumb, themoment he comes," Rene eagerly assented. "Of course I'm taking a greatrisk, I know; for lords and barons and knights are very apt to appearSuddenly in a place like this."
"You may banter and make light if you want to," she said, poutingadmirably. "I don't care. All the same the laugh will jump to the othercorner of your mouth, see if it doesn't. They say that what a persondreams about and wishes for and waits for and believes in, will cometrue sooner or later."
"If that's so," said Rene, "you and I will get married; for I'vedreamed it every night of the year, wished for it, waited for it andbelieved in it, and--"
It was a madly sudden rush. He made it on an impulse quiteirresistible, as hypnotized persons are said to do in response to thesuggestion of the hypnotist, and his heart was choking his throatbefore he could end his speech. Alice interrupted him with a heartyburst of laughter.
"A very pretty twist you give to my words, I must declare," she said;"but not new by any means. Little Adrienne Bourcier could tell youthat. She says that you have vowed to her over and over that you dreamabout her, and wish for her, and wait for her, precisely as you havejust said to me."
Rene's brown face flushed to the temples, partly with anger, partlywith the shock of mingled surprise and fear. He was guilty, and theguilt showed in his eyes and paralyzed his tongue, so that he sat therebefore Alice with his under jaw sagging ludicrously.
"Don't you rather think, Monsieur Rene de Ronville," she presentlyadded in a calmly advisory tone, "that you had better quit trying tosay such foolish things to me, and just be my very good friend? If youdon't, I do, which comes to the same thing. What's more, I won't beyour partenaire at the dance unless you promise me on your word ofhonor that you will dance two dances with Adrienne to every one thatyou have with me. Do you promise?"
He dared not oppose her outwardly, although in his heart resistanceamounted to furious revolt and riot.
"I promise anything you ask me to," he said resignedly, almostsullenly; "anything for you."
"Well, I ask nothing whatever on my own account," Alice quicklyreplied; "but I do tell you firmly that you shall not maltreat littleAdrienne Bourcier and remain a friend of mine. She loves you, Rene deRonville, and you have told her that you love her. If you are a manworthy of respect you will not desert her. Don't you think I am right?"
Like a singed and crippled moth vainly trying to rise once again to thealluring yet deadly flame, Rene de Ronville essayed to break out of hisembarrassment and resume equal footing with the girl so suddenly becomehis commanding superior; but the effort disclosed to him as well as toher that he had fallen to rise no more. In his abject defeat heaccepted the terms dictated by Alice and was glad when she adroitlychanged her manner and tone in going on to discuss the approachingdance.
"Now let me make one request of you," he demanded after a while. "It'sa small favor; may I ask it?"
"Yes, but I don't grant it in advance."
"I want you to wear, for my sake, the buff gown which they say was yourgrandmother's."
"No, I won't wear it."
"But why, Alice?"
"None of the other girls have anything like such a dress; it would notbe right for me to put it on and make them all feel that I had takenthe advantage of them, just because I could; that's why."
"But then none of them is beautiful and educated like you," he said;"you'll outshine them anyway."
"Save your compliments for poor pretty little Adrienne," she firmlyresponded, "I positively do not wish to hear them. I have agreed to beyour partenaire at this dance of Papa Roussillon's, but it isunderstood between us that Adrienne is your sweet-heart. I am not, andI'm not going to be, either. So for your sake and Adrienne's, as wellas out of consideration for the rest of the girls who have no finedresses, I am not going to wear the buff brocade gown that belonged toPapa Roussillon's mother long ago. I shall dress just as the rest do."
It is safe to say that Rene de Ronville went home with a troublesomebee in his bonnet. He was not a bad-hearted fellow. Many a right goodyoung man, before him and since, has loved an Adrienne and been dazzledby an Alice. A violet is sweet, but a rose is the garden's queen. Thepoor youthful frontiersman ought to have been stronger; but he was not,and what have we to say?
As for Alice, since having a confidential talk with Adrienne Bourcierrecently, she had come to realize what M. Roussillon meant when hesaid; "But my little girl is better than most of them, not a foolishmischief-maker, I hope." She saw through the situation with a quickunderstanding of what Adrienne might suffer should Rene provepermanently fickle. The thought of it aroused all her natural honestyand serious nobleness of character, which lay deep under the almosthoydenish levity usually observable in her manner. Crude as her senseof life's larger significance was, and meager as had been herexperience in the things which count for most in the sum of a younggirl's existence under fair circumstances, she grasped intuitively thegist of it all.
The dance did not come off; it had to be postponed indefinitely onaccount of a grave change in the political relations of the littlepost. A day or two before the time set for that function a rumor ranthrough the town that something of importance was about to happen.Father Gibault, at the head of a small party, had arrived fromKaskaskia, far away on the Mississippi, with the news that France andthe American Colonies had made common cause against the English in thegreat war of which the people of Vincennes neither knew the cause norcared a straw about the outcome.
It was Oncle Jazon who came to the Roussillon place to tell M.Roussillon that he was wanted at the river house. Alice met him at thedoor.
"Come in, Oncle Jazon," she cheerily said, "you are getting to be astranger at our house lately. Come in; what news do you bring? Take offyour cap and rest your hair, Oncle Jazon."
The scalpless old fighter chuckled raucously and bowed to the best ofhis ability. He not only took off his queer cap, but looked into itwith a startled gaze, as if he expected something infinitely dangerousto jump out and seize his nose.
"A thousand thanks, Ma'm'selle," he presently said, "will ye pleasetell Mo'sieu' Roussillon that I would wish to see 'im?"
"Yes, Oncle Jazon; but first be seated, and let me offer you just adrop of eau de vie; some that Papa Roussillon brought back with himfrom Quebec. He says it's old and fine."
She poured him a full glass, then setting the bottle on a little stand,went to find M. Roussillon. While she was absent Oncle Jazon improvedhis opportunity to the fullest extent. At least three additionalglasses of the brandy went the way of the first. He grinned atrociouslyand smacked his corrugated lips; but when Gaspard Roussillon came in,the old man wa
s sitting at some distance from the bottle and glassgazing indifferently out across the veranda. He told his story curtly.Father Gibault, he said, had sent him to ask M. Roussillon to come tothe river house, as he had news of great importance to communicate.
"Ah, well, Oncle Jazon, we'll have a nip of brandy together before wego," said the host.
"Why, yes, jes' one agin' the broilin' weather," assented Oncle Jazon;"I don't mind jes' one."
"A very rich friend of mine in Quebec gave me this brandy, OncleJazon," said M. Roussillon, pouring the liquor with a grand flourish;"and I thought of you as soon as I got it. Now, says I to myself, ifany man knows good brandy when he tastes it, it's Oncle Jazon, and I'llgive him a good chance at this bottle just the first of all my friends."
"It surely is delicious," said Oncle Jazon, "very delicious." He spokeFrench with a curious accent, having spent long years withEnglish-speaking frontiersmen in the Carolinas and Kentucky, so thattheir lingo had become his own.
As they walked side by side down the way to the river house they lookedlike typical extremes of rough, sun-burned and weather-tanned manhood;Oncle Jazon a wizened, diminutive scrap, wrinkled and odd in everyrespect; Gaspard Roussillon towering six feet two, wide shouldered,massive, lumbering, muscular, a giant with long curling hair and asuperb beard. They did not know that they were going down to helpdedicate the great Northwest to freedom.
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