Prisoners of Chance
CHAPTER I
THE REQUEST FOR AID
I am Geoffrey Benteen, Gentleman Adventurer, with much experience uponthe border, where I have passed my life. My father was that RobertBenteen, merchant in furs, the first of the English race to makepermanent settlement in New Orleans. Here he established a highlyprofitable trade with the Indians, his bateaux voyaging as farnorthward as the falls of the Ohio, while his influence among thetribesmen extended to the eastern mountains. My mother was of Spanishblood, a native of Saint Augustine, so I grew up fairly proficient inthree languages, and to them I later added an odd medley of tribaltongues which often stood me in excellent stead amid the vicissitudesof the frontier. The early death of my mother compelled me to becomecompanion to my father in his wanderings, so that before I wasseventeen the dim forest trails, the sombre rivers, and the dark lodgesof savages had grown as familiar to me as were the streets and housesof my native town. Hence it happened, that when my father fell thevictim of a treacherous blow, although he left to my care considerableproperty and a widely scattered trade, I could not easily contentmyself with the sameness of New Orleans; there I felt almost astranger, ever hungering for the woods and the free life of themountains.
Yet I held myself to the work in hand until successful in straighteningout the tangled threads, and might have remained engaged in peacefultraffic until the end of life, had it not been for a misunderstandingwith her who held my heart in captivity to her slightest whim. Itmatters little now the cause of the quarrel, or where rested thegreater blame; enough that its occurrence drove me forth reckless ofeverything, desirous only to leave all of my own race, and seek amidsavage environment and excitement forgetfulness of the past.
It was in September of the year 1769--just forty-eight years ago as Iwrite--that I found myself once again in New Orleans, feeling almost astranger to the town, except for the few rough flatboat-men in companywith whom I had floated down the great river. Five years previously,heartsick and utterly careless of life, I had plunged into thetrackless wilderness stretching in almost unbroken virginity to northand east, desiring merely to be left alone, that I might in solitudefight out my first grim battle with despair, saying to myself in allbitterness of soul that never again would I turn face to southward orenter the boundaries of Louisiana Province. During those years, beyondreach of news and the tongue of gossip, I wandered aimlessly fromvillage to village, ever certain of welcome within the lodges of Creeksand Shawnees, or farther away amid those little French border townsdotting the Ohio and the Illinois, constantly feeling how little theworld held of value since both my parents were gone, and this last blowhad fallen. I loved the free, wild life of the warriors with whom Ihunted, and the _voyageurs_ beside whom I camped, and had learned todistrust my own race; yet no sooner did I chance to stand again besidethe sweeping current of the broad Mississippi, than I was gripped bythe old irresistible yearning, and, although uninspired by either hopeor purpose, drifted downward to the hated Creole town.
I had left it a typical frontier French city, touched alike by theglamour of reflected civilization and the barbarism of savagery, yetever alive with the gayety of that lively, changeable people; Ireturned, after those five years of burial in forest depths, todiscover it under the harsh rule of Spain, and outwardly so quiet as toappear fairly deserted of inhabitants. The Spanish ships of war--Icounted nineteen--lay anchored in the broad river, their prows upstream, and the gloomy, black muzzles of their guns depressed so as tocommand the landing, while scarcely a French face greeted me along thestreets, whose rough stone pavements echoed to the constant tread ofarmed soldiers.
Spanish sentries were on guard at nearly every corner. Not a fewhalted me with rough questioning, and once I was haled before anofficer, who, hearing my story, and possibly impressed by myproficiency in his language, was kind enough to provide me with a passgood within the lines. Yet it proved far from pleasant loiteringabout, as drunken soldiers, dressed in every variety of uniform,staggered along the narrow walks, ready to pick a quarrel with anystranger chancing their way, while groups of officers, gorgeous inwhite coats and gold lace, lounged in shaded corners, greeting eachpasser-by with jokes that stung. Every tavern was crowded to thethreshold with roistering blades whose drunken curses, directed againstboth French and English, quickly taught me the discretion of keepingwell away from their company, so there was little left but to move on,never halting long enough in one place to become involved in uselesscontroversy.
It all appeared so unnatural that I felt strangely saddened by thechange, and continued aimlessly drifting about the town as curiosityled, resolved to leave its confines at the earliest opportunity. Istared long at the strange vessels of war, whose like I had neverbefore seen, and finally, as I now remember, paused upon the raggedgrass of the Place d'Armes, watching the evolutions of a battery ofartillery. This was all new to me, representing as it did a line ofservice seldom met with in the wilderness; and soon quite a number ofcurious loiterers gathered likewise along the edge of the parade.Among them I could distinguish a few French faces, with here and therea woman of the lower orders, ill clad and coarse of speech. A party ofsoldiers, boisterous and quarrelsome from liquor, pressed me so closelythat, hopeful of avoiding trouble, I drew farther back toward the curb,and standing thus, well away from others, enjoyed an unobstructed viewacross the entire field.
The battery had hitched up preparatory to returning to their quartersbefore I lost interest in the spectacle and reluctantly turned awaywith the slowly dispersing crowd. Just then I became aware of theclose proximity of a well-dressed negro, apparently the favored servantin some family of quality. The fellow was observing me with anintentness which aroused my suspicion. That was a time and place forexercising extreme caution, so that instinctively I turned away, movingdirectly across the vacated field. Scarcely had I taken ten stepsbefore I saw that he was following, and as I wheeled to front him thefellow made a painful effort to address me in English.
"Mornin', sah," he said, making a deep salutation with his entire body."Am you dat Englisher Massa Benteen from up de ribber?"
Leaning upon my rifle, I gazed directly at him in astonishment. How,by all that was miraculous, did this strange black know my name andnationality? His was a round face, filled with good humor; nothing init surely to mistrust, yet totally unknown to me.
"You speak correctly," I made reply, surprise evident in the tones ofmy voice. "I have no reason to deny my name, which is held an honestone here in New Orleans. How you learned it, however, remains amystery, for I never looked upon your face before."
"No, sah; I s'pects not, sah, 'cause I nebber yet hab been in dem dereparts, sah. I was sent yere wid a most 'portant message fer MassaBenteen, an' I done reckon as how dat am you, sah."
"An important message for me? Surely, boy, you either mistake, or arecrazy. Yet stay! Does it come from Nick Burton, the flatboat-man?"
"No, sah; it am a lady wat sent me yere."
He was excessively polite, exhibiting an earnestness which caused me tosuspect his mission a grave one.
"A lady?"
I echoed the unexpected word, scarcely capable of believing thetestimony of my own ears. Yet as I did so my heart almost ceased itsthrobbing, while I felt the hot blood rush to my face. That was an ageof social gallantry; yet I was no gay courtier of the town, but ahunter of the woods, attired in rough habiliments, little fitted toattract the attention of womanly eyes amid the military glitter allabout.
A lady! In the name of all the gods, what lady? Even in the old daysI enjoyed but a limited circle of acquaintance among women. Indeed, Irecalled only one in all the wide province of Louisiana who mightjustly be accorded so high an appellation even by a negro slave, andcertainly she knew nothing of my presence in New Orleans, nor would shedream of sending for me if she did. Convinced of this, I dismissed thethought upon the instant, with a smile. The black must have made amistake, or else some old-time acquaintance o
f our family, a forgottenfriend of my mother perhaps, had chanced to hear of my return.Meanwhile the negro stood gazing at me with open mouth, and the sightof him partially restored my presence of mind.
"Is she English, boy?"
"No, sah, she am a French lady, sah, if ebber dar was one in dis hyarprovince. She libs ober yonder in de Rue Dumaine, an' she said to me,'Yah, Alphonse, you follow dat dar young feller wid de long rifle underhis arm an' de coon-skin cap, an' fotch him hyar to me!' Dem am debery words wat she done said, sah, when you went by our house ahalf-hour ago."
"Is your mistress young or old?"
The black chuckled, his round face assuming a good-natured grin.
"Fo' de Lawd, Massa, but dat am jest de way wid all you white folks!"he ejaculated. "If she was ol', an' wrinkled, an' fat, den dat settlede whole ting. Jest don't want to know no mor'."
"Well," I interrupted impatiently, "keep your moralizing to yourselfuntil we become better acquainted, and answer my question--Is the womanyoung?"
My tone was sufficiently stern to sober him, his black facestraightening out as if it had been ironed.
"Now, don't you go an' git cross, Massa Benteen, case a laugh don'tnebber do nobody no hurt," he cried, shrinking back as if expecting ablow. "But dat's jest wat she am, sah, an' a heap sweeter dan devi'lets in de springtime, sah."
"And she actually told you my name?"
"Yas, sah, she did dat fer suah--'Massa Geoffrey Benteen, an Englisherfrom up de ribber,' dem was her bery words; but somehow I donedisremember jest persactly de place."
For another moment I hesitated, scarcely daring to utter the one vitalquestion trembling on my lips.
"But who is the lady? What is her name?" As I put the simple query Ifelt my voice tremble in spite of every effort to hold it firm.
"Madame de Noyan, sah; one ob de bery first famblies. Massa de Noyanam one ob de Bienvilles, sah."
"De Noyan? De Noyan?" I repeated the unfamiliar name over slowly, witha feeling of relief. "Most certainly I never before heard other."
"I dunno nothin' 'tall 'bout dat, Massa, but suah's you born dat am hername and Massa's; an' you is de bery man she done sent me after, fer Inebber onct took my eyes off you all dis time."
There remained no reasonable doubt as to the fellow's sincerity. Hisface was a picture of disinterested earnestness as he fronted me; yet Ihesitated, eying him closely, half inclined to think him theunsuspecting representative of some rogue. That was a time and placewhere one of my birth needed to practise caution; racial rivalry ran sohigh throughout all the sparsely settled province that anymisunderstanding between an English stranger and either Frenchman orSpaniard was certain to involve serious results. We of Northern bloodwere bitterly envied because of commercial supremacy. I had, during mybrief residence in New Orleans, witnessed jealous treachery on everyhand. This had taught me that enemies of my race were numerous, while,it was probable, not more than a dozen fellow-countrymen were then inNew Orleans. They would prove powerless were I to become involved inany quarrel. Extreme caution under such conditions became a paramountduty, and it can scarcely be wondered at that I hesitated to trust theblack, continuing to study the real purpose of his mysterious message.Yet the rare good-humor and simple interest of his face tended toreassure me. A lady, he said--well, surely no great harm would resultfrom such an interview; and if, as was probable, it should prove a merecase of mistaken identity, a correction could easily follow, and Ishould then be free to go my way. On the other hand, if some friendreally needed me, a question of duty was involved, which--Godhelping--I was never one to shun; for who could know in how brief aspace I might also be asking assistance of some countryman. Thismysterious stranger, this Madame de Noyan of whom I had never heard,knew my name--possibly had learned it from another, some wanderingEnglishman, perchance, whom she would aid in trouble, some old-timefriend in danger, who, afraid to reveal himself, now appealed throughher instrumentality for help in a strange land. Deciding to brave thedoubt and solve the mystery by action, I flung the long rifle across myshoulder and stood erect.
"All right, boy, lead on," I said shortly. "I intend to learn what isbehind this, and who it is that sends for me in New Orleans."
Far from satisfied with the situation, yet determined now to probe themystery to the bottom, I silently followed the black, attentive to hisslightest movement. It was a brief walk down one of the narrow streetsleading directly back from the river front, so that within less thanfive minutes I was being silently shown into the small reception roomof a tasty cottage, whose picturesque front was half concealed by abrilliant mass of trailing vines. The heavy shades being closely drawnat the windows, the interior was in such gloom that for the momentafter my entrance from the outside glare I was unable to distinguishone object from another. Then slowly my eyes adjusted themselves tothe change, and, taking one uncertain step forward, I came suddenlyface to face with a Capuchin priest appearing almost ghastly with hislong, pale, ascetic countenance, and ghostly gray robe sweeping to thefloor.
Startled by this unexpected apparition, and experiencing an Americanborderer's dislike and distrust for his class, I made a hasty move backtoward where, with unusual carelessness, I had deposited my rifleagainst the wall. Yet as I placed hand upon it I had sufficientlyrecovered to laugh silently at my fears.
"Thou hast responded with much promptitude, my son," the priest said ingentle voice, speaking the purest of French, and apparently notchoosing to notice my momentary confusion. "It is indeed an excellenttrait--one long inculcated by our Order."
"And one not unknown to mine--free rangers of the woods, sir priest," Ireplied coldly, resolving not to be outdone in bluntness of speech. "Isuppose you are the 'lady' desiring speech with me; I note you comedressed in character. And now I am here, what may the message be?"
There was neither smile nor resentment visible on his pale face,although he slightly uplifted one slender hand as if in silent rebukeof my rude words.
"Nay, nay, my son," he said gravely. "Be not over-hasty in speech. Itis indeed a serious matter which doth require thy presence in thishouse, and the question of life or death for a human being can never befit subject for jesting. She who despatched the messenger will be heredirectly to make clear her need."
"In truth it was a woman, then?"
"Yes, a woman, and--ah! she cometh now."
Even as he gave utterance to the words, I turned, attracted by the softrustle of a silken skirt at my very side, stole one quick, startledglance into a young, sweet face, lightened by dark, dreamy eyes, andwithin the instant was warmly clasping two outstretched hands, totallyoblivious of all else save her.
"Eloise!" I exclaimed in astonishment. "Eloise--MademoiselleLafreniere--can this indeed be you? Have you sent for me?"
It seemed for that one moment as if the world held but the two of us,and there was a glad confidence in her brimming eyes quicklydissipating all mists of the past. Yet only for that one weak,thoughtless instant did she yield to what appeared real joy at mypresence.
"Yes, dear friend, it is Eloise," she answered, gazing anxiously intomy face, and clinging to my strong hands as though fearful lest I mighttear them away when she spoke those hard words which must follow. "Yetsurely you know, Geoffrey Benteen, that I am Mademoiselle Lafreniere nolonger?"
It seemed to me my very heart stopped beating, so intense was the painwhich overswept it. Yet I held to the soft hands, for there was such apitiful look of suffering upon her upturned face as to steady me.
"No, I knew it not," I answered brokenly. "I--I have been buried inthe forest all these years since we parted, where few rumors of thetown have reached me. But let that pass; it--it is easy to see you arenow in great sorrow. Was it because of this--in search of help, inneed, perchance--that you have sent for me?"
She bowed her head; a tear fell upon my broad hand and glistened there.
"Yes, Geoffrey."
The words were scarcely more than a whisper; then the low voice
seemedto strengthen with return of confidence, her dark eyes anxiouslysearching my face.
"I sent for you, Geoffrey, because of deep trouble; because I am leftalone, without friends, saving only the _pere_. I know well yourfaithfulness. In spite of the wrong, the misunderstanding betweenus--and for it I take all the blame--I have ever trusted in your word,your honor; and now, when I can turn nowhere else for earthly aid, thegood God has guided you back to New Orleans. Geoffrey Benteen, do notgaze at me so! It breaks my heart to see that look in your eyes; but,my friend, my dearest friend, do you still recall what you said to meso bravely the night you went away?"
Did I remember! God knew I did; ay! each word of that interview hadbeen burned into my life, had been repeated again and again in thesilence of my heart amid the loneliness of the woods; nothing in allthose years had for one moment obliterated her face or speech frommemory.
"I remember, Eloise," I answered more calmly. "The words you meanwere: 'If ever you have need of one on whom you may rely for anyservice, however desperate (and in New Orleans such necessity mightarise at any moment), one who would gladly yield his very life to serveyou, then, wherever he may be, send for Geoffrey Benteen.' My poorgirl, has that moment come?"
The brown head drooped until it rested in unconsciousness against myarm, while I could feel the sobs which shook her form and choked herutterance.
"It has come," she whispered at last; "I am trusting in your promise."
"Nor in vain; my life is at your command."
She stopped my passionate utterance with quick, impulsive gesture.
"No! pledge not yourself again until you hear my words, and ponderthem," she cried, with return to that imperiousness of manner I hadloved so well. "This is no ordinary matter. It will try your utmostlove; perchance place your life in such deadly peril as you never facedbefore. For I must ask of you what no one else would ever venture torequire--nor can I hold out before you the slightest reward, save mydeepest gratitude."
I gazed fixedly at her flushed face, scarcely comprehending the strangewords she spoke.
"What may all this be that you require--this sacrifice so vast that youdoubt me? Surely I have never stood a coward, a dastard in your sight?"
She stood erect, facing me, proudly confident in her power, with tearsstill clinging to her long lashes.
"No! you wrong me uttering such a thought. I doubt you not, although Imight well doubt any other walking this earth. But listen, and you canno longer question my words; this which I dare ask of you--because Itrust you--is _to save my husband_."
"Your husband?" The very utterance of the word choked me. "Yourhusband? Save him from what? Where is he?"
"A prisoner to the Spaniards; condemned to die to-morrow at sunrise."
"His name?"
"Chevalier Charles de Noyan."
"Where confined?"
"Upon the flag-ship in the river."
I turned away and stood with my back to them both. I could no longerbear to gaze upon her agonized face uplifted in such eager pleading,such confiding trust; that one sweet face I loved as nothing else onearth.
Save her husband! For the moment it seemed as if a thousand emotionsswayed me. What might it not mean if this man should die? His livingcould only add infinitely to my pain; his death might insure myhappiness--at least he alone, as far as I knew, stood in the way. "Todie to-morrow!" The very words sounded sweet in my ears, and it wouldbe such an easy thing for me to promise her, to appear to do my verybest--and fail. "To die to-morrow!" The perspiration gathered indrops upon my forehead as I wavered an instant to the tempting thought.Then I shook the foul temptation from me. Merciful God! could I dreamof being such a dastard? Why not attempt what she asked? After all,what was left for me in life, except to give her happiness?
The sound of a faint sob reached me, and wheeling instantly I stood ather side.
"Madame de Noyan," I said with forced calmness, surprising myself, "Iwill redeem my pledge, and either save your husband, or meet my fate athis side."
Before I could prevent her action she had flung herself at my feet, andwas kissing my hand.
"God bless you, Geoffrey Benteen! God bless you!" she sobbedimpulsively; and then from out the dense shadows of the farther wall,solemnly as though he stood at altar service, the watchful Capuchinsaid:
"Amen!"