“Paz! Paz!” he murmured, soothingly, in that odd jumble of French and Andalusian. “No sangre! Todos de bon coeur!”
With his hands he patted one after another, even Napoleon, who snuffed him thoughtfully through his muzzle.
Beyond doubt this was kind old “Pere Antoine,” who, for forty years, was so amiable and ubiquitous a figure in the New Orleans of those early days; “Pere Antoine cheri,” whom, although he was a Spaniard by birth, the Creoles loved to adoration; the brown-gowned old Capuchin who married all the young couples, white, black and yellow, and christened all their children as fast as they came into the world; who heard and sympathized with them in all their troubles, griefs and sins.
He was the unselfish, incorruptible guardian and lover of the city’s poor, who handled alms-money by the hundredweight, but lived in a little hut in the suburbs and slept on two bare boards; who used to have a great brown leather bag at his girdle for a purse, often so full by mid-week of voluntary silver and gold that, big as he was, he could hardly carry it, yet always quite empty—such was his charity—by Sunday evening; the “cher Daddy Antoine” of the street gamins, who tagged after him for his blessing and lagniappe—and never failed to get both.
The dark man in the military cloak, who laughed so heartily at the warlike attitude of the three youngsters in coonskin caps, was Señor Casa Calvo, the Spanish commissioner, who continued to live in New Orleans after the transfer of the territory to the United States.
Feeling sure, from his kindly face and the respect accorded him by the revelers, that they had made a friend worthy of confidence, the boys spoke to the priest of Doctor Buchat, and by signs gave him to understand that they were taking the bear to his house. Wistar also showed him the two huge vertebræ.
So greatly piqued was their curiosity, that both the priest and Señor Calvo accompanied the boys to Doctor Buchat’s house. So much animated talk ensued over the mammoth skeleton that it was not till late in the evening that the good doctor found quarters for Napoleon—so late, indeed, that the old naturalist kept his youthful visitors overnight and to breakfast on the following morning.
This was the boys’ last trip to the city, for that day Captain Royce had completed his preparations for the long voyage up the river, not forgetting numerous presents for the people at home. Wistar, Charlie Hoyt and Lewis, who had saved their profits from the venture, also bought similar gifts.
Of Kenton, MacAfee and Corson less kindly mention can be made. Like many other arksmen of those times, they had squandered much of their money at saloons and gaming-places in “The Swamp”; and becoming much dissatisfied, they determined to quit their more prosperous comrades, and go home on foot through the wilderness, by the “Natchez trail.”
Putting together what they had left from their dissipations, they bought a horse and set off, Corson first riding for two hours, then hitching the horse beside the path, and going on afoot. When Kenton and MacAfee came up, MacAfee mounted and rode for two hours, then left the horse hitched for Kenton, who was coming on behind. By the time Kenton had ridden two hours he usually overtook Corson, who then took his second turn. This was termed “whipsaw traveling”, and must have been hard for the poor horse.