"You, too, Matamora? What, not yet killed! Hast saved thy precious skin again? More's the pity. And do you think to merit the respect accorded manhood and good faith? By the name of honor, no. Here boy," and he beckoned to the negro slave who stood at his elbow, "do you take yon dishonored weapon and break it before the troops."
And Matamora, full glad to escape with life and limb, willingly yielded up his sword to the black who snapped it under his foot, obedient to Bienville's nod, then cast the tainted pieces from him.
Upon the long march to Biloxi, de la Mora was the life of the command, and drew to our camp fire every straggler who could make a fair excuse to come. He knew good songs, and he sang them well; he knew good cheer, and he kept us all in radiant spirits. All, save myself. I was bitterly dejected.
"Cheer up, lad," he'd say, "What ails you? One would think you'd met reverse, instead of winning glory and promotion. It was a brave day, and bravely you did bear yourself. Would that Jerome could see."
But the consciousness of dishonor had torn elation from my soul, though, God knows, it had before been stainless in thought or deed.
"We'll have many sweet and tranquil hours at Biloxi when days of peace are come. My cottage can be your home after the barracks no longer claim your care. Agnes is the sweetest of wives; her little sister, too, a child, but fair, and clever too, beyond her years."
Verily I cared nothing for a baby sister. But Agnes?
He repeated his invitation to their cottage many times, and mentally I prayed, "O God, lead not Thy children into temptation."
When we had settled down again at Biloxi, for days I remained to myself in the barracks, and saw no one, making pretense of being busy amongst my men.
De la Mora rallied me upon my ungallant conduct, in denying to the ladies the sight of so famous a soldier.