I need not follow the circ.u.mlocution of legal phraseology. Suffice it to say, that there were several counts in his indictment.

I was first accused of having endeavoured to instigate to mutiny and revolt the slaves of the plantation Besancon, by having interfered to prevent one of their number from receiving his _just_ punishment!

Secondly, I had caused another of these to strike down his overseer; and afterwards had induced him to run away to the woods, and aided him in so doing! This was the slave Gabriel, who had just that day been captured in my company. Thirdly and Gayarre now came to the cream of his accusation.

"Thirdly," continued he, "I accuse this person of having entered my house on the night of October the 18th, and having stolen therefrom the female slave Aurore Besancon."

"It is false!" cried a voice, interrupting him. "It is false! _Aurore Besancon_ is _not a slave_!"

Gayarre started, as though some one had thrust a knife into him.

"Who says that?" he demanded, though with a voice that evidently faltered.

"I!" replied the voice; and at the same instant a young man leaped upon one of the benches, and stood with his head overtopping the crowd. It was D'Hauteville!

"I say it!" he repeated, in the same firm tone. "_Aurore Besancon is no slave, but a free Quadroon_! Here, Justice Claiborne," continued D'Hauteville, "do me the favour to read this doc.u.ment!" At the same time the speaker handed a folded parchment across the room.

The sheriff pa.s.sed it to the magistrate, who opened it and read aloud.

It proved to be the "free papers" of Aurore the Quadroon--the certificate of her manumission--regularly signed and attested by her master, Auguste Besancon, and left by him in his will.

The astonishment was extreme--so much so that the crowd seemed petrified, and preserved silence. Their feelings were on the turn.

The effect produced upon Gayarre was visible to all. He seemed covered with confusion. In his embarra.s.sment he faltered out--

"I protest against this--that paper has been stolen from my bureau, and--"

"So much the better, Monsieur Gayarre!" said D'Hauteville, again interrupting him; "so much the better! You confess to its being stolen, and therefore you confess to its being genuine. Now, sir, having this doc.u.ment in your possession, and knowing its contents, how could you claim Aurore Besancon as your slave?"

Gayarre was confounded. His cadaverous face became of a white, sickly hue; and his habitual look of malice rapidly gave way to an expression of terror. He appeared as if he wanted to be gone; and already crouched behind the taller men who stood around him.

"Stop, Monsieur Gayarre!" continued the inexorable D'Hauteville, "I have not done with you yet. Here, Justice Claiborne! I have another doc.u.ment that may interest you. Will you have the goodness to give it your attention?"

Saying this, the speaker held out a second folded parchment, which was handed to the magistrate--who, as before, opened the doc.u.ment and read it aloud.

This was a codicil to the will of Auguste Besancon, by which the sum of fifty thousand dollars in bank stock was bequeathed to his daughter, Eugenie Besancon, to be paid to her upon the day on which she should be of age by the joint executors of the estate--Monsieur Dominique Gayarre and Antoine Lereux--and these executors were instructed not to make known to the recipient the existence of this sum in her favour, until the very day of its payment.

"Now, Monsieur Dominique Gayarre!" continued D'Hauteville, as soon as the reading was finished, "I charge you with the embezzlement of this fifty thousand dollars, with various other sums--of which more hereafter. I charge you with having concealed the existence of this money--of having withheld it from the a.s.sets of the estate Besancon--of having appropriated it to your own use!"

"This is a serious charge," said Justice Claiborne, evidently impressed with its truth, and prepared to entertain it. "Your name, sir, if you please?" continued he, interrogating D'Hauteville, in a mild tone of voice.

It was the first time I had seen D'Hauteville in the full light of day.

All that had yet pa.s.sed between us had taken place either in the darkness of night or by the light of lamps. That morning alone had we been together for a few minutes by daylight; but even then it was under the sombre shadow of the woods--where I could have but a faint view of his features.

Now that he stood in the light of the open window, I had a full, clear view of his face. The resemblance to some one I had seen before again impressed me. It grew stronger as I gazed; and before the magistrate's interrogatory had received its reply, the shock of my astonishment had pa.s.sed.

"Your name, sir, if you please?" repeated the justice.

"_Eugenie Besancon_!"

At the same instant the hat was pulled off--the black curls were drawn aside--and the fair, golden tresses of the beautiful Creole exhibited to the view.

A loud huzza broke out--in which all joined, excepting Gayarre and his two or three ruffian adherents. I felt that I was free.

The conditions had suddenly changed, and the plaintiff had taken the place of the defendant. Even before the excitement had quieted down, I saw the sheriff, at the instigation of Reigart and others, stride forward to Gayarre, and placing his hand upon the shoulder of the latter, arrest him as his prisoner.

"It is false!" cried Gayarre; "a plot--a d.a.m.nable plot! These doc.u.ments are forgeries! the signatures are false--false!"

"Not so, Monsieur Gayarre," said the justice, interrupting him. "Those doc.u.ments are not forgeries. This is the handwriting of Auguste Besancon. I knew him well. This is his signature--I could myself swear to it."

"And I!" responded a voice, in a deep solemn tone, which drew the attention of all.

The transformation of Eugene D'Hauteville to Eugenie Besancon had astonished the crowd; but a greater surprise awaited them in the resurrection of the _steward Antoine_!

Reader! my story is ended. Here upon our little drama must the curtain drop. I might offer you other tableaux to ill.u.s.trate the after history of our characters, but a slight summary must suffice. Your fancy will supply the details.

It will glad you to know, then, that Eugenie Besancon recovered the whole of her property--which was soon restored to its flourishing condition under the faithful stewardship of Antoine.

Alas! there was that that could never be restored--the young cheerful heart--the buoyant spirit--the virgin love!

But do not imagine that Eugenie Besancon yielded to despair--that she was ever after the victim of that unhappy pa.s.sion. No--hers was a mighty will; and all its energies were employed to pluck the fatal arrow from her heart.

Time and a virtuous life have much power; but far more effective was that sympathy of the object beloved--that _pity for love_--which to her was fully accorded.

Her heart's young hope was crushed--her gay spirit shrouded--but there are other joys in life besides the play of the pa.s.sions; and, it may be, the path of love is not the true road to happiness. Oh! that I could believe this! Oh! that I could reason myself into the belief, that that calm and unruffled mien--that soft sweet smile were the tokens of a heart at rest. Alas! I cannot. Fate will have its victims. Poor Eugenie! G.o.d be merciful to thee! Oh, that I could steep thy heart in the waters of Lethe!

And Reigart? You, reader, will be glad to know that the good doctor prospered--prospered until he was enabled to lay aside his lancet, and become a grandee planter--nay more, a distinguished legislator,--one of those to whom belongs the credit of having modelled the present system of Louisiana law--the most advanced code in the civilised world.

You will be glad to learn that Scipio, with his Chloe and the "leetle Chloe," were brought back to their old and now happy home--that the snake-charmer still retained his brawny arms, and never afterwards had occasion to seek refuge in his tree-cavern.

You will not be grieved to know, that Gayarre pa.s.sed several years of his after-life in the palace-prison of Baton Rouge, and then disappeared altogether from the scene. It was said that under a changed name he returned to France, his native country. His conviction was easy.

Antoine had long suspected him of a design to plunder their joint ward, and had determined to put him to the proof. The raft of chairs had floated after all; and by the help of these the faithful steward had gained the sh.o.r.e, far down the river. No one knew of his escape; and the idea occurred to this strange old man to remain for a while _en perdu_--a silent spectator of the conduct of Monsieur Dominique. No sooner did Gayarre believe him gone, than the latter advanced boldly upon his purpose, and hurried events to the described crisis. It was just what Antoine had expected; and acting himself as the accuser, the conviction of the avocat was easy and certain. A sentence of five years to the State Penitentiary wound up Gayarre's connexion with the characters of our story.

It will scarce grieve you to know that "Bully Bill" experienced a somewhat similar fate--that Ruffin, the man-hunter, was drowned by a sudden rising of the swamp--and that the "n.i.g.g.e.r-trader" afterwards became a "n.i.g.g.e.r-stealer;" and for that crime was sentenced at the court of Judge Lynch to the punishment of "tar and feathers."

The "sportsmen," Chorley and Hatcher, I never saw again--though their future is not unknown to me. Chorley--the brave and accomplished, but wicked Chorley--was killed in a duel by a Creole of New Orleans, with whom he had quarrelled at play.

Hatcher's bank "got broke" soon after, and a series of ill-fortune at length reduced him to the condition of a race-course thimble-rig, and small sharper in general.

The pork-merchant I met many years afterward, as a successful _monte_ dealer in the "Halls of the Montezumas." Thither he had gone,--a camp-follower of the American army--and had acc.u.mulated an enormous fortune by keeping a gambling-table for the officers. He did not live long to enjoy his evil gains. The "_vomito prieto_" caught him at Vera Cruz; and his dust is now mingled with the sands of that dreary sh.o.r.e.

Thus, reader, it has been my happy fortune to record _poetical justice_ to the various characters that have figured in the pages of our history.

I hear you exclaim, that two have been forgotten, the hero and heroine?

Ah! no--not forgotten. Would you have me paint the ceremony--the pomp and splendour--the ribbons and rosettes--the after-scenes of perfect bliss?

Hymen, forbid! All these must be left to your fancy, if your fancy deign to act. But the interest of a "lover's adventures" usually ends with the consummation of his hopes--not even always extending to the altar--and you, reader, will scarce be curious to lift the curtain, that veils the tranquil after-life of myself and my beautiful Quadroon.