At evening, when her father returned depressed and miserable from a never-ending discussion with neighbouring planters as to the ignominy of their lot, it was Annette who met and tried to cheer him. She had ever something ready for him, were it only a bowl of fresh figs; and the earnest child at last became the confidant of the despairing man.
One memorable evening he returned later than usual, and to Annette’s surprise and pleasure his eyes were bright and shining, and he carried his head proudly and with confidence. Tenderly embracing Annette, he cried,—
“At last, at last have I prevailed on these neighbours who hate and yet fear the Spanish. All is ready, and to-morrow we at least will show Don Ulloa that there are loyal Frenchmen enough in Louisiana to refuse to live under the Spanish flag and his detestable rule.”
“But, father, what is it you would do?”
“Lean closer, my child, for none here must learn of this till everything is ready and we leave for the city.”
“Does mother know, dear father?”
“No, Annette, I dare not tell her; her constant illness makes her timorous.”
The young girl pressed closer to his knee, her large, serious eyes fixed on his face. So wrapped was the man in his own thoughts that he knew not the heavy burden he was laying on the already overcrowded young shoulders.
To her the father unfolded his plans.
“Well you know the cruel blow that has been dealt to us from France, and how the Spaniard Don Antonio has sought to make Spaniards of us all,—true-born Frenchmen that we are; how he has hoisted the Spanish flag, and manned all our forts with Spanish soldiers. To-morrow evening there will start from this plantation Monsieur Biron, myself, and all the owners of the plantations in this parish, with such of their men as they can arm, and by boat we will go down the Bayou, stopping at each plantation as we go, and gathering men together till we reach New Orleans.”