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The Guerilla Chief, and Other Tales

Story 2, Chapter VIII
The Villa Dardonville

Soon after my arrival in Saint Louis, I called upon the Dardonvilles, and presented my letter of introduction. It was a sealed document, and I knew not the nature of its contents; but from the effect produced I must have been the bearer of strong credentials. It placed me at once on a footing of intimacy with the friends of my friends.

The family did not reside in town, but at the distance of a mile or so from it. Their villa stood upon a high bluff of the river, commanding a view of the broad noble stream, and beyond the wooded lowlands of Illinois, stretching like a sea of bluish green to the far eastern horizon.

Nothing could exceed the attractions of this transatlantic home; and the many visitors whom I met there, proved that they were appreciated. Dardonville, now rich, had retired from mercantile life, and offered a profuse hospitality to his friends. Need I say that he had troops of them?

From the character of much of the company that I met there, it was easy to see what was the chief object of attraction. It was not the wines, his luxurious dinners, nor the joys of the fête champêtre, that brought to the villa Dardonville so many of the choice youth of the neighbourhood – the sons of rich planters and merchants – the young officers of the near military post. There was an influence far more powerful than these – Olympe.

Olympe was an heiress – a beauty – a belle.

In truth she was a lovely creature – one of those blonde, golden-haired beings, that appear to bring earth and heaven together, uniting in soft sweet harmony the form of a woman with the spirit of an angel.

She was still only a girl; but the precocity of that sunny clime promised the early development of her perfect form, already distinguished by charms of which she alone appeared unconscious.

It would have been no difficult matter to have fallen in love with Olympe – a far greater feat to have kept one’s heart clear; and I rather congratulated myself that mine was already occupied. Happy might be the man who should be honoured by the first passionate throbbings of that young virginal bosom; but wretched he who should vainly aspire to that honour.

Perhaps it was my indifference that made me the favourite of Madame Dardonville; or was there something in the letter of my Creole friend that introduced me to her confidence? I knew not; but from the hour of my arrival this good lady admitted me to the intimacy of a confidential friendship.

Through this confidence I soon became acquainted with the conjugal destiny of the lovely Olympe – so far as that could be controlled by the will of her parents. Louis De Hauteroche needed no backer in me. Notwithstanding his numerous and richer rivals, there was not much to fear, with such influence in his favour. Above all, the heart of Olympe was still free. I rejoiced on learning this; for seeing this fair young creature beset by so many suitors – too young to receive proposals – I trembled for the fate of my friend. Madame Dardonville, however, was a good “duenna;” and as for the retired merchant and ancien lieutenant, he had no idea of any danger. It was his design, and had been for years, that Olympe should marry Luis de Hauteroche, the son of his old comrade and friend – the son of his early benefactor, as he declared to me in the warmth of his amical enthusiasm, when we were one day conversing on the subject.

“Yes,” exclaimed he, “De Hauteroche is poor – so was his father before him; but De Hauteroche was a gentleman of noble race, Monsieur – a true gentleman – and Luis must be – how could it be otherwise?”

I assured him it was my own belief; and in answer to many a question put both by Monsieur and Madame, I found the opportunity of making some slight return for the many kindnesses of my Creole friend. Had I made the covenant with Adele, I could not have been more zealous in carrying out my share of its conditions.

Such was the position I held in the Dardonville family previous to my starting for the prairies.

My excursion extended to the country of the “Crows,” and occupied a period of over three months. I also had the honour of an interview with the redoubtable “Blackfeet” and the good fortune not to leave my scalp in the hands of these Ishmaelites of the prairies. I do not here intend to detail to my reader the incidents of my prairie life. They have no bearing upon our narrative. I need only remark, that during my three months’ residence in the wilderness I had no communication whatever with the civilised world, and never heard from any of the friends I had left behind on either side of the Atlantic. On my return to Saint Louis, therefore, I found many items of news awaiting me – one of the most unexpected being the death of Monsieur Dardonville! Congestive fever, after a short illness, had carried him off – not much beyond the prime of life, and just when he had accomplished a position of opulent independence. This is not an uncommon fate with men who seek rest and retirement after a life of continued activity.

My intimacy with the family suffered no interruption from this melancholy occurrence, though of course its character was somewhat changed. But Madame Dardonville was as friendly as ever – even more so I fancied – and for the few weeks that I remained at Saint Louis, she pressed me to accept almost a constant hospitality. General society was no longer received at the villa: only those friends whose intimacy was of long standing.

That I had won Madame Dardonville’s confidence, must be attributed to my relations with Monsieur Luis De Hauteroche; and to the same, no doubt, was I indebted for a singular secret that was entrusted to me on the eve of my departure for New Orleans. It was to the effect that her husband had made a most curious will – by which one half of his estate was left to his widow, the other to his daughter. There was nothing remarkable about this partition of the property, and it appeared to me to be equitable enough: but it was in another point that the will was oddly conditioned. This was, that in the event of Luis De Hauteroche offering to marry Olympe, the latter should not be free to refuse, except under forfeiture of the legacy left her by her father; and this was to become the property of Luis De Hauteroche himself! In other words, the daughter of Dardonville was left by legacy to the son of his old friend – on such conditions as were likely to lead her to their acceptance, while young De Hauteroche was comparatively free in his choice. This I was assured by Madame Dardonville was the fruits of a profound gratitude for some early favour, which her husband had received at the hands of his former comrade De Hauteroche.

I thought it a fortunate circumstance, that the parties interested in this strange document were not likely to offer any opposition to its terms and conditions. It would prove only an idle instrument, and perhaps in a few months the writing contained in it would be no longer of any significance. My friend Luis would inherit the property of the rich merchant, and marry his daughter to boot. That would be the end of it.

I was curious to know if De Hauteroche had not yet heard of the fortune thus strangely conditioned to him, and I asked the question. The reply was “Not yet.” There were reasons why he had not been told of it. But there was no longer any object in keeping the secret from him, and the Madame informed me that she had just written to him, enclosing a copy of her husband’s will, and giving him a full explanation of her views upon the subject.

This conversation occurred upon the day before my departure from Saint Louis. Madame Dardonville had dispatched her letter by mail. She expressed regret at not having entrusted it to me, but she was not apprised of my intention of leaving so soon. Indeed it was hastily taken. La premier gelée– the first frost had made its appearance, and I remembered my promise.

As I bade my adieus at the Villa Dardonville, the Madame also extracted a promise from me – to the effect that I should not speak of what she had told me – even to Luis himself. She was desirous that things should take their natural course.

Story 2, Chapter IX
The Post-Office

On my return to New Orleans, one of my earliest solicitudes was about my European correspondence. There letters are not delivered by a carrier, or were not at the time of which I speak. To obtain them, you must either send to the Post-office, or go for them yourself; and expecting some letters of importance, I chose the latter alternative.

I reached the office at the hour when the Atlantic steamer’s mail was being delivered. As is usual at that time, there was a crowd around the delivery-window; but by means of the simple contrivance of a gallery, or coulisse, each applicant was enabled to take his turn. I fell into rank, and awaited mine.

As we moved gradually forward, I could hear the different individuals asking for their letters – each giving his name, or sometimes both name and address.

Rarely was any question asked, beyond the demand for the amount of postage – the applicant paying it through the delivery-window, receiving the letter, and passing on to make room for the impatient gentleman in his rear.

I had arrived within some half-dozen files of the box, when I heard pronounced a well-known name.

“Monsieur Luis De Hauteroche.”

It was not very distinctly enunciated – in fact rather in a sort of muttered tone – but I could not be mistaken as to the name.

There was nothing to surprise me in this. The young lawyer was no doubt there to receive his morning correspondence, like any other man of business. I should not have given a thought to the circumstance, farther than to congratulate myself on the good fortune of having opportunely encountered my friend – since I was just on my way to call upon him, at his office. I say, I should have given no farther thought to the circumstance; but, just as the letter was being delivered, I overheard the words “From Saint Louis,” pronounced by the delivery clerk. No doubt it was some matter relating to the amount of postage; but the phrase had a singular effect on my ears, and at once called up a train of ideas.

“So,” soliloquised I, “Monsieur Luis has received the letter. The mail must have come down by the same boat in which I travelled. Very amusing! I should know the contents of that epistle better than he. Ha! ha! ha! Perhaps the most important letter he ever received in his life! The opening of that envelope will reveal to him a world of happiness. Within, he will find the offer of a hand, a heart, and a fortune. Lucky fellow! he is indeed to be envied!”

I should have felt greatly inclined to have anticipated the post in its office, and to have had the pleasure of imparting the delicious news viva voce, but was restrained by remembering the injunctions of Madame Dardonville. I was curious, however, to observe the effect which the letter from Saint Louis would produce upon my friend; and I leaned over to catch a glimpse of his face. It might not be he who had inquired for the letter – some messenger from the office, perhaps, – and it now occurred to me that it was not his voice I had heard. But I was unable to determine the point. Three or four very stout tall fellows were in front; and, twist myself as I might, I could not see over or around them. “Never mind!” thought I, “I shall follow him directly to his office, and then – ”

This reflection was interrupted by observing my friend, as I supposed, emerge from the exit end of the slip, and pass into the street. I thought it was he, and yet I was not quite certain. His back was towards me; but as he walked out of the portico, he turned slightly, and I caught a momentary glimpse of his side face. It was certainly like him; but I was struck with a sudden impression that it was more like the face of Monsieur Despard. This caused me to scrutinise the figure with more eagerness; but some one stepped in front of me, and when I looked again, he was gone out of sight.

“It matters little,” thought I, “as I am on my way to De Hauteroche’s office, where, at this hour, I shall, no doubt, find him.”

After waiting as patiently as possible for my “turn,” I obtained it at length; and, possessing myself of the expected letters, I sallied out into the street. I did not go direct to the office of my friend, but made a long détour – to give me time to glean the contents of my correspondence.

I arrived at length in the Rue Royale. As I had anticipated, De Hauteroche was in his office, and received me with a genuine expression of welcome.

He was differently dressed from the man I had seen – in a coat altogether unlike! There was hardly time to have changed it? It could not have been he!

“Parbleu! my friend, what’s the matter?” he inquired, observing my astonishment. “Do you perceive any change in me since we parted? I hope none for the worse, eh?”

“Answer me!” said I, without replying to his question. “How long have you had that coat on?”

“Ha! ha! what an eccentric question! ha! ha! ha! I fear, mon ami, you have left more than your heart in Saint Louis, ha! ha! ha!”

“Nay, please answer my question – how long?”

“To-day, do you mean?”

“Yes, to-day.”

“Oh! about an hour. It is my business coat. I put it on when I came into the office, about an hour ago.”

“And you have not had it off since?”

“No.”

“You have not been out of the office either?”

“Not that I am aware off, mon ami; but pray why do you make these inquiries?”

“Simply because I fancied I saw you just now.”

“Where?”

“At the Post-office.”

“Oh, no! I was not there. I never go. I always send for my letters; it is so unpleasant, squeezing through the horrid crowd.”

“I certainly saw some one wonderfully like you; and now I am convinced of what I had only suspected, that he whom I saw was that same gentleman, to whom I am indebted for your acquaintance.”

“Peste!” exclaimed the young Creole, springing to his feet, and assuming a serious countenance. “Likely enough it may be. Mon Dieu! this is intolerable. Do you know, my friend, that I am frequently mistaken for him, and he for me; and what is still worse, I have reason to believe that the fellow has, on more than one occasion, personated me. Mère de Dieu! it is not to be borne; and if I can only get proof of it – I am even now about the affair – if I can only establish the proofs, I shall effectually put a stop to it. He shall find I can handle the small-sword a little more skilfully than your unfortunate friend. Mon Dieu! it is infamous: a common spoilsman– a swindler – even worse, I have heard; and to think how my character suffers! Why no later than yesterday, would you believe it, I was joked by one of my oldest and most respected friends, for having figured at a low quadroon ball in the Faubourg Tremé! It is positively vexatious!”

Of course I assented to this denunciation, and to the necessity of some inquiry being made into the goings on of Monsieur Jacques Despard. During my winter sojourn in New Orleans, I had more than once dropped accidentally upon this last-mentioned personage, but never did I observe him in any very creditable position. It did not need the declaration of De Hauteroche, to prove to me that he was both sportsman (gambler) and swindler; but just then other matters came before my mind. I was the bearer of a pretty little billet from Olympe to Adele; and the hour had arrived in which it was proper for me to make my call and deliver it. Leaving my friend, therefore, to his books and briefs, I went off upon my errand.

I was a little puzzled at De Hauteroche’s behaviour. He must have received the letter in time to have read it before my arrival at the office; and yet I observed none of the effect that the reading of such an important document would be likely to produce. On further reflection I felt convinced that he could not have read it at all. Perhaps his messenger, who had taken it from the post-office, had not returned. Or, what was likely enough, it might not be that letter, but some other one of no importance, or more probable still, there might have been none, and I had mistaken the name. Certainly, if it were the epistle I supposed it to be, and if he had already perused it, the effect was far from what I should have expected. Of course I did not imagine he would appear in ecstasies in my presence, and all at once reveal to me the secret of his happiness; but, on the other hand, I could not account for the imperturbable coolness he had exhibited throughout our short interview – his thoughts, indeed, only occupied by vexation at the unfortunate resemblance he bore to the gambler. Of course, then, he could have had no letter – at least not one that offered him a wife and a fortune. I might have ascertained this to a certainty by simply putting a question, and some vague suspicion floating about in my mind, half prompted me to do so; but I remembered the caution which I had received from the little Madame Dardonville – besides, it was a delicate point, and I dreaded being deemed a meddler. After all, I had no doubt about the matter. His supreme happiness was still unknown to him. The messenger of glad tidings had not yet arrived. The next mail-boat would bring the precious epistle, and then —

I had entered the vine-shadowed verandah in the Rue Bourgogne. The green jalousie opened at the sound of my steps; and those beautiful brown eyes, smiling upon me through the fringework of the white curtains, carried my thoughts into a new current. Luis and his affairs were alike forgotten. I had eyes and thoughts only for Adele.

Story 2, Chapter X
Another Epistle

The hospitality of my Creole friends had not cooled in my absence, and my visits were as frequent as of yore. I had now much to tell them of. My prairie excursion had furnished me with facts – deeds upon which I could descant. It pleased me to fancy I had an attentive listener in Adele. I could make Luis listen too at times – especially when I dwelt upon the merits of Olympe. No doubt it would have flattered me to believe that Adele was a little jealous, but I could not tell. I only knew that she liked better to hear me discourse upon the wonders of prairie land, than to listen to the praises of Olympe. But Adele had much romance in her disposition, and the plumed and painted horsemen of the plains – the chivalry of modern days – almost rival in interest the steel-clad heroes of the mediaeval time – certainly they are quite as brave, and perhaps not much more barbaric.

My visits to the Rue Bourgogne were of daily recurrence. Besides the other occupation, I could not help closely regarding the behaviour of Luis. I was watching for some sign, but day after day passed without his showing any. The letter had not yet come to hand. My position was a strange one. With one word I could have made De Hauteroche supremely happy; and yet my promise hindered me from uttering that word. It was really tantalising to be thus restrained – for the pleasure of giving happiness is almost equal to that of receiving it.

A week passed, and still no word – no sign of the letter having been received; and then the half of another week without report. Two mail-packets I knew had come down from Saint Louis – for I had taken the pains to ascertain this fact – but neither brought the precious epistle.

Had Madame Dardonville not written after all? or had her letter miscarried?

The former I could not reconcile with probability, after what she had said: the latter was perfectly probable, considering the character of the American post-office, and the adventurous vagaries that sometimes occur to an American mail bag, in its transit upon the great western rivers.

Still the route from Saint Louis to New Orleans was a direct one. There was but one shipment from port to port, and where could be the risk?

I was puzzled, therefore, at the non-arrival of the letter. In truth, I was something more than puzzled. At times I felt a vague feeling of uneasiness as to its fate; and this was more definite, when I reflected on the incident that had occurred at the post-office on the morning after my return. I could not well doubt that some one asked for a letter for Luis De Hauteroche; for though the words were mumbled in a low tone, they reached my ear with sufficient distinctness. At the time I had not the shadow of a doubt about the name.

Did De Hauteroche receive a letter that morning, and from Saint Louis? For reasons given, I had never asked him, but I could no longer see any harm in putting the question. If an unimportant letter, he might not remember it; and whether or no, the question would surprise and puzzle him. But no matter. It was important I should have an answer – yes or no. I needed that to resolve a doubt – a dark suspicion that was shaping itself in my mind.

I came to the determination to call upon him: and at once put the interrogatory —outré as it might seem.

I was preparing to sally forth from my hotel chamber, when a somewhat impetuous knock at the door announced an impatient visitor. It was the man I was about to seek – Luis De Hauteroche himself.

I saw that he was strangely excited about something. “My friend,” he exclaimed on entering, “what can this mean? I have just had a letter from Saint Louis – from Madame Dardonville – and for the life of me I cannot comprehend it. It speaks of a will – of conditions – of Olympe – of strange contingencies. Mon Dieu! I am perplexed. What is it? You have lately seen Madame. Perhaps you can explain it? Speak, friend! can you?”

While giving utterance to this incoherent speech, De Hauteroche had drawn out a letter, and thrust it into my hand. I opened and read: —

“Mon cher Luis, – Since my letter, accompanying the copy of my lamented husband’s will, I find that my duties as administratrix will detain us in Saint Louis a week longer than I had anticipated. If you have not started, therefore, before receiving this, I wish to suggest a change in our programme – that is, instead of coming alone, you should bring Adele along with you, and we can all return together. Perhaps your young English friend would be of the party; though, from the anxiety which he exhibited at the first appearance of frost here, perhaps he thinks our Saint Louis climate too cold for him. He shall be welcome notwithstanding.

“You could come by the ‘Sultana,’ which I see by the New Orleans papers is to sail on the 25th. Come by her if possible, as she is our favourite boat, and I should wish to go back in her.

“Yours sincerely,

“Emilie Dardonville.”

“P.S. – Remember, Luis, that your choice is free, and though I shall be proud to have you for my son-in-law, I shall put no constraint upon Olympe. She knows the conditions of her father’s will, and I have no fear of her desiring to controvert what was with him a dying wish. I am well assured that her heart is still her own; and since you have always been the favourite friend of her childhood, I think I might promise you success as a suitor. But in this, and everything else relating to the conditions of the will, you must act, dear Luis, as your heart dictates. I know your honourable nature, and have no fear you will act wrongly.”

“E.D.”

By the time I had finished reading, De Hauteroche had become more collected.

“When did you last hear from Madame Dardonville?” I asked.

“About a month ago – only once since the letter announcing our friend’s death.”

“And your sister – has she had a letter since?”

“None – except the note brought by yourself from Olympe.”

“That could not be the letter referred to here. There was no copy of a will?”

“I never heard of such a thing. This is the first intimation I have had, that Monsieur Dardonville had made a will; and the postscript both surprises and perplexes me. Madame Dardonville speaks of conditions – of Olympe being bound by some wish of her father! What conditions? What wish? Monsieur, for heaven’s sake, explain to me if you can?”

“I can!”