A Little Girl in Old St. Louis

“There is not much to do for the people who stay here in the winter, though New Orleans is twice as gay. So they have the balls. There are four queens, pretty young girls, and they each choose a king and open the ball with him. Then they dance. But the old people and a good many of the children go as well. And there is dancing and jollity and a feast of good things to eat, and much laughing and jesting and falling in love, with the marrying at Easter. Next year we will go.”

“I will keep my chain to wear then.” She put it back in the box. “And when I am well I will go down and thank grandfather.”

“Yes, yes, that will be the right thing to do. I will take you.”

Then they were silent awhile. “Tell me some of the stories you know,” she entreated.

“I have told you so many.”

“But you can think of one more,” in her coaxing tone. “Away up in the north and the endless fields of snow, and where does it end?”

“At the North Pole, I believe.”

“And what is that?” eagerly.

“We will have to ask Dr. Montcrevier. I have never been farther than Hudson’s Bay.”

“But people can’t live in such endless cold!”

“I think not. Only polar bears and the white and silver fox, and they come down in the winter. And then there are islands hundreds of miles away below us, where it is always summer.”

“What a queer world!” She smiled absently as if she could hardly take it in. “Have you been there?”

“Only to New Orleans. Some day we will go there, too.”

“Oh, how much there is to do. Yes, one must live a long while to do it all,” and a thoughtful expression deepened her eyes.

“And you are tired, little one. You must go to bed.”

It was strange to get so tired. She had been tired many times on the long journey from Canada, but not like this. She was very glad she had not died, however, though she had no very clear idea about death, except that it meant going to another world. Uncle Gaspard was here, and that was one reason why she wanted to stay.

Presently she began to go about and take pleasure in having the children come in and tell her about their sports. The life was so simple, the main thing seemed to be the good times. No one troubled about education and there were no “higher branches” to vex one’s soul. There was much less dissipation here than in New Orleans or even Detroit, where people from other towns were continually mingling.

One day Uncle Gaspard took her out on his sledge. She had never dreamed of anything so splendid. Great fields of snowy white, as far as the eye could see, dotted here and there with a cluster of wigwam poles and brown skins stretched on the outside for warmth. A little blue-gray smoke curled lazily upward, and then the bluest sky over it all. The air was exhilarating and brought a color to her pale cheeks, and made her eyes glow like stars.

Then spring came. The white blanket melted away, the evergreens and spruces scented the air with their new growth; the little streams rushed hither and thither as if they were joyfully carolling, birds sang and built everywhere. Children were out for wild flowers, and raced around like deers. Some days the old mound was alive with them, then they were down to Chouteau’s pond. The boys and often some girls went up the river in canoes. There was the old rock of Fort St. Louis with its story of a hundred years agone, of how La Salle had built a fort and planted an Indian colony, that, when its leader had gone, dwindled and went back to its native tribes. How there had been a fierce quarrel between the Illinois and the Outgamies, and the Illinois had fled to the top of the rock and stayed there until starvation stared them in the face and French intervention came to their assistance.

Then business opened and Gaspard Denys found his hands full. His wide acquaintance with the hunters and his dealings with the Indians brought him in a great deal of trade. There was a continual loading and unloading of boats, the levee was thronged. Denys had to take in a clerk, and his evenings were devoted to straightening accounts and preparing for the next day, and it seemed to Renée as if he was always busy now, with no time for stories.

Easter brought a gay festival and several weddings. The young voyageurs were warmly welcomed home and there was always a feast or a ball given in their honor. When the houses were too small, they went out and danced on the green. Marriages seemed an especially social affair. The families on both sides made the agreement and were mutually pleased. It was seldom a young couple disregarded the respect universally paid to parents, and though there was much pioneer life there was a kind of elegance and refinement among the women with all their vivacious gayety. The admixture of Spanish blood was no bad element.

One of the young traders had brought home with him a beautiful Indian wife, lawfully wedded by one of the mission priests. These mixed marriages were not in much favor with the French. Now and then a trapper brought in one and stayed a few months, but she nearly always preferred to share his hunting expeditions. Still, there were some comfortably settled, whose families years afterward were very proud of their Indian descent.

François Marchand found an old friend in Gaspard Denys. It does not take a decade to cement a friendship made over camp-fires and days filled with adventures and dangers. They had not met in two years, and the youth, who seemed but a stripling to Gaspard then, was now a fine young fellow, his slim figure filled out, his thin face rounded with certain lines of energy, determination, and good health. His clear blue eyes were resolute and undaunted; his chestnut hair was cropped close, which made him less of an object for an Indian’s scalping knife.

“How the town has grown!” he exclaimed with great earnestness. New St. Louis would have laughed at the idea that twenty or thirty families could add much importance. But there had been a few new houses built, sundry additions made to older ones where families had increased. Colonel Chouteau was beautifying the house and grounds where his lamented chief and dear friend had lived. The government house had been repaired, though the new occupant seemed much more indifferent than his people, and cared very little for the interest of the town in general.

“We shall have a fine place by and by,” returned Denys. “True, New Orleans has the mouth of the great river, but if no boats come down, what then? And we are the half-way house, the north and the south both need us. If it were not for these troublesome restrictions on trade, and the fear of the British.”

“France, it seems, has sided with the colonies, and Spain has given them a certain sympathy,” returned Marchand. “You hear a good deal of talk up north. The fur dealers of New Amsterdam are quite sure the colonies will win in the end, though by my faith it doesn’t look very promising now,” and he gave a doubtful laugh.

“Almost five years of losing and winning! Well, they are plucky not to be discouraged. But what troubles me a little are the English over there!” nodding to the eastward. “If some fine day they descend upon us – well, we shall be wiped out, that is all about it! The government at New Orleans does not seem to care, and sends us this drunken, insolent fellow for commandant, who is as set in his own ways as a mule.”

“The English will be kept busy enough on the eastern coast defending their ports and trying to capture the cities. Faith! it is a great and glorious country, and I hardly know which has the best, the east or the west. If some day the way is cleared to the Pacific coast, and then, presto! India!”

India was still a dream of the advancement of commerce. The western empire was to turn more than one brain.

Denys studied the young face in the glow of youthful enthusiasm.

“Marchand, you should have been a soldier,” he said.

“Well, which side shall I take?” mockingly. “I am French. Those cursed English have driven us out of Canada. Thank Heaven we have left some graves of heroes there. But I wonder what Louis le Grand could have been thinking of to allow himself to be despoiled of such a magnificent estate! And here we were all turned over to Spain without even a chance to fight for our homes in the New World,” and Marchand gave a strong, scornful laugh. “There are still the Indians left.”

“We have kept good friends with them so far.”

“But the British can stir them up easily. Rum and firearms may do the mischief. Still, it is true that some day I may have to fight for my life, or something I hold dearer than life.”

“Are you going back north?”

Marchand shook his head. He was sitting on a pile of skins leaning against the wall, picturesque in his voyageur’s attire, which was highly ornamented with Indian work. Now and then in the intervals of talk he blew out a volume of smoke from his pipe, or made rings in the air when he took it from his mouth. There was something jaunty and light-hearted about him in spite of the resolute eyes.

“Nay,” with a shake of the head, “I have cut myself out of that. I like the life, too. Denys, were you ever very much in love? But no, that is a foolish question, for you are the sort of man to fight for the one who roused your soul. And so many pretty girls are here in St. Louis!”

“Yes, I heard you had married,” evading the half inquiry.

“I want you to see her, my beautiful Indian prize. Though I suspect there is a strain of French blood back of her mother, who was brought somewhere from Canada. And when her father was killed at one of those dreadful massacres up on the strait (her mother had died before), she and her brother were adopted in one branch of the Huron tribe. Her brother married a chief’s daughter. I saw her first more than a year ago, in the winter. She was only a child, not as forward as most Indian maids. And last winter we met again, and yes, fell in love with each other. The squaw who had been like a mother to her consented. But straightway there was trouble. Her brother had chosen a brave for her, a fellow noted for his fighting propensities and his love of drink. It was surmised that he was buying her. She shrank from him with horror. He had had two wives already, and rumor said he had beaten one to death. I was ready to leave with my men and pack, and she came to me in terror and despair. She would have killed herself, I know, before she could have gone to such a brute. We loved each other, and the old woman Nasauka pitied us, and had a strong liking for me. So it was arranged. I was to start with my people, leaving her behind. When the train was several days under way I was to remain at a given point where Nasauka was to meet me with the girl, and then return to ward suspicion from the right track. I only hope the poor woman did not suffer for her kindly sympathy for us. We made our way along without any alarm. At a mission station a priest married us. And now we are safe here and doubtless unsuspected. But I shall not expose myself to any dangers, at least for several years to come. There are other trails to work on. Or we may go farther south.”

“Quite a romantic story, Marchand. The saints be praised that you rescued her from such a life, though I think she would have chosen death rather. I have known of several instances. Yes, it will be safer not to visit the old hunting ground, even if the brave solaces himself with a new wife.”

“And now you must see her. I know there is a little prejudice, and,” with a cynical sort of smile, “if I had a sister I should not let her marry an Indian if I had to shut her up in a convent. But there are many charming Indian girls and kindly hearted squaws, true as steel, who will suffer anything rather than betray. Strange, too, when you find so much deceit and falseness and cruelty among the men.”

“The women take all the virtues, perhaps. Yes, I shall be glad to welcome you. To-morrow you will bring her to dine with us. Meanwhile, you have found a home?”

“With the Garreaus. Pierre did the same thing, you know, and is happy enough with his two pretty children. Ah, when you see my beautiful wife you will not wonder that I went mad for her,” laughing with a kind of gay triumph.

Ah, if he had been brave enough at twenty to fly with Renée Freneau! But would she have dared an unblessed marriage? And then neither dreamed of such a result from the journey to Canada.

“I shall not blame you,” Gaspard answered gravely. “And if you want a staunch friend, here he is,” springing up and holding out his hand.

“A thousand thanks, Gaspard Denys. I wanted to tell you my story. It is not for every one, only the fact that I have loved and married her. And now it grows late. Good-night.”

They clasped hands again cordially. Denys shut his shop door and went through to the other room. Mère Lunde was telling over some beads. Renée sat in the chimney corner, but the fire was out long ago.

“Why did you let that man talk so long to you?” with pretty imperiousness. “And I grew very sleepy. But I wanted to say good-night.”

“He had much to relate, a story you will like to hear sometime. And he is coming to-morrow to bring a pretty Indian wife that he found up by the Strait of Michilimackinac. That is a long name, is it not?”

“And is the strait long – as long as to the end of the millpond?”