CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY GIFT OF J . P . Kinney PS 3515.A969L7"""™"' '""'"^ Light and shade 'round gulf and bayou. 3 1924 022 464 907 The original of tliis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http ://www. arch i ve . o rg/detai Is/cu31 924022464907 THE ANGEL WITH THE FLAMING SWORD From the Painting By Edwin H. Blashfield LIGHT and SHADE 'ROUND GULF and BAYOU By CORINNE HAY Illustrated Boston: The' Roxburgh Publishing Company Inc. \X' Copyrighted 1921 By Corinne Hay Bights reeerred CONTENTS The Flaming Sword 7 Henrique Japquard IQZ On James Creek 120 Lone Grave Bluff 155 Easier Lilies 172 Tl\e Unwelcoipe Tenant. 185 Alciphron 199 PREFACE The Flaming Sword written primarily for the purpose of entering a Mystery Story Con- test but not completed in time for the entry; is only a portraiture of old New Orleans — The bells of the old Cathedral (built by Baroness Catalpa, who erected it in memory of her father, a Spaniard who amassed a fortune in silver mines) announce at sunset that every day at this hour, (and this has been for nearly three hundred years,) masses have been, and are still being said for the repose of his soul. The listener realizes that here is mortal effort to link the past, present and impenetrable fu- ture. So — the writer in this story hopes the reader to catch the spirit of the past, and, in listening to the rhymtic pulsing of the Congo dance, as the tatoo is made on the skuUdrum of the Voodoo priest, to picture in thought the singular cult that though confined in practice to the ignorant and lowly yet wove Preface 5 a malign influence over the lives of the great and cultured, who ignored its existence. The Crescent City, is quaint, marvellous and exotic. The old world is strangely en- twined with the new. The Latin race and its characteristics have tinged the atmosphere of the place, and Afric superstitions and weird rites are also potentialities. Author "Deal gently with us; ye wrhd read! Our largest hope is unfulfilled; The promise still outruns the deed; The tower, but not the spire we build. Our whitest pearl we never find, Our ripest fruit we never reach; The flowering moments of the mind Lose half their petals in our speech." Holmes. THE FLAMINiS SWt)RD "We need be strong: Yon spectalce of cloud Which seals the gate up to the final ddom. Is God's seal manifest. There seem to lie A hundred thunders in it, dark and dead; And, outward from its depth, the self moved sword Swings slow its awfill gnoitioh of red fire." A Drama of Exile. In the last upper gallery of the Art Building df the Cdluinbian Exhibition, there was hung a famous picture fentitled "The Angel with thfe Flaming Sword." That paiiiting recalled the history and characters abbut whom I will speak. From that painting's title I selett the words used as the head line of this chapter. The guardian angel of the closed gates df Edeii Was represented bn that canvas. A Wonderful delineation of an artistic fantasy. The figure was of superb proportions; beau- tiful bilt stern featured. The SWord of flattie 8 The Flaming Sword held within its elasped hands reflected back its glow on the youthful but unrelenting coun- tenance. The eyes were blue. The robe also azure. The great wings of the heavenly ideal were of the blue shading common to the peacock's plumage. The canvas fascinated me; and I sat rapt in admiration of the work in its detail, and at the same time confronted with the deep lesson the artist sought to impart. Did our wrong-doing close to us our Eden? and was our attempted entrance there, (after our souls with sin and evil were sated,) to be cofronted only with the vision of unre- lenting retribution.'' I gazed for hours on the cold unloving eyes; beautiful! but oh! how terrible! Their unresponsive gaze laid chill upon me. Yet the artist had not made them soulless. Duty those orbs expressed, they were only faithful to a charge imposed by a Supreme Master. They dared not look into the expressiveness of human appeal. For them it was only to gaze on the flame of STREET VIEW, NEW ORLEANS Light and Shade 9 justice, entrusted to the keeping of their hands. Huitian tears they never beheld; human atiguish, or heart throbs never pene- trated beyond the fiery circle of eternal dis- pleasure. As thus I sat and mused, admiring the beautiful creation, yet repelled by the fearful idea conveyed, the scriptural wdrds blazed finally Oh the canvas as if responsive to my intensity of gaze. "He placed at the east of the garden of Eden, Cherubim and a flaming sword!" I stand up hastily, I rub rriy eyes, and while I still see the remarkable creation of the gifted artist, there is wanting on canVas such inscription. But strong emotions Con- trol me and remembrance depicts to unerring mental vision, a sword, — a flaming sword; — dnd I recall a strange history, into which I played a part. Sit down with me, and as memory sketches the scenes; I will recount to you the mystery of the flaming sword. 4: :{; 4: 4= 4= A two-story ranibling mansion with a slop- 10 The Flaming Sword ing roof of Spanish tiling. Bricic walls crumb- ling around a neglected garden. Shivering green banners of the banana trees flutter on the breeze, and magnolias and orange flowers waft a sweet heavy perfume above the unscalable walls, and the iron grateway that guards the entrance way of the lower story structure in theFrench quarter of New Orleans. "And over all there hung a cloud of fear A sense of mystery the spirit daunted. That said as plain as whisper in the ear, The place is haunted." Children playing on the banquette, (side- walk) peer sometimes curiously into the dark dismal passage through the rusting bars of that gate. Tourists were pointed the resi- dence as a fit representation of the old high toned home of a past generation. There, strangers studied for a long while its grim queer doorway. Artists (among these myself,) sketched its its quaint exterior. Occasionally old negroes i g ft ■*- < § 1 1 "2 "s -S ° IS o ■^£| ■3 SS ^ to ^ 83 ?S E a ii 14 The Flaming Sword unloading vessels and palatial steamers. The embarcation and arrivals of hundreds of in- dividuals. The freight of every clime and kingdom being rushed hither and thither in wild commotion. Yet, there amid all this bustle, this life, this traffic, stood an old gaunt negress with a brilliantly turbaned head oblivious to all save her own terrible emotions. (Such they must have been), for there, she remained gesticulating in the twilight shadows. Sometimes reminding one of a towering curse evoking Nemesis, again she tottered down- ward as if impersonating the spiteful hateful Fate — ^Atropos. Even after the sketch was in, I found sleep impossible. Restless curiosity kept my brain too active for repose. I arose unrefreshed the following morning. Was fully attired ere the attendant of my boarding house brought me my cafe noir. With a feverish eagneress that was a surprise to myself I hastily snatched up the morning paper. The first page held startling head lines. Light and Shade IS "A STRANGE MURDER." "Captain Henrique Jacquard Found Dead in The Old Home. His death recalls the mysterious curse of Mille Dufour. He was the last male descendant of that name. The family homestead de- serted for eighteen years becomes the tomb of the last member of the house Jacquard." There followed in column after column all the history of the Jacquard household as the various men of the family had figured in the business world of New Orlenas. The reporter gave a personal description of the murdered man, his attire, when last seen, the position of the body when found, the strange weapon used, (an old Spanish sword,) and lastly claimed, that no clue to the murderer was in the hands of the police save an elaborate Moorish head- dress of scarlet and yellow, found on the ground. I perused it very closely, nay, reread it, as it tallied with the appearance of the man I saw under such strange circumstances the 16 The Plaining Sword previous day. I left the house and hurried to the scene of the singular crime. So great was my interest that I attempted to press my way into the throng that surged without on tlie street and pavenients around the old house. But the guardians of the law had taken charge there, and barred out any entrance of inquisi- tive eyes over its threshold. I returned home and turned over all my sketches of character life as I had recorded them in this interesting southern city. Among them I had drawn a hindoo head. I had simply copied this man's head dress in some of my rambles. Its bright tints and multitudinous folds had caught my fancy. Deeming it picturesque I simply outlined its folds with care and dashed in the man's face from recollection. How vividely the words "found on the grounds a Moorish headdress," was recalled by this accidentally caught sketch. Then, I, reflected my Hindoos turban was not Moorish and laid it down thinking perhaps Light and Shade 17 my ima^ation would lead me into strange phantasies. "Murder most foul, as in the best it is; But the most foul, strange and unnatural." Besides, I reflected, what to rngf was this dark murder, or why cared I for its perpetra- tor? Still so great was my interest that I attended the inquest, and heard the examinations of all witnesses possible of arraignment. First they gathered up all the facts of his last movements from his comrades or fellow offic- ers on his vessel, They declared that they last saw Captain Jacquard talking business mat- ters with some merchant of the city. They did mention their stoppage on the wharf by the ©Id ex-slave Babette. They attached but little importance to the incident. They knew at former returns of their vessel, the woman always paid their Captain, {the youngest son of her old master,) a visit o(f affection. Henrique Jacquard never forgot 18 The Flaming Sword to bring some gift to his former nurse and black foster mother. They knew love existed between the two. They remembered nothing of the interview save the greeting exchanged which contained on neither side any particular significance. They vaguely recollected the old female's evident agitation and desire to see her master alone, and taking hint had left them for un- interrupted conversation. Yet Captain Jac- quard was in a hurry to transact important business they knew and lingered scarcely three minutes listening to Babette. The merchant gave his business and colloquy with the Captain; and all his movements were followed up to the hour of one o'clock. A. M., where he had dined at a banquet given at a well known French club house. He had left there a sober, prosperous, hearty man. His cabman when found; said that that Captain Jacquard at first on seating himself, gave his hotel as the objective desti- nation but latterly ordered him to drive to Light and Shade 19 the street on which the old home stood and where the next morning blood stains in the old hallway and out on the pavement lead the police to enter. They found the old gate unlocked and the hansdome man laugh- ing with French zest at a stag banquet a few hours previous, stiff and cold in death. Babette was then placed on the stand. But manifested so greatly the infirmities of age (palsy and deafness) that she was soon dismissed as being an incapable witness. I dared not appear with the testimony of my fragmentary conversation as I overheard it, because my knowledge of the French language was too practically imperfect to present myself as reliable authority. My landlady's son, an intelligent French lad of fourteen, had much of the evidence of the in- quest to interpret to me. The police presented the sword and turban as they found them after the discovery of the body. When the sword was introduced in the court room, two Frenchmen, who it 20 The Flaming Sword iranspired had beto occupants of the hotrse desired to be heard as witnesses. The head dress was not Moorish, it was Indian, of thin fdbrics, and caught in the same intricate folds that I had sketched on my Hindoo as I had sefen him at various times oft th6 streets of New Orleans. I was silent; and yet that Hindoo face was often seen by me in the throngs of Canal Street, * * * ^ * * * Latourd, a former tenant of the fatal house gave his experiences in this form. "In the year of i8 — . I came into that wretchied dwelling. We occupied the upper chambers as bed rooms. The first week we Were constantly awakened by a sound re- sembling the rushing of wings. We some- times deemed it bats who concealed themelves when the lamps were lighted. At times however we heard this noise in the daytime or when light was making everything distinct- ly visible within the room. At such times it Li^ht and Shade 21 would seetii withini the walls. W6 dfteri heard in addition to these distinct rdppings. These sounds generally were only ktidible wheri we were about the pintry, dining room or kitcKen. Unless we visiied these places during thfe night our sleeping hdurs were not distured. One iiight we were awakened Hy a: great crash and fill in the diiiihg rodnl and the ringing of a. great diniiet bell that rested on a table in that room. As we entered this dining hall, the former bakquet room of the Jacquard,s a sudden rush of passing wings blew out bur lighted lanips: My wife, ser- vant, and myself, beheld distinctly flashing on the walls of said room a gleaming sword. That sword wis similar in outline and form to thit with which the corpse was presumably killed. On return of lights, which, we carried searchingly about the room, we scanned closely but could find no trace of skid weapon. The dinner bell whose rinjging had brought liis into the hall was on the floor; with broken 22 The Flaming Sword handle, overturned and some distance from the table. It is needless for me to tell your honor that after spending the remainder of that night in terror we were out of the de- tested spot ere the close of the ensuing day. My wife declares the three weeks tenancy of that house added thirty years to her life." The justice appeared bored with this recital save the clause about the sword, and Mon- sieur Latound's good character, gave strength to his otherwise dubious story. He declared there was a marked resemblance between the Naming sword, and the blood stained rust corroded affair exhibited by the police. ******* Then Monsieur Sophie, a shoemaker would also testify about his brief residence in the shunned abode. Monsieur Sophie testimony was about as follows : "We occupied this horrible home two years after Monsieur Latourd departed. My wife sobbed and cried when I decided to occupy the premises. Captain Jacquard (may the Light and Shade 23 saints rest his soul,) (here the witness crossed himself and muttered a prayer,) tendered the premises to me rent free. I had been burnt out in my business. Our home was over the store and shop. Thus the fire des- troyed my trade, my stock, and all my house- hold goods. We were houseless, homeless and in great need. Captain Jacquard gave me some pecuniary assistance and offered me the old mansion as shelter. My wife moved into the place with great repugnance and horror. She said even greater sorrow than the loss of home and fortune awaited us there. I laughed at her fears and thought it was a good offer, for Capt. Jacquard said I could use the ground floor rooms for a shop. I am not a coward your honor, and I thought it would take a very muscular ghost to cause me fright. We heard no noises, nor saw strange ap- pearances. After we had occupied the premises about one week I ventured to laugh at my 24 Th? Flairi,ing Sword wife rfor her g^Qundlgss fears. rNpxt after- noon .my little , daughter, jny darling Fifine, was ta,li;en viole;^tly, j^trangely ill, suddenly in a ffrightfpl coayulsion,— ere .a physician came,T-rshe was dead. jHe critiqally ezamined her little form n^d ntiumbled half to himself, "if .this,we.re in jindia, I ,woiuld sa,y the child ■had been bitten jhy a Cobra de Caj?ellp We, had not allowed the little one to play in ,the large yard ,behind the house. The shrubberies were y.^t dense ,ther,e and we -feared the thprns and brapibles. That night onp of our friencjs who came to visit us in our affliction and who watched duripg th.e night beside ^he corpse of our child, hsid ..occasion to go into the.yast old dining. foom. My wife bad shiinned it and .refused to have it .opened a few hours after .w,e pipved in. This man opened the door and descried there gleaming brilliantly in .t|i!e darkness a. flaming sword. [The discoverer .Q^lled the others an(d three other watchers c^jnea^. ihey ajl^o can give you the details Light and Shade 25 oi its appearance. The next day a large force searched the house and grounds for any reptile that might have set its poisonous rfangs into our only little one. The shruh- ;b^ries were trimmed, and ithinned, but nothing -was 'found 7to solve the mystery. L.arge bats were in the upper chambers and a :few hugh -wood rats jran about an old decaying stable •in ;the yard. The iga-rden^s about the house .was in area ; the entire block. We left the -jd«Yili8h house, sfor -the devil's dwelling it is ■your honor. My wife told me that on the :day we came into the house, she ifound on the floor df the great banquet hall aji imprint pf the cross iniblpod and . what was , evidently remnants .-df the Blessed Sacrament .served on an apparently sacreligious altar erected :at the foot -0f- this sacred symbol; imprinted on the floor. "She -did not tell me , of thjs .atithe time, rfonl, was sore jdistracted by my .■business Josses , and -was • harsh isnd .unfeeling to her previous, entreaties .not to eater the ;curaed roof. 26 The Flaming Sword The Good God has punished me heavily for my brutality to her." I have given these accounts correctly as I condensed them from the evidence. It is needless to state that the Justice of Peace considered much of it ir-relevant and inter- posed frequent objections to the garrulous- ness of these witnesses. But French volu- bility when bestirred by excitement cannot be stemmed even by a minion of the law. Both Latourd and Sophie were unanimous however in characterizing the shape of the flaming sword (that was only visible in surrounding darkness,) as being identical with the peculiar weapon exhibited by the police, and which they withdrew from the body of the murdered man. The turban offered no tangible clue at that time. Some weeks afterward they arrested the Hindoo, but as they could not make a charge, they were forced to release him. He was a man of education and deep learning. A Brahmin. He had once or twice lectured; Light and Shade 27 but New Orleans has not the same religously restless mentality, that is to be found in Wash- ington or Boston. He gathered no clientage about him there, — and after a time fa,ded out of sight. CHAPTER II I attended the funeral celebrated with mass at the Cathedral. Where there gathered it seemed to me the entire French population of the city. I witnessed the entombment of the body in the old family mauseoleum. There made careful record of those named on the repositories of that tomb in the old St. Louis Cemetery. Now within an awaiting vault, they placed another, Henrique Jacquard namesake of the father. There was placed the last male des- cendant of the line. He was unmarried. Opposite the names of Francois and Cammillus I traced these words chiselled in the marble. Words not infrequently found on old French tombs in that ancient "City of the Dead." The words on the Jacquard tablets were "Mort dans Faffaire de Vhonneur." The similar phrases on other repositories were "Mort sur le champ d'honneur," or Victime de I'honneur." Pierre was recorded OQ S o w 2; o Ldght and Shade 29 as having died in 1867 in the service of Maxi- millian L'Empereur de Mexico. The news- papers spoke of the curse of Mille Dufdur as having apparently been fulfilled in the family- history. Two of the sons had been killed in duels. Their iiiscription thus meant they had died in an affair of honor. One was mentioned as having been caught by the Mexicans while acting for Maximillian" as a spy, as such was igriorhiniously shot. Hen- rique had seen thai hii body was transferred to the family viatilt. While Zendbia Cecilia the only daughter of the house, was married while young to an eminent French physician Jrdtn whom she was afterwards divorced. Her jiresent fate or history was how unknown. All this, I gleaned from the daily papers, for the press revelled in the startling items the niysterious murder fiirnished. All Nfew Orleans \vas startled in truth, for Captain Jacquard was considered a noble than -whose friends were legibh, and his enemies unknown to exist. 30 The Flaming Sword I often visited the old cemetery sketching the quaint mauseleoms and the fantastic decorations that subsequently (on All Saint's days) would be placed upon them by loving hands. "The City of the Dead," is the meaning of cemetery. Well, does that phrase fit the grave-yards of New Orleans. The dead there are interred in what might be termed little houses of brick, stone, or marble instead of the usual mounds of soil seen elsewhere. Not long after the enclosure of the mortal remains of Captain Jacquard (in such a marble structure) I saw the old negress Babette hang on the face of the tomb one of those mournful horrors, used by the French, as ornamentation for the graves of their dead. She fastened a large wreath of purple and white beads, which were woven into a brizarre resemblance of the flower, called the immor- telle. She also remained for some time in prayer before the resting place of the Jacquard family. Light and Shade 3 1 There, I determined that whatever mystery shrouded the Captain's death old Babette was innocent of crime, and perhaps, had the vigorous busy man headed her word on that fatal morning, the police, and detective force of New Orleans, would not have for them the still unsolved mystery as to the personality of the being that used that mystic sword. The tragedy was the gossip of the whole city and from my landlady I gained some items of the characteristics of the family, and also what was the often mentioned curse, that the newspapers referred to of Madamoiselle Dufour. The murdered bachelor was regarded as a honorable upright sailor and gentleman. Popu- lar among the upper circles of the French quarter. Resembling very closely his father, (the old families said,) who was the most polished and noble of the old regime. The mother was a Spanish woman, beautiful, but commonly reared. Monsieur Jacquard ele- vated her social position by his marriage with her. It was her great personal charm 32 The Haming Sword that secured for her s6 polished and elegant & husband. While Madame prized her position too highly td throw it away by downright wickedness and folly, her careless ideas of social obligation^, her avarice, injustice to her slaves, and low tastes, often wounded her refilled husband. After the first glattlour of her youthful fascinations was over, therfe Were cfoiitehtibhS, and storms. Particularly aft'er he once found that Bocifety was some- ■wrhat ignoring her, and gossip Was bandying her name aboil't in a slighting manner. It was caused by her mad irifatudtion for cards ^nd greed for ^ain. She had scorned the usual French gaihes of chance, Ramps, Biziqufe, Picquet and Maroc, they had not sufficed her zeal for more exciting amusfement, nor had the trivial stakes used, satisfied her avaric^. She had introduced aihoiig her guests the Aihericah gam6 of poker, which she manipu- lated to her gredt profit, evil tohgufes feuggfes- ted. Her husband demailded this discontihued. Light artd Shade 33 ahd was influential enough to regain for his wife her former social prestige. Her children she reared to become im- pferious, unreasonable, and exacting. The daughter suffered less than the sons from this disastrous training. Zenobia was placed in a convent at an early age^ and when. she was at home Madame was willing that the father should enjoy and manage the little daughter. Her fair face gave Madame little concern, as she felt sure that it would make an advan- tageous marriage. For her sons she was madly ambitious. They were handsome, bril- liant young men, and the subjects of their mother's Vi^ild idolatry. It has been said that if their maternal guidance had been less unscrupulous their whole futures perhaps would have been differeilt. The first born and oldest son was Francois. He became the suitor of Madamoiselle Du- four, a Creole of fine blood ahd great wealth. Her parents looked with favor on Monsieur Francois Jacquard, but the young girl while 34 The Flaming Sword deferential to their wishes, seemed to be impressed with the attentions of another, — Monsiur Moliere. Between the two she appeared to waver. Both were young Frenchmen of good families, but it can scarcely be said equal wealth. Moilere was poor. Francois Jacquard was wealthy, handsome, and brilliant. Mille Du- four was a well reared French girl; her filial ideas were strong and devotional, nor was she entirely impervious to Francois' many fascinations. Reared however as they had been from childhood together she well knew his passionate nature. Perhaps recollection of some childish incidents had shown her his Spanish charac- teristics of cruelty and jealousy. Still she was a dutiful daughter. On finding her in- decision was causing public comment, she finally gave the promise of her hand to Moliere. Her parents while disappointed agreed to settle a large "dot" or dower upon her. It was the gossip of all the French portion Ldght and Shade 35 of New Orleans that Madame Jacquard screamed with anger when Francois, or rumor, made known to her his rejection. This mother was incensed beyond reason that one could choose another, when her Francois was to be considered. Then Madamoiselle Dufour's "dot" was so great! Oh! it was maddening! "Thou Shalt kill him! kill him! kill him!" Francois," she shrieked. "Then, shall her gaze rest only on thy eyes, (my own black eyes,) thy mother's eyes, for thou hast these my boy." "Thou must secure what thou wouldst have for thyself my son." "Remember also the motto of our house, "Tenacious of my purpose, I conquer." "Heed thy adoring mother my brave son." Back of the sixties dueling was not uncom- mon throughout the southern states. I men- tioned the frequency of that inscription "Mort dans I'affaire de' L' honneur, in St. Louis cemetery. The old duelling grounds of New Orleans 36 The PlaMng Sword once known as "The Oaks," is now a park oil a road near Mettaire Cemetery. Right here it may not be uninteresting to quote the views of Henry W. Allen a former Gover- nor of Louisiana on the subject of duelling. It is iii all justice to his memory to call him a Representative Man of the South at his age and time. "The very flower of civilization is a re- fined and delicate sense of honor. The love of law and order are very worthy and becom- ing to all men, but the love of a fair and spot- less fame is an immeasurably higher feeling. He who gavfe life and the love of life to all, has given this high pride of character, and this keen sense of honor to some; and to these it is a stronger feeling than the love of life. Will you hold them guilty in the sight of Him, when they risk and sacrifice life for honor? "How far beyond all price is reputation!" How futile are the fines and penalties of the lawmaker against the crime which would tob mfen and their sisters of this invaluable Ligfii and Shade 37; possession! What mountain of gold can pay for tarnished honor! The duel is but an incident to the Code of Honor. If, after a careful arbitration of friends formed into a Court of Honor, the grievance in question cannot be otherwise adjusted a meeting must result, I can certify from personal experiencie that a far more respectful and courteous demeanor 'marks the intercourse of men in a country where the Code is recognized than in those where it is wholly ignored." These are random selections from a lengthy defence of the Code. May all such sophists recall a vision of Mount Sinai. Where amid the lightning's lurid gleams — alone ■yyith an Infinite God. — an ajiji,cient law giver was com- manded to lyrite on tablets pf stone "Thpif shalt not ki|l!" I have quoteci GoY^rni?? Allen to, prove l;o, you tl^a^t my story d,e4ls vyith facts not T^ith fiction., ^yei^d it may be, but tjiere breathes throughout it al^r— real life, real traits, and rea,l incideiijts. Go once into that city of "Eiie]?,Yille.'s" ^eai;t 38 The Flaming Sword that unique flower garden fanned by the breeze, of the Gulf of Mexico, with its exuberant life, it's terrible plagues, it's strange visions of joy and sorrow and it will impress you that I bring you not a mystical fable. To return to the history of the Jacquard household. So hatred grew between the two young men, and at last occasion was found to make that insult of remark, or deed, that would call for a challenge from Moliere to Francois Jacquard. The use of the foils was a part of every young Frenchman's education. Both of the rivals were expert fencers. Of course the duel was witnessed only by the seconds of the principals. All the city rang with the outcome of theirs. Moliere fell first, — by a foul thrust some claimed from Jacquard's rapier. Whatever was the reason the sight so enraged one of the seconds that he sprang into his friend; Moliere's paces. Francois Jacquard fell as an atonement for Moliere's foully shed blood. Light and Shade 39 Their funerals excited all the community at the time. Madamoiselle Dufour meeting the wretched mother of Francois on the church steps, (such is the tradition) cursed the Jac- quard household unto the third generation. "For the male descendants there should be ignoble deaths, — for the daughter dishonor, — "May", she declaimed, a flaming sword, ever flash in thy dining hall where thou hast feasted.' "May the walls of thy home become shunned by all honest men! May sunlight cease to shine there', and laughter never more be heard within its halls."! Here my landlady a devout catholic, crossed herself and was silent. But I entreated her to go on. What of Cammillus and Pierre?" I interjected. She continued: * that duel made factions among the French youth of the city. It involved Cammillus and Pierre in deadly animosities. Many quarrels grew out of the affair. The old story of Capulets and Mon- tagues was retold for years in the family feud. 40 The Flaming Sword Cammillus fell in some future duel that grew out of his brother's disaster. Pierre was also principal in a coffee house brawl that could be traced to the old time enmity. He was somewhat under a cloud, and left the city to ally himself to Mazimillian. He was unfortunately more zealous than cautious and was captured and shot in the Mexican camp. For the sons of the Jacquard household there has indeed been ignominy in their deaths. For that of Captain Henriques can hardly be deemed worthy so fine a man. The murder was not for robbery, as his money and jewelry were found upon him. Mere Jacquard lived long after the death of her three sons and her husband. She is said to have drunken wine in excess in her later years. Her sorrows were indeed great. For Zenobias, her only daughter deserted a noble gentlemen to whom she was married. The servants say that Madame Jacquard saw a i o ^ O P O H a i o o Light and Shade 41 indeed a flaming sword in iier dining room as before her last illness, she shrieked one day and cried out "it is there!" pointing upward to the wall. "What was the fate of Mada- moiselle Dufour?" I queried." "She is the inmate of an asylum for the insane," said my landlady. "Dangerous?" I ask. "Yes," was replied — "Perhaps," — I start, but I never finish the sentence; there is an interruption to our conversation. I linger some months in the place, but nothing transpires to clear up the cause of Captain Jacquard's foul murder. I make an elaborate painting in water color of the old mansion, and term it "The House of the Flaming Sword." Truly the poor fond mother of that house" hold who led her eldest son into crime, never in after life found the paradise of a peaceful soul. Happiness, which is our earthly Eden was guarded ever from her or her children's entrance by a flaming sword. 42 The Flaming Sword Her impetous sword pierced mother's heart must often have cried out, "Still, what's your hurt to mine of doing hurt, Of hating, tempting, and so ruining? This sword's hilt is the sharpest, and cuts through The hand that wields it." CHAPTER III. "Mortal man and woman, Go upon your travel! Heaven assist the human Smoothly to unravel All that web of pain." Drama of Exile An artist, and consequently much of a Bohemian, I cast my life lines in many places, both in the new world and the old. Wearying after a time of my native land, the desire to paint again the ruins and won- ders of sunny Italy took possession of my soul. After leaving New Orleans I sailed for Rome. There I entered zealously upon my work. Great annoyance at times was created for me by the persistency of American visitors intruding upon my studio during working hours. Among some such a crowd there came ohe day a Madame Vinot of New Or- leans who was travelling in Europe accom- 44 The Flaming Sword panied by a Madamoiselle Fouard. A fair beautiful being. Reminding one of the bud of the magnolia; white waxen, and as yet ap- parently soulless, save for a dim spiritual revealment in her slight smile. "She smiled; then one could see arise Her soul from far adorn her eyes, Prepared as if for sacrifice.'' Her great grey eyes looked into one's own with the frank unresponsiveness of a patient animal. Her convent education had taught her naught of coquetry. Her clear white com- plexion rarely colored with blushes. Never was flushed with embarassment. Her mother died when she was three years of age Madame (Vinot explained,) and her father deep in his professional cares, and having no near kinswoman to whom he could entrust her charge had placed her under the good nun's guidance. But when he beheld her at eighteen upon her graduation day, he Light and Shade 45 realized that the child had "become a woman. Already she naively talked, of the day when she would take the veil and become of the sisterhood — "a bride of Christs' ". \ Some compunctions of conscience then stirred his breast, for fear he had been unkind to his offspring. At all events it was unfair to any life, to close within certain confines its existence. She should see the world without, she must be free to choose. He did not like to think of the superb young form shrouded in the death like pall of blackness that constitutes the dress of a nun. The magnificent coils of brown hair shorn from the head, and even its tints, concealed by the coif and vail of the convent. Still it seems he had never evidenced any great affection for the young girl. All her wants he had liberally supplied, and he had requested the good sisters to be very kind, nay indulgent to the motherless one. On learning of Madame Vinot's proposed tour in Europe he confided to her his daughter. 46 The Flaming Sword He demanded of her to see that Madamoiselle Fouard enjoyed all the gayeties, all the dis- tractions, that could come into the life of a young lady wealthy and beautiful. But the sisters did well their shaping of the youthful soul. Madamoiselle piesented to the sights and sounds of this new and ever varying existence a quiet impassiveness. She preferred to steal away to cathedral aisles, or to remain for hours with clasped hands and sweetly patient eyes that told of an immobility of temperament that was both the alarm and despair of Madame Vinot. "We will return to New Orleans and find for her a husband" said this anxious chaperone one day. Then, as if on second thought; "but if she loves not liberty she will not be persuaded." I was casting my eyes about on fair faces for a countenance that would realize an ideal of Iphigenie. I wished to depict this martyred maiden at the sacrificial altar. I desired this painting to be the crowning effort of my life. Ldght and Shade 47 I had deemed that the maiden who sub- mitted so blindly, so uncomplainingly to the parental will, must be one whose youth as yet had not awakened to the sweet joys of womanhood. In the rare spirituality of Madamoiselle's countenance I beheld that ideal I would preserve on canvas. "Sublime significance of mouth, Dilated nostril full of youth, And forehead royal with the truth." Timidly I asked Madame Vinot would the young lady and herself consent to my depict- ing "her youth and beauty in a painting I would create of Iphigenie?" "Oh! yes," Madame replied since "Fidele likes nothing so well as to sit very still." Yet the hours of those sittings wearied very much Madame Vinot who accompanied my charming model. Fidele however posed with the unwearied steadiness of an auto- moton. The classic greek draperies revealed a figure of firm and full proportions. Her 48 The Flaming Sword regular features, her heavy crown of hair, her pure unwavering eyes were all fitting for this idealization of martrydom I was rapidly conveying in breathing tints on the canvas. "For she was holy pale, and high, As one who saw an ecstasy Beyond a foretold agony." My Studio was one of the many apart- ments of what had been a ducal palace. Now rented in numerous suites to temporary resi- dents of the "Eternal City." Accidentally one day my studio door came ajar, and the great, now nearly completed picture, faced the public hallway. I was not surprised one day to see a lady standing in deep and fixed admiration of this creation on my easel. I had deemed the work my masterpiece, and watched quietly the effect of my painting upon this unknown visitor. I was not pre- pared for the strangely contorted face that was intently staring on the youthful counte- Light and Shade 49 nance of the pictured Iphigenia. The feature5 were twitching in nervous alarm, and great tears were welling from the eyes. Unwillingly I stood immovable. I had all the artistic vanity, but I had not dreamed my hands would line an ideality that could so strongly stir emotions of the human heart. At last the lady moved. On turning, her eyes met mine. She gave no start at my presence, her quivering lips only whispered in broken Italian. "Was it a living model who posed for you?" "Was it an Italian.' was it a professional?" "No Madame," I replied, "it is a young lady of fine breeding; aureole of New Orleans. A madamoiselle. Fouard, wholier guardians permit me to paint as she likes to remain still, and I think they hoped even to rouse vanity in her sweet breast, which apparently as yet has not been touched by this very general feminine weakness." I do not think my last sentences were heard, for at the name Foimra, the lady so The Flaming Sword tottered forward, and as she endeavored to steady and sustain herself, she fell full length upon my studio floor. On her recovery, she made no explanations. I tendered her sympathy; and assured her of my confidence. That never in future time would I mention her agitation; and requested her if she so willed it to visit the picture as often as she desired. She accepted this last invitation with eagerness. She wished to know "would the original of that picture come again.?" I replied "perhaps," but now Madamoiselle's patience was no longer to be taxed. It is needless for me to state that after that time Madame Descard; (for so she gave her name), and I became good friends. She occupied apartments on the floor above niine own. She was only a mis- tress of the wardrobe in one of the large theatres. She was however an embroideress of rare skill, and did much of that elaborate work on this peculiar costuming. Light and Shade 5 1 I She frequently came to view the painting and betrayed great curiosity (which she en- deavored to repress) about the original. One day while she was in my studio Madam- oiselle Foila'rd entered. Accompanied not only by Madame Vinot, but also attended by a handsome young Italian gentleman whose fine face I had once noticed among the papal guards. As for Madamoiselle she fluttered about the room with all the prettiness of exuberant youth, and her large eyes that had once looked on life with the gaze of an startled fawn, were now allmost black with the in- tensity of her gayety and merriment. The butterfly had emerged from the chrysalis. She greeted myself with a delightful coma- radire of manner, very different from her previous bearing of sweet reserve. "Fidele would show Signer Velati her por- trait," explained Madame Vinot. "My very much idealized portrait," replied the Mada- moiselle. Poor Madame Descardi made a pretext 52 The Flaming Sword of mending a rent in the embroideries of one of my portieres while these two were contem- plating the picture. Her hands trembled visiblq> while so engaged, and I witnessed her furtive glances at the young lady. This lovely girl was irrepressible that morning. Like a darting humming bird she fluttered about the room disclosing the various paint- ings and ornamentations of my studio. Amid her many stirring movements she acciden- tally ensnared and tore her fluffy gown. "Oh! she cried with a pathetic grimao "what shall I do with my damaged toilet! I then presented Madame Descardi whos fingers repaired the injury deftly, but whos eyes used their every opportunity to sea Mamselle's sweet countenance. Nay, she a most seemed to devour her fleeting expression with a hungry gaze, that must have bee the appeal of a famished soul. When the wrecked muslin was duly mended, Mada- moiselle's gratitude was prettily expressed. Liight and Shade 53 Thinking perhaps she was some seamstress employed by myself, she timidly murmured "Can I lepay the service?" "Yes" said Madame Descardi in a broken choked voice, "if Mamselle will bestow on me one kiss I shall be richly repaid." The maiden did not seem to think the re- quest a strange one. With her eighteen years, there was much about her of the de- lightful frankness of an unspoiled chi'd. As if, she realized the passionate longing of the othvr's sad heart from whom came this singu- lar request, she threw both arms about the strange woman's neck, and gave each cheek the kiss of a grateful sympathetic girl. In some way the whole scene was intensely pathetic. The sad faced auburn haired woman whose great beautiful eyes expressed untold regret and sorrow contrasted strangely with the splendid Junoesque girl. Whose youth- ful face usually sweetly grave, seemed this morning to have suddenly developed into 54 The Flaming Sword all the magical grace and loveliness of a ten- der womanhood. After that occasion, I seldom saw my two visitors. Madame Descardi hovered over my painting as if she fain would call the Grecian daughter into life. I sometimes left her alone. Before the picture represen- tation she often knelt as a suppliant, adoring, a sainted shrine. I disclosed to her one day my sketch of "The House of the Flaming Sword." A deep pallor overspread her cheek. A husky whisper demands — "Why has Mon- sieur sketched the old decayed mansion.'"' I tell her that the old house pleased be- cause of its ancient architecture, and also that it was the scene of a fearful murder. "Whose.?" interrogates the shivering woman. "Henrique Jacquards," I responed. For the second time Madame Descarde lost consciousness. ******* Again I left in deep conjecture as to what relation she bears to the solution of that deep mystery connected with the flaming sword. Light and Shade 55 "Life treads on life, and heart on heart, We press too close in church and mart. To keep a dream or grave apart." My reverie is interrupted by the arrival of my mail. Among my letters I find one from a little Creole girl of New Orleans. Jean Paul has said "I love God and little children," another philosopher says "Who hast not children for friends is an unlovely soul." I have many admirers among the little ones. I open my French maiden's letter with genuine delight. Mon Chere Amie, "I am so happy; so happy that through the whole day I sing. Sing, or think of you. Oh Monsieur, I wish you could have seen me on my first communion sabbath. You know you have often called me your little wife. That day I was dressed all in white, so lovely, so bride like. The good sisters however would not let me curl my long golden hair, as I wore it when you painted me as Titania. It was smooth and plaited closely to my 56 The Flaming Sword head. Yet as I came in the chancel with my lighted taper, a lady in the congregation reached out her arms, enclosed me in them so fast and cried. Oh! so long she cried. I wonder now that my long veil of tulle did not catch fire from my flaming candle. She embraced me so often. Perhaps the Blessed Mother prevented that Monsieur, who knows ? I prayed at that altar that day for you Monsieur with all my other friends. Just as when I gather a very fine orange bon amie I wish you were here, that you might enjoy its sweetness. Yesterday Monsieur I was not quite so gay. I could not be glad at so sad a place. We went far out the city to the Church of Saint Roche. You must remember that nearly all who go there take up their staff and make a pilgrimage thither. Because the good saint for whom the church was named always travelled so. We passed these pil- grims on the road. They were going to make a request of the good saint. St. Roche will St. Roch's Chapel, was erected in 1S71 by Father Thevis, in fulfilment of hia vow made during the yellow fever epidemic of 1866-7, that if none of hia parishoners died he would build, stone by stone, with his own hands, a chapel, in thanksgiving to God; and in honor of St. Roch, who, when alone, with fever in the forest, was miraculously fed by a dog. Many miraculous cures are attributed to pilgrimages here. Here young glrla come to pray for husbands, particularly on Good Friday. Light and Shade 57 grant any prayer. Many maidens go to him to pray for husbands. But Aunt Mar- guerite says, "they will pray more for these husbands when they are married to them than they do now." What does she mean Monsieur? We were not pilgrims yesterday, mon cher amie. We were in a funeral pro- cession. We were following the dead body of a lady whose lover was slain shortly be- fore her wedding day. She became some- thing very terrible after that Monsieur. I do not understand it all, but they say she was locked up after making terrible curses on the family of the man who killed her lover. She was an old woman when I saw her still and cold in the coffin. Yellow skinned, white haired, and oh! with such a cruel smile on her dead lips. Her relatives are friends' of Mamma's Monsieur, and as there was no one to leave me with, they took me to the funeral. She was buried in a tomb at the churchyard of St. Roche's. They gave her a Christian burial. She who for thirty years S 8 The Flaming Sword had never been heard to do aught but mutter curses. She was not in her right mind they say. Could poor Mary Malloy who drowned herself with her own sweet little babe clasped in her arms been quite right? Yet the priests refused to come into her poor crazed mother's home. Mrs. Malloy was our cook and her daughter was only sixteen when she leaped into the cold river. Is it not all very odd Monsieur? Candles, prayers and sweet in- cense about the cruel old lady yesterday who wished evil for so many. Poor Mary was very lovely, and the baby dimpled, and as beautiful as a waxen little Jesus. Yet she was unfortunate they said; wronged by somebody else they whispered. But the protestant minister who came, had a kind face, and a sweet faced lady sang for the holy angels to take her to their care. I prayed for her yesterday at the shrines about the grounds at St. Roche's. That is for poor Mary and the pretty child. You see it seems easier to reach heaven when we are in the open Light and Shade 59 air. When one smells orange blossoms and hears the birds sing, and sees blue sky, why how can one help being very thankful Mon- sieur. It is very good to live, do you not think so men ami? Alas! I almost forgot to tell you that the poor lady who was entombed yesterday was named Madamoiselle Dufour. Adieu with a thousand kisses from your pe- tite Mignon." :fc :fc 4: :): . 3|e :|: Hf "Out of the mouths of babes," etc. Well, that phrase floated with a (lot of other very nebulous fancies) about in my confused brain. I folded away the letter that informed me that one of the principal actresses in the tragedy of the Jacquard household was no longer of his world. I had entertained many theories as to her connection with the death of Henrique Jacquard. Would time ever disclose to me the individual who wielded the flaming sword. ? CHAPTER IV. One day, (greatly to my surprise) Madame Vinot rushed into my studio in a great state of excitement. After calming her nerves to some extent, I finally gleaned from her many in- coherent sentences during which she often cried on ("Le Dieu"! "Le Bon Dieu!") that her lovely charge was very ill. Madamoiselle Fourard in dispensing charity, had perhaps touched the hand or garment of some mendi- cant afflicted with small-pox. Her darling had been taken to some hospital. I desired her to cable for the young lady's father. This it seems had been done. Alas, the yellow fever was raging in New Orleans. Their stay in Rome had been unintentionally pro- longed because of the infection at home, and now it seemed Dr. Fouard was lying ill, prostrated by his heavy duties as a physician during the plague. I soothed Madame Vinot as best I could. Still I shuddered at the Light and Shade 61 possible fate of the young woman in stranger's hands. To Madame Descardi who now by some unconscious means I regarded as a trustworthy friend I told the story. "I will go and nurse the sweet girl if the nuns will permit me," she cried. Immediately she formulated her plans to this end. For many weeks Madamoiselle's life hung in the balance. At last the faithful nurse received the reward of a favorable change in her patient. Madame Descardi solicitude and attention combined with the girl's youth and constitution con- quered the frightful disease. Madame Des- cardi saved the life by her tender care, but as Fidele became convalescent she disappeared from the bedside of her charge. When Dr. Fouard's health permitted him to come for his daughter her nurse could not be found. Poor Fidele wept and spent hours in the churches praying all the saints to grant her one sight again of the woman who had been 62 The Flaming Sword to her a good angel in her dark hours of pain and despair. Dr. Fouard for a while seemed anxious to gain minute description of his daughter's vanished nurse. Yet when I had described her personality and dwelt at length on the ineffable sorrow of her expression he became strangely indifferent as to her fate. He no longer seconded his daughter's anxiety to gain knowledge of her whereabouts. He made rapid preparations for their departure to the United States. Fidele's nurse had possessed skill enough in her care for the girl to so manage the case that the disease left but little imprint on her lovely face. In a few months her father thought she would recover almost her original charm. Fidele however mourned but little the rava- ges of her illness. Her constant plaint was for the sight of Madame Descarde. Her father manifested an indifference that to all their acquaintances seemed strangely Light and Shade 63 harsh and ungrateful. He went away at last with the lovely Fidele who besought me in her farewell greeting to write her if I should ever hear from, or see that tender faithful nurse. My "Iphigenia at the Sacrificial Altar," was pronounced the greatest success of that season's exhibition at the Paris Salon. Be- cause I had copied a lovely face and form chiselled by the Infinite, men and women used the phrases, rapturous! radiant! seraphic! as descriptive of the soulless canvass. I grew in favor as an artist at the gay French capital, and for a time determined to make that city my permanent residence. There I became deeply attached to a mem- ber of the Comedie Francjas. He was a man of fifty. Our acquaintance began in the studio. I portrayed him as he appeared in many of his own portrayals of romantic and tragic characters. Sometimes his face sad- dened as he watched my colors imprint the canvas. With a sigh he would remark," 64 The Flaming Sword my art is as effervescent as a dream." "You reveal by your brush my physical assumption of a historic or sublime creation, of the finer depictions that is my real work, (I refer to my physchological delineation of a part) you can give no hint. No matter how mas- terly may be my assumption of the personage, (carried through at time by what we of the profession term) "divine given energy," and distinctly made to live and breathe by an inner soul. Nothing remains when the cur- tain falls but the memory of our audiences. Though occasion comes when we can animate thousands by our creative power, it is as fleeting as a breath. I was not unsympathetic. For of his science subtle, uncommunicable, and inimatible, of his incarnation of anothers' thought and being, I could reveal indeed but a dim uncertain shadow. To his out-spoken expressions of regret, however, I would reply, "Le grand chose pour un artist — c'est de faire.," (or work, is an artist's only reward.) Such moments with him were not lasting. Light and Shade 65 He was generally light hearted, free, and merry, an intellectual Robin Hood who had cap- tured from various storehouses of poetry, wit and fancy, and thus repleting well his own unassailable castle he invited in kindred spirits to enjoy his wondrous spoils and shared liberally with all who would partake. He was both magnetic and charming. Our acquaintanceship ripened into friendship that was mutual, and enduring. His greatest fault lay in neglecting to observe certain laws that should have controlled his physical being, and quaffing too much of the flowing bowl. To this, however, or the pro- longing of the night into the dawn, who ? in that coterie of his comrades could chide or assume the role of Mentor. Not I indeed. It is true I noticed at times his great ner- vousness, that his eyes had lost their former brilliancy, that his movements were no longer as graceful as of old. Also that at odd times he seemed distrait and gloomy. These pro- pronounced signals of an approaching event / 66 The Flaming Sword were not heeded by himself or his friends at the critical period, when perhaps, an arrest could have been made of a frightful catastrophe. 4: Iff :]s ;{::(: 4: 4= It was the great banquet scene in the fourth act of Shakespeare's immortal drama, Mac- beth. I thought I had never seen so fine a conception of the mind distraught, as was his personation of the "Thane of Cawdor" on that evening. At his lines "Hence horrible shadows! unreal mockery hence!" a chill of horror at the realism of his work numbs my limbs, — ^Again, — "Can such things be. And overcome us like a summer's cloud, Without our special wonder?" His fixed stare, his broken voice that came in a strange gutteral muflBed sound from his throat, was horrible in the evident effort of its utterance. He did not complete the reading as it is usually presented. Here he paused, stretched Light and Shade 67 out his arms and staggered. Then he fell face downward upon the gaudy banquet board. Next, slid heavily on the stage floor. It was a bit of — "business" — evidently not previously rehearsed. Pronounced con- sternation apparently seized the actors about him. The queen never uttered her familiar speech. She knelt by the side of her fallen partner and her face expressed wonderment, anxiety and fright. The curtain rang down. The house rose with tumultous cries of 'Bravo! Bravo!" The ladies of the assem- blage threw in their enthusiasm their corsage flowers upon the scenic curtain, nay tore them from their hair by sudden impulse. In a few moments a hush and awe crept over the clamorous audience. The manager appears. He is not smiling nor bringing forward pleased, but exhausted players. His hair has the appearance of having had a nervous hand passed many times through its heavy mass. He is excited, almost inco- 68 The Flaming Sword herent. He falters out "we fear this is the beginning of the end" — Monsieur X is ill." The house closes for the night." It was not very clear; but like a lightning flash — the hundreds present in an instant realized that Monsieur X was stricken with paraly- sis. My friend X was indeed a wreck when I beheld him. For weeks he lay a living frame but speechless and motionless. After a month or two, broken utterances came from his lips. By these he was able to make his simplest wants known. Otherwise he lay helpless almost lifeless. For a year he was under the best medical skill outside of the hospitals of Paris. These eminent scien- tists failed. At last I determined to send him to Dr. Charcot of La Saltpetiere. This is the manner in which the Paris Temps speaks of this successful man who did not invent a new thing — only induced people to recognize that a force existing for centuries was a fact Light and Shade 69 and not a fallacy. To quote the Parisian journal "Dr. Charcot is the first orthodox savant who has dared to cross the threshold of mystery, and who has succeeded in making simple and comprehensible certain mysterious phenomena which are for the most part the natural consequences of affections hav- ing to do with nervous or mental pathology." A very lengthy way of stating that Dr. Char- cot forced other French physicians to recognize hypnotism as a scientific truth. I had once or twice caught a glimpse of that Hindoo, I had sketched in New Orleans. Because of the finding of the turban, whose ownership he never disclaimed, I had con- nected him with murder in the house of the flaming sword. X under the hypnotic treatment of this remarkable physician, Dr. Charcot improved slowly. But he took a great dislike to various attendants at this place, and I then determined to continue the same treatment but transferred him to 70 The Flaming Sword La Charit6 where Dr. Luy's rtiodern miracles were attracting the world's attention. Here greatly to my amazement I met again the Hindoo. He was I learned, an intimate and valuable assistant to both of these great scientists. Indeed, they have each quoted to me that from the Hindoo they must need learn all that can be known of physchologlcal ex- periments. For two thousand years they have dwelt in the study of these things, whereas we had bent all our energies to money getting and rapid body killing inventions. We have been satisfied to deem their remarkable de- monstrations of physic force, — marvels. They are not marvels in any other sense than dreams are marvels. ******* It is out of the unexpected sorrow falls. Yet when grief touches us closely it widens our mental citcle as a pebble cast in the ocean brings to view ripple on ripple, wave on wave, until the vast expanse is apparently moved. Light and Shade 71 Thus my friend's disaster brought me in touch with two beings of other climes and other nationalities and I view strange phe- nomena, alike strange, and important to the problem of who committed that crime in the old Spanish house in a city removed for these actors by the oceans, wide waste of water. By hypnotism we seem to knock at the portals of another world and are face to face with things that are not dreamed of in our philosophy. "For let philosopher and doctor preach Of what they will, and what they will not, each Is but one link in an eternal chain That none can slip, nor brook, nor overreach." There are great forces about the life of every living being. He can summon at will the spiritual, mental, moral, and physical, and make them subservient to himself. That some have used these terrible agents to the destruction of their fellowmen it is true. Others have seen out of these powerful forces 72 The Flaming Sword a superb rainbow of beauty, whose arch terminated into a mine of purest gold. Fol- lowing to the end this bright bow of promise they have enriched themselves, and made splendid conquests over envrionment. By the light of this higher wisdom streaming upon themselves, they have gained an ever joyous hope. Liberally out of their good things have they given meat and drink to their starving brothers. The French phy- sicians in their study of hypnotism, have succeeded in rescuing the science from odium, and given great and precious relief to suffer- ing humanity. The greatest cure at that time to be wit- nessed in La Charite was a Sicilian. The man had been a sailor. He was rescued from a burning hotel or lodging house. He was dragged from beneath falling timbers with his spine presumably so injured that he had finally been sent to some institution as an incurable. In health, before his frightful injuries, he was a massive muscular man. Light and Shade 73 At the time Dr. Luys began experimenting upon him he was but an emaciated skeleton. A living head, on a dead inanimate frame. He was cured by the hypnotic influences used at La Charite. Now as a well man he was employed as some kind of an atten- dant about the premises. He was deeply attached to those about the hospital and was again presenting in his general appear- ance a healthy robust manhood. Though his personality was not pleasing to look upon. Brutal jaws, sullen lips and shifting glances were his characteristics. One evening I was invited to sketch the scene of a "Hypnotic Soiree" at this institution. Several of the medical profession and a few outsiders were present to witness the phenomena. The Hindoo — Ramanchida — gave many re- markable exhibitions of his power. My own friend Monsieur X was present and walking. Though his efforts were feeble, hope of restoration to his former health could safely be assumed by himself and friends. 74 The Flaming Sword The Sicilian sailor was brought into the room. He was placed in the hypnotic con- dition. While he sustained that peculiar mental phase, the audience was requested to interrogate him as to individuals or events in which we were severally interested. I do not remember that the term clairvoyant was used. His replies were in many instances remarkable; his revelations startling. Final- ly it was demanded of me, to propound some query. Naturally with the Hindoo so near at hand my thoughts reverted to that old mystery in New Orleans. I demanded "who was the murderer of Henrique Jacquard?" Ramanchida, remained immovable, failing to express the interest I expected. Chisseled bronze depicts as much mobility of counten- ance as belonged to the expression of the . Brahmin. His subject, the Sicilian, became rigid. From his throat came his native tongue uttering the fierce and terible vow of the Mafia. "Sweet is wine, but sweeter far — the blood of a Christian!" Ldght and Shade 75 His right arm was extended aloft as if mov- ing above a daggered hand. His eyes blazed with the visionary inspiration of purposed vengeance. His magnificent brawny chest was thrown back — like low rumbling of thun- ders came forth his voice. "The blood of Henrique Jacquard is demanded by the brotherhood." Then — as if awaiting a response he paused. His lips assumed the motion of one intoning with others a horrible chorus — and bellowed out — "We swear!" Here — the Hindoo released the sailor from the hypnotic spell. The man sheepishly wiped his brow, dripping with beads of heavy sweat. Looked questionaryly at his controlling commandant. The Indian's face was im- passive. Perhaps he gave a shrug of his shoulders, perhaps, he suggestively drooped his eyelids. Whatever significant token, (as to the ending of the exhibition) he bestowed on his subject was lost to me. The sailor 76 The Flaming Sword shambled out of the room. It seemed im- possible to conceive that disspirited, servile, creature ambling away, to be the same being, that a second before stood an incarnation of fearful intended vengeance, and also an embodiment of terrible physical power. "Because of my long control of the will power of this man" said Ramanchadi, "he has revealed an oath of sacred secresy in the order of the Mafia." Such revelations are uncommon." "The masonic secret as yet has never been divulged. "I was myself surprised that hypnotism did this thing. The will power of that subject I have complete- ly destroyed." Ramanchadi spoke through an interpreter present who also translated the clairvoyant sailor's utterances.) I left that soiree amazed. Nay more per' plexed than ever, as to who was the mur- derer of Henrique Jacquard. Was this an- other clue? or did the wily Hindoo compel the Sicilian to voice whatever he willed should Light and Shade 77 be my response. I distrusted this Indian and his magical gifts. Then again the thought that perhaps that sailor was the guilty party suggested itself. I would write to the United States, find if possible any roster of sailors once em- ployed by Captain Jacquard on his vessel. Why had Ramanchadi so suddenly released his control of the sailor.'' It seemed as if in justice to himself he would extended the hypnotic seance. For this psychic necroman- cer must have read my suspicions of himself. How easy it would have been for him to grant a full reply to my feverish question, and set at rest all future anxiety. Such was not the case. He did not care to grant all the passing whims of idle onlookers. I must accept as much as was vouchsafed me by the mystic science. Take up and vigorously pursue his weirdly revealed clue. Yet with the Hindoo, more than with his ignorant slave my thoughts would connect themselves. I recalled the history of' the 78 The Flaming Sword criminal Burneau. Abbe Burneau was an educated man of great mental attainments. Student of man sciences, understood medi- cine, a linguist of marked proficiency, possessed besides of much general information. While an inmate of a monastery he played the role of robber as well as priest. Murdered one of the inmates, Abbie Fricot and flung his body in a well. Many have read the startling story as told by his advocate M. Dominique of their compact, before the guillotine severed the head of Burneau. The latter pledged M. Dominique that the instant the axe did its work, he would as, the advocate seized his head and called — "Reply, reply!" res^ pond by motion of eyelid, or brow, if a gleam of feeling or sensation remained in his brain. M. Dominique tells the frightful scene as enacted at the guillotine in the town of Laval in France. He sums however the whole, blood curdling account into this final sentence. "My effort to solve the mystery of the duration of life after decapitation failed." Light and Shade 79 I could not banish the idea from my won- dering thoughts that Ramanchadi could be a criminal, as well as a man of great attain- ments. Yet I knew his religion forbade even the wanton destruction of reptile or insect. I dismissed my thoughts as being unworthy of a moment's entertainment. Determined however to pursue my investigation of the mys- tery of the flaming sword. He 4: H: 4: 4= 4: =t: Several years pass during my sojourn in Paris. One day in a promenade through the Bois de Boulonge I descried the face of Madame Descardi. It appeared sadder, more broken than ever. I followed her footsteps cau- tiously and noted the whereabouts of her lodgings, I determined to see again the woman whose history I would give much to know, and about whom I should be pleased to forward any news to Madamoiselle Fouard. Madamoiselle no longer, (American tourists informed me,) as she married the Count Velati, notwithstanding her father's decided oppo- 80 The Flaming Sword sition. He had disinherited her. Madame Descardi admitted me when I called at her residence. She was evidently dying by de- grees. ■ Consumption was making deep in- roads on her face and form. During our conversation I told her of her protege's distress on leaving Rome and not being able to thank her unknown nurse for all her love and de- votion. Also informed her of the young lady's marriage, and subsequent history as far as the facts were known to me. When I spoke the name and title gained by her nup- tials, Madame D grew very pale and murmured as if in self communion "was it for this, — I saved her life?" Her cough was painful and at times the interview wearied her. Although she eagerly hung with deep attention on all that related to the young Creole girl. When my visit terminated I received no invitation to make a future call. Did not meet her again, until in passing an unusual crowd gathered on the curb-stone, I ascertained it was hovering about a lady Light and Shade 81 who had fallen from weakness or sudden illness. It proved to be Madame Descardi whom a distressing hemmorrhage had overtaken. I summoned a carriage and fortunately her apartments were not far distant. It was now very apparent to me that the poor woman's life hung by a slender thread, that in a few weeks at most, would be broken. Singular events made us acquaintances; now, I felt a deep interest in the sad and apparently lonely woman. I often called upon her and saw upon each occasion that her days were numbered. Once in great agitation she pressed into my hands a little book. "Read its con- tents, and curse, or pray for me," she cried. "If God should so will it give it into the hands of my deeply wronged husband, when I am no more." These are some of the sentences within those pages that revealed the true confession of an erring soul. "Until I was seventeen years of age I, 82 The Flaming Sword Zenobia Jacquard, was a happy, pure, and indulged girl. Most of those sweet and serene years were passed in the schoolrooms of a convent. Mine was a beautiful petted child- hood and youth. I bloomed amid sunshine and flowers, only at rare times visited by an ennui that to my temperament made a faint cloud over my existence. About the time of my seventeenth birthday I was home for a vacation. There I met Dr. Fouchard. He requested of my parents my hand in marriage. I confess that under my French training a husband, appeared to me only an necessity. A husband would bring me liberty was my constant thought. Any man presented to me at that time, unless hideoijsly old and ugly would have won me. I was of my mother's passionate disposition. I intensely disliked the restraint imposed upon a French girl. Marriage only meant to me, what a social debut extends to my American sister. Such were my detestable and fatal ideas of the bond called matrimony. Dr. Fouard Light and Shade 83 was a pleasing accomplished man, much older however than myself- — I was too youthful, too childish in fact to appreciate his finer qualities. His gravity of manner, his quiet tastes and desire for a domestic life quickly irritated me after we were united. I had a beautiful home, a devoted companion. But I was like a little one, who leaves its parents' beautiful garden of fountains and flowers, to chase a fluttering butterfly. The gold and ebony wings of the insect pleases childish fancy. If the gateway of the gardens are left open the small one will forsake the ver- dure, the calm, the sweetness within the en- closure, and chase through heat, through dust, through briers, and with endless fatigue the evasive charrher. Ere one brief year was passed I was un- fortunate enough to meet Monsignof Velati then filling an operatic engagement at New Orleans. He quickly became the craze of the whole city. Of beautiful presence, youth- ful, and gifted with a voice of magical sweet- 84 The Flaming Sword ness, he at once became the pet and idol of the entire community. Those exhalations of love that breathed through all his melo- dies melted feminine hearts as the sun sub- dues even the gaudiest flowers. I, too, pos- sessed a rich full voice. At musical enter- tainments in charity concerts we often ap- peared in concerted numbers. He entered our home. We sang alone together ah! how frequently. When not singing passionate love songs we amused ourselves with pelting one another with roses in the garden. Ah! it was paradise! Oh! that marriage should ever be made in which one of the parties makes not a free choice. When that passion or ecstasy of love came to me, I was a wife. I loved another — not my husband. He domi- nated my time, my thoughts, all my dreams even were of him. Oh! God, perhaps those thoughts have barred me out of a peaceful eternity. He urged flight upon me — home without love he persuaded me was a sacreligious altar. The Light and Shade 85 holy of holies must be for the divine flame-love. Oh my dear betrayed husband pardon me. Do not regret you once loved me.? With that love, and your pity, I will dare appeal to my God for forgiveness. May he receive the poor penitent in his divine compassion and extend her mercy. A blighted soul pleads with you. You — who have been deeply wronged by her errors in the past. I have suffered much. I have been well punished for my trangressions. Velati and I spent a few months in seclusion. Then there became frequent intervals of absence. Longer and longer they became in duration. At last he sent me money, without a letter or even a word of explanation. With a broken heart I realized the full extent of my degradation. Velati had a wife and child in Italy. He had married there a woman of noble birth whom he neglected or caressed at will. I have written these lines hoping that my husband may see revealed upon my crime some ray of extenuation. "When you met 86 The Flaming Sword me — ^your cross, your curse, — and spoke to me of love and marriage; pardon me that then, my training only spoke to my frivolous heart of gaining a pleasurable liberty — a new excitement. Now I, condemned, by all the world, — pray only that my death may be regretted by one of so noble a soul. You once gave me love — now grant to me — the greatest of all criminals — absolution." "Oh! do not curse the memory of her whom you once blessed with the truest tenderest love. The mother of your child entreats you. She is yours I swear it. The cruel judgment of this world effect me not if you will clothe me with your forgiveness, I shall thus wear a white robe in which to make intercession with my Saviour. Lacking virtue, I can wear over my sinful soul, the blessed garment of human pardon. My scarlet crime will be veiled with the exquisite garment of loving pity. He will not withhold from time the divine blessing if I am clothed in the rarest of human graces." Light and Shade 87 "I did not yield to Velati's first foul en- treaties; still I did not scorn to meet him when after some month's absence he returned again to New Orleans it was not until the third year of our marriage that having been to- gether more than usual during the winter's gayeties that he declared that the following year would separate us forever as he would then leave for an extended engagement in European capitals. You were quiet, absorbed in your medical profession. I felt that I could not endure life without the great charm of his striking personal beauty — the impassioned zeal of his compliments, the singualr sweetness and sympathetic tones of his voice." "He was of high descent. His son alas, with whom my daughter is now united com bines many of his qualities without his musical genius. Velati finally deserted his legal It- alian wife as he had thrown me aside. I entreat my husband not to scorn that son because of his father's crime. His mother suffering from the father's cruelty, vanity, 88 The Flaming Sword and selfishness has perhaps seen that another training would eradicate and soften these traits if they existed in their child. "Should, my daughter ever learn her mother's fate, (but let my secret be buried with me, I entreat you), but should some gossip's whisper reveal that her mother de- serted her in babyhood, tell her that for this wrong I was deeply penitent. That my ma- ternal affections were all that in later years deterred me from deepest infamy and crime." "To Him who murmured to a sister sinner, "neither do I condemn thee," I shall soon present my sorrowful soul. Let me reply, as was granted to her guilty lips "No man Lord!" To read these tear blotted blurred pages penned by a dying hand, was a hard task for me who had the frailties belonging to a man of the world. There was at this time in Paris a Congress of Medical Men, In the press notices of their proceedings. I frequently noted the name of Dr. Fouard. For his works and Light and Shade 89 lectures on a certain class of diseases had given him prominence in his profession. Thus being aware of his presence in Paris. I sought him one day at his lodgings and told him that the poor faithful nurse of his daughter when she lay ill in Rome, was now slowly dying. Suggested that perhaps as a physician he could relieve to some extent her last feeble sufferings. Harshly he turned upon me. Did she send you to me!" I answered tersely; stur^g with his heartlessness "that I came entirley ^ of my own volition, but I had hoped that the preservation of his child's life by the un- happy woman merited better treatment from his hands," "I have no child" — ^he answered coldly. "To me I responded there has been entrusted a secret. I now resign its care. Believe me that so far as my own being is concerned it is sacred. Yet I dare not destroy what I hold now in my possession. Into your hands I deliver it." I thrust Madame Descarde's 90 The Flaming Sword confession and prayer into his keeping and strode away. The unhappy woman now failed rapidly. The landlady who herself had been a Creole of New Orleans seemed to be about the only friend or attendant save myself. One day I remained by her bedside at the request of this Madame Roucher who was called away. Madame Descard was then in slumber suddenly she opened her eyes and cried with outstretched arms and happy smile, "Fidele ma petite Fidele," But the charming dream soon ended, and the patient sank back exhausted. Madame Roucher returned. She went in- stantly in quest of a priest and physician. The priest came and with him — Dr. Fouard. The priest hastened to administer the ex- treme unction. We left the room during her faint and brief confession. We returned as we heard him slowly enunciating with the dying one. "Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us," fell from his Ldght and Shade 91 lips, the stern features of Dr. Fouard relaxed and springing forward he called with a low penetrating voice into the ear of his dying wife. "Zenobia I forgive thee — even as my God must forgive me." But eternity's shadows were now resting upon the pale face. The purple lips tremble, but speech was impossible. Only the eyes opened and beamed into his own with looks of ineffable sweetness and peace. Thus she passed away. She — whose passionate desires sought Eden in a love found only at the gate an angel with flaming sword. Dying almost alone at last deserted and unloved she — "Who might have been — ah — what I dare not think We are all changed. God judges for us best. God help us do our duty, and not shrink And trust in heaven humbly for the rest, Dr. Fouard bent forward and imprinted a passionate kiss upon the chilling mouth, and we turn away from this sight of the wronged 92 The Flaming Sword living and repentant dying. When we look again it is upon — "A peaceful face wherin all past distress Had metled into perfect loveliness." Madame was tenderly buried as the wife of Dr. Fouard. I learned to deeply respect this injured man, and in doing this I felt deeper pity and compassion for the being who choose, "A single rose, for a rose tree, which beareth seven times seven.' A rose that in dropping from her hand, and fading near her breast. Until, in grieving for the worst, she learned what was the best." In due time I acquainted him with my connection with his wife and daughter, and imparted to him my deep interest concerning the unsolved mystery, his brother-in-law Henrique Jacquard. Dr. Fouard confessed that after his separation from his wife he had lost all interest in her family. I told Light and Shade 93 him of the three beings whom I had connected (for no very tangible reason,) with his murder. Madamoiselle Dufour, Ramanchadi; and the Sicilian sailor. I said ' I have mentioned Madamoiselle Du- four because a physician by his profession be- comes the possessor of many strange secrets." He sat down while I talked and remained silent. At last he said, "Henrique Jacquard was an unmarried man, have you never thought that some unknown romance was interwoven with his untimely fate?" I admitted that my attempts at solving the murderous iden- tity had not been along such a line of re- search. "Perhaps," I eagerly exclaimed! "You can give me some light in that direction.?" "A physician's knowledge like that of a priest's cannot always be revealed," was his reply. He returned to New Orleans, was reconciled to his daughter and her husband. Young Velati however died after a brief wedded existence, and the Dr. was, when I found him 94 The Flaming Sword in the Crecent City a few years later, living happily and quietly with his widowed daughter ter and grandchild. New Orleans always possessed unfading charms to me. Perhaps because she holds a greater variety of scenes for the artistic temperament to revel in, than any other American city. San Antonio in Texas, and a few Californian towns hold some widely divergent phases of life but the Queen of the Gulf, holds far more. Here are not only the Spanish, French, American and various other foreign nationalities are to be found but the African race has a peculiar and weird individuality not apparent elsewhere. On Rampart street is a place known as Congo Square. Here in Ante Bellum days the negroes once gathered and held their strange Voodoo festival, and danced its charac- teristic dance known as "Bamboula". In- terwoven with traditions of the town, are the histories of Jean Bras Coupd, Captain Light and Shade 95 of runaway negroes in the Bayou Sara, and the Voodoo Queen, Marie Le Vean. Jean Bras Coup6 kept his band in the dismal bayous or swamps of Louisiana. Did your eyes ever view such a swamp? Picture then the dismal cypress trees whose boughs and leaves so weave and interlace one another, that they thus form a dense dark pall through which no gleam of sunshine can glance below. The blue sky of heaven is rarely visible when one is in a great forest thick with their growth. It is peculiar to them that their roots reascending through the inky waters of the bayous, sometimes assume fantastic shapes. It is easier to fancy griffins and weird creatures from the formations of these roots of blackened wood, than to trace fancied resemblances from the stalagmites of under ground caverns, as is frequently done. Their life in swamps always gives the water surround- ing them a stygian hue. From the branches of these and other trees, depending in long gray and funeral festoons, hangs the silver 96 The Flaming Sword moss; a parasital growth peculiar to southern trees. Vines with briUiantly hued leaves or flowers, sometimes introduce in these mornful groves a vivid coloring that is as repellant as the horrible blackness elsewhere abounding. To inhale the perfume of the flower, or to touch the attractive leaf is dangerous and deadly. They are as treacherous in their scarlet beauty, as the slimy morass that gives uncertain foothold to bne's feet, when one attempts to leave a boat and walk upon what appears to be a mossy turf. Every where one sees gloomy darkness, and breathes a pestilential atmosphere. Such is the appearance of an uncleared bayou region in Louisiana. That the French settler has made such uncanny unhealthful locality bloom with a beauty that seems a glimpse of a dream visioned Eden, is a small matter, it appears to Cable's caustic sneers. It was to such a bayou I went as one of a Light and Shade 97 large party to secretly witness a celebration of Voodoovism's mysti c rites. It was very dark; for we started in the earlier part of a summer night. The moon rose later, to contrast with greater effect her cold purity over a scene of hideous brutality. A torch of resinous pine wood held by a negro who served as a guide, lighted our pathway through the dismal mists and sickening vapors of the swamps. We were artists and men of the newspaper fraternity. The negro had accepted a very large bribe to disclose to us the supposed magical service we were to see enacted. We were all bohemians and set out with great zest to witness the weird per- formance. As we progressed however in the gloom, our spirits lost their previous elas- ticity. Even the breathe of the magnolia's floral bell seemed oppresive, and nauseating. We moved silently, as we were enjoined to be cautious and thus avoid detection. Great precautions were to be observed if we viewed unmolested the much talked of voodoo in- 98 The Flaming Sword cantation. Sometimes a sudden splash in the water made us aware than an alligator had left our pathway and sought his more accustomed and safer shelter in the swamp. At other times our guide threw his glancing torch-light upon the shining sinuous body of some reptile gliding swiftly away in the prevailing blackness. The snapping jaws of the crocodile, of the sharp hiss, and swish, of the water snake, were all that broke the deathly stillness of our journey. Jean Bras Coup6 was said to have been well versed in all the medicinal and poison antidoteal qualities of bayou herbs. He is credited by legendary lore to have rendered his body impervious by a presumable magical know- lege and use of these herbs. It must have been some strange skill that keep beings safe and alive in these infectious and infested bayous. We were men of strong nerves, but these were well strained when our weary bodies reached the terminal of our journey. We left the city at eight o'clock in the even- Light and Shade 99 ing but so great were the difficulties attending our journey that we did not reach the spot chosen for the dreadful rite until nearly eleven. Stealthily we climbed trees and concealed ourselves in dense foliage, surrounding a small island cleared of undergrowth that stood in the midst of the swamp, a few knots of pitch pine were burning in the midst of this area when we crawled into our various hiding recesses some distance beyond from their clearing. By and by a few negroes stole softly and singly to the spot. These then set about great torches of burning wood in a circle on the outer con- fines of the island. These enabled us from our distant van- tage posts to view effectively the whole dia- bolical performance. At last all participants of the festival appeared. They numbered several dozen. Each bore on his shoulder a bag from which he made some contribution to a great central caldron about which at midnight they lighted a frightful blaze. That cocks, cats, snakes and toads made up the 100 The Flaming Sword horrible brew was evidenced by their deposited trophies. Then they commenced a dance, so frenzied so demoniacal that description is impossible. The women seemed to be possessed with more daring (insensate) and bestial intoxication of ideas than the men. Suddenly we beheld a great and terrible serpent writhing about the outer limits of the fire beneath the caldron. We were pro- foundly mystified as to when or from whence it came. Round and round the fearful flames it writhed and rolled its monstrous body. Suddenly by some horrible contortion it stood erect. When it did so we beheld not the flattened head of a hideous reptile, but a man's face.! ! 1 ! After the first shock was over, for shock it was even to our masculine senses, we realized that the very attenuated form of a six foot man was clothed in the mottled skin of many water moccasins. That is a garment made of this reptile's spotted hide was fitted to this male creature's form with the exactness Light and Shade 101 of gymnastic webbing or suits. Where the breasts would have given outline, he had inserted a remarkable circle of representations of human eyes. This being was evidently the controlling spirit of all the mad low crea- tures in the devilish revelry. Soon he be- gan a barbaric chant into which the rest joined at intervals. With the strange melody their bodies swayed, their voices rose and fell in these unintelligible utterances which grew louder and more discordant as their frames became more excited and exhausted. It was blood curdling and disgusting in the extreme. Finally after supping of the loath- some broth in the caldron, they seemed to join in one compact or concerted oath; and when the dawn began to appear disbanded and sulked away in their varied separate paths. HENRIQUE JACQUARD Great throngs entering a Cathedral a few days later attracted my attention. A child standing on the banquette or sidewalk in- formed me that some lady was becoming "the bride of Christ." An older personage informed me that a "Madame Valerie Demaire was taking the black veil." Always intensely alert for the picturesque I hastened into the crowded building. The new religeuse was entering by a side chancel the altar's steps. She was a dark woman who looked weird and ecstatic. Presenting almost the appearance of one ill with fever. Her large black eyes were glittering and intense, while the great scarlet splotches that glowed vividedly on the either cheek of her otherwise pallid face were of hectic brilliancy. The ceremonials attendant upon the occasion made a deep impression upon my memory, and at a future occasion I mentioned some of its incidents to a feminine acquaintance. Light and Shade 103 Remarking at the same time it was a singular face to accept the Hfe of a recluse. A pas- sionate and emotional nature were its charac- teristics rather than the spiritual or intellec- tual type one naturally expected. Do you know anything of the past history of this grand dame who has now become "Sister Prudenciana." My listener questioned. "Nothing;" I stated than that I had been informed, that a few years prior, she had been a woman of fashion and gayety, and that her large wealth now came into the church to whose service she consecrated the remainder of her life. "Can one atone for the loss to the world of a loving pure soul and the fearful blight of two elderly people's lives.? was the singular query propounded me. "I do not compre- hend you," I replied, "you must tell me the whole story." "Madame Demaire was a giddy wife, who encouraged a large train of admirers. Her money-making husband was apparently in- 104 Henrique Jacquard different to her course. She had in her ranks of gallants, a handsome Frenchman who paid compliments, with zest, but whose heart, the frivolous woman quickly perceived was untouched. She knew of his attentions to a young woman whose parents disliked his presence in their home. She informed her- self that he and the maiden met clandestinely. Inspired purely by pique, and wounded vanity, she manipulated events so that she and the trusting girl met the lover at the same time and place. She denounced his perfidy. She .made explanation impossible to the maiden, who it is said grew ill and died from the shock of the never explained murder of her lover." "That lover was whom. ^" I asked. "Henrique Jacquard who was found mur- dered by the police in his old home many years ago said my informant," The unexe- pected name threw me in deep conjecture. I remembered the suggestion of Dr. Fouard as to the romantic side of Captain Jacquard's Light and Shade 105 career. The woman in the cathedral who became by her own voHtion, the entombed sacrifice of earthly ambitions, bore on her face and form all that stamps the imperious haughty being. A being of impulse and strong passions. Besides breaking a supposed rival's heart, what other crime could her fiery temperament have led to commital? "The police found nothing there," (I mused aloud) "save a turban and an old sword." "A woman's wrap was discovered there," pursued my informant eagerly. "Monsieur Demaire paid a large sum of money for its withdrawal from evidence. The police of New Orleans are not different from mankind elsewhere," continued the gossip who was setting my thoughts afire with speculation. Why had Madame Deamire devoted her life to the harsh altar of oblivion instead of this life and all its social relations ? I could only ply my garrulous acquaintance with in- 106 Henrique Jacquard terrogations regarding this Madame. She, it seems became very devout after the death of Mademoiselle Garonne. In fact strove in many womanly ways to console the old parents who grew very feeble and pathetic after the loss of their only child. Valerie Demaire also was very dutiful to her husband; no more did gossip shrug its shoulders over her many flirtations, and after her husband's death she entered a convent where after a long pro- bationery period I had seen her take her the last final vows. Thus this, handsome woman, who had lead a gay frivolous existence, who had played at all the games hazarded by those who toy with the heart's affections accepted all the chill, all the blackness of self immur- ment in expiation for what wrong-doing.? It seemed as if all gossip all revealments of heart's histories and disclosures of family secrets only led me farther and farther away from any possible solution of Henrique's mys- terious death. I was a frequent visitor at the home of Light and Shade 107 Dr. Fouard. Ostensibly I came there at- tracted only by the winning childish charms of little Roisine Velati. Of my knowledge of the past I never spoke. The Dr. apparently found oblivion from spectres of the past in his granddaughter's caresses. The name of Jacquard never passed the lips of either of us. Once when we two sat alone by the fire smoking and reminiscent I quietly remarked that I would like him to call at my studio and see my last sketch. A ceremonial within the old cathedral entitled "Taking the Veil." "It was a reproduction of this incident in the life of Madame Demaire," I ventured. The Dr. started slightly. Then he with- drew his lighted cigar, and said, "So this was the end." "Did you attend Mademoiselle Garronne in any critical illness?" I instantly queried. "Yes; once, her last sickness," he replied. "Was it the result of any severe shock.'" I breathlessly asked. 108 Henrique Jacquard "Yes; I never found out what the occasion of the blow was, but her maid a young mu- latto should have been arrested as a suspicious conspirator, or witness at the time of Hen- rique Jacquard's assassination." A physi- cian can never betray family secrets but the girl knew more than any other living being the cause of the young woman's death." "That girl is still alive.?" "Yes; she is known as Caroline Garonne, she accepted her former employer's name as they left a small annuity to the woman for her devotion to them after their daughter's death. She was a devoted nurse and at- tendant to them, but there were some acci- dents of speech and manner, that showed her complicity, or knowledge (perhaps un- wittingly gained) that betrayed her knowledge as to the cause of her mistresses illness." Weeks merged into months and years, and while in Naples there came a long message to me from Dr. Fouard. Light and Shade 109 I will not attempt to give the whole letter but will quote at length passages from the tangled story it contained. "You know that in New Orleans among our singular mixtures of blood and nationali- ties one encounters in my profession many strange histories. The death of Lieut. Gover- nor Warmouth, the colored politician, whose singular death was the subject of much mys- terious whispering, did not escape the at- tention of the medical profession. War- mouth was warned of a certain date, as Caesar was cautioned of the Ides of March. Being then in robust health he heeded not the fore- warnings. He retired in his usual health on the day foretold, as his doomsday with a laugh at the fallacy of prophetic sight. The morning's sun however shone upon his face cold in death. His taking off was the cause of much con- jecture among the superstitious and was generally ascribed to the machinations of Voodooism. 110 Henrique J acqvAird Lately I was called upon at the occasion of the demise of a prominent business man. The case was evidently one of foul play, and with some poison unfamiliar to the general practioner. There was no reason to suspect his devoted wife, or immediate family. There are double lives lead by prominent men. I knew of a beautiful octoroon whom he had once petted and humored in all extravagant fancies for some time prior, and then finally deserted. Her parentage was that of many of this half caste in the state, Caucasian on one side and quardoon the other. Not uneducated, not unrefined, they accept their lot as unacknowledged partners of prominent citizens. If in time the man wearies of this dual existence, these unfortunate, and sadly to be pitied beings, wreck oftimes strange vengeance upon their delinquent lovers. I had seen his octoroon mistress visit an old residence near the Jacquard homestead. This was occupied by a quadroon, who was presumed to be a Voodoo Doctor. Liight and Shade 111 Chemical analysis proved my suspicious correct as to Mr. Agnew being poisoned. The detectives began their coil of investi- gation about the suspected woman. She suddenly disappeared from their scrutiny. Her fate remains shrouded in unsolved con- jecture. But a few weeks later a hurried night call brought me into the home of Jean La Pierre the much detested negro, supposed to be a voodoo High Priest. He had evidently been bitten by some poisonous reptile, I recognized it as the venom of the De Capello. The virus had entered his entire system I realized that my skill would avail him little. Recalling the tes- timony of Monsieur Sophie, I hastily sum- moned the police and daringly charged him with the murder of Henrique Jacquard. He was removed to the county jail and realizing that life could be his but little longer and physically weakened by intense suffer- ing, he gave in a disjointed manner the account of the fearful tragedy which he claimed was 1 12 Henrique Jacquard largely due to accident. He died before the fate of the octoroon woman or the name of the posion used to destroy Mr. Agnew could be wrested from his swollen lips. His own language I shall not attempt to reproduce as it was somewhat incoherent. But shall state the facts as I can best recall them. He recognized me as the husband of Zenobia and said" "Sir, the old place after the death of the elder Jacquard's gained the reputation for being haunted more from the sad history of the Jacquard household than from any real cause. Perhaps rats infested it and made the sounds heard by nervous tenants. At any rate, for its first ten years of neg- lect, after the property had passed into the possession of the unfortunate Cap- tain I never was within its portals. But as you know that portion of the city gradually fell into disfavor as residencial quarters. There was an entire block of grounds about the house, the great brick wall, the dense shrub- Ldght and Shade 113 beries made it look gloomy and uncanny. As the neighborhood grew less fashionable, people of my own color and class settled into some of the former homes. At last I located on the street with my stock of herbs, and rep- tiles many of which I purchased from sailors returning from foreign ports. I have been bitten by a Cobra DeCapello — that I unwitting- ly carelessly handled. Some of these per- haps escaped from my house and going into the grasses of the haunted home fastened its fangs into the child of Monsieur Sophie. 'There are accidents in all trades Monsieur Le Docteur, perhaps you know of odd happen- ings in your noble profession." (Even death could not rob his nature of satire.) The colored people soon became my patrons and feared my supposed supernatural powers. As you are aware at certain seasons of the year we hold our Voodoo incantations or rites. We generally seek some swamp or shrouded wood for these ceremonies. I visited the old house on one or two occasions with 114 Henrique Jacquard small cliques for celebraing these fantastic dances. I had previously strengthened all fables of the supernatural visitants of the house, by covering with phosphorescent paint an old sword that had been left hanging on the walls of the mansion. It was an old Spanish sword, belonging no doubt to some ancestor of Madame Jacquard. It was rusted with time and hanging on the dingy walls had never been discovered in the daylight by occupants and when seen at night, cowar- dice prevented investigation. I had let in bats, and the old chimney's held dozens of sweeps or swallows, who had builded their nests and the flutter of their wings were generally enough in one night to dispel sleep and effectively alarm away, all who had temerity to occupy the old house. At length I grew bold enough to think that intrusion into the premises would never be attempted. In the yard of the ancient manor I made every preparation to hold our annual midnight orgie. For more than three Ldght and Shade 115 years I knew that no foot but mine and my dupes had ever pressed the paving stones within its enclosure. All the dwellings about were occupied by my followers save pld Babette. I felt no fear of this negress, although I knew her devotion to her former masters. The only living or recognized descendant, the Captain, was then away on strange seas, I felt secure of control of Babette, because the old woman never passed me without mumbling a prayer, and quivering as with ague. As superstitious as the rest of her race she feared me as a personal devil. I now have no doubt that her religious scruples overcame her intense fear. Shfe had gained in some way knowledge of the proposed hideous and barbaric conclave, and she had attempted to warn the Captain of the desecration of the home. He had not half heard, or heeded her, at the time of landing, but perhaps that night some mys- terious spell recalled the negress's words. A sailor and fearless man, he had entered the 116 Henrique Jacquard shrubberies and discovered us at our fiendish and revolting revelries. He impetuously shouted and fired right and left in our midst. I — no longer sane, incited by our mad chants and disgraceful deeds sprang at his throat. I had strapped on my naked body the old sword simply to render my appearance fan- tastic. With this I struck the Captain down. I also wore a turban purloined from a hin- doo in the town. This too was left upon the ground. We all fled to our respective homes and the police failed to solve the mystery of the murder, or the reason of the flaming sword." As to your hypnotized sailor the Doctor continued, perhaps the Italians of his crew had sworn vengeance, but you now have the facts as to the death of Henrique Jacquard. FINALE It is the first of May. The sun glitters over the radiance of many blossoms. The atmosphere is heavy with the scent of jas- mine, rose, and orange blossom. All day long one sees the children in many directions, every one dressed as if for festival occasion. Maidens nearing womanhood, carry large wreaths and carefully arranged bouquets. Smaller ages almost stagger under loads of blooming fragrance. Even infants in their black nurses arms, hold in their tiny dimpled hands a flower. All wend their way to some church or cathedral. Before the altar of Mary they lay down their floral trophies. Ere night fell on the first day of her (the Virgins) festal month the mass of bloom reaches many feet in height in every sacred edifice. During all the thirty-one days of this month children bring hither to her various shrines, blossoms and cast at her feet. I accompanied Mrs. Velati and Rosine as they 118 Henrique J acquard brought their tribute from a teeming garden. The mother opens her missal of prayer. She says to the child "Pray with me for thy dead grandmother." The little one clasps her hands and murmurs as her mother reads. I stole out and left them there, those two. What simple faith is theirs. I trust the Reverend Mother heard the prayer that came from loving hearts for the peace of the dead. That she, once a mother, sword pierced, made intercession for the penitent. The setting sun seemed to bring a halo of glory over the fading scenes of the day. We see mist and darkness creeping slowly over lawn and street but when we look above, lo there flashes the evening star. Hope, faith and prayer are stars to illumine even darker traditions than the one I have sketched of the flaming sword. As the city of New Orleans herself resemble a beautiful lotos flower floating on the stygian swamps of Louisiana, so I hope the sweet vision af the kneeling child and lovely mother, will remain with you longer than the shadows Light and Shade 119 of superstitions crime and revenge, drawn by my pen, with the fidelity of the camera's record of light and shade. ON JAMES CREEK "Tis, True, Tis Pity, AND Pity TIS TRUE.'" "At best life is, and ever must be to our finite grasp, a mystery. Yet sorrow remains an ever present portion of human life, and sympathy an ever present duty." It was a great day at Cain's mill on James Creek. The Larnis, Butler, and Martin neigh- borhoods were all there. It was a Fourth of July picnic, and fish-fry. It was the last frolic or neighborhood reunion, until the camp-meetings in the fall. The three fac- tions of country folks, were fully represented. Indeed a glorious day, for the heavy rains a few days prior, had washed the foliage and grass, so that this day, their green was bright emerald, and everywhere breathed fragrance and beauty. Like a coquette Nature en- trances us most with her witcheries after Light and Shade 121 giving us for a time sight of her frown and tears. Cain's mill was romantic in its situation, (although the owner selected the site only for the water power and the woods of heavy timber); the grandeur of these magnificent oaks, and the beauty of the walnut, hickories, and pine, were not in his soul, when he erec- ted his mill, and its many sheds. James creek was clear as crystal, and its bottom of variegated pebbles that were visible was as little Miriam expressed it, "like Joseph's coat spread beneath." Willows, with their tender tints were reflected in the water's depth's from both banks of the stream. Over- head the sky was a brilliant blue, and mock- ing-birds in their leafy shelters sang as if they, alone, were the messengers who could refresh weary longing souls. Such sounds thrill every pulse of one's being, until it seems by some responsive chord to vibrate with the thought of immortality. Miriam Lancaster, and Tilly Snow were 122 On James Creek two little girls of about twelve years of age. They were standing on the banks far away from the crowd watching a group of men seineing for the fish. Miriam was dreamy eyed and slender. Tilly with a heavy schock of coarse black hair, freckled face, and inquisitive nose, was plump, noisy and alert. Her sharp eyes let nothing escape their penetration. She had made various exclamations at the opera- tions of the fishermen, and now wearying of gazing on them, her restless mind proposed to Miriam, that they go up to the mill, and watch the dancers. On the way to the house, they passed the' groups of men discussing politics, or swapping horses. Farther off under a dense shade, near a spring, were a number of women with infants, whom they were coaxing to slumber in their arms, or for whom they were preparing soft couches of shawls, and rugs so that they could sweetly sleep upon the sward. A brown bottle with a powdered mixture, was passing hands. Light and Shade 123 and sticks of fig root protruding from the sides of their mother's mouths showed they were indulging in the feminine dissipation of snuff-dipp'ng. The largest crowd of the masculine portion of the assemblage were preparing fires to .cook the finny multitude that the nets would empty on the bank, when the glistening freight was hauled ashore. Here, the pur- posed political nominee of the coming fall elections were endeavoring to win favor and friends by bounteous promises of favors granted, when they assumed the reins of government in some county office. Their rhetoric was both flowery, and fiery. Tilly and Miriam passed onward to the mill. Here were the young couples dancing, while theirelders looked on. Some approvingly, others frowned, and heard only in the violin's musical vibration, (which they termed the "ungodly fiddle"), a beguiling incantation of the devil, to lead their young people to their soul's everlasting destruction. 124 On James Creek "Why Mrs. Waters, do you let Mammie dance?" exclaimed a robust farmer's wife, to another rosy faced cheery looking woman at her side. "Yes," was the response, "I believe in letting young folks "Go it," while they are young, when they are old they can't." "You Sammy, let Willie alone," she called in good natured remonstrance to a vigorous urchin of six, who was hammering a younger brother's head, with a bit of broken fish-pole. Then adjusting a baby to a more comfortable position on her knee. Her eyes brightened, as she watched a pretty girl of fourteen trip vigorous footfalls in time to the fiddle's un- tiring squeak. Mammie was "going it" for her flying hair, carmine cheeks, and twisted untied sash, testified to hilarious exercise. The dimples deepened in the mother's face, as she smilingly looked on, and reflected that if the "olive branches" blossomed in coming years around Mammie's side as they Light and Shade 125 were now about herself the giriish enthusiasm would end for keeping time to rhymtic measure. It was an odd assemblage that crowded that big barn-like room. As stated in the opening sentence of this portrayal of real-liie, comprising both its joys, its griefs, and its darkest passions, the company comprised a fair representation of three neighborhoods. There were three sets dancing on the floor, oddly enough they were the younger types of the three castes, in this country social congregation. Mamie and her party were of the Larnis settlement, and all the young people who formed the double quadrille, were dressed more brilliantly and out of keeping with the occasion, than were those of the Butler, or Morton, crowd. The result of the Civil War, was to free in the south not only the ensalved black, but also a white man. That class incompre- hensible to the northern resident because unseen and unknown, termed in the southern 126 On James Creek dialect "the poor white," found in the eman- cipation of the negro, also a freedom. Their deep lethargy was slow in appreciating the fact, but it came. The white artisan or laborer had no abiding place in the south, in antebel- lum days. He came when the cotton, or sugar planter, paid a large price for his skill, fulfilled the contract stipulated for, remained until his work was completed, but brought not his family — ^had no intention of making a home in Dixie. ' Agricultural life, or trade were all that flourished in the "Old South." The only laboring Caucasian the southerner knew was "the white trash." He was only thought of with a pitying contempt by his fair brother, and scorned by the slaves as a creature even meaner than themselves. Small wonder, the opprobrium heaped on his head. Slothful and apparently soul dead he existed. As an indication of their laziness and their physical toughness Grace Greenwood tells this story; (not altogether improbable, but Light and Shade 127 somewhat of an exaggeration.) Their rude houses have great open fire places, and, as sometimes, the one room, is the whole abiding place for an entire family, a slow fire smoul- ders in the chimney's cavernous depths, even in the warm seasons. They are very poor. Shoes are not worn save on gala con- sions, by their young women, and of course in time their feet become so hardened, that the stones and briers of the woods make no impression on their callous surface. The mother of a trio of girls was sitting in just such a cabin smoking, (the old women generally smoke); one of her daughters approached the mantel and her feet rested on the hearth before the fire. "Sally," drawled the good dame, with- drawing a cob pipe from her lips, "thare's a live coal, under yer fut;" "Which fut? Mammy," sang back the softer nasal tones of the girl, fearful of too much physical activity should she err in move- ment. 128 On James Creek Ambition under the old system seemed to be utterly dead in this people. After the war was over, something whispered, "there is hope, look up," to this sluggard set, and when hope springs in the human heart the hands exertion will bear fruit. The new regime gave in time inspiration to this class in the south. Never in the old Days would such a reunion as this at Cain's have been presented. The Morton neighborhood visited entirely among themselves, or figured on great occasions dignified with the more refined amusements of an aristocratic exclusiveness. Now many of those grand plantations were in ruins or occupied by former slaves, who now were landlords, where once they served. The old cultured coterie could not be kept together since their nurnbers were so few, their poverty so great; that their former habits of lavish entertainment and visiting could no longer be indulged. Since all must labor, those that toiled, acquired new dignity to this upper Light and Shade 129 circle, and thus even the Larnis settlement, slowly gained a distant social recognition, and fraternal sympathy. This social structure, must be slightly explained in order to lay bare to mental sight, all the varying motives that culminate in the tragedy that the story unfolds. The Morton crowd would be elegant and refined appearing in any setting. The young women were dressed in quiet fashion in such toilettes as were suitable for a picnic in the woods. They were the daughters of the "old fami- lies," as the term goes in the South, and their partners were the sons also of these, with a slight mingling of town young men; who had come down from the nearest village a distance of twenty-five miles. Let us look, a couple in. the Morton corner. The girl is called' "pretty Bettie Mauro," or down in the bootom lands were the Larnis folks are principally scattered, "Old Colonel Maiiro's daughter." An. artist would not have 130 On James Creek perhaps have granted her the first title. She was graceful in figure, but a little sallow in complexion, nose slightly retrousse, and with hair that neither reflected light, nor warmed you by its depth of coloring. Yet love and friendship gave her the cognomen; for who could not love Bettie Mauro.? Grace and sweetness emantated from her as perfume from a flower. With pretty smiles and dainty airs, she dispensed a thous- and spells on all who came about her. So- ciety taught her not, for a loving heart and good blood, were all the monitors that ac- tuated Bettie's bearing to every living thing that crossed her path. Her partner in this dance was a splendid specimen of physical manhood. His hands however where those of a ploughman, his dress rather outr6. It proclaimed a well to-do country dandy. Still one must respect his frank blue eyes, and that air that announces a practical honest man. John Downing, (or Buck), the home nickname which became in time the general Ldght and Shade 131 appellation, was dancing this number with Bettie Mauro. They seemed to be in that room something that held every eye, and one was conscious that conversation was bated as they danced. Why was this? They, the dancers, did not see, but standing in the front door-way was a very beautiful girl of seventeen. A splendid growth of woman-hood. A figure of superb proportions and though her dress was guacherie, proving that the girl neither saw mode of town nor fashion plate, still noth- ing could mar, or dim her tropical beauty. Her cheeks glowed with the scarlet of the pomegranate blossom, (that blossom that gleams in a gafden, with heart of fire.) Her lips were now so tightly clenched that their red was not visible, though always, they were of thread-Uke thinness. Her hair, a heavy braided crown of black, coiled on a head, concealed that it was narrow and flat. An old neighbor, a plain farmer, (when the girl's beauty was commented upon), had 132 On James Creek said. "Yes Nancy Penfield's brow, makes me think of a rattlesnake, when it is ready to strike." The girl's eyes were now dilated, and fierce passion emblazoned the midnight of their usual appearance, and they were burning like molten flame. The exhausted musicians stop their flying bows, and the dancers pause. Buck Downing, returned his companion to a waiting town escort and with, "Thanks Miss Bettie," started away, "why Miss Bettie, the room was too close, your face looks gray!" he exclaimed. Yes, Bettie's usually laughing face was slightly drawn in its expression. She gives him a playful rap with her fan, that illy ac- cords with her white cheeks, and she mur- murs with a voice that is very faint, "It was, bring me a drink." She had seen the face in the doorway, and her prophetic soul saw wherein her innocent heart had blundered. Buck saw it not, until Light and Shade 133 as he reached the edge of the crowd. Nancy's hand lay a weight in his shoulder that startled him, a pulse that burned his flesh. Tilly and Miriam just came up to the scene. "Why Nancy; honey love," said the sur- prised young man, you said you did not care to leave the spring." The provincial term of endearment mad- dened the girl to greater fury. Her response was in tones thick and guttural. "You leave me to dance with the kurnel's daughter, them folks that would wipe their feet on sich as us. You tote her water like their niggers used to do!" The passion and strength of her tones her scintillating eyes, what did it mean? Buck saw the inquisitive eyes of Tilly, the wonder of Miriam's face . He knew Tilly, to be the greatest child gossip for miles around. This sudden revealment of his wife's jealousy disgusted him, because he knew it unfounded and unreasonable. He was mortified too that children's eyes were upon the scene. 134 On James Creek "Miss Bettie is ill, Nancy, let me get her a drink," he said softly. For answer, the crystal goblet in his hand was dashed to the ground. He was only twenty-two, the anger that mantled his brow, was that of a boy, who would not yield in a public place his right as lord and master. The explanation of this picture, demands a full understanding of all the actors. Bettie Mauro, was the only child of an old ruined planter. An honorable, cultured, brave but haughtly old man. He attempted after the failure of the Cause, (in defense of which he lost his right arm), to adjust him- self to the new state of affairs. All his plans, all his ventures in farming under new conditions were failures. Debt, heaped deeper ruin upon him, year after year. Being a widower, a sister as impractical as himself assumed the conduct of his household affairs. To her, it was true Bettie owed the cultivation of those charac- teristics that mark the genliewoman; but Light and Shade 135 nothing to make her a farmer's helpful daugh- ter. The old Colonel loved his daughter with all the tenderness his sensitive and aged heart could bestow. When she was twelve years of age he sent her to a boarding school although her education increased his expenses and the homestead presented the most pa- thetic condition of wreck an dilapidation. Additional mortgages were filed, and decay crept on the porches of the old mansion, and on the fences about the plantation. Deso- lation sat enthroned on the once blooming once fertile acres, of the erstwhile beautiful and enchanting old home. When Bettiewas fifteen, the aunt died. Bettie being sent for, faced with a child's eyes but an awaken- ing woman's soul, the actual situatidn. Well for her were the three years training away from her well-bred, tenderly reared, but doting kinswoman. Her teachers had, on comprehending her family history, endeavored to instill into her such attainments as would fit her to return to that pathetic household, 136 On James Creek an earnest thoughtful being. She also in some of her vacations, had visited the homes of her schoolmates, She was not a genius, only a very loving little creature. She saw that her companions had better ordered homes than her own, and in a vague fashion slowly glimpsed the folly of her father's theoretical management. "Papa," she said one day, as they were sitting in the old parlor, (whose dinginess with the finery of by-gone days hanging in tatters, and with disreputable assurance on the ancient furniture, was appaling,) "Papa you cannot send me back to school in fall, you need me here." The old man laughed. "Why pet, the butterflies are plentiful enough over the barren field." I want my little girl to be an accomplished lady — such as her mother was," — he said with tender sigh. "Mamma's life and mine can never be Light and Shade 137 the same, the South cannot afford to make butterflies of her women now." Very mature thoughts for a young brain they were. After a time they settled the question; for the loving gentleman could never say her nay. "A little child shall lead them," is said in an ancient book about finding the path to 'Jersuaslem, the Golden." A little girl lead the broken down old aristocrat into simple practical lines, for • this New South as she found it. The responsibility of caring for a ruined and every visionary parent, gave her wis- dom beyond her age. She saw that the so- ciety of her father's knowledge was now changed. Few, and far between were the old friends, she must ask for helpful sugges- tions from those about her. She gave hearty welcome to every one who came to their roof-tree and though the ignorant folk of the bottom lands, rather feared the formality and severe dignity of the Colonel, Bettie, 138 On James Creek was regarded as a ray of sunlight by every one. All recognized the brave purpose of her heart in endeavoring to make a home of the devastated poverty cursed lands that were included in that place once dignified with the name, "The Oaks." The father was gently lead to relinquish many of his impossible ideas of cultivating the soil, for leaning on her young arms for his household management, she was also his only intellectual companion. Bettie's edu- cation went on in reading with him the old classics and what literature their excellent library afforded. They were very happy, those two, Bettie and her refined father; whose greatest fault and failure was in personating a crumbling past in the stirring present. 'Three years passed. The young gallants of the county are often seen at the "Oaks," but strange to say not one can boast of any special favor. Bettie is the dancing sprite of merriment at all the country festivities. Light and Shade 139 and the Colonel noted no swain, for whom her smiles were more engaging, or for whom a blush deepens, — unless, — The Colonel never voiced the name he only thundered to an inner inspiration, whose whispers must have been unpleasant, "damn it no.' " One day Bettie and he were seated on the porch. Dancing up the roadway came a mangificent but fiery looking horse. Seated upon it, was a sinewy young farmer. It was Buck Downing. The Colonel's brow wore a frown, and a deep growl rumbled, what does that Caliban want here .J"' The growl startled Bettie, but the com- parison only caused her silvery laughter to wake up every echo in the quiet house. "Caliban! indeed; now papa, Centaur, would be appropriate, but, Caliban! (then in great astonishment,) "why do you dislike Mr. Downing?" "He is low-born, his family are too common 140 On James Creek for my daughter to recognize their son as an associate. His father was an overseer." "Yes but papa they are honest people and you know Mr. Downing is generally recog- nized and considered a rising young man." Then with womanly tack, "look how he mana- ges Satan" (that was the name of the horse), they say no one else in the whole country could so manage the brute." The Colonel looked with gloom and scorn in every line of his fine face. What was there in the picture of a sun-browned but handsome man, curbing with strong hand, a noble restive looking steed, to arouse such a mood.'' Bettie had arisen from the step at her father's feet, and was leaning over him slightly caressing his empty sleeve, but her eyes were adown the broad road-way, and her father saw in them unwonted happiness and pleasure. He shrugged her hand from his shoulder, and abruptly left the porch, Bettie, merry loving Bettie, never before had a caress re- Light and Shade 141 pulsed or known what his displeasure could mean. She thought her parent's interest in good horse-flesh would distract his unkindly temper to the advancing visitor. The Colonel's attention to fine animals had never flagged through all his privations. The rider dismounted. Bettie gave a wel- come of genuine delight. Yet her thoughts would wander to her father's behavior, and thus to the young man she seemed distrait, and uninterested in his conversation. He had noticed the Colonel's departure, and his pride was severely cut. It was contrary to country code of etiquette, to treat visitors in this manner. They do not have daily newspapers in the country, and every caller on his entrance into a household is expected to bring some news or neighbor- hood gossip, to fulfil in a measure the household interest in the outside world. So the elders of a family always satisfy for a time their curiosity with all visitors, before discreetly retiring, when there are young folks in the 142 On James Creek house, for whom their call is especially intended. Young Downing, knew that in the ante- bellum days, the Mauro family would not have permitted social recognition to his own. His father had once hinted at his "flying high," in visiting the Oaks. The old coterie no longer educated their sons in distant colleges. In the district log- school-house, Buck, became a comrade to these scions of ancient stock, and an intimate when they grew to man's estate. He was bright, and his family while uneducated were hardly as thriftless as the general types in the Larnis settlement. With the other youths of the county he visited Bettie Mauro. He had dreamed a delicious fantasy he concluded today, as Bettie, at times was thoughtful and silent. He called himself a stupid fool to have harbored for an instant hope of . winning her hand, because once or twice he had fancied her dimples and blushes were deeper at his remarks than to the other beaux. Ldght and Shade 143 His visit was short, because of the father's slight, and Bettie's unusual quiet. Bettie sat for many hours alone on the porch. A Whipporwill's plaintive call was the only sound that broke the silence of the surroundings and added to her depression. By and by, she realized it was very late and retired. The Penfields, were nieghbors of the Down^ ings, and Nancy and Buck, had been play- mates. That twilight as he left the Oaks he met her on the road riding alone. He accompanied her home. Here, a different greeting from the chill he experienced a few hours previous was accorded him. All the Penfield hounds ran down the roadside, leaping rail-fences to accord their mistress and her escort, a joyful musical welcome. Nancy's father adjusted the quid of to- bacco he was chewing, — to enable him to drawl out, "Why light Buck,' and take sup- paw with us." Nancy's mother, (who was said to have a 144 On James Creek trace of Indian blood in her veins), even relinquished her usual taciturnity, and bid him "Howdy" with a gleam of light in her dark eyes, (very like those brilliant orbs of her daughter), that denoted satisfaction with the visitor. Nancy herself said but little, yet Buck thought as they entered the house, and a blaze from the open fire, where the supper was in preparation shed a golden halo about her, he had never seen so beautiful a being. Bucks' judgment as to her magical beauty was correct. Notwithstanding her square hard jaws, and low brow, her eyes were won- derful either in contemplation, or softly smil- ing. They were deep velvety, and mysterious, and her marvellous complexion outvied the ruby's glow, in its changing but ever fascinat- ing flush. Her thin lips disclosed even pretty teeth that suggested the squirrel, or field- mouse in their bite, but gleamed very charming- ly when she smiled. The girl could neither read nor write. Her family were too slothful Light and Shade 145 to gain even for their children, any advantages the new order of society accorded them. The "poor white's" blood ran sluggishly; but a deep ever throbbing current of hate, for the old aristocracy flowed in their veins. The Penfield family were held even now, in very low esteem; for when the cruel fraticidal war had raged, dark deeds were done in Ar- kansas and Missouri, — by whom.'' — ^That ques- tion was never answered aloud, but whispers were current of those sinister acts being the work of the low caste of these states, who had taken advantage of the frightful calamity of war, to avenge their personal hate deeply nursed, but until that sad time never be- trayed. The Southerners of position, all went into battle, whether boys of sixteen or nearing sixty. Their women and children were left alone on the farms. The "poor white," rarely allied himself to either side. He wished with his more honest and thrifty northern brother, to see the overthrow of that hated wealth, and the 146 On James Creek institution that fostered it. Minus noble impulses, he sought under the shadow of national darkness to be an evil spectre of the night. They shouldered not a musket, but carried a hidden dagger. There was an old widow of wealth in the community, whose sons were fighting for the Confederacy. With her slaves she carried on the work of the plantation, In an autumn she found market for her cotton, and the neigh- bors knew of the transaction. One night masked men wearing the blue of the Union soldier came to her bedside, and demanded the surrender of this gold. She refused to reveal its hiding, and cruel tor- tures were applied. She bore with Spartan fortitude, all their torments, but the robbers and assasins, gained not her secret. (Dying a few days later from her injuries.) When her sons returned, after peace had been de- clared, a trusted slave who had buried the money disclosed its hiding to her children. Dark hints about this horror, had always Light and Shade 147 followed the Penfield boys, {Nancy's brothers), and though after strife subsided they tilled their farm in a desultory fashion, they showed always the Devil's'Die of their Indian blood, in excessive fondness for fishing and hunting. They were tolerated because of their now honest life, but innately scorned, and loathed. Nancy's mother had instilled in this child's heart animosity to the old families. For now even though the old aristocracy were as poor as themselves, there was still that distinctive line of culture and refinement to irritate and annoy. Let us return to the scene in the home of the Penfields. Buck called often after that night. In six weeks he and Nancy were wed. Some-one told the news in the Mauro homestead. After the visitor departed Bettie threw herself into her father's arms and sobbed out her sore heart upon his breast. The old man's blood boiled with indignation that one he scorned could thus wound his darling's heart, but with pride ever dominant, 148 On James Creek he said with cold sneer, "of this your friends must never know." "Father" cried Bettie, and her little figure took on a height that was not its actual measurement, and her eyes flashed sparks through her tears. That her parent could imagine that she would reveal her woman's anguish to friend or foe, stung her to the quick. Bettie would never be the woman to mimic passion or pride on the boards, but she em- bodied fine scorn superbly then. Her father smiled grimly, it refreshed his heated blood, and he rejoiced inwardly, as he saw she was a Mauro after all. She had seen Buck's wife; and that night after gazing long at her reflected features in the mirror, she said softly; "what wonder, — and yet little face hitherto you have won much love for me yet you are not fair enough to win the one heart most longed for." Their first meeting after Buck's marriage, was at this picnic on the creek. Buck, was always life to a crowd of young folks, and Light and Shade 149 fond of dancing. His wife had preferred to remain in another part of the grounds, and he stood among a group circUng the sway- ing couples had employed himself for a time in watching their movements. Bettie and her escort gave him some greeting in passing; he felt the influence of the music's pulsation. He asked Bettie with a jest at his now being "an old married man," (a reference that evidently gave him much joy as his kindling eyes testified), to give him just one dance. Bettie with the haunting echo of her father's words in her ears seized the occasion to show the neighborhood, that theirs, — ^was — (as in truth it only had been), an acquaintainship, with good comrade-ship. Again we come to that doorway in the mill. Buck was angered at the breaking of the glass, and his wife's unwomanly behavior. Flushed and stern he stalked away from her 1 so On James Creek with set face, he found another goblet filled it with water, and returned to Bettie's side. Her escort had been quicker than Mr. Down- ing, in supplying the request. She turned to Buck, and lifting her eyes to his own with a jest at his delay, and as a little courtesy for his trouble, stretched forth her hand to re- ceive the draught. No one in all that crowd knew how the deed was done. A glimmer of steel for an instant lighted the air, and sweet noble, ever gentle Bettie Mauro sank gasping to the floor. A scarlet stream trickled from her breast and stained her snowy dress. Above her stood a woman, who held a blood-stained knife, and her gleaming eyes like those of an aroused panther, held those around spell- boundj and transfixed with horror. Tender arms lifted martyred Bettie, but all res- toratives were unavailing. When her father who was in a distant part of wood, came her pure soul' had winged away from its earthly tenement. Light and Shade 151 Tilly and Miriam, had seen the episode of the doorway; and to Miriam, the wife's strange eyes had betokened some disaster. Ere the horrible deed was done, she had (with a look at the blue sky above), asked Tilly, "if the angels only sang in heaven, did they not sometimes look down and weep." Who, can answer Miriam's question.'' The father clasped with his uninjured arm his daughter's pulse-less body, and raised his maimed stump heavenward. These words came with a broken cry that was terrible in its intensity of agony. Unconscious, that this entreaty was a seeming defiance to an all Mericful Father. "Oh! Thou! that found for Abraham a sacrifice, why demandest Thou of me, my one ewe lamb?" What a scene! The murderess throughout the panic, had stood unmoved against the wall. Her fiery eyes like those of a thirsty tigress, burned with the triumphant glare of satisfied vengeance. Had a man done a 152 On James Creek deed so hideous, short shrift, would those sturdy farmers allowed him. But a woman! It seemed as if her sex protected her, or her daring eyes had hypnotized their movements. Her husband with a stunning realization of her crime, and with the bitter pang, that he was the object, for whom she had stained her hands, remembers also she was his wife. Before God and men he had sworn to defend her through good and ill. In some way, while they were trying to win back the beauti- ful spirit of Bettie, he had removed her from- the room, hurried into their wagon and driven away. In Indian Territory, (Oklahoma), they were captured many months after the event; when the officers found the murderess, the tigress, lo! she was a mother, tenderly rock- ing a tiny infant in her arms. She was brought to trial, and during her entire imprisonment, and other ordeals, she never evinced an emotion of regret, or feeling of fear as to its result on her own life. Light and Shade 1S3 Many influences were brought to bear to secure her freedom. I remember reading a published letter written by a gifted woman, to the Governor of the State. The writer was one who had evidently suffered a bitter expierence of cheated affection. She did not know the life or purity of murdered Bettie. Memory has dimmed for me the exact word- ing of this letter. A line held this idea. "Your Excellency, must realize in your inmost consciousness, that she, who murders the soul's best born — true love, is a greater murderess than she, who only stabs the living frame.'' Even the sainted soul of Bettie must suffer unmerited stain. Medical testimony also fig- red in the trial. Mrs. Downing was finally released on the grounds of emotional insanity. Colonel Mauro, never lived until the verdict was given. He sank into hopeless melan- cholia, and was shortly afterwards buried by his daughter's side. The child Miriam, and I, met in later years. 154 On James Creek "Prophetess," I said as a playful allusion to the meaning of her name, "tell me what sequel time has brought to the tradedy of James Creek?" Miriam replied. "In an insane asylum at Q)lumbus, Ohio, as I was passing through its wards, a patient was shown me, whom ten years before had murdered the supposed rival to her husbands affection. Nancy Pen- field was sitting in this room a guant and wasted figure, (although not thirty years of age). Unrestrained passions had burnt up her body, and a distressed soul cried out to me as I entered the room. "Sing to me, sing to me." I sang; "Lead Kindly Light," — the song was also a prayer. Miriam and I sat a long time in silence. Silence — deep silence always follows memories of James Creek. LONE GRAVE BLUFF It was hot and dull on the steamer, that was plying the gray waters of the Ouchita. We had come into that portion of the stream where the red banks rose like solid walls on both banks of the river. Its course narrowed here, and .these bluffs cut off the air that would have reached the boat, were the banks level and lower. Most of the ladies went up on the hurricane-deck. Here Grace Reynolds, chatted for a time with the pilot. "The approaching bluff is called Lone Grave Bluff," said the man at the wheel. "You see the one grave upon it, that is the grave of an old trapper." Yes, there above the red cliff, was to be described a tree, standing alone above a low mound. A level green field stretched out on all sides, its monotony broken only by a growth of low shrubs and rank grasses. 1 56 Lone Grave Bluff A few crumbling rails showed where there had been a small enclosure. One side alone was in its original criss-cross, and the tall riders were gorgeously draped by the blossom- ing vine of the trumpet flower. Rank poke- berries, held clusters of purple fruit, that also gave color, and garlanded man's ulgy hand- craft with beauty. The dark feathered song- bird of the country was gorging himself with the berries. He would nip the full ripe globules and petulantly suffer them to fall to the ground, spattering with crimson streaks the decaying wood around him. The boat was making a landing, and his fretful discordant cry was very distinct to those who noted his movements. "Oh! mock-bird;" said Grace, "why do you fret.?" "Perhaps," said the pilot, "he is like genuises among mankind. He who oft charms others, misses by his own fault, all possibilities of knowing happiness for himself." Light and Shade 157 Grace's flush of embarassment at being overheard when thinking aloud, faded quickly into astonishment at the reply of the pilot. What manner of a river-man was this, who speculated on the tempei of song-birds, and followed the imagination of a young, woman with comprehensive interpretation ? The soulful automaton at the wheel, went on answering her look as well as her outspoken thoughts. "Who should note song-birds, or the varying landscape more than I.? The mocking-bird cheers me often in the watches of the night, and his morning song wakes all sleeping things. "Gray-throat, and I are pards," dropping back into river vernacular. "What were you, before you became a pilot?" asked Grace abruptly. "The son of a schoolmaster, then a printer, now, what you see. At present I have very little use for the land, unless it is to raise song-birds, potatoes, and chickens." 158 Lmie Grave Bluff The last practical turn of the conversation, caused them both to laugh heartily. Then Grace turned her attention to the landing of the steamer. Other passengers now came into the pilot- house; among them a Methodist Bishop from St. Louis. No man could prove the peculiar conditions of American Life, and the ability of a man rising to a position of force and power by his own exertions more than this man. He was now cultured and polished, and presiding over a wealthy city congregation. He carried power in his personality, far-reaching, and for the best good of his fellowman; yet he was a grown man, ere he had mastered the art of reading, and those elegant firm white hands, in boyhood had handled hoe, rifle, and axe, ere they ever thumbed a lettered page. Grace remained intently fascinated in the movements of the boatmen, and as the sun's rays grew fainter, and the wood, for which the boat had stopped, was nearly aboard; a strange figure oddly weighted with skins and LigM and Shade 159 furs, wended its way toward the boat. It came from the distant woods lying back of the lone grave on the bluff. The Captain of the boat stood on the gang-plank to meet it. After a short parley the Figure dumped down its load. The Captain paid out some coin, and the Figure, turned back toward the silence of the shore, and the company of the sleeper in the grave. Relieved from the load on his back he was a tall man. Once he paused, and stood irresolute; he turned and looked attentively at the steamboat. He lifted a cap of a coon skin decorated with the animal's tail, from his head, and wiped his brow. The twilight shadows were deepening. He stood immovable, and curiously watched the boat. Grace Reynolds was twenty four years of age, and surely ought not to have been as im- pulsive as a child. Yet she ran bareheaded, down the almost perpendicular stairway; 160 Lone Grave Bluff and was hurrying on the gang-plank, when the burly form of the Mate interposed. "Excuse me Miss," he said, "do you know there is no one living on these banks? It is rather dark for a lady to go alone." "I am accompanying Miss Reynolds," said the Bishop. Grace, in her confusion gave him no thanks, but slipped her hand on his arm. The Mate respectfully grumbled out his lack of knowledge, that the lady had an escort, still he muttered, "No one lives on shore," and said something about the time for starting. The Bishop, saw the Captain, a few steps distiant, "We will not detain you unnecessarily," he said, and suffered Grace to pull him forward. "You'll meet the Ghost of Lone Grave?" called the Captain. "It is the Ghost I must see," said Grace breathlessly. "Pardon me," said the Bishop, "I noted your excitement, and presumed some good purpose impelled you to thus hurry your steps." Ldght and Shade 161 "No! no! not sure!" said Grace; "but I must see that "Ghost!" Whatever mistake she made Grace knew the Bishop was not the man to laugh. He had seen too much of Hfe, from the rudeness of frontierism, to all the intricacies of worldy and religious diplomacy; he had had varied experiences, and the young woman knew that when explanations could be made, he would sympathize with her failure, (if it proved one,) just as quickly as he now deftly assisted her in following an impulsive idea. The Figure had started again. Ended was his inspection of the boat. And It was climbing upward, straight toward the mound under the sheltering tree. At the grave It stopped. His back was toward them when Grace and the Bishop came up. "Mr. Dar- nell! Mr. Hugh Darnell!" called Grace softly. The Figure stirred. A grizzled, sternfaced, long haired, bearded man faced them. "What do you want.? Who are you?" 162 Lone Grave Bluff growled the broad-shouldered deep voiced Ghost. "Mr. Darnell.? is it not.? Say are you Darnell.?" trembled the voice of the excited girl. "Well, then, if I say it is.?" "Why then you must know your wife lives — she still prays for you. I am Grace Reynolds, little Grace, you know — Don't you remember a little girl at the hotel you teased and toyed with.? I saw her — your wife — three days ago, and she — oh! God! man do you know what a wife's love can mean.?" "My wife, deserted me like all the rest eighteen years ago," muttered the Ghost. "Do you know you are now talking to a man for whom a rope is waiting.?" "Perhaps you are a sister or some relative of his — that dead man, trapping me back to the gallows?" "Oh! think," cried Grace, "of happier things, those merry days when you and your wife were at the hoteL There, where you Liffht and Shade 163 petted a little girl so good naturedly, gave her goodies to eat, often made her laugh. Oh! man wake up. With your wife there is a beautiful girl, who has never seen her father, and she is yours — your daughter." "My daughter.?" The big burly man dropped on his knees, the blood receded from his face, and notwithstanding his heavy tan, he looked as pale as a veritable Ghost. "My wife left me like all the rest," he brokenly murmurmed. "No," said Grace gently "she did not leave you. She was taken ill, and her brothers removed her to her old home. They would not communicate with you. There the little girl came. You were never heard from after- wards. Now some angel led me to you, and you must go back to them." "Back to your proper life and duty," said the Bishop. "A daughter," — still mumbled the man. "Yes, a daughter. A beautiful young wo- 164 Lone Grave Bluff man will call you father" sobbed Grace. The man's agony was hard to see. "As lovely as yourself?" said the quiver- ing lips, looking on the girl, whom now the moonlight shone upon and glorified. "More beautiful, for she is in her morn- ing's sweet blush, "replied Grace. "And you .'' Who are you .?" said the amazed man, shaking under all the stress and as- tonishment of the hour. "Who are youi"' he repeated turning to the Bishop. "I am one who will befriend you, and now as Miss Reynolds says you must go back to your place in the world, and give what re- mains of your life to your wife and daughter." It was many moments ere a low hard voice said, "No, that can never be. For me there is no justice. This young lady, knows my life and its cursed crime." "If you have made mistakes man, in the past, there is more need for you to straighten up the last pages in this book called life," remarked the Bishop. Light and Shade 165 By and by the shadows grew deeper, and the moon became the silent witness of the scene. The "roustabout's" song, that ac- companied their "wooding up," no longer floated on the air. Then they saw one of the passengers coming towards them, to announce that the boat was waiting to "shove off." Many lines could be taken with their con- versation. A few words will be as effective; in summing up the fact, that Grace and the Bishop, persuaded the ghost of Lone Grave Bluff to return with them to the boat. They went back with him to his cabin in the woods, and gathered up what money he had saved. His simple wants had been few and the sale of pelts and skins, and the timber from his "clearing" filled a goodly wallet. The in- cident of course was soon known on the steamer. This is the story. Eighteen years before the above described meeting, Grace Reynolds a pretty child of six boarded with her parents, in a hotel, in the town of S in the State of L . 1 66 Lone Grave Bluff She was petted and teased, by a young man, whose wife also made much of the little folks in the house. Possibly, because the ladies of the hotel did not grant her, the same in- timacy they gave to others of their sex in the house. The young man, was Hugh Darnell; only twenty three years of age. His wife, a pure young country girl who ran away from her home to marry him. Her parents objected because he was a gambler. She threw away parental counsel for a girlish infatuation. It remained for the child Grace Reynolds to see her one day after singing a little ballad burst into tears. The sLx-year old pitied the fair young woman, and gave childish sympathy. The gambler's wife aj)- preciated the tenderness, and Grace was much petted by the pair. This is not a defense of Hugh Darnell; yet subtle currents of the human mind must be known ere we pass judgment on fellow-man. Hugh had be- come an orphan at an eariy age. He had kicks and cufiFs, and neither love nor friendly Light and Shade 167 guidance. He had unfortunately found he was unusually adept in handling cards. Thus reared, he saw nothing antagonistic to human welfare in becoming a knight of the green cloth. He possessed a happy disposition, a generous soul, and he loved his young wife devotedly. Because the little girl was of interest to her, he brought all his boyish pranks into play in order to amuse the little one. The town of S — was a great commercial center. Not a cultured, refined or staid community. Get rich, was the atmoshperic burden of the whole place. To get rich' was feverish contagion that afflicted all the male residents of this restless society. One night, two men were intently manipu- lating cards in the usual surroundings of a gambling establishment. Darnell was one. His vis a vis, a young man of thirty. The only petted, indulged, and now reckless son of a wealthy family. Luick haid been against him this evening. The heap of coin and notes was on Hugh's 168 Lone Grave Bluff side of the board. Gus Knowles in despera- tion resorted to shifty tricks, unlawful to the game. Hugh rose in angry protest. Gus, levied his pistol for retort. Hugh dashed it on the table. Then ensued a demonical encounter with uplifted chairs. Gus again gained possession of the pistol. Hugh, with reason lost, wrested it from his hands and fired. Gus Knolwes was in an instant a great in- animate thing, stretched with appalling hid- eousness on the floor. Hugh sobbed like a child, when Gus failed to show sign of life, and made piteous pleas for forgiveness. Hugh, was a comparative stranger in the town. The Knowles family were widely connected and great factors in the spirit of the community. They were vindicative also. By noon of the next day the greater portion of the town said, Gus Knowles was a martyr, a cruelly slain man. Hugh was represented as satisfying an old grudge, and Gus's death Light and Shade 169 was called a premeditated murder. Dar- nell's wife realized the import of the awful murmurs, and, finding the best counsel of the place, demanded more renumeration than they could afford, determined to throw her- self at her father's feet and implore assistance in their fearful hour of trial. Her husband would not consent to her casting herself on her parents. He clung to the sight of her face, as his only sunlight. She feared the public clamor, and realized that only the best legal talent could save his life. Lawlessness, was not infrequent in the mammon-consecrated town of S . Some ne- gro miscreant was also arrested and placed in the same building. The black-man's crime aroused the town to fury. A frenzied mob visited the jailer at night, demanding keys of the cell where he was confined. This custodian refused ; and the furious crowd bound him hand and foot, and effected their entrance by bat- tering down the doors of the old structure. Gus Knowles friends took advantage of the 170 Lone Grave Bluff occasion to cry out, "with the nigger fetch out Darnell." The jailer's family lived in a portion of the building. The guardsman wife had learned to pity the young man, and determined to save him from the mad assemblage without. She suffered Darnell to escape by hiding him in her own apartments. The maddened citi- zens found themselves cheated of one victim that night. In the morning of the same fear- some day, Mrs. Darnell's brother had visited her, and finding her ill persuaded her to return to her old home. He promised to see Hugh and secure for him better counsel. He only played upon her a cruel deception. He visited the Jailer's wife and told her his sister had renounced her husband and returned to those who would befriend her. Hugh heard this ere he crept away in the midnight dark- ness; and shunned for months the habitations of men. Afterwards, some equally unkind fate told him she had died. The horror of the one night and the fear of rearrest, made Light and Shade 171 him feel indeed a veritable Cain. In another State, he began an isolated hermit's life, near the old trapper's grave on the river's bluff. The ancient sepulcher suggested a like exis- tence to him. To cover his identity he let the curious of the country-side and the deck- hands of the steamboats consider him the ghost of the lone grave. On the evening this story opened, he had paused at the mound with the reflection that here he soon would be laid. Grace, had by some chance in her womanhood met his wife and daughter, be- came the confidant of the former, who had never ceased to hope of meeting her husband again. Something impelled Miss Reynolds to in- terview that figure standing in the twilight shadows. Now there is never seen a ghost on Lone Grave Bluff. EASTER LILIES "Who is she? tell me her history?" said Sister Eulalie. The nun had caught the girl's warm fingers with an icy hand. Ex- citement heightened her color. Ruth's look of surprise at her intensity, covered her im- mediately with her usual convent reserve. She removed her hands caught up her rosary with her fingers, and said quietedly "she reminds me of one I once knew well." Ruth attempted to caress her hands, as she replied; "Her people are Irish, I think the girl is very beautiful, with a face that is rare in its expression." "Why! Sister, now that your eyes gaze into mine, she is very like yourself." The nun gave no response. The great wave of color that had illumnied her countenance faded out. The stony look came back. The woman of emotion only a moment before, Light and Shade 173 again became a creature of cold formality, hiding beneath a placidity of countenance the soul's surging passions, as completely, as her convent robes veiled the outlines of her form. The long slender fingers clasped her roasry, her eyes reverently turned to the statue of the Madonna placed between the windows, and the beads slipped rapidly be- tween her palms. Ruth, turned; and sighing, looked about the deserted schoolroom. Going to a central desk, she gathered up some books and writing materials, took her hat froni a closet, and then sat down by an open window and gazed on the lawn without. The clock ticked away; the afternoon shadows deepened. The girl was only seventeen; and youth makes strong attachments. Impulsive, frank and loving, she wished to say good-bye to the black robed figure near her. That figure fully aware of her intentions, after finding her devotions could not weary the child's patience said at last: 174 Easter Lilies "We must close the building. Vespers will soon begin." The girl's soft arms were swiftly around her neck. "Oh! Sister," she said; "it is my last day, I hate to say farewell to you and the dear old room." The nun disengaged herself gently from the fond embrace. Her lips touched the mouth of the pleading girl, and with a laugh she answered: "Why Ruth dear, you still play the organ for us and we shall see you often;" here, a caress was given, (as a child is touched, when we bid it go away and wish its prattle out of hearing.) Ruth, caught her breath, and laughed back a shrill "oh! yes!" that was half a sob of re- gret, and walked out of the open door. When in the outer air bitter reflections filled her curly head. She does not care for me because I am a protestant, was her unspoken thought Then the absurdity of what satisfaction the sight of black-robed forms, viewed from the Light and Shade 175 organ-loft, could give her eager heart, caused her to laugh aloud and hasten home. The position of this girl had been singular; and to-day was the end for her, of six months work in the convent school. The Mother Superior had given her that morning a scapula with the cold remark, "what we give you with love and the desire of God's blessing upon you, doubtless in a short time you will throw away." The girl's wide opened eyes, and the eager blush of pleasure with which she accepted the gift, betokened to the Sister that the girl's affections were a responsive chord on which to play all the witcheries of her beloved church. Ruth Ashmore was a widow's daughter; her brother had been killed in a railroad acci- dent about one year ago. Ruth found that something must bfe done to keep the wolf from their door. She assembled a small school of little children and was happy in her work, with slight thought that the tiny congregation that met on Sun- 176 Easter Lilies days in an adjoining house should play any part in her life or occupation. One day a pupil said: "We leave you next week, Father De- ranger starts a parish school." Ruth's pupils were many of them children of Catholics; this news meant the withdrawal of their at- tendance, and Ruth's means of livelihood. Father Deranger's little cottage and the frame shell of a building serving for a church was near. Ruth hastened over to the par- sonage and found the French priest affable and kindly. She desired to know if she could hope for employment as his assistant. The priest reflected. He was away a great portion of the day visiting a widely scattered flock, for many of his parishioners were country residents, or section-hands along a wide stretch of railroad. It was arduous labor, and he was determined on establishing his church and its schools firmly and well in this western community. "Yes," he replied; "but we Catholics never Light and Shade 177 educate the head at the expense of the heart," and for the sake of uniformity you must conform to all our rules and regulation." Another building arose by the side of the tiny parsonage, and here Ruth and a handful of children became known as St. Joseph's parish school. Quickly attendance increased. Father Deranger taught the latin and recited prayers in the morning. Ruth assumed all the cares. Daily it grew. Big girls came in from the country, boarded in town and magnified the labor. Sturdy Mikes and devil-may-care lagos came in on the boy's side. An assistant was appointed by the Bishop, a new priest who took charge of the boys. Another house was erected; and in this Ruth and her girls were installed. Now she realized that her work as a teacher would soon end; for the school of St. Mary's, (as the girls quarters were henceforth termed), was building a home for the sisters who were coming as permanent teachers. The Madonna's figure 178 Easter Ldlies was installed within a shrine in the school- room and the priest insisted that an obeisance on the entrance and departure of a pupU be strictly observed. Ruth, a sturdy puritan demurred. Father Deranger said, "that reverence instilled for motherhood crowned and enthroned, should not be objectionable to even protestant eyes." Six months pass; now Ruth is teaching with sister Eulalie. For Mother Prudenciana, the Superior, was too busy for a time, begging means to furnish their school and adding other departments to the curriculum. At length with a quickness that was startling, St. Mary's was a thoroughly equipped boarding institution. Three more nuns were now engaged making a total of five. Happy as their children they seemed to be; save Eulalie. No doubt ill health kept her from showing the same pleasure the rest manifested in their stray bits of enjoyment. This lead* us to the conversation with which the story opened. Light and Shade 179 The subject of the Nun's eager interoga- tions was a beautiful girl of fifteen, of Spanish type and extremely graceful; she contrasted strangely with Mr. and Mrs. Milligan, a Hibernian couple, whom she called father, and mother, and with whom she attended the church of St. Joseph. Ruth became the organist of the chapel, because the religious vows of the sisters for- bade their taking part in the public service. The great Easter festival of the congre- gation approached; and the little company of the faithful in this new western town, made their edifice of worship as fragrant with flowers and incense, as was possible to its narrow confines. The decoration was as gorgeous, (if on a sm.aller scale), as that in any cathe- dral. White waxen easter lilies breathed irom their golden hearts, delicious perfume over the whole as.semblage. Ah, now there is a hush. The confirmation class enter the door. Beautiful maidenhood gowned in white,, enter the chancel, followed 180 Easter Lilies by sturdy youths, (for once forgetful of ro- guishness.) As the procession passes the aisles, a dark-haired man kneeling in a pew is seen to start and peer into the face of Mary Milligan. The procession continues until the children kneel at the altar rail. The several nuns come forward to remove the lighted tapers from their hands, until the sacrament is ad- ministered. In doing this Sister Eulalie slight- ly faces the audience. The stranger, a Spaniard stands upright in his seat. A low groan es- capes him. The startled nun looks in that direction, their eyes meet. The Sister falls to the floor. , All is confusion. The choir receives hurried signals to continue and immediately rich full voices chant strongly, "Calicem Salutatis." The frightened nuns hastily carry away in their arms the stricken sister, whose pallid lips murmur with returning consciousness, "Calicem Accipiam!" Sister Eulalie was ill, heart disease had for years wasted her strength, for months lAght and Shade 181 the only life in her fragile frame was her fer- vid soul, now some shock was ending that light that had shone so intensely from her dark eyes. The stranger left the church; he crossed the gardens surrounding the edifice and de- manded admission to the convent to see the dying nun. No one ran to see if a dispensation would be granted. , The strong demands of the human heart voiced by this man, broke down even such barriers as soliemn religious vows. The sisters permitted him to enter but the smile that parted the lips of Eulalie was not of earthly recognition. An uplifted crucifix alone held her gaze. The eyelids fluttered downward, and the Spaniard clasped a hand, that was rapidly becoming motiony less. Her fingers closed about his own, and the strange spectacle of a consecrated nun dying in her husband's arms was seen. Foo husband he was. She had been a Creole of Louisiana, nuiarried to the son of a neighboring Spanish planter. During the Civil war he 182 Easter Lilies enlisted in the service of the Confederate Navy. Some time afterward the Alabama was destroyed on the coast of France. A comrade of her husband, returned to her a locket containing her portrait, and stated to her that her husband had placed them in his hands as he was leaving the sinking ship. Almeda, an officer went down it was presumed with his ship. Mrs. Almeda, (with a daughter a few months of age) accepted the token as a proof of her husband's death. A few months later Banks invasion laid their plantation in ashes. She and her father were at the time almost alone on the place. For the slaves a few weeks prior had been hurried to Texas; (for this state at that time was deemed safe from the ravages of both armies.') Mrs. Almeda being ill the family were delayed from flight, and were surprised by a midnight fire. In rescuing Mrs. Almeda the babywas forgot ten, when returning health came a few months later, Mrs. Almeda found her father a helpless paralytic, due to the Liight and Shade 183 shock of disaster and the loss of his grandchild. The daughter tenderly cared for him during the few remaining years of his life, and then believing life held for her no further charms as she was widowed, childless, and utterly bereft, reduced to poverty, and broken hearted, she consecrated the rest of her life to the church hoping in religion to find solace and sweet peace. Captain Almeda was picked up in the waves, but shell and exposure left a clouded brain. For years he could not explain, nor recall his past. When finally cured he returned to Louisiana, only to find ashes, for what had been their former home; neighboring plantations de- serted or occupied by strangers. The news that awaited him was that his father-in-law was dead, his child destroyed, his wife's fate unknown. He took up as his business work the diamond trade between Liverpool and Kimberly. He was fortunate in his profession. Chance lead him to this frontier town and 184 Easter LUies fourteen years elapsed ere he found wife and child on an Easter morning beneath the altar of St. Joseph. Eulalie, died and was buried with the austere rites of her order. The mound however is adorned by a marble shaft that is inscribed with the words "WIFE and MOTHER." Mary Milligan learned that her true name was Anita Almeda; and that her foster father was a soldier who saved her life, and with his wife had given her the same care and love they could have bestowed upon their own. She remained with them until her marriage. Her father gave her great educational advan- tages, and she filled his eyes with delight as in her he saw bloom again, the beauty of his wife, the love of his youth. My window is open upon a garden of lilies glowing under the blaze of Texan sunshine. It is the fragrance of these mystical blossoms that has recalled the romance of that cele- bration of the resurrection, that united two souls in a little chapel in El Paso. THE UNWELCOME TENANT "Yes d — ^m you, I have called again." The tone was masculine and stentorian. There was no reply. We, — waited breathlessly in the hallway. We, — were the boarders of No. —19 — Q0~ street. Mrs. Partridge had assembled the landlady and other guests at 9.3O o'clock, P. M. She had rushed into the landlady's room with this exclamation. "He is there again! Come into the hall. His curses are something awful." "Is John at the front door?" asked the land- lady referring to the janitor of the house. "Yes; he is; and he states no one has called here for Mrs. Hutace tonight." "You take a remarkable interest in the affairs of Mrs. Hutace and her daughter." — Gooly remarked the hostess. Mrs. Partridge became instantly erect with 186 The Unwelcome Tenant a dignity that betokened injured innocence and said,— "Will you come into the corridor that leads into their room?" The landlady wearily arose. On reaching this cross passage-way that lead into the wing of the building, they met several other ex- cited guests, among them, myself. I was a recent arrival. Confessing to a very slight acquaintance with any member of the house- hold. Yet most thoroughly cognizant of some mystery surrounding Mrs. Hutace and her daughter Eunice, a beautiful girl of fifteen, or sixteen years of age. Fair, spirituelle looking, and sweetly unconscious, I feasted my old eyes on her girlish loveliness when- ever she appeared, though I rarely saw them save during the dining hours. There, the other occupants of the house greeted them with a constrained, cold, or curious stare. The girl made one or two light remarks, such as a young thing bubbling over with health and spirits would venture. The frozen at- Light and Shade 187 mosphere, apparently bewildered and finally silenced her. The mother, bore herself with an air of high bred disdain. She was a hand- some woman, dark in type. Sorrow, how- ever, had chiselled tragic lines upon her face. The gossip of the house was to the effect; that these ladies admitted into their rooms, some ruffian,, who disturbed the peace and sleep of the entire household. The landlady had knocked at their door and requested them to send this unruly visitor away. Her appeals were not answered, and it was some time ere the ugly menacing tones were stilled. No one ever saw the unappreciated caller enter, or depart; and the entertainment of so low a character, by two women of apparent refinement was an inexplicable mystery. I, had never been in the house when these strange tones were heard, but I had not missed the insinuations, that mother or daughter must drink, or be subject to delirium from drugs. 188 The UrModcome Tenant Tonight, a call, accompanied the knock upon my door. "Doctor! Doctor! come with us and listen to the sounds that can be heard in room 44." I accompanied the several persons who called me and waited with the rest outside of that door. "Curse you to Hell! your heart is too hard to break! but it shall! I teU you it shall! Not gently as my Rosa's shattered, but sword pierced — ^heU tortured!" Here curses vile and deep came thundering from the room. Imprecations, taunts and jeers. "In God's name be still." This time it was Mrs. Hutace who spoke, her voice broken by sobs. "Ha,! ha! ha!" The laugh was demoniacal. Our landlady, in angry mood, demanded admittance. For response; again the laugh, deeper, weird, and devilish. A laugh that caused a shiver to the crowd without. Light and Shade 189 "This is disgracing my house Madam!" "This is disturbing every one's rest!" I insist that you dismiss your visitor!" "I demand that you open the door!" To three of the exclamations, no response was given, but to the last peremptory com- mand, the key turned in the lock, and Mrs. Hutace, wan, trembling, and dishevelled, stood motionless beside the open space. We, recklessly rushed pellmell about the portals. I was ready to fell the ruffian, who had distrubed the peace of the dwelling, and, who, I felt for some reason best known to themselves was being shielded by the un- protected women. No one rushed by us. — ^No masculine form was visible. Mrs.Hus- tace attempted no explanations. She sank helplessly into a chair beside the bed. Neither resentment at our intrusion, nor defense was in her attitude. The golden-haired girl, with the morning- glory eyes was partially upright in her bed! 190 The Unwelcome Tenant The spirituelle face was not upon the shoulders of the girlish form. Was the feminine imp perpetrating some jest? Had she donned a mask? I was the first to enter the room. "You are carrying your frolic too far." I spoke with professional decision to the figure. Approaching closer to the female form; the FACE, looked fearlessly into my eyes. The glinting hair which the gas overhead illumined fell not above a mask. The features were those of Eunice, — ^but distorted — and now resembled whom? I had met this FACE before, — it was a man's face! It had played a part in my own life! I stood transfixed. Where? had I seen the FACE,— When? had I heard this VOICE uttering these frightful curses. It was not Eunice's voice. The elder woman made no attempt at explanation. She covered her face with her hands. Not to hide it from the gaping crowd. Shame was not in her attitude, she caught Light and Shade 191 the expression of the FACE at it looked into mine. Horror! intense, inexplicable horror! convulsed her features. What? to her the regard of others, what.? to her the curiosity- aroused in me.? The FACE, was all she mourned, the VOICE was all that could cause her strong nerves to collapse. In authoritative tones, I bid the inquisitive followers to leave us alone. — I then closed the door. — Stepping towards the young girl, I took her wrist and attempted to guage her pulse. "Ha! Ha! Ha!" A ghoulish laugh arrested me. "Oh! ho! So after many years we meet once more! You were present when I promised Kate to speak to her again! I have spoken. For ten years she has heard me. Curse her selfish soul! Curse her lying tongue! She stabbed my love's heart! My Rosa be- lieved me faithless. Her silence was mis- understood. Her brother, thinking to avenge my cruelty to his sister stained his hands with 192 The Unwelcome Tenant blood. This, Kate, shall hear until death seals her ears from sound!" In an instant there was revivified before my mental vision a scene of twenty years ago. A facial resemblance to a dying man was plainly evident in the transmagnified countenance of Eunice. T le tones, the words, were unmistakably the same. Habit is strong with us all. Doubting memory, doubting sight, nay, even my own individuality, sternly endeavoring to arouse myself as if from a dream, I spoke with the cold severity of a physician, who would quiet the mad, or drunken. "This hysteria must end my young woman. Already the inmates of this dwelling speak of you as addicted to drugs, or drink. For your mother's sake, nay, for your own fair name control this singular display of emotion." The answer was a laugh, sinister and chilling: "Poor prig of Esculapius," (said the VOICE). "There are more things in heaven and earth, Light and Shade 193 Horatio, than are dream't of in your philoso- phy!" The mother, removed her hands from her face when the VOICE made its response to me. Gazing earnestly, searchingly into my eyes, these questions whisperingly fell from her lips. "Is this true! Were you there.? when "? She never finished the sentence. I bowed my head and taking her hands, gently queried, "Has the dear child ever heard the story?" "No; never; she was born and reared far distant from the old home. No one had told her of the curse upon me. She is being defamed wherever we go as given to madness, or drink. Tomorrow she will not remember. 'Tis I, alone who suffer. I alone . Other physicians have administered opiates, ad- vised remedies. You, only you, realize that for this, there is no cure." I left them there. Returned to my office. Memory came and lifted the veil from a scene long since forgot. 194 The Unwelcome Tenant I was a stranger to the whole community. My footsteps had been arrested by the re- port of a pistol shot, and looking backward, saw a man stagger aimlessly, and then fall heavily to the ground. His assailant seemed surprised that his shot was not returned, and quietly awaited the coming of a quickly assem- bling crowd. We brought in the body tenderly. The aggressor coolly surrendere^i himself to the officers of the law. Offering no word of explanation. My attention was given to the prostrate form, using all restoratives possible, but soon realized that the wound was mortal. Life could be but a matter of a few hours. The occurrence was in a small village in Ken — . All who were about the tragic scene knew the dying man, (save my- self). Someone dispatched for his only living relative, a sister, who kept house for him, and whose guardian he was. She came promptly. Distress, and passionate love for the dying man visible in every movement. The brother lay motionless save once or twice a groan of Light and Shade 195 pain responded to our medical examination. The sister threw her arms about the dying form. "Oh! William! my brother! my loved and only brother! Speak to me! Speak! to me!" The dying one opened his eyes, and gazed fixedly into her face. Not lovingly, only with an appalling intensity, that caused the young woman to release her clasp, and fall face downward to the floor. Struggling to raise himself, the brother half lifted his head, and with speech often interrupted by failing breath, replied : "Yes I will speak to you, as long as your life shall last, — remember as long — as life is yours, — I — will — speak — speak — speak " fainter, and fainter, grew the last articulations. Kindly hands laid the silent head upon the pillows. A multiplicity of rumors filled the township as to the cause of the murder. William Beld- ing, (the dead man), had been until six months prior to the tragedy, the announced, and 196 The Unwelcome Tenant family sanctioned lover of the murderer's sister. Some estrangement fell between the pair, the community knew not the cause of the broken engagement. The easiest con- struction, was to assume that Belding had jilted Rosa Renner, and her brother had deemed it to be his trust to avenge the slight. After a somewhat farcical trial, Renner was acquitted on the claim of self defense. Kate Belding lay ill for many months after her brother's death, and for some time ^fter her recovery seemed saddened and deeply de- pressed. Rosa Renner did not live many years after the wretched occurrence. Kate, begged to be allowed to nurse her at the last, and al- though the families had been at severance for a long period, the request was granted, and between the fading and the living, there seemed to spring a sweet tranquility, that was touching to see. Kate's devotion was Feally a martyrdom, and to her the dying girl looked for that aid, human hands extend Light and Shade 197 to those whom they realize will shortly go out into the — ^Unknown. After Rosa was buried, Kate resumed her place in society, and became an imperious local beauty. Their world indulged in various surmises as to the singular positions of the two. Many held that Kate did not show due respect, or natural resentment, for her brother's untimely end. Then William's dying threat was recalled, and Kate was deemed in some way responsible for the blight' that fell on the two homes. George Renner went the way of men who dip their hand in a brothers blood, dying a victim of dissipation. Kate married a business man of another state, never returning to her former home. Twenty years had passed ere we met in Wash — where I was in the employ of a scientific bureau of the government. Kate Belding's matronly title I had never known. Five years later I was pleased to hear of Mrs. Hutace's death. I also learned the 198 The Unwelcome Tenant strange afliction of the younger woman was cured. That the beautiful form no longer im- prisoned an unwelcome tenant. P. S. — For the facts of this story, the writer is indebted to Mrs. Helen Durfee, 1814 K. St., N. W. Washington D. C. ALCIPHRON At the dinner table I first saw him. A boarding house table, in a boom town in Texas. There was the landlady at the head; her cynical Yankee husband at its foot, several locomotive engineers on one side, a lawyer, and two contractors, the landlady's daughter and myself, on the other. A tall six foot blond young man, with clean rosy face, and blue eyes was the new comer. New comers were not infrequent. Men drifted into this boarding house, from all parts of the Union. The town was not large, but being a recent new terminal for a trans-continental railroad it brought many, who came in the interests of that great enter- prise. Startling statements about the town's resources were daily set forth in a local news- paper, fitly named "The Brazen Trumpeter." Men came, expecting here, to find the El Dorado of their dreams. 200 Alciphron Originally the town was an old county seat, and was staid and narrow, but it daily changed in some respects, with the ideas of its ever shift- ing population. It was close to the border line of Arkansas and Louisiana and its colored citizenship was large. The new arrival was, it soon became known, a young man sent down as teacher for a colored institution, which a large endowment from a northern philanthro- pist would soon found in M . He was sent to start the enterprise, by gathering the colored youth into a school, The college buildings were to be erected later, and then, its full corps of teachers were to be employed. Before the meal was over he had with boyish frankness announced that he was the graduate of a well known college in Ohio. Ere the pie that constituted the boarding- house final course was brought in, he had left the table taken his nimble feet up stairs, and returned with a large tin case that held his diploma. Shade of Socrates defend the boy! I cried Ldght and Shade 201 inwardly. For, his unsophisticated candor, and his calling to an unknown work, the scorn of the community upon those efforts, the result on the class for whom he was to labor, these exchanged glances among the men that sur- rounded that board, told me that the proud possessor of that parchment, he so flamboyantly flaunted, would soon be the butt of many a jest, and openely expressed contumely. This callow youth from the seclusion of a Vermont farm and only the mental training of Ober — College, was ill fitted to battle with the many elements that constitute south-western life in the re- construction epoch. Mentally I termed him "Alciphron," for surely it would need a "brave heart," to enable him to safely contend with his surroundings. The next meal proved the bent of the occu- pants of the house. The graduate of Ober-(Alciphron) was wildly alert to know of life in Texas. Each day brought interrogations from Alciphron, 202 Alciphron and found his tormentors fitly armed to play upon his credulity. I pitied him, but could not save him from any taunts, as he was youthfully headstrong, and counted not the difference of thought between his tormentors and himself. As for myself, I had learned my lesson of adaptation early. Though from New Hamp- shire's hills the loss of all my kindred, had thrown me at an early age upon my own re- sources. At last I drifted South as a teacher. In adjusting thyself to my new surroundings, I was spared much bitter experience by a sudden calamity. The conflagration of a steamer on the Missip- sippi threw me with a few other survivors maimed and ill, into a rough new settlement on the river's shore. There, tenderness and sympathy was shown to me a stranger. One, too, who held their backwood's breeding in contempt. One, who had not fate made me recipient of kindness so sweet and care so devoted, would always have deemed herself Light and Shade 203 a creature of finer mould. The flames of real suffering however burned down my nar- row bonds of educated feeling. There, my illness melted my predjudices, and I learned in my judgment of my fellow men, to look below the surface, as we crack the nut to find its juicy meat. Not so with the graduate of Ober — .He realized nothing of the sentiment of the white population toward himself because of his calling. His utter lack of comprehension of the ele- ments about him, made him sometimes utter foolish things. His undertaken at that time and in that place was a daring one. In his missionary zeal he lost sight of tact. Be- sides all this he was utterly incapable of realiz- ing facts in regard to those, whom he would instruct. I came in late one day to a meal and what was my surprise to see every man but "Alci- phron," on his feet around the board. Their 204 Alciphron Angry eyes centered on him seated white and startled at his place. For the unexpected effect of his words made him seem frightened. In truth he was simply dazed at the antagonism his speech had aroused. "Say that again!" thundered the angry boarders. "Gentlemen," gently called the landlady. Then they all crimsoned, and seated them- selves sullenly at their plates. "We beg your pardon Madame!" said the biggest engineer, and silence once more ruled; but evidently not serenity. After the meal was over I heard that the youth from Ober — had rashly uttered some sentence on race equality that infuriated all present. There was not an ounce of hot southern blood at the table. That poor boy had been bred in an atmosphere so different from this, his in- tense zeal for his poor Afric charges had been educated past known conditions, his theoretical deas as yet he himself had not tested. Light and Shade 205 In someway I lost appetite for my meal. The dull solemnity of the dinner table, the unvented scorn of the masculine contingent of the household, affected me much as lower- ing clouds, and a deep dark atmosphere op- presses us, when we fear a violent storm. That night at twelve o'clock, Laura, the landlady's daughter quickly awakened me. "Henry Hauseman has not come home, get up! put on your things quickly." Women seldom spend much time in talk when time for action arrives. Mechanically I obeyed her: I knew without speech on her part, her thoughts. When dressed I said helplessly. "We are but two women, what, can we do alone.'"' "Bruno will go with us; come!" said Laura. Bruno was a gigantic dog, part bloodhound, part mastiff in breed. Clad in dark wraps Laura and I followed his lead. "To Henry Hauseman," said Laura throwing at Bruno's nose a jacket of Harry's. The young man taught a night school as well as 206 Alciphron employed his days. For his night work he was not paid, but he pitied too much to care for mercenary returns. He instructed in the evening those you cared to come to him. He usually came home at ten o'clock. Laura's quick ear had heard the men plan to frighten that "nigger teacher crank," until he picked up a little horse sense for his trade." They proposed meeting him that night and by some evil ruse attempt to frighten him from his calling. Three agreed. One was to throw a knotted lariat across his neck, as he passed a certain point on his lonely road. His school building was on the outskirts of the town. Their design was partially completed when we arrived upon the scene. The rope fell across Hauseman's shoulders quick as a flash, he caught it in his hand and pulled taut. His assailants fled. Hausemans' blood was up and he gave chase. The others cried, "it was only a joke Hauseman!" Here Hauseman proved that in calling him "Alciphron," I Light and Shade 207 had indeed recognized a strong soul. He overtook his adversary and would have strangled him had not the others' have sur- rounded him and rescued this comrade. But Hauseman was now a raging madman, an aroused panther. He was furiously contending with heavy odds when we found them. One of his tormentors nearly choked to death lay gasping in the dust of the roadway, Henry Hauseman mad and unreasoning was fiercely grappling with the others. The great dog sprang at the crazy crowd, Lauro recalled Bruno to her side, and the moon shone full on our six faces, Hauseman glared, with the unsubdued tiger of his nature still gleaming in his eyes. Laura's hand held her canine's collar and her magnificent eyes flashed scorn on the masculine quartette. "Shall I turn my dog loose, or will you gentlemen return home?" said the girl. "It was only a joke," blurted one of the big fellows, "but he," (referring to Hauseman) 208 Alciphron "got the devil up and that's whats made the trouble!" "Mr. Hauseman will you see us home," I said. The passion of wrath left his face and without a word he returned with us to our dwelling. He remained without a few moments talking t\> Laura, and through the still night air, I heard her calmly say, "No! No! Mr. Hause- man, we can only be friends, good true friends let us remain." During the summer, a neighboring city in Louisiana announced that the terrible curse of the south-land was upon her. To her, that season the yellow-fever came with the fierce- ness of a hideous plague. Volunteer nurses were called for, and someone said that Henry Hauseman had left our Texan town to serve in this capacity in our sister city. I had lost all sight of him for some months, and this report only made a slight impression, or was swiftly dismissed from my thoughts, as being impulsively characteristic of him. I shuddered Light and Shade 209 when I thought of his daring, knowing he was unaccustomed to the climate, or its diseases. The terrible pestilence became so frightful that even in our burgh, business became paralyzed because of our proximity to the horrible calamity. Daily bulletins by the press were carefully distributed in our midst, as appeals to our compassion and charity. They were truthful statements of our neighbors' woe. At length these appeals stirred even the frigid currents of my torpid selfish soul. That night sleep came not to me. I saw with closed eyes a beautiful vision. I witnessed my own soul's transfiguration. I saw the homes where sorrow and death held sway, in them myself, an angel of mercy, •soothing fever scorched brows. Low moans, with tender words, I hush into quiet sleep. My care saves for helpless little ones, parents, who, without my timely aid would have left these tender babes to the world's neglect or 210 Alciphron cruelty. I, make comfort exist in these plague stricken homes because of my sex, I am able to bring order out of chaos. I say to that inward voice urging me "to haste to the rescue," yes! I will go! I have no ties of love or kindred, if I perish, I perish in a work of consecration." Divine love for suffering hu- manity came to my heart. Divine impulses stirred my being. The great fire of charity, for my fellow men consumed me, and the blaze blew near the Great Throne my narrow soul. " Nay in my jlesh I saw Godl" What writer dare record, or faithfully sketch the varying emotions of the human soul? Yet I, must mar this revelation of heavenly aspirations in a human heart by mirrowing the darker shades of its narrowness and con- temptible cowardice. Under the stress of my compassionate waves of feeling, I com- menced to pack a few belongings to take with me on the morrow, when I purposed to start Light and Shade 211 for the city of Shreve, and there serve as a volunteer nurse. Tiny accidents affect often in life our whole career. Associated with me in my school work, was a fair young girl whom the children adored. Jealous passion arose in my little soul of her popularity with the little folk. I coveted the love, that sweetened her work. Among the garments my hands folded that night, was a little velvet jacket I had worn in the school- room. I remembered that the children never caressed me. Vividly the garment recalled the time a small boy laid a very dirty little hand on that jacket. It was the first, the only childish touch, that ever had betoken an admiring expression of my severely prim figure. Was I pleased that at last I shared in a childish endearment .i" Truth compels me to say, I saw not affection, I, witnessed only the soil of the chubby fingers, and I became nervous, because they were horrible dirty! That jacket brought me face to face, with 212 Alciphron what nursing the sick, would mean to a finical irritable individual. Seeing thus sharply and clearly all the disagreable features of a duty I was intending to self impose, I suffered my dislike of dirt and squalor, my constitutional hatred of disease, to eclipse the nobler im- pulses of my heart. Then and there, I con- cluded volunteer nursing was for others, who could do it better. Days pass into weeks, weeks into months, then came the white frost. To all, who ever feel a depression, or chill when comes the time of the sere and yellow leaf, I ask you to look at the south when again the yellow fever deso- lates her homes. Then, you can understand what a prayer for the white frost means. Then, you could comprehend what emotions surge in the soul, when this mantle of white and glittering sheen lies over field and fell. Not a regret for the drooping flower, or the withered leaf, would cross your breast. Before this sheet of silver enveloping nature. Light and Shade 213 you would bow low, as if t'were the ermine of a mighty king, and rejoicingly murmur, thank God! at last — the frost! Without, every man and woman's eyes that greeted you would beam with like responsive thought, and every lip would shout out "did you see the frost?" Then the short winter. Ere that was over, lo! that neighboring city, so recently plague stricken, at those doorways where grief, suffering and death, had entered, gay orations were festooned to herald the com- ing of King Comus. In the February follow- ing that terrible summer and fall, the usual preparations were made in Shreve, La. for the annual festivity of Mardi-Gras. Talk not to me of the enervation of the south. War, floodj earthquake, and plague have not terrors enough to crush her people. Pheonix like they rise from flames. Though defeated in conflict, their impover- ished farms swept by tkt mighty waters of her unlevied rivers, cliiaatic plagues 214 Alcvphron robbing them of their beloved, still they carry a brave front even to face the grim monster death. Rachels' there were in Shreve, mourn- ing their children, but they donned not sack cloth nor ashes, They hid their grief 'neath smiling faces, and thought only of helping their lords to forget old griefs, and retrieve fallen fortunes. So that city, with a daring that to the Northern mind is incomprehensible, endeavored to build up again her business prosperity. The pageant of Mardi-Gras attracts, and back of all mimicry, nonsense, and child's play, lies the American summing up of all ventures, — it pays. So the City of Shreve by this commercial investment, endeavored to blot out with jollity with music, and gaiety the horrid memories of her devastating curse. Strangers still shunned her marts, and business languished. Bravely and zealously shrouding grief, she donned gay apparel and bade neigh- boring communities to come into her brightly festooned highways. Nay, come and dance Light and Shade 2lS with us in the great ball, for lo! we still live, laugh, and love! King Comus comes into the city by boat, and the usual ceremonies are the handing over by the Mayor of the city the keys of the town, to the Lord of Misrule and his knights. Standing near the mounted horsemen, while this comedy that opens the day's festivities, was enacted, I heard the name of Henry Hause- man. "Yes," said the first speaker, "he was the noblest nurse we had during the fever." You know Alice Monroe and he were engaged. She, and her mother both died during the summer. After his love's death he gave his time to the sick, and the physicians say it was wonderful how noble and patient he was. Dr. Claudins said he could not have valued his life, for with half care he would not have succumbed, his health was so perfect." So tragedy and comedy were repeated to my ears at once, and the same time. The 216 Alciphron graduate of Ober— was recalled as a lover, hero, and martyr. I followed all the follies of the day and that night as Mrs. Malaprop I had a gay time at the great masquerade ball. To be chosen queen of the Mystic-Crewe ball, is always considered a great honor by the belles of southern cities, where the custom of Mardi Gras holds sway. The king and queen are seated on a throne, and to them, a Lord High Chamberlain presents the masqueraders. Laura, (the landlady's daughter) was at- tired as Poetry, She came forward in a dance of poetic motion, holding aloft a golden lyre wreathed with crimson roses. Her white and gold embroidered grecian robe was partly girdled with great annunciation lilies that swept away from the sides to the hem of her garment. Of course her mask concealed her features, but her marble shoulders, round arms, and magnificent brown hair, uncoiled and rippling to her knees, were enough to cause exclamations of compliment. Crimson Light and Shade 217 poppies crowned her head. The flower world, voiced the meaning of her costume. Later in the evening she caught up her statuesque draperies in order to dance the conventional programme. Replaced her golden sandals with crimson boots, and her lovely Spanish foot bewildered all with its grace and activity. I, as Mrs. Malaprop with a dress of rich bro- cade, powdered hair, waving plumes, and aigrette of diamonds was also a noticeable figure. I construed into quaint phrasfs, and awkward quotations all the compliments, all the incidents of the merry night. Thanks to concealing visor no one noted that I was less fair than many of my sisters. My jests, laughter, and good nature, kept me surrounded by like spirits, who would forget dull care and be, as the actor, becomes by his art, a creature apart from our daily world and form. How exhilirating it was; how like children we delighted in conbealing our identity, and screamed at the antics of harlequins, and and follies. The great room later in the even- 218 Alciphron ing grew densely crowded, and to gain a breath of air, I pressed my escort to edge our way through palms and shrubberies in one part of the room onto a little balcony without, sheltered for that night by canvas. Sequested and alone, I removed my mask to cool my heated face, and bid my companion to find for me a drink. He left my side; and thus I remained alone a few moments in a niche I deemed unknown to others. A merry laugh soon disarmed that thought, "Your Majesty may bring me an ice, and I will sit alone in this recess until you return," said Laura's well known voice to her atten- dant who figured as Louis XIV. Laura started a little at finding the balcony occupied, but as the light fell full upon my familiar features, she hastily removed her mask, and disclosed her lovely countenance glowing with pleasurable excitement. She commenced a lively conversation of the evening's incidents and was immensely enjoying her late partner's Light and Shade 219 mistaken identification of herself. Like a pair of noisy birds we babbled on forgetful of our escorts, (fighting no doubt around a crowded buffet in fierce zeal in order to obey the demands of our capricious appetites.) It was a lengthy wait, and from the flirtation of the ball room we recounted the varied events of the day. I told her there of overbearing of the ro- mance and heroism of Henry Hauseman. With a quick movement her mask was re- placed, and she stood upright, rustling all her draperies and impetuously scattering all her flowers. She complained in a sharp hard voice about the delayed return of our escorts, I bade her remember the necessary work it meant for them in a long line of wrest- ling males in the crowded refreshment room. She gave me no answer; but heelessly I babbled on, until they came with the desired refresh- ments, Later I saw her crimson boots out- vieing all other dancers in the bewildering racquet. 220 Alciphron It was in the gray mists of the morning ere I opened the door of our chamber. During our stay with friends in Shreve we occupied adjoining rooms. I opened the door of my friends' room to see if she had returned. It was a surprise to me, to see the beautiful woman sunk in an attitude of utter despair and dejection. She had cast aside only her mask, flowers, and gloves. Mutely she gazed at her re- flection in the mirror. The great bloom had died from her cheeks and in the dim light her face seemed gray and drawn. "Why! what is the matter darling, are you ill?" I came forward and caught her listless hands. "Mrs. Malaprop does well, to introduce death scenes in the ball-room," came bitterly from her lips. Then a great light dawned upon me. I remembered her rejection of Henry Hauseman, but now, I comprehended that though loving the youth, she would not accept his profFer Ldght arid Shade 221 made in gratitude afone. Now, she was suffering deep sorrow that ended forever, was a silently nursed and proudly secreted affection. After braiding her spfendid hair, (other assistance she refused) I left the beautiful woman alone iii her sboffw. Alone,- — ^her superb youth overshadowed by sad thoughts. I tossed about on my own couch, trying to shut out by slumber, that vision of a fair woman in evening attire, sitting crushed and broken hearted. Grief was draped with white and gold, flowers were in the room all about, and a golden lyre lay at her feet, but a sadder picture could not be drawn in the somberest hues of the painters tints. I realized that on the morrow as each assumed the duties and dress of our every day life for one, — the world wore a changed aspect. One heart sincerely mourned that uncrowned hero, whom we had more in jest than earnest, dubbed "Alciphron." 222 Alciphron I make this record of that life, whose social ostracism, whose final martyrdom I witnessed as an interrogation for the reader. Who is the greater hero the warrior of the battlefield, or this "brave heart," who toiled for the de- graded and who died that others might live,? Under the live oaks of Louisiana there above a mound in a cemetery a simple stone bears the inscription— "ALCIPHRON."