A Little Girl in Old St. Louis

by Amanda M. Douglas

Whether he understood any of the service was doubtful, but the good priest did his duty according to his conscience and the times. But before he had ended the last prayer both knew he was dead, and had passed without a struggle.

“I will stay the rest of the night with you,” said the priest. “And since you have the child, I suppose you will be the proper person to take charge. It is supposed the old man had not a little wealth—if the marauders did not take it all away.”

The woman came in to prepare the body. Round the old man’s neck was a strong bit of wire like cord, and a key. Gaspard took this. It fitted the box.

After daylight they took a survey of the place. There were some firearms stored away, blankets, furs that were motheaten and of little value, some Indian habiliments; but it was evident the place had been pretty thoroughly ransacked.

So they buried Antoine Freneau, and for some days it was the sensation of the little town. Gaspard Denys now took the formal guardianship of Renée de Longueville. He had the record of her mother’s marriage, her birth and christening. Some of the goods were worth saving, the others were distributed among the poorest of the Indians about.

In an old chest of curious workmanship Gaspard found a false bottom. In this compartment were some laces and embroideries, a wedding veil that Renée’s grandmother had doubtless worn, the certificate of her marriage to Antoine Freneau and considerable valuable jewelry, with some unset stones. And when they examined the strong box it proved an unexpected fortune for Renée de Longueville.

Then the old house was suffered to go to ruin. Some Indians went there for shelter, but soon left. They had been roused at midnight by unearthly noises and seen the figure of old Freneau in its grave-clothes; so the story gained credence that the place was haunted. Even after it had fallen into an unsightly heap the mysterious noises were heard and no one would pass it after nightfall.

Renée was very much shocked at first. She had not loved her grandfather, but there had always been a curious pity in her tender soul for him in what she considered his loneliness. She went in the church and prayed for his soul, for she knew God was merciful. Had He not watched over Uncle Gaspard and sent him safely home?

And now Renée de Longueville was quite an heiress and had some really beautiful heirloom jewels, besides the laces and the exquisite veil. Her grandmother’s people must have been of some account. But no one would have imagined Antoine Freneau a handsome or attractive young man, and a favorite among the pretty girls of Old New Orleans. The miser-like propensities had grown with the years, and he had found, he thought, an easy way of making money by being in league with the river pirates on the one hand and roving bands of Indians on the other. He had skilfully evaded detection if not always suspicion, and now that he had suffered almost martyrdom in the end, the generous, cordial people were not the kind to fling up these vague accusations.

So the sorrow was over and it was winter again, full of merriment and gayety, and lovers wooing young girls. Elise Renaud had been married and Sophie was quite a belle. Rosalie Pichou was the mother of two babies and had a comfortable home, though her husband traded with New Orleans and was often gone months at a time. They had to guard against the river pirates, who frequently sallied out from some peaceful-looking covert, hidden by woods or a bend in the stream. Occasionally there were Indians lying in wait, but the men always went well armed, and generally in quite a fleet, with the goods, the wheat and corn in barges or flat-bottomed boats, with several canoes for swiftness if they saw a chance of chastising their enemies. It was comparatively easy to go down the river, and as each boat had a mast and sails, they sped along beautifully in a favorable wind. But coming back was generally the trial, as the tide was against them. Sometimes two boatmen would walk along the river bank and pull a rope like the later towing line, while those on the boat steered and with long poles kept the prow from running into the bank and avoided the snags.