We were embarked on a strange river, in a strange boat, and bound for a strange city.To us Westerners a halo of romance, of unreality, hung over New Orleans.To us it had an Old World, almost Oriental flavor of mystery and luxury and pleasure, and we imagined it swathed in the moisture of the Delta, built of quaint houses, with courts of shining orange trees and magnolias, and surrounded by flowering plantations of unimagined beauty.It was most fitting that such a place should be the seat of dark intrigues against material progress, and this notion lent added zest to my errand thither.As for Nick, it took no great sagacity on my part to predict that he would forget Suzanne and begin to look forward to the Creole beauties of the Mysterious City.
First, there was the fur-laden keel boat in which we travelled, gone forever now from Western navigation.It had its rude square sail to take advantage of the river winds, its mast strongly braced to hold the long tow-ropes.
But tow-ropes were for the endless up-river journey, when a numerous crew strained day after day along the bank, chanting the voyageurs' songs.Now we were light-manned, two half-breeds and two Canadians to handle the oars in time of peril, and Captain Xavier, who stood aft on the cabin roof, leaning against the heavy beam of the long, curved tiller, watching hawklike for snag and eddy and bar.Within the cabin was a great fireplace of stones, where our cooking was done, and bunks set round for the men in cold weather and rainy.But in these fair nights we chose to sleep on deck.
Far into the night we sat, Nick and I, our feet dangling over the forward edge of the cabin, looking at the glory of the moon on the vast river, at the endless forest crown, at the haze which hung like silver dust under the high bluffs on the American side.We slept.We awoke again as the moon was shrinking abashed before the light that glowed above these cliffs, and the river was turned from brown to gold and then to burnished copper, the forest to a thousand shades of green from crest to the banks where the river was licking the twisted roots to nakedness.The south wind wafted the sharp wood-smoke from the chimney across our faces.In the stern Xavier stood immovable against the tiller, his short pipe clutched between his teeth, the colors of his new worsted belt made gorgeous by the rising sun.
``B'jour, Michie,'' he said, and added in the English he had picked up from the British traders, ``the breakfas'
he is ready, and Jean make him good.Will you have the grace to descen'?''
We went down the ladder into the cabin, where the odor of the furs mingled with the smell of the cooking.There was a fricassee steaming on the crane, some of Zeron's bread, brought from St.Louis, and coffee that Monsieur Gratiot had provided for our use.We took our bowls and cups on deck and sat on the edge of the cabin.
``By gad,'' cried Nick, ``it lacks but the one element to make it a paradise.''
``And what is that?'' I demanded.
``A woman,'' said he.
Xavier, who overheard, gave a delighted laugh.
``Parbleu, Michie, you have right,'' he said, ``but Michie Gratiot, he say no.In Nouvelle Orleans we find some.''
Nick got to his feet, and if anything he did could have surprised me, I should have been surprised when he put his arm coaxingly about Xavier's neck.Xavier himself was surprised and correspondingly delighted.
``Tell me, Xavier,'' he said, with a look not to be resisted, ``do you think I shall find some beauties there?''
``Beauties!'' exclaimed Xavier, ``La Nouvelle Orleans --it is the home of beauty, Michie.They promenade themselves on the levee, they look down from ze gallerie, mais--''
``But what, Xavier?''
``But, mon Dieu, Michie, they are vair' difficile.They are not like Englis' beauties, there is the father and the mother, and--the convent.'' And Xavier, who had a wen under his eye, laid his finger on it.
``For shame, Xavier,'' cried Nick; ``and you are balked by such things?''
Xavier thought this an exceedingly good joke, and he took his pipe out of his mouth to laugh the better.
``Me? Mais non, Michie.And yet ze Alcalde, he mek me afraid.Once he put me in ze calaboose when I tried to climb ze balcon'.''
Nick roared.
``I will show you how, Xavier,'' he said; ``as to climbing the balconies, there is a convenance in it, as in all else.
For instance, one must be daring, and discreet, and nimble, and ready to give the law a presentable answer, and lacking that, a piastre.And then the fair one must be a fair one indeed.''
``Diable, Michie,'' cried Xavier, ``you are ze mischief.''
``Nay,'' said Nick, ``I learned it all and much more from my cousin, Mr.Ritchie.''
Xavier stared at me for an instant, and considering that he knew nothing of my character, I thought it extremely impolite of him to laugh.Indeed, he tried to control himself, for some reason standing in awe of my appearance, and then he burst out into such loud haw-haws that the crew poked their heads above the cabin hatch.
``Michie Reetchie,'' said Xavier, and again he burst into laughter that choked further speech.He controlled himself and laid his finger on his wen.
``You don't believe it,'' said Nick, offended.
``Michie Reetchie a gallant!'' said Xavier.
``An incurable,'' said Nick, ``an amazingly clever rogue at device when there is a petticoat in it.Davy, do I do you justice?''
Xavier roared again.
``Quel maitre!'' he said.
``Xavier,'' said Nick, gently taking the tiller out of his hand, ``I will teach you how to steer a keel boat.''
``Mon Dieu,'' said Xavier, ``and who is to pay Michie Gratiot for his fur? The river, she is full of things.''
``Yes, I know, Xavier, but you will teach me to steer.''
``Volontiers, Michie, as we go now.But there come a time when I, even I, who am twenty year on her, do not know whether it is right or left.Ze rock--he vair'
