“I could scarce forbear to clap my hands, as at the theater,” he concluded, “but that unhappy Kirwin had no third fist on which Ben could inflict an encore. Sucre nom! By nightfall the coffeehouses will ring with the tale that our Ben came upon the field with a voodoo charm in his pocket. For myself, I say that it was heroic, and artistic as well.”
“I can appreciate good shooting,” said Colonel O’Rourke, with a quieter admiration, “but such work with the pistol I never hoped to witness. Ben, if your father taught you, he must be a prodigy.”
“My brother excelled everyone at home,” remembered Frank Parker. “I was a pretty shot in my time, but nothing compared to him. Had I stopped worrying long enough to think, I would have reflected that Ben had good training. Captain Lucius Parker has been called the best shot, with the short gun and the long, in all the United States Army. General Jackson himself has complimented my brother.”
“We should procure this valiant captain’s transfer to duty in our town,” suggested the Colonel. “Tiensy with the three Parkers armed and ready, we might defy Spain, England, Napoleon himself. Ben, you must be specially blessed by Saint Barbara, the patron saint of firearms.”
Ben was embarrassed by all this praise. “It’s the rifle that Pm best with,” he said.
“Then I must carry that news around town,” announced Casimir, still quivering in joyous excitement. “All New Orleans must be warned not to quarrel with Ben. Que diable! Roy Kirwin’s pride must be as sore as his fingers. He must realize that his life lay in Ben’s hand.”
“I reckon I’m lucky he didn’t call for swords,” said Ben. “You must find a good mattre d’armes, and quickly,” advised Colonel O’Rourke. “Then you will progress to where you need fear no weapon. Achille, shall I introduce him to L’Allouette? His reputation gains as a teacher.”
Achille Beaumont lighted his long pipe. “L’Allouette has those who claim for him the title of master of masters,” he said. “Yet I take leave to recommend Joseph Gamier.”
“A good one, that Gamier,” agreed the Colonel. “But he is careful about choosing pupils. He rejects those he does not find interesting.”
“A la bonne heure/” cried Casimir. “After today, anyone will welcome Ben. Let us take him to Gamier.”
Archimede appeared to announce visitors. In walked De Marigny and Duralde. De Marigny grasped Ben’s hand, and his blue eyes twinkled.
“Ha, my marksman! ” he cried. “My champion, who makes the pistol speak to the hairsbreadth! A hundred sparks in New Orleans will want to meet you—but as good friends, not as adversaries.”
“A true word, that,” seconded Duralde. “Colonel O’Rourke, are there more like this incredible Ben Parker among your Voltigeurs? I offer for enlistment with you; perhaps I can acquire skill by simple infection, like the measles.”
“I fear none can approach Ben,” smiled the Colonel, “but you are welcome in our ranks.”
“How is Mr. Kirwin?” inquired Ben of De Marigny.
“Ah, ga!” chuckled De Marigny as he sat down. “Thanks to your attentions, he is most disconsolately helpless. Indeed, he wearied us, and so we left him—Duralde and I—after we had cut up his breakfast meat and buttered his bread for him.”
“There is nothing crippled about his tongue,” elaborated Duralde. “He cursed the town of New Orleans, Dr. Juneau, who treated his sprains, and you yourself, Monsieur Parker. Indeed, I began to wish him whole again, that I might resent his ill manners. Snarling palls upon me. As we left, he swore to drink your blood.”
“But think nothing of that,” said De Marigny to Ben. “He is as helpless as a shackled convict at the Cabildo. And for all his vaporings, I do not think he thirsts to put another quarrel upon you.”
“We spoke just now of offering Ben to Joseph Gamier for lessons at the sword,” volunteered Monsieur Beaumont.
“Myself shall be proud to introduce him there,” quoth De Marigny. “Monsieur Parker—permit me to call you Ben, and to you I am Bernard. Shall we visit Gamier tomorrow?”
“I must spend the morning at my uncle’s office,” Ben said. “Then let us meet at three o’clock, at the Cafe des Exiles. It is near Garnier’s salle d’armes.”
Colonel O’Rourke rose. “Pardon,” said he, “but I must go next door to my own house. Without doubt, the ladies of my family feel some wonder about how the affair was settled.” He departed, at once sprightly and dignified. De Marigny watched him go, then faced Ben once more.
“What!” he said. “Does Mademoiselle Felise O’Rourke concern herself about you? There are young men in New Orleans who will hear that news without pleasure.”
“But I foresee no challenges,” pronounced Duralde. “For my own part, I would rather pistol it out with the god of lightning.”
“I also,” laughed De Marigny frankly, “for lightning, they say, never strikes twice in the same place.”
Ben laughed, too, and silently congratulated himself that no more duels were likely to be forced upon him.
He planned to go that afternoon to the levee with the Beaumonts and his uncle Frank, for a brief excursion aboard the New Orleans, but, just before dinner, Archimede brought him a note a messenger had handed in at the door. When Ben opened it, he saw the signature of Governor William Claiborne. Briefly, the note asked that Ben come at half past one o’clock to the Governor’s house on Toulouse Street and knock at the side door. A final sentence enjoined him to strict secrecy.
He excused himself from the steamboat party, and his uncle and the Beaumonts were somewhat surprised but did not question him. He walked alone to Toulouse Street, where Claude Dejan admitted him.
“Come in,” said the secretary, almost conspiratorially quiet.
He walked ahead of Ben along a passage and opened a door at the end. “Please wait here,” he said, and when Ben entered Dejan closed the door after him.
The room appeared to be a small study, with a desk, several chairs, and high shelves full of books. On a side table stood a big bowl of fruit. Ben stood quietly until the door opened again, and in walked Governor Claiborne. Behind him was Horner Banton.
Ben drew himself to stiff attention, but Claiborne motioned him toward a chair, while he himself sat down behind the desk. Banton leaned against the closed door, as though to keep anyone else from entering.
“I am advised that you are to be congratulated on a narrow escape this morning,” said Claiborne to Ben.
“Your Excellency, a quarrel was forced upon me,” said Ben.
“Exactly,” agreed Claiborne. “A quarrel was forced on you. Why?”
“I asked myself that question all last evening, and I asked it again all day today,” confessed Ben. “The difference began in a foolish way. A stranger seemed to resent something Pd said about the New Orleans”
“The steamboat yonder on the river?” asked Banton.
“Yes, sir. I don’t remember exactly what I answered. Before I was well aware, we had struck each other and our friends were arranging the duel.”
“Ah, yes,” said Banton, with a slight, mocking smile. “And with two shots you disarmed him, knocking a pistol from each of his hands in turn, and so spraining his fingers that you disabled him. Young Mr. Ben Parker, you have the air and accomplishment of a professional duelist.”
“You’ll observe that we are well informed,” added Governor Claiborne. “Your exploit is the topic of the day in town. Mr. Banton came to suggest that we find out why this man— what’s his name?”
“Kirwin, Roy Kirwin,” supplied Banton. “We have no notion of why he went out of his way to dispute with you, only suspicions.”
“I’ve wondered if he’s in the Spanish plot,” ventured Ben.
“I hazarded the same guess,” said Banton. “When I had done talking to His Excellency, it was decided to send and bring him here for a talk.”
“I so ordered,” said the Governor. “My messenger came back to say that Mr. Kirwin had left his lodgings, bag and baggage, and that with both his hands
in bandages. Nor can he be found anywhere in New Orleans. What do you conclude from that, Mr. Parker?”
“That he doesn’t want to be found, I reckon.”
“Sage, this young North Carolinian,” said Banton, selecting an orange from the fruit bowl. “But why should Kirwin slip away so stealthily, think you?”
“Surely not because he feared me,” said Ben. “He was bold enough to face me this morning, even with his hands useless. And even if he were a coward, he’d know that I’d never attack a man who was unable to fight back. Anyway, he told his seconds that he wanted to fight me again.”
“If he truly thought that, he banished the thought on second trial of it,” observed Banton, peeling his orange.
“Mr. Kirwin plainly doesn’t want to be questioned,” said the Governor.
“How would he know you wanted to question him, Your Excellency?” demanded Banton. “You told nobody but myself that you were sending for him—myself and the messenger.”
“He guessed somehow. And he is no more eager to be questioned than, say, Jethro Wicks, who is also notably hard to find in New Orleans.”
“But why should he think Pm worth the killing?” asked Ben.
“Let your enemies be the best judges of what your death is worth to them,” the Governor bade him sententiously. “Offer Mr. Parker some fruit, Mr. Banton. The Spanish plotters wanted to kill me, and now they want to kill you.”
“You seek to make me think myself important, sir,” Ben tried to deprecate as he took grapes from the bowl Banton held out.
“I seek to make you think yourself valuable. Why else would a bullying duelist seek you out?” Governor Claiborne put his finger tips together and thought silently for a moment. “Mr. Banton suggested all these things to me. We must decide what your value is, and profit by it. Meanwhile, take care of yourself.”
“Pm told that I need not expect more duels,” said Ben, “and for so much assurance Pm honestly grateful.”
“The next encounter will be less formal,” reminded Ban- ton, putting a section of orange into his mouth. “After your brilliant performance today, you won’t be given another opportunity at a fair fight. A knife thrust in the back, a club over the head—I don’t want to sound baleful, but you must take care. Governor Claiborne has need of you.”
“You know that Pll help however I can,” said Ben warmly.
“You have said that before,” nodded the Governor, “and I thank you. I begin to feel that matters have already gone far toward the event these plotters would seek to halt— statehood for this territory.”
“But Mr. Parker must guard himself, even as Your Excellency now guards yourself,” said Banton.
“Which is precisely why I had him come here,” said the Governor. He looked at Ben, as though in careful appraisal. Then he added, “Mr. Banton has so interested himself in public affairs as to put himself into my confidence. I ask you to ally yourself with him, but even more secretly than before to look out for news that will help us.”
“Yes, sir,” said Ben, as though receiving an order.
“Keep your eyes open and your hand ready. Say nothing about this talk. Communicate with me only through Mr. Ban- ton, who, as a merchant frequently visiting your office, is an ideal vehicle for any news from you to me. In a happier time, I promise myself to see more of you.”
“With your permission, Your Excellency, Pll see our friend out,” offered Banton, and held open the study door for Ben, then followed him into the passage.
“Wait before you go into the street,” he said quickly. “We are to be close friends now3 and I, for one, am honored to have it so.”
“Pm honored, too,” Ben said honestly.
“It was my notion that I serve as a carrier of messages from you to Governor Claiborne. You and I can trust each other implicitly, I think.”
“Of course, Mr. Banton.”
“You can even tell me who first gave you the news of Jethro Wicks’s cowardly plan to assassinate the governor.” Banton waited, watching Ben. When Ben kept his silence, Banton smiled and nodded his head, as though in satisfied agreement.
“Good,” he said. “You betray no confidence, even to me. I was testing you—forgive me, but I had to know if we could depend upon you in everything. Good-by for the present,” and he held out his hand.
Ben departed, elated but mystified.
On the following afternoon, De Marigny conducted him to the fencing academy of Joseph Gamier. The master swordsman was a dark man, as lean and hard as a hickory lath, who listened to De Marigny’s embarrassingly enthusiastic praise of Ben. Then Gamier bade Ben put on a padded plastron, mask, and glove. Ben’s first lesson at these accomplished hands convinced him again of how much he had to learn, and readily he agreed to come for instruction three times a week. De Marigny then bore him off to a cafe where a dozen young gentlemen waited to make his acquaintance and to enthuse over the tale of his pistol marksmanship—a tale that by now had grown to the stature of a romantic legend.
All this while, the convention held its daily meetings, not adjourning even on Sundays. The much debated constitution was altered, reconsidered, and finally pronounced acceptable to all on January 22. Word went out that the Territory of Orleans would take the name of Louisiana when it became a state, and this news pleased the Creoles. On the next day, the delegates voted unanimously to approve all stipulations imposed by the United States Government as necessary to the establishment of a state. Two delegates were appointed to carry a copy of the new constitution and other acts of the convention to Washington, where they would urge Congress to act favorably and with all speed upon the request for admission.
“The messengers are Fromentin and Magruder,” remarked Achille Beaumont. “A Creole and an American—it is diplomatic, that.”
On January 28, Julien Poydras adjourned the convention. On that day, Horner Banton took noon coffee at the table where Ben and Frank Parker were eating.
“The folk of the town feel that it is all at an end, the labor and the argument,” Banton said. “Those who wanted statehood are jubilant, and those who opposed it are resigned. Nobody reflects that Congress must still discuss and approve the admission of Louisiana as the eighteenth state. And,” said Horner Banton, thoughtfully stroking a trim dark side whisker, “Congress has not been noted for doing things in a hurry.”
“We may well be at war before we’re a state,” said Frank Parker.
“Aye,” nodded Banton, “at war, and lucky if not in enemy hands. I’ve thought of trying to recruit a militia organization, like Colonel O’Rourke’s Voltigeurs.”
Nine more days passed, and on the evening of February 6 Ben sat in the drawing room with Monsieur Beaumont and Casimir. He had returned from a sweating session with Joseph Gamier, during which the fencing master had worked him to exhaustion, bitingly found fault with his attack and defense, and finally, half-grudgingly, expressed the opinion that Ben made progress with the foil and showed true natural proficiency with the saber. Relaxing, Ben read a Creole newspaper for gossip and for improvement of his French. Casimir, who took his militia exercise seriously, was deep in a borrowed book about infantry tactics, while Monsieur Beaumont worked at some accounts. The only noise was the rattle of Ben’s paper and the scratching of Monsieur Beaumont’s quill pen.
Then Ben felt a sudden shock, as though a great weight had struck the outer wall of the house. The lamp flickered, the chair seemed to quiver under him like a nervous horse. He sprang up, and beneath his feet the floor boards stirred and tilted, like the deck of a ship.
“What is it?” stammered Casimir as he, too, rose. His slim body straightened as another, stronger shock buffeted the house. Somewhere they heard Zeline’s startled scream.
“Outside,” said Monsieur Beaumont. “Let us see what’s happening.”
Out they rushed. A moment later they were joined by Archimede, his habitual gravity shaken, and Zeline, badly frightened. The street swarmed with gesticulating, jabbering citizens.
“
Achille, what has happened?” That was Colonel O’Rourke, striding quickly from next door. Over the Colonel’s shoulder, Ben saw the anxious faces of Felise and Madame O’Rourke.
“I have taken time to wonder that,” replied Monsieur Beaumont, the most composed of them all. “I think it is an earthquake, a quivering of the ground. Already it has abated.”
He spoke the truth. The tremors died away, but not the excitement. The whole street talked half the night about the phenomenon.
On the morning of the seventh, Ben heard reports of serious damage to houses and landings up the river. He walked down to the levee and saw workmen mending several cracks. He wondered if the earthquake was a prophecy of some greater, more dreadful upheaval that threatened the whole American nation.
XI. A Package for Ben
NEW ORLEANS SEEMED MORE GAY THAT FEBRUARY THAN BEN had known it in all the months since his arrival. There were balls and receptions almost nightly. The street throngs of peddlers, porters, and strollers were noticeably swelled these days by dozens of neatly clad slaves, the butlers and footmen of great houses, each carrying a basket or tray heaped with invitations. No less than three soirees were sponsored by the Voltigeurs, who overlooked no chance to exhibit themselves in their splendid uniforms. A moving spirit in these affairs was Auguste Duralde, the newest recruit; though he drilled casually, he was a notable organizer of social pleasures.
“What, my friend?” he answered Ben’s question. “Next month Lent will arrive, and all of us will fast and pray for forty days. Such things will be accomplished all the better if a great many pleasant affairs have gone before. In any case, the chief gaiety is still to come, on Mardi Gras.”
“Mardi Gras,” repeated Ben. His North Carolina family had called the day Shrove Tuesday, and observed it only with a supper of hot pancakes. “Why is Mardi Gras reckoned so great in New Orleans?”
Manly Wade Wellman - Novel 1955 Page 11
