A Little Girl in Old St. Louis

by Amanda M. Douglas

  CHAPTER V

  WITH A TOUCH OF SORROW

  The boats were coming up the river, a long line slow moving, and notwith the usual shouts and songs. Half the town turned out to welcomethem. Along the edge of the levee in the old days stretched aconsiderable bluff, washed and worn away long ago to the level of Marketand Chestnut Streets. From here you had much of the river both up anddown in clear sight.

  It was thronged with men now in motley array, smoking their short pipes,exchanging a bit of badinage and telling each other what treasures theyexpected. For a few weeks there would be a rush of business until theboats were loaded again and everything dropped back to the oldeninertia. There would be plenty of frolics too and a great warm welcomefor Pierre Laclede.

  A canoe was coming up swiftly, and yet there was no sign of gladness onthe boats, no flags flying gayly.

  "What does it all mean?" said some one perplexed.

  The canoe was steered slowly, touched the rude wharf, and the cheer diedin the throats of the throng.

  "It is bad news we bring. Monsieur Laclede is not with us. M. PierreChouteau is heartbroken. Where is the colonel?" and the boat swunground.

  "Here, here," and the tall, soldierly man sprang down the steps. "Whatis it? What has happened to my brother?" and his tone was freighted withanxiety.

  "Nothing to him but sorrow, Monsieur le Colonel. But our brave and truefriend, our great man and leader in everything, M. Laclede, is lost tous forever. Monsieur, he is dead."

  The sailor bowed reverently. Colonel Chouteau clasped his handstogether.

  "Dead! dead! Our beloved M. Laclede." It ran through the crowd like aknell.

  A great wave of sorrow swept over St. Louis. True, the boats came in andthere was bustle and business enough unloading. Some of them were to gofarther up, but they paused in a reverent fashion. The merriment ofwelcome was hushed in reverent sadness. The little bell began to toll,the steps so eager a moment ago were slow enough now. Every one felt hehad lost a friend.

  "But when and how did this happen?" asked Colonel Chouteau, dazed by theunexpected sorrow, and still incredulous.

  The captain of one of the boats on which indeed Pierre Laclede had takenhis passage, stepped to the wharf and made a salute with his hand. Everyone crowded around to hear the story.

  It was melancholy enough and moved more than one to tears. M. Lacledehad not been altogether well on leaving New Orleans, and was trusting tothe exhilarating air of his loved town to restore him. But fever set inand he had grown rapidly worse. It was a long and tedious journey inthose days, and medical lore was at a low ebb. Before they had reachedthe Arkansas River the brave soul had yielded up his life, still in theprime of a splendid manhood, not even attaining the privilege ofsepulture in the town of his heart, for which he had worked and plannedwith a wisdom that was to remain long years afterward, like thefragrance of a high, unwearied soul.

  They gathered in groups relating this and that to his praise. He hadfounded the town, his busy brain and far-reaching wisdom had seen andseized upon the points possible for a great _entrepot_ of trade. And inthe years to come his wildest dreams would be more than realized, thoughthe faint-hearted ones feared now that everything would stop.

  Renee was aroused to a great interest in the tales of the intrepidexplorers. Sitting in the door in the soft darkness, for now the moondid not rise until past midnight, she lingered, listening with a child'seagerness to whom something new and wonderful is related, and Denystelling adventures that even now moved him deeply. De Soto marching withhis little band across the Continent, suffering from perfidy and mutiny,resolved to find a westward passage and the gold that had rewarded otherexplorers in South America, and at last ill and wearied out, giving uphis life, and at night pushing off on the longer journey where friendlyhands rowed out silently as if to some unknown country, and softlydropped their burden in the river, partly it is said because they didnot want the Indians to know that he was mortal and could die.

  Marquette and Joliet, brave heroes of a faith they wished to establisheverywhere, La Salle with his indomitable courage, being deserted andwith but one guide pushing through dangers, then going to France to seekaid from the great king, convinced now that the Mississippi River wasnot a waterway to the western coast as some had predicted, but wouldopen up a great river route to the Gulf of Mexico. There were wildguesses in those days. But this proved true. In the name of Louis XIV.he took possession of this splendid estate, that rendered France thegreatest proprietor of the new country. Not content with all this gloryhe must essay another dangerous trip and lose his life by a perfidiousfollower.

  Men made histories in those days and had but little time to write them.Priests' journals and letters were to translate them later on. Butstories and legends were told over, passed down in families, andtreasured as sacred belongings.

  Renee was deeply interested. The heroism stirred her. Nearly every storyshe wound in some way about Uncle Gaspard. It seemed as if he must havesailed in every boat, trudged through wildernesses, even explored theold cave with its shining walls and sides of lead that they mistookfirst for silver; and after getting over his disappointment how SieurRenault opened the grand Valle mine that seems inexhaustible evento-day. Gaspard had a wonderful way of making all these old heroes livein the flesh again.

  Renee was a very happy little girl now. It was quite true thatMa'm'selle Barbe had a lover, a handsome young fellow who was devoted,who came every night with his violin, and when he did not play sangcharming French love songs. The Guions would much rather have had itGaspard Denys. He was "settled." And then he was a shrewd businessfellow and would be sure to make a fortune. Already he was acquiring agood trade. Alphonse Maurice had no business of his very own, and wasbarely twenty-one. But youthful marriages were very much in vogue inthose days, and most of them were happy. Life was so much more simple.

  Madame Renaud had a great leaning toward Gaspard as well. But what couldone do if he would not come, would not play the lover? She would havelaughed at the idea of the little Renee in any sense being a rival.

  The child had settled to a happy round. She went to the classes, but shecould read very well, and Gaspard had a way of explaining figures toher. There was the business, too, that she was taking a great interestin, and this amused him very much.

  Her kitten grew and was a great pet. There was a flower garden, thoughwild flowers grew all about and there were wild berries in profusion.She often went with Mere Lunde to gather them, sometimes with parties ofchildren. She learned little housewifely tricks as well. When she foundMere Lunde had no end of memories and legends tucked under her cap, sheoften made the gentle old body bring them out, when Uncle Gaspard had tospend his evenings talking to the men.

  She rather liked the Saturday lesson, though she soon had it all byheart. And she was quite a devout little church-goer. She had been verymuch impressed when Father Gibault, the vicar general, came up anddelivered a funeral oration for Monsieur Pierre Laclede.

  Meanwhile the Chouteau brothers stepped into M. Laclede's business.Colonel Auguste Chouteau had been his lieutenant and right-hand man foryears. He was very proud of the town, too, and resolved to improve theold Laclede house and make it quite a centre.

  There was a new governor as well. Why a mild and judicious ruler likeFrancisco Cruzat should have been superseded by an avaricious,feeble-minded Spaniard, who was half the time incapable from drink, noone could explain.

  Meanwhile some larger questions were coming to the fore that causedgreat uneasiness. There was war between the American colonies and theBritish, who had conquered a part of Canada. Spain avowed her sympathywith the colonies. The Indians of the great northwest had affiliatedwith the British. Then an American, Colonel Rogers Clark, had capturedthe British posts at Cahokia and Kaskaskia, but afterward gone toVincennes.

  Colonel Chouteau argued that the town should be put in a state ofdefence. The new palisades had not been finished. This was pushedforward now, the wall strengthened with logs and c
lay, and in someplaces rebuilt. The old cannon was replaced with new, and the gates mademore secure. The governor even in his sober moments laughed at theseprecautions.

  Sometimes on a Sunday or holiday Gaspard Denys took Renee to visit hergrandfather. He made no effort to claim her. Indeed, he was away a gooddeal, and then his cabin was locked up.

  Over beyond at the southern end was the great Chouteau pond, almost alake where the mill was situated, then a kind of creek winding about andanother lovely spot, broadening out, turning around again, and ending ina long point. Young people and older ones too went out to row, takingtheir dinner in picnic fashion. They were always full of pleasure, thesemerry French.

  Christmas had delighted Renee, and brought a disappointment as well. Itwas a great season in old St. Louis. At twelve o'clock every one whopossibly could went to midnight mass and the little church was crowded.The people were already outgrowing it. Father Meurin had come up fromother visitations, there was good old white-haired Father Savigne, whohad been a missionary to the Indians and several times barely escapedwith his life. Father Valentine taught the children and was muchyounger.

  The altar was decorated and illuminated with candles in front of theVirgin Mother and her baby Son. The solemn yet lovely sound of theGregorian chants made waves of music through the chapel and stirredevery heart. There was the solemn consecration, the kneeling, adoringmultitude, the heartfelt responses.

  They might not have understood the intricate, hair-splitting truths ofto-day, and many no doubt came far short of the divine precepts, butthey did worship with all their hearts and souls. And when the priestrang the bell on the hour of midnight it touched them all with deepreverence; and they were glad to join in the hymn, and the benedictiondescended like a blessing.

  Ah, how beautiful it was out of doors! There was no moon, but myriadstars gleamed and glowed, and it seemed as if they were touched with allfaint, delicate colors. The ground was white with snow, the peaked roofswere spires, and the river a dark, winding valley.

  Outside the church everybody shook hands and gave good wishes. Childrenand old people were all together. No one would have missed the mass. Butnow they chatted gayly and talked of the coming day, the young menloitering to capture some pretty girl and walk home with her.

  Mere Lunde stirred the fire and Denys put a great log on it, and on hisown in the shop. The little girl's window was hung with a fur curtain,for occasionally the wind found chinks to whistle through as it camefrom the great prairies beyond and brought the sound of writhing andsometimes crushed forests. But all was warmth within. Mere Lunde made ahot drink with wine and spices, and brought out her Christmas cake whichshe had not meant to cut until to-morrow.

  "But see, it is to-morrow already," she said with her cheery laugh. Shehad devoted several prayers for her poor son's soul and she was quitesure he was safe with the Blessed Virgin and now understood whatheavenly life was like.

  "It was all so beautiful," Renee said with a long breath of delight."And the singing! I can hear it yet in the air."

  "Thou must to bed, little one, for to-morrow will be a gay day," saidGaspard, kissing her. "Mere, see that she is well tucked in, for thenight is cold."

  Alas! for all the precaution the little girl woke up with a strange hotfeeling in her throat, and her head was heavy and seemed twice as largeas ordinary. She tried to raise it, but everything in the room swamround. She gave a faint cry, but no one heard, for Mere Lunde was busyamong pans and pots.

  "Come, little laggard!" cried a cheery voice. "The children are herewith their etrennes."

  These were little cakes with dried fruit dipped in maple syrup and thuscoated over. The children carried them about to each other on Christmasmorning.

  The only answer was a low moan. Uncle Gaspard leaned over the small bed.

  "Renee, Renee, what is it?" He raised her in his arms and was startledat her flushed face, her dulled eyes, her hot hands.

  "O mere," he cried. "Come, the little one is very ill."

  They looked at her, but she did not seem to know them, and moanedpitifully. "Something must be done. She has taken cold, I think, and hasa hot fever."

  Very few people called in a doctor in those days. Indeed, it would havebeen difficult to find him this morning. There were many excellenthome-made remedies that all housewives put up in the autumn, compoundedof roots and barks, some of them learned from the Indian women.

  "Poor child, poor _petite_, yes, she must be attended to at once. Getthy breakfast, m'sieu, while I make some comfort and aid for her. Yes,it is a fever."

  "But what shall I do for her?"

  "Get me some ears of corn, good big ones."

  "And leave her?" aghast at the thought.

  "Thou wilt not cure her by staring at her. She can take no harm for afew moments."

  There was always a big kettle standing on the coals with four short legsholding it up. Mere Lunde raked out the ashes and pushed the flamingbrands under it. Gaspard exhumed an armful of corn from a big box in theshop.

  "Drop them in," she said. "A dozen or so."

  "Oh, yes, I know now." He nodded in a satisfied fashion, for he hadfaith in the remedy.

  Soon the water bubbled up and the fragrance of the steaming corndiffused itself about the room. Mere Lunde went to the bed and put athick blanket under the child. Then the ears were laid about her and shewas rolled up like a mummy. The woman raised her head a trifle andforced a potion down her throat that almost strangled her. Spreadingblankets over her, she tucked her in securely, and, patting the top one,meant for love to the child, she turned away.

  "Well people must eat for strength, and Christmas day is no time forfasting. Come."

  But Gaspard Denys was in no mood for eating. He had never thought ofRenee being ill. He knew of some children who had died, and there wasMonsieur Laclede who looked strong enough to live to a hundred years,who had gone out of life with a fever. Oh, he could not give up hislittle girl!

  "Is that all?" he asked presently.

  Mere Lunde understood.

  "There's no use running in and out like the mill stream, for it's theflour that is getting ground," she said sententiously. "Wait a bit."

  He had large patience with most events of life, but here was breathlesswith suspense. If she had been drooping for days, but she was so merrylast night.

  Rosalie came to the door. The children were going to Chouteau pond toskate and slide. Would not Renee join them?

  "Alas! Renee was very ill."

  "But she must get better by to-morrow," nodding hopefully and laughing.

  After that Grandpere Freneau came up, which startled Gaspard, for he hadnever deigned to visit his grandchild. He was sober and comparativelywell dressed, and had a little gift for her, a curious inlaid box, witha trinket a girl might like. She would be well again in a few days.Children were tough and sturdy, it was the old people who had to thinkabout ills. As for him, he was strong enough yet.

  Then he made a clumsy sort of bow and retreated.

  "I hope it will bring no bad luck," exclaimed Mere Lunde. "But he hasnot a good name. I should throw the gift into the fire!"

  "I dare say it is of no great value." He shook the box. "Some bits ofsilver with which he salves his conscience."

  Mere Lunde crossed herself.

  He put it away in his desk. He was not superstitious, but he wished ithad not happened this morning.

  It was quite late, but he unbarred his shop door. There was no tradenow. The fall business had lasted longer than usual on account of thefine, open weather. When the cold once set in it often lasted steadilyfor three months. But there was plenty of pleasure. The regular trappershad gone off, but hunting parties often sallied out and returned ladenwith game.

  Mere Lunde stole in to look at her patient and shook her head, threwsome more ears of corn in the kettle and answered the calls that came ina joyous mood and left in sorrow. For people were very sympathetic inthose days, and cares were shared in true neighborly fashion.


  Presently there was a little moisture about the edge of Renee's hair,but the watcher did not like the dull purple of her cheeks nor thelabored breathing. There might be a poultice for the throat; yes, shewould make that. And if the good Father came and made a prayer! But thatseemed as if one must be very ill indeed.

  Gaspard had no mind for pleasure. He went in and stood by the child, whomost of the time lay in a heavy sort of sleep. How strange she lookedwith her red, swollen face, quite unlike herself!

  Yes, he would go for Dr. Montcrevier, though he had not much faith inhim, for he seemed to think more of strange bugs and birds and fishesthan human beings. However, his search was fruitless, perhaps it was aswell.

  "The fever is abating," was Mere Lunde's greeting in a joyous tone."Great drops have come out on her forehead. Ah, I think we shall conquerwith the good corn. And she has been awake."

  There was less pressure for breath, though the rattle in the throat wasnot a pleasant sound. But by mid-afternoon she was in a drench ofperspiration, and then Mere Lunde rubbed her dry and rolled her in afresh blanket.

  "What is the matter? I feel so queer," exclaimed the tremulous voice.

  "You are ill, poor little child," in a tender tone.

  "Is it morning? The night was so long. It seemed as if the house wasburning up."

  "It was the bad fever. Oh, yes, it is day, almost another night. Oh,little one, the good God be praised!"

  Mere Lunde dropped down on her knees and repeated a short prayer.

  Renee raised her head.

  "Oh, it still feels queer. And I am so tired."

  She dropped off to sleep again. Mere Lunde had two potions, one for thefever, one for her general strength, but she would not disturb her now.Sleep was generally a good medicine.

  "She has spoken. She is better," was the mere's greeting as Denysentered. "But she is asleep now. Do not disturb her."

  Yes, the dreadful purple was going out of her face. He took the limplittle hand. It was cooler, though the pulse still beat hard and high.Ah, how much one could come to love and hardly know it until the threatof losing appeared. And he thought of her mother. He could never get itout of his mind but that she had died in cruel neglect, alone andheartbroken. He pressed the slim fingers to his lips, he studied thebrow with its soft, light rings of hair, the almost transparent eyelidsand long lashes, the dainty nose that had a piquant ending not quite_retrousse_ but suggestive of it, and the small mouth, the lips wide inthe middle that gave it a roundness often seen in childhood. She wouldbe a pretty young girl, though it was her soft yet deep and wonderingeyes that made her resemble her mother.

  When she roused again Mere Lunde administered her potions. She made avery wry face over the bitter one. The good mere put another poultice onher throat and spread it well over her chest; rolling her up again likea mummy. She would have laughed if there had not been a great lump inher throat.

  "I am like a papoose," she said. "Uncle Gaspard, sit here and tell mesome stories."

  He would not go away after she had fallen asleep, but wrapped himself ina blanket and leaned his head on the foot of her bed. Now and then shemoaned a little, which gave him a pang, and after midnight she grew veryrestless. The fever was coming on again. Mere Lunde roused her and gaveher another potion, and before daylight she had prepared the corn bathagain. The fever did not seem to be as obstinate. By noon she was quitecomfortable. Father Lemoine brought in the vicar general, who was goingback to Ste. Genevieve. This was a great honor, and Mere Lunde broughtout some wine that had come from the real vineyards of France.

  Father Meurin heard the little girl's story. He had known of AntoineFreneau, indeed, he had performed the first marriage and given the firstbaptism in the little town. That was in a tent, because there was nochurch. And the first services had been held in the fields, for thechurch had been built hardly ten years.

  "She would be in poor hands if left to her grandfather," he admitted."And I hope she will be rightly brought up. If you had a wife, M.Denys."

  "I have rambled about so much I have had no time to marry," he returnedrather drily. "But now I shall settle down."

  "I hope so. It is what the towns need, steady occupancy. And you willdeal rightly with the child and see that she is brought up as a daughterof the Church should be. You are quite sure her mother--" he finished thequestion with his eyes.

  "I saw the marriage register in the cathedral at Quebec. Then her motherwas taken to France, where she died," Denys answered.

  The vicar nodded, satisfied. He repeated the prayer for the recovery ofthe sick and gave them all a kindly blessing with his adieu.

  Gaspard Denys fell into a brown study. She was not his child, to besure. Would it make any difference any time in the future? Ought thereto be some woman different from Mere Lunde--bah! it would be years beforeRenee was grown up. And the little one wanted no one to share his love.He was glad--that would always be an excuse to himself. He never couldput any one in the place he had hoped to set Renee Freneau.