"The man with one eyebrow," said the neighbors, "is sick. Pauline left the house yesterday to make room for him."
"Ah! is it possible?"
"Yes, it is really true; she and her husband. She took her mocking-bird with her; he carried it; he came back alone."
On the next afternoon the children about the Cafe des Refugies enjoyed the spectacle of the invalid Cuban moved on a trestle to the Cafe des Exiles, although he did not look so deathly sick as they could have liked to see him, and on the fourth morning the doors of the Cafe des Exiles remained closed. A black-bordered funeral notice, veiled with c.r.a.pe, announced that the great Caller-home of exiles had served his summons upon Don Pedro Hernandez (surname borrowed for the occasion), and Don Carlos Mendez y Benito.
The hour for the funeral was fixed at four P.M. It never took place.
Down at the Picayune Tier on the river bank there was, about two o"clock that same day, a slight commotion, and those who stood aimlessly about a small, neat schooner, said she was "seized." At four there suddenly appeared before the Cafe des Exiles a squad of men with silver crescents on their b.r.e.a.s.t.s--police officers. The old cottage sat silent with closed doors, the c.r.a.pe hanging heavily over the funeral notice like a widow"s veil, the little unseen garden sending up odors from its hidden censers, and the old weeping-willow bending over all.
"n.o.body here?" asks the leader.
The crowd which has gathered stares without answering.
As quietly and peaceably as possible the officers pry open the door.
They enter, and the crowd pushes in after. There are the two coffins, looking very heavy and solid, lying in state but unguarded.
The crowd draws a breath of astonishment. "Are they going to wrench the tops off with hatchet and chisel?"
Bap, rap, rap; wrench, rap, wrench. Ah! the cases come open.
"Well kept?" asks the leader flippantly.
"Oh, yes," is the reply. And then all laugh.
One of the lookers-on pushes up and gets a glimpse within.
"What is it?" ask the other idlers.
He tells one quietly.
"What did he say?" ask the rest, one of another.
"He says they are not dead men, but new muskets"--
"Here, clear out!" cries an officer, and the loiterers fall back and by and by straggle off.
The exiles? What became of them, do you ask? Why, nothing; they were not troubled, but they never all came together again. Said a chief-of-police to Major Shaughnessy years afterward:
"Major, there was only one thing that kept your expedition from succeeding--you were too sly about it. Had you come out flat and said what you were doing, we"d never a-said a word to you. But that little fellow gave us the wink, and then we had to stop you."
And was no one punished? Alas! one was. Poor, pretty, curly-headed traitorous Mazaro! He was drawn out of Carondelet Ca.n.a.l--cold, dead! And when his wounds were counted--they were just the number of the Cafe des Exiles" children, less Galahad. But the mother--that is, the old cafe--did not see it; she had gone up the night before in a chariot of fire.
In the files of the old "Picayune" and "Price-Current" of 1837 may be seen the mention of Galahad Shaughnessy among the merchants--"our enterprising and accomplished fellow-townsman," and all that. But old M.
D"Hemecourt"s name is cut in marble, and his citizenship is in "a city whose maker and builder is G.o.d."
Only yesterday I dined with the Shaughnessys--fine old couple and handsome. Their children sat about them and entertained me most pleasantly. But there isn"t one can tell a tale as their father can--"twas he told me this one, though here and there my enthusiasm may have taken liberties. He knows the history of every old house in the French Quarter; or, if he happens not to know a true one, he can make one up as he goes along.
BELLES DEMOISELLES PLANTATION.
The original grantee was Count----, a.s.sume the name to be De Charleu; the old Creoles never forgive a public mention. He was the French king"s commissary. One day, called to France to explain the lucky accident of the commissariat having burned down with his account-books inside, he left his wife, a Choctaw Comptesse, behind.
Arrived at court, his excuses were accepted, and that tract granted him where afterwards stood Belles Demoiselles Plantation. A man cannot remember every thing! In a fit of forgetfulness he married a French gentlewoman, rich and beautiful, and "brought her out." However, "All"s well that ends well;" a famine had been in the colony, and the Choctaw Comptesse had starved, leaving nought but a half-caste orphan family lurking on the edge of the settlement, bearing our French gentlewoman"s own new name, and being mentioned in Monsieur"s will.
And the new Comptesse--she tarried but a twelvemonth, left Monsieur a lovely son, and departed, led out of this vain world by the swamp-fever.
From this son sprang the proud Creole family of De Charleu. It rose straight up, up, up, generation after generation, tall, branchless, slender, palm-like; and finally, in the time of which I am to tell, flowered with all the rare beauty of a century-plant, in Artemise, Innocente, Felicite, the twins Marie and Martha, Leontine and little Septima; the seven beautiful daughters for whom their home had been fitly named Belles Demoiselles.
The Count"s grant had once been a long Pointe, round which the Mississippi used to whirl, and seethe, and foam, that it was horrid to behold. Big whirlpools would open and wheel about in the savage eddies under the low bank, and close up again, and others open, and spin, and disappear. Great circles of muddy surface would boil up from hundreds of feet below, and gloss over, and seem to float away,--sink, come back again under water, and with only a soft hiss surge up again, and again drift off, and vanish. Every few minutes the loamy bank would tip down a great load of earth upon its besieger, and fall back a foot,--sometimes a yard,--and the writhing river would press after, until at last the Pointe was quite swallowed up, and the great river glided by in a majestic curve, and asked no more; the bank stood fast, the "caving"
became a forgotten misfortune, and the diminished grant was a long, sweeping, willowy bend, rustling with miles of sugar-cane.
Coming up the Mississippi in the sailing craft of those early days, about the time one first could descry the white spires of the old St.
Louis Cathedral, you would be pretty sure to spy, just over to your right under the levee, Belles Demoiselles Mansion, with its broad veranda and red painted cypress roof, peering over the embankment, like a bird in the nest, half hid by the avenue of willows which one of the departed De Charleus,--he that married a Marot,--had planted on the levee"s crown.
The house stood unusually near the river, facing eastward, and standing four-square, with an immense veranda about its sides, and a flight of steps in front spreading broadly downward, as we open arms to a child.
From the veranda nine miles of river were seen; and in their compa.s.s, near at hand, the shady garden full of rare and beautiful flowers; farther away broad fields of cane and rice, and the distant quarters of the slaves, and on the horizon everywhere a dark belt of cypress forest.
The master was old Colonel De Charleu,--Jean Albert Henri Joseph De Charleu-Marot, and "Colonel" by the grace of the first American governor. Monsieur,--he would not speak to any one who called him "Colonel,"--was a h.o.a.ry-headed patriarch. His step was firm, his form erect, his intellect strong and clear, his countenance cla.s.sic, serene, dignified, commanding, his manners courtly, his voice musical, --fascinating. He had had his vices,--all his life; but had borne them, as his race do, with a serenity of conscience and a cleanness of mouth that left no outward blemish on the surface of the gentleman. He had gambled in Royal Street, drunk hard in Orleans Street, run his adversary through in the duelling-ground at Slaughter-house Point, and danced and quarrelled at the St. Philippe-street-theatre quadroon b.a.l.l.s. Even now, with all his courtesy and bounty, and a hospitality which seemed to be entertaining angels, he was bitter-proud and penurious, and deep down in his hard-finished heart loved nothing but himself, his name, and his motherless children. But these!--their ravishing beauty was all but excuse enough for the unbounded idolatry of their father. Against these seven G.o.ddesses he never rebelled. Had they even required him to defraud old De Carlos--
I can hardly say.
Old De Carlos was his extremely distant relative on the Choctaw side.
With this single exception, the narrow thread-like line of descent from the Indian wife, diminished to a mere strand by injudicious alliances, and deaths in the gutters of old New Orleans, was extinct. The name, by Spanish contact, had become De Carlos; but this one surviving bearer of it was known to all, and known only, as Injin Charlie.
One thing I never knew a Creole to do. He will not utterly go back on the ties of blood, no matter what sort of knots those ties may be. For one reason, he is never ashamed of his or his father"s sins; and for another,--he will tell you--he is "all heart!"
So the different heirs of the De Charleu estate had always strictly regarded the rights and interests of the De Carloses, especially their ownership of a block of dilapidated buildings in a part of the city, which had once been very poor property, but was beginning to be valuable. This block had much more than maintained the last De Carlos through a long and lazy lifetime, and, as his household consisted only of himself, and an aged and crippled negress, the inference was irresistible that he "had money." Old Charlie, though by _alias_ an "Injin," was plainly a dark white man, about as old as Colonel De Charleu, sunk in the bliss of deep ignorance, shrewd, deaf, and, by repute at least, unmerciful.
The Colonel and he always conversed in English. This rare accomplishment, which the former had learned from his Scotch wife,--the latter from up-river traders,--they found an admirable medium of communication, answering, better than French could, a similar purpose to that of the stick which we fasten to the bit of one horse and breast-gear of another, whereby each keeps his distance. Once in a while, too, by way of jest, English found its way among the ladies of Belles Demoiselles, always signifying that their sire was about to have business with old Charlie.
Now a long-standing wish to buy out Charlie troubled the Colonel. He had no desire to oust him unfairly; he was proud of being always fair; yet he did long to engross the whole estate under one t.i.tle. Out of his luxurious idleness he had conceived this desire, and thought little of so slight an obstacle as being already somewhat in debt to old Charlie for money borrowed, and for which Belles Demoiselles was, of course, good, ten times over. Lots, buildings, rents, all, might as well be his, he thought, to give, keep, or destroy. "Had he but the old man"s heritage. Ah! he might bring that into existence which his _belles demoiselles_ had been begging for, "since many years;" a home,--and such a home,--in the gay city. Here he should tear down this row of cottages, and make his garden wall; there that long rope-walk should give place to vine-covered ardors; the bakery yonder should make way for a costly conservatory; that wine warehouse should come down, and the mansion go up. It should be the finest in the State. Men should never pa.s.s it, but they should say--"the palace of the De Charleus; a family of grand descent, a people of elegance and bounty, a line as old as France, a fine old man, and seven daughters as beautiful as happy; whoever dare attempt to marry there must leave his own name behind him!"
"The house should be of stones fitly set, brought down in ships from the land of "les Yankees," and it should have an airy belvedere, with a gilded image tiptoeing and shining on its peak, and from it you should see, far across the gleaming folds of the river, the red roof of Belles Demoiselles, the country-seat. At the big stone gate there should be a porter"s lodge, and it should be a privilege even to see the ground."
Truly they were a family fine enough, and fancy-free enough to have fine wishes, yet happy enough where they were, to have had no wish but to live there always.
To those, who, by whatever fortune, wandered into the garden of Belles Demoiselles some summer afternoon as the sky was reddening towards evening, it was lovely to see the family gathered out upon the tiled pavement at the foot of the broad front steps, gayly chatting and jesting, with that ripple of laughter that comes so pleasingly from a bevy of girls. The father would be found seated in their midst, the centre of attention and compliment, witness, arbiter, umpire, critic, by his beautiful children"s unanimous appointment, but the single va.s.sal, too, of seven absolute sovereigns.
Now they would draw their chairs near together in eager discussion of some new step in the dance, or the adjustment of some rich adornment.
Now they would start about him with excited comments to see the eldest fix a bunch of violets in his b.u.t.ton-hole. Now the twins would move down a walk after some unusual flower, and be greeted on their return with the high pitched notes of delighted feminine surprise.
As evening came on they would draw more quietly about their paternal centre. Often their chairs were forsaken, and they grouped themselves on the lower steps, one above another, and surrendered themselves to the tender influences of the approaching night. At such an hour the pa.s.ser on the river, already attracted by the dark figures of the broad-roofed mansion, and its woody garden standing against the glowing sunset, would hear the voices of the hidden group rise from the spot in the soft harmonies of an evening song; swelling clearer and clearer as the thrill of music warmed them into feeling, and presently joined by the deeper tones of the father"s voice; then, as the daylight pa.s.sed quite away, all would be still, and he would know that the beautiful home had gathered its nestlings under its wings.
And yet, for mere vagary, it pleased them not to be pleased.