CHAPTER XVI
THE RISE IN THE RIVER
There was news enough at Madame Renaud's. Every year she grew a littlestouter, a trifle more consequential. The grandmeres always were. Eliseand Louis both had little daughters. There had been sons before, butgranddaughters were rather nearer, it seemed. She must make achristening cake for both, and she thanked the saints that the churchhad been freshened up a little and that the good Vicar-General had madea gift of a new altar cloth.
The other news was not so joyous. Barbe Gardepier had never been homesince her marriage. Women travelled very seldom in those days. Once herbaby boy had been born and died, then her little girl was just born. Andnow she had lost her husband, and was coming back to St. Louis to live.
Jean Gardepier had died early in the winter. But news was slow incoming. This had been sent with the first relay of boats, and she wouldbe up in June with her little girl.
"And to think of the sorrow of the poor thing!" exclaimed Madame Renaud,wiping her eyes. "Here I have my good man Louis and my four childrenaround me, three of them in homes of their own, and never a sorrow,while she is left alone to sup bitter grief! And not a relative nearher! The saints be praised when it is possible for families to staytogether. Then there is a friendly voice to console you."
They all remembered pretty Barbe Guion. The old grandmere had died--thatwas natural in old age--but aunts and uncles and cousins were living, soit was a family grief.
But the christening came to break the sorrow and there was a grand time.Spring had come late this year. With a rather hard winter, streams andrivers had been choked with ice, but now all was bloom and beauty andgladness.
There were always some special prayers and a mass said on Corpus Christiday, and it was kept with great seriousness at Gaspard Denys'. But theIndians all about were so friendly that fears were allayed, though thetown was better protected now.
There had been very heavy spring rains, and this, with the sunshine,gave promise of abundant harvests. Farmers had begun to plant wheat andrye, which brought back old memories of pleasant life in sunny Francewhen taxes and tithes were not too high.
Amid all this smiling content there was one morning a strange sound. Menpaused at their work and listened. Sometimes in a high wind the soundcame rushing over the prairie like the tramp of an army, and seemed tothreaten everything with destruction. Occasionally the river rose, butsince the founding of the towns no great harm had been done.
On it came, nearer, with a thundering boom that now could not bemistaken. Men rushed to the levee to be sure that the boats were madesafe. They looked up the river, standing on the high ground. What wasthis terror marching toward them? A seething, foaming flood with great,dark waves tossing up a yellow-black spray, sweeping all before it.
"The river! The river is rising!" was shouted by terrified voices, andmen looked at each other in fear. They had never seen anything like it.There had been freshets that had done considerable damage, torn outbanks and sent down great drifts of broken and uprooted trees. There hadbeen ice gorges, when the cakes of ice would pile up like Arctic mounds,crashing, thundering, and suddenly give way, dazzling in the sunshinelike a fleet of boats and, sweeping down the river, crush whatever wasin its way.
But this was a great wall, starting up no one knew where, swelled by thestreams, expanded by the Missouri, sweeping all before it, submergingGaboret Island, gathering momentum every moment, swirling at every pointand curve, as if longing to beat them out of existence, and with anaccumulation of uprooted trees so jammed together that many of themstood upright, a great army of devastation.
The current was very swift in any freshet. Although it was called thegreat river, that applied more to its length, for here it was not muchover two thousand feet wide. But it was deep, with a dangerous powerwhen it rose in its might, and fed by so many streams and tributariesthat the _debris_ was constantly washing down to the gulf at itsnumerous mouths.
They gazed in speechless terror at first, as if they would be helplessin the grasp of such a giant, and the roar was appalling. The sprayseemed dashed up in the very face of heaven; the rending, tearing andcrushing was terrific. The very trees shrieked as they were torn fromtheir foundation. On it rushed, a great, dark, fierce wall, sweepingeverything in its way, tearing out banks, booming like the roar ofartillery, shrieking with madness, as if hundreds of people were cryingout for help and safety. The crowd looked at each other in dismay. Somefled to the next higher range, many sank helplessly to the ground,others were on their knees praying. And when it struck the little townit seemed like a mighty earthquake, and the ground fairly shuddered asit rushed by furiously.
The boats that had been drawn up to a safe line, as was thought, wereswept off to join the mad, careering mass and add to the rending,deafening sound. And when the first accumulation had swept by and waswhirling around the bend of the river another and still anotherfollowed. Was the whole north going to be precipitated upon them?
The curve in the river did the town this much good: it swept the fiercecurrent to the eastern side, tore out, submerged, and by the time itturned it was below the town. They were not to be swept quite away, andsome of the braver ones began to take courage and ventured to look atthe levee below. That was gone, of course.
It was a day and a night of terror. The flood had submerged a part ofthe Rue Royale and some of the residents had moved their belongings tohigher ground. Trading houses had been emptied of their goods. GaspardDenys shrugged his shoulders with intense satisfaction. Up here past theRue de l'Eglise all was safe and dry.
For days there seemed a spell upon the people. They could do littlebesides watch the receding river and view the wreckage it had left inits wake. Great caves and indentations on the opposite shore, barespaces where trees had waved their long green arms joyously in thesunshine a few days ago. Yet they found they had not fared so badly.Everybody turned out to help repair damages.
What of the fleet of boats coming up the river? What of the towns below?
"And my poor Barbe!" cried Madame Renaud. "Why, they would be almosthome, unless the boats were swept to destruction. Only a miracle couldhave saved them. And oh, then, where are they?"
True. The waters had subsided so much it would be safe to go in searchof them. There were several coves less infested now with pirates thanformerly, where boats sometimes put in to avoid the storms. ColonelChouteau at once had two boats made ready and stored with provisions, incase of a rescue of any voyagers.
Then some trading fleets ventured from St. Charles. All along the shoreson both sides were marks of devastation. Great chasms had been createdhere, and there mounds of broken trees and tons of river mud depositedover them. Gaboret Island began to show its head, but it had been sweptclean.
The farther down the river went, the more appalling had been thedestruction. The fate of the towns below they could only guess at, butthe news came presently. Cahokia had been nearly swept out of existence.Part of Kaskaskia, the oldest part built on the river bluff, had beentorn away by the resistless force. People were flying hither andthither, having lost their all.
Andre Valbonais had headed the rescuing party--if, indeed, there wasanything to rescue. The mighty river had gone back to its normal state;the banks, encrusted with yellow mud, were drying in the sun. They foundcurious changes. Two of the little coves were filled with _debris_ andgave no indication of sheltering any travellers.
They passed the Miramec River with no sign. That, too, had all its bankssubmerged, and the tough grasses and reeds were just rearing theirheads. On again, here was quite a bluff. Just around the turn had been anoted pirate resort, broken up two or three times; at the last time withthe cost of a number of lives.
"Do you suppose it will be safe?" queried the captain. "There may beIndians in hiding."
Valbonais reconnoitred awhile. "Up above there is the smoke of a fire,"he said. "And I think I see a boat just beyond the turn. Get your arms,men, and be ready to back out if we are in danger."
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nbsp; They crept on cautiously. Now they could see two boats drawn up on aledge. Farther up there was a cluster of men.
"They are not pirates, surely. They would have some scouts stationed ifthey were."
"They are making signs. Oh, no, they are neither Indians nor pirates,"and the captain dug the pole in the soft bank, impelling the boat up ayard or two. And then he heard a joyful cry, which he answered by anencouraging greeting through the horn he carried.
It was, indeed, the stranded voyagers. The captain of the fleet camerunning down the winding path. He was a Spaniard, quite well known inSt. Louis, Dessous by name.
As to his story, all had been fair sailing, with mostly fine weatheruntil they had reached this point. At the first sight they feared ahurricane was upon them. The river began to seethe and swell, and thenoise of its rush sounded the awful warning in their ears. The boats hadbeen cordelled, and now the order was given to run them in the cove. Twohad reached a point of safety when the sweeping torrent invaded thisshelter and took with it the rest of the line to join the raging flood.
The few passengers were in the first boat, and were soon put ashore andbidden to run upon the high ground. Then an effort was made to save thetwo remaining boats. Now and then a swirl nearly submerged them, but amass of tree trunks and branches caught on some projection at the mouthof the cove, which turned the current and gave them a promise of safety.There was a cave, partly natural, and rendered more secure by the gangof pirates who had once made it their camping ground. But now it beganto fill with water. So they carried some of their stores and blankets toa sheltered place up above to await the result. Even here they couldhear the roar of the river.
When Captain Dessous thought it safe to venture, they examined the boatsand found one with a large hole in the bottom where it had struck on thejagged rock. They had provisions and made a rude shelter for the women,three ladies and a maid, and a little child. It would not be safe toventure until the river had subsided, so they had waited. All could notgo in the one boat, and to leave the others at the mercy of prowlingIndians, or, it might be, a return of some pirate squad, was hardlysafe. Still some of the more courageous men had agreed to remain, andthey had decided to start shortly. It was full moon now and the nightwould be light enough for safety if they were caught in it, for no onecould calculate the exact distance or the obstacles they would have toencounter.
Now all was joyous satisfaction. The stores from the injured boat weredivided among the other two, and the women taken on board the rescueboat. They found their way out to the river, now flowing along serenely.But there would be the tide against them. Still they were delighted atthe thought of soon reaching a safe harbor. The moon came out in itsmost resplendent beauty. The banks of the river were a series ofbewildering pictures for any one with an artistic eye. The men sangsongs in French and Spanish, and would have danced if there had beenroom.
"They are coming up the river!" some one shouted in the light of thegolden June morning. "There is Captain Javelot and Andre Valbonais. Ican make them out through the glass. And some women."
One and another hurried down. Christophe Baugenon expected hissweetheart, and had been getting a nest ready for her. Madame Galettehad come up to end her days with her two sons. Gaspard Denys was thereas well, anxious to know how the peril had been escaped.
There was a lovely woman with a babe in her arms. The Spanish veil-likemantilla was thrown gracefully over her head and shoulders. Her soft,dark eyes glanced up and met those of Denys, who stretched out his handpast that of Valbonais in a heartfelt greeting.
"Barbe!" he cried. "Barbe!" forgetting she had any other name.
"Oh, Monsieur Denys, thank heaven!"
Madame Renaud came rushing down with a wild cry and flung her armsaround her sister.
"Let me take the child," Gaspard said, while the two women fell intoeach other's embrace.
A pretty little thing of three or so, with rings of dark hair about herforehead and curiously tinted eyes, black with golden shades in them.She laid her hand confidingly on his shoulder. Children always trustedhim.
"Marie! Marie!" called Madame Gardepier. "Take the little Angelique.Monsieur Denys, how can I thank you?"
She was lovelier than ever with her eyes full of tears. Elise had beencrying over her.
Marie was maid and slave, about as much Spanish as African, slim andgraceful, and with the beauty belonging to the mixed blood. The childmade no demur, but bestowed a dainty smile upon him.
"Oh--it is nothing." He had not come expecting to meet her, though he hadwondered a little about her.
"But to be here again! To have a welcome from you, an old friend! Yes,it is joy indeed."
Christophe Baugenon had his arms about his sweetheart. They were glad tohave half the world share their joys, in those early days when honestywas more than style or culture.
"Come soon," said Madame Renaud. "We are all such old friends. And Barbewill have so much to tell. And bring ma'm'selle: she can't haveforgotten. Oh, Barbe, she is a young lady now!" laughing cheerily.
Then they moved on, while his eyes followed them.
Already men were repairing the levee, or, rather, building it anew underColonel Chouteau's direction. Some other overflow in time would sweepthis away, but this was the best of their knowledge then. And theunfortunate captain had his story to tell. He had saved his papers andbills of lading, and could tell upon whom the losses would fall. Therewere some shipments for Denys, but he was glad no lives had been lost.Andre was describing their share of the rescue in brief terms. So it waslate when M. Denys returned.
"We waited and waited for you!" cried Renee. "And the breakfast was sogood--the corn cakes Mere Lunde makes that melt in your mouth."
And truly even those wilderness women, with no culinary magazines orhousekeeping hints, concocted very savory dishes. Their grater was ofthe rudest kind. A strip of tin through which a sharpened bit of ironwas driven to make holes, the rough side put upward as it was fastenedto a piece of board. On this they grated green corn all the summer andautumn. During the winter they boiled it on the ear until it was soft,then prepared it the same way. The cakes were mixed with eggs and flourand baked on a hot flat stone in the heat of the coals. A syrup made ofmaple sugar would be poured over them.
"Yes, I am very sorry--and hungry," laughing. "There was so much to talkabout."
"And was any one lost? Where did they find the boats?" Renee was alleagerness.
"There were only two. The rest were swept away. They took shelter inPirate Creek, but the pirates have been cleaned out. It might have beenworse. The losses can be recouped. Ah, you should have seen the joy ofChristophe Baugenon over his sweetheart! Madame Galette, and MadameGardepier with her little girl."
"She is quite old now," said Renee, with the assurance of youth that isits own hasty judge.
"Oh, no! Five or six and twenty. And her little girl is about three, apretty child. Madame Renaud was wild with delight, as who would not be.And she begs that we will come soon."
Renee had busied herself with a pretence of getting the meal, but it wasMere Lunde who had toasted the corn cake and the dried fish. It seemedto her as if a tiny shade had fallen over the world, but no, the sun wasshining with extraordinary brilliancy. It made the leaves outsidescatter its golden rays about as if they were sprites dancing.
"The blessed Virgin has been very good to her," said Mere Lunde,crossing herself. "Such a fearful time! I hope there never will beanother. And Madame Galette. I knew her years ago. She has two good sonsleft."
An event like this made talk for days, especially as the men were busyrepairing damages, and the captains had to tell their stories over andover. Then the next relay of boats came in with the news of the othertowns, and that families were resolving to emigrate. Indeed, before coldweather set in quite a number of families had reached St. Louis, andmany a winter evening was devoted to a recount of dangers and wonderfulescapes, the destruction of many a small fortune.
There was not a happie
r heart in all St. Louis, perhaps, than that ofBarbe Gardepier. If her marriage had not been altogether satisfactory,she would not at first confess it to her sister. New Orleans was verydifferent from St. Louis. Pleasures were not so simple. There werecabarets where men spent evenings drinking and playing games, bettingand losing. And there were balls where men never took their wives, butdanced with beautiful creole girls who were outside the pale of theirown people. True, the wives visited each other and gossiped about thisand that, and went to church often, at times finding a choice morsel ofscandal to discuss. She had longed for her own old home, and as theweeks and months went on she seemed to grow away from her husband ratherthan nearer to him. He had not appeared to mind the baby's death much,while it had almost broken her heart.
She had been bitterly disappointed in the non-success of her second planto visit home, as she still called the old town.
"It is too severe a journey," her husband had said decisively. "And itis a dull little place at the best. I would not stir a step if I werenot compelled to."
For all that he seemed to find plenty to amuse himself with. Coming downthe river, he had made a stay at Kaskaskia, where pretty girls abounded.When he did return there was a little daughter to claim his love; but hewas not fond of babies. Girls were all right enough budding intowomanhood, with a hundred seductive charms. Until then, the nursery andthe convent.
Barbe might have found amusement and danced with the gayest, but shesoon learned that her husband was jealous and could say very bitterthings. So she kept to her little girl and poured out all her love onthis sweet object. There were moments when she could not even bear tothink that Jean Gardepier was her father.
One night he was brought home with a bad stab wound, the result of aquarrel. It did not seem dangerous at first, but he fumed and frettedand would go out too soon. He was quite ill again, and then it was foundthat the wound had penetrated his lung, and, after a few hemorrhages, hedropped quietly out of life. There was not much money left, but enoughto take her home and keep her for awhile, and though she tried hard tomoderate her joy at the thought, in her inmost heart she felt it waspartly the sense of freedom.
And Gaspard Denys had been first to welcome her. The years had touchedhim lightly. His face had the same strong kindliness that had made herfeel in her girlhood that he was a man to be trusted anywhere, a man onecould rely upon. She had learned many things in these few years of hermarried life. She had had a much wider experience than Madame Renaudwith sons-in-law and daughter-in-law and the many years since she becamea bride.
Neighbors came out to greet them. It was like a triumphal procession.Indeed, it seemed as if all the streets were full of gay, cheerfulchatter. For in those days there was very little letter-writing; indeed,many fine housekeepers and excellent women did not know how to write.
Late in the afternoon the sisters were alone. Nearly every one had beendiscussed, and Barbe knew about most of the marriages and deaths, thenew babies, the few newcomers and the general prosperity, as well as thelosses.
"I was extremely pleased with that young Valbonais," Barbe said. "He hasimproved very much. Is he connected in business now with MonsieurDenys?"
"Oh, no; he remains with the Chouteaus. But he is a frequent guest, andone can almost see how it will end," laughing with a certainsatisfaction.
"You mean--with the child?"
"Yes. She is a very pretty girl. She was at two of the balls lastwinter, though not a queen. There was a stranger, two of them, stayingwith the Governor. One cared little for gayety; the other was muchsmitten with the attractive Renee, and there was talk, but it fellthrough. It was said that he really did ask for her hand. But I think M.Denys would much rather have her remain here. She is like a child tohim."
Barbe nodded. "Still she is old enough to marry."
"Oh, yes. Then her grandfather left quite a fortune, as I have told you.She is very young for her years, though--a child in some things."
Barbe drew a long breath. "It is a little singular that M. Denys hasnever married," she said indifferently.
"Oh, he may marry yet. There is always time for a man."
Madame Renaud gave a meaning laugh. Barbe felt her color rising, butvouchsafed no reply.
That evening after supper M. Denys said:
"Let us go down to the Renauds', my child, and welcome Madame Gardepierhome."
"Why, you saw her this morning! I thought everybody was giving her awelcome. She will be tired of so much," was the rather careless reply.
"One is never tired of friendly appreciation."
"Indeed?" almost saucily. "They may tire of other things, however. I wasrunning races on the old mound this afternoon. I would like to sit andrest and talk."
"Running races! And in the winter you were asked in marriage!" Helaughed heartily and pinched her peachy cheek.
"Mere Lunde said sometimes princesses in France were asked in marriagewhen they were only a few years old," she replied with dignity.
"That is true enough. Offered to this one and that. But I do not hawk mylittle queen about."
"You love me very much?"
She uttered it with a soft sigh that was quite charming and touched him.
"Ah, you know that!" with fervor.
"But I like to hear you say it," pleadingly.
"I love you very much." He bent over and kissed the crown of her head,adding, "Then you will not go?"
"Stay with me," she entreated. "You haven't told me half the story ofthe boat coming in this morning."
There was a light, youthful step on the floor.
"Ah, Andre!" Denys said, turning. "Come and tell this girl the welcomesthat filled the air this morning, the finding of the castaways and all.You were there, and she can have it first-hand. Meanwhile, I will rundown to the Renauds' and see if Madame Gardepier is any the worse forher journey."
Renee could have cried out with vexation. Denys did not even stop tolight his pipe.
"Let us go in the garden, ma'm'selle. It is so beautiful in thestarlight, and the air is fragrant with a hundred sweet scents. I wishyou could have had the sail last night. It was the kind of thing to fillone's soul with rapture."
"I am tired!" she cried pettishly. "That was why I refused to go withuncle. And I don't care so much about the rescue. People are crazy, asif nothing ever happened in St. Louis before. And my head aches. Ibelieve I will go to bed."
She sprang up impatiently.
"I am sorry----"
"There are plenty of girls who will be glad to have you talk to them,"she flung out, and the next moment had vanished.
Andre looked after her. He was very much in love with her now. He hadbeen more than charmed with the young Indian girl. He had even thoughtif it was true M. Marchand was dead, he would try to comfort her, to winher. But when he witnessed her love for her husband, her entiredevotion, and the tone in which she once said: "I think I must have hadthe hope in my heart all the time that my husband was alive, and thatgave me strength when it seemed as if I must drop by the wayside. And ifI had not found him I should have died, because there would have been nofurther desire to live," he believed her then. He knew now that musthave been the end. To be loved like that! Could Fate bestow anythingbetter?
But last winter a different feeling had taken possession of him. Firstit was an effort to save Renee from a possible danger. He had seenconsiderable of Monsieur Laflamme and had no faith whatever in him. Hewas quite sure it was her fortune that had attracted him, for he waspaying an equivocal sort of devotion to several others, or else he wasjust trifling with them all, taking what amusement he could in thesimple pleasures of the place.
And now he knew that he had a desire quite for himself! True he wouldhave saved her from any possible evil, but he wanted her, the smiles andthe sweetness she lavished on Uncle Denys and Mere Lunde, the radianceand charm that she flung here and there. He would have liked to go aboutand gather them up as if they were tangible things. And yet--she did notcare for him. Why, then, did she claim him in
dozens of dainty ways? Whydid she put him between herself and other gallants when their devotionbecame too pronounced?
Andre Valbonais was simple and straightforward, and had a very limitedknowledge of the twists and turns in the feminine mind. Complexcharacters are not usual where people live truly rather than takecontinual thought about living.
He went out now and sat on the doorstep, talking to Mere Lunde. Some onewas playing on a fiddle, interspersed with rollicking songs, and thesound floated up to them. There was a great deal of joy in the world,but his heart was heavy.
Renee flung herself on the bed and wept angrily, bitterly. BarbeGardepier had come into her life again and was free. She had summonedUncle Gaspard this first night to her side. Had he loved her a littlelong ago? Would she try to win him now? Oh, what a dreary outlook! Andshe had been so happy!
A Little Girl in Old St. Louis Page 16
