A Little Girl in Old St. Louis

by Amanda M. Douglas

“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 a yard or two. And then he heard a joyful cry, which he answered by an encouraging greeting through the horn he carried.

It was, indeed, the stranded voyagers. The captain of the fleet came running down the winding path. He was a Spaniard, quite well known in St. Louis, Dessous by name.

As to his story, all had been fair sailing, with mostly fine weather until they had reached this point. At the first sight they feared a hurricane was upon them. The river began to seethe and swell, and the noise of its rush sounded the awful warning in their ears. The boats had been cordelled, and now the order was given to run them in the cove. Two had reached a point of safety when the sweeping torrent invaded this shelter 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 and bidden to run upon the high ground. Then an effort was made to save the two remaining boats. Now and then a swirl nearly submerged them, but a mass of tree trunks and branches caught on some projection at the mouth of 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 gang of pirates who had once made it their camping ground. But now it began to fill with water. So they carried some of their stores and blankets to a sheltered place up above to await the result. Even here they could hear the roar of the river.

When Captain Dessous thought it safe to venture, they examined the boats and found one with a large hole in the bottom where it had struck on the jagged 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 to venture until the river had subsided, so they had waited. All could not go in the one boat, and to leave the others at the mercy of prowling Indians, or, it might be, a return of some pirate squad, was hardly safe. Still some of the more courageous men had agreed to remain, and they had decided to start shortly. It was full moon now and the night would be light enough for safety if they were caught in it, for no one could calculate the exact distance or the obstacles they would have to encounter.

Now all was joyous satisfaction. The stores from the injured boat were divided among the other two, and the women taken on board the rescue boat. They found their way out to the river, now flowing along serenely. But there would be the tide against them. Still they were delighted at the thought of soon reaching a safe harbor. The moon came out in its most resplendent beauty. The banks of the river were a series of bewildering pictures for any one with an artistic eye. The men sang songs in French and Spanish, and would have danced if there had been room.

“They are coming up the river!” some one shouted in the light of the golden June morning. “There is Captain Javelot and André Valbonais. I can make them out through the glass. And some women.”

One and another hurried down. Christophe Baugenon expected his sweetheart, and had been getting a nest ready for her. Madame Galette had come up to end her days with her two sons. Gaspard Denys was there as well, anxious to know how the peril had been escaped.

There was a lovely woman with a babe in her arms. The Spanish veil-like mantilla was thrown gracefully over her head and shoulders. Her soft, dark eyes glanced up and met those of Denys, who stretched out his hand past that of Valbonais in a heartfelt greeting.

“Barbe!” he cried. “Barbe!” forgetting she had any other name.