When Parson Jones awoke, a bell was
somewhere
tolling for
midnight.
midnight.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v05 - Bro to Cai
CABLE
3025
«mind you, a roytious man, sech as ministers of de gospel and
dere body-sarvants, can take a leetle for de weak stomach. ”
But the fascinations of Colossus's eloquence must not mislead
us; this is the story of a true Christian; to wit, Parson Jones.
The parson and his new friend ate. But the coffee M. St. -
Ange declared he could not touch: it was too wretchedly bad.
At the French Market, near by, there was some noble coffee.
This, however, would have to be bought, and Parson Jones had
scruples.
“You see, Jools, every man has his conscience to guide him,
which it does so in - »
"Oh, yes! ” cried St. -Ange, "conscien'; thad is the bez, Pos-
son Jone'. Certainlee! I am a Catholique, you is a schismatique :
you thing it is wrong to dring some coffee - well, then, it is
wrong; you thing it is wrong to make the sugah to ged the so
large price — well, then, it is wrong; I thing it is right — well,
then, it is right: it is all 'abit; c'est tout. What a man thing is
right, is right; 'tis all 'abit. A man muz nod go again' his con
scien'. My faith! do you thing I would go again' my conscien'?
Mais allons, led us go and ged some coffee. ”
"Jools. "
« W'at ? »
“Jools, it ain't the drinkin' of coffee, but the buyin' of it on a
Sabbath. You must really excuse me, Jools, it's again' conscience,
you know. ”
"Ah! ” said St. -Ange, "c'est very true. For you it would be
a sin, mais for me it is only ’abit. Rilligion is a very strange;
I know a man one time, he thing it was wrong to go to cock-
fight Sunday evening. I thing it is all 'abit. Mais, come, Pos-
son Jone'; I have got one friend, Miguel; led us go at his house
and ged some coffee. Come; Miguel have no familie, only him
and Joe — always like to see friend; allons, led us come yonder. ”
“Why, Jools, my dear friend, you know,” said the shamefaced
parson, "I never visit on Sundays.
“Never w'at ? » asked the astounded Creole.
"No,” said Jones, smiling awkwardly.
Never visite ?
"Exceptin' sometimes amongst church-members,” said Parson
Jones.
"Mais,” said the seductive St. -Ange, "Miguel and Joe is
church-member — certainlee! They love to talk about rilligion.
V-190
## p. 3026 (#600) ###########################################
3026
GEORGE W. CABLE
man
Come at Miguel and talk about some rilligion. I am nearly
expire for me coffee. ”
Parson Jones took his hat from beneath his chair and rose up.
"Jools,” said the weak giant, “I ought to be in church right
now. ”
« Mais, the church is right yonder at Miguel', yes. Ah! ”
continued St. -Ange, as they descended the stairs, "I thing every
muz have the rilligion he like the bez me, I like the
Catholique rilligion the bez — for me it is the bez. Every man
will sure go to heaven if he like his rilligion the bez. ”
"Jools,” said the West-Floridian, laying his great hand tenderly
upon the Creole's shoulder, as they stepped out upon the ban-
quette, “do you think you have any shore hopes of heaven? ”
“Yass! ” replied St. -Ange; “I am sure-sure.
I thing every.
body will go to heaven. I thing you will go, et I thing Miguel
will go, et Joe — everybody, I thing — mais, hof course, not if they
not have been christen'. Even I thing some niggers will go. ”
"Jools,” said the parson, stopping in his walk — "Jools, I
don't want to lose my niggah. ”
“ You will not loose him. With Baptiste he cannot ged loose. ”
But Colossus's master was not reassured. “Now,” said he,
still tarrying, “this is jest the way; had I of gone to church - »
“Posson Jone'— ” said Jules.
“What? ”
"I tell you. We goin' to church ! ”
“Will you ? ” asked Jones, joyously.
"Allons, come along,” said Jules, taking his elbow.
They walked down the Rue Chartres, passed several corners,
and by-and-by turned into a cross-street. The parson stopped
an instant as they were turning, and looked back up the street.
“W'at you lookin'? ” asked his companion.
“I thought I saw Colossus,” answered the parson, with an
anxious face; “I reckon 'twa'nt him, though. ” And they went on.
The street they now entered was a very quiet one.
of any chance passer would have been at once drawn to a broad,
heavy, white brick edifice on the lower side of the way, with a
flag-pole standing out like a bowsprit from one of its great
windows, and a pair of lamps hanging before a large closed
entrance. It was a theatre, honeycombed with gambling-dens.
At this morning hour all was still, and the only sign of life was
a knot of little barefoot girls gathered within its narrow shade,
The eye
## p. 3027 (#601) ###########################################
GEORGE W. CABLE
3027
and each carrying an infant relative. Into this place the parson
and M. St. -Ange entered, the little nurses jumping up from the
sills to let them pass in.
A half-hour may have passed. At the end of that time the
whole juvenile company were laying alternate eyes and ears to
the chinks, to gather what they could of an interesting quarrel
going on within.
"I did not, saw! I given you no cause of offense, saw! It's
not so, saw! Mister Jools simply mistaken the house,-thinkin'
it was a Sabbath-school! No such thing, saw; I ain't bound to
bet! Yes, I kin git out! Yes, without bettin'! I hev a right to
my opinion; I reckon I'm a white man, saw! No, saw! I on'y
said I didn't think you could get the game on them cards. 'Sno
such thing, saw! I do not know how to play! I wouldn't hev a
rascal's money ef I should win it! Shoot ef you dare! You can
kill me, but you cayn't scare me! No, I shayn't bet! I'll die
first! Yes, saw; Mr. Jools can bet for me if he admires to; I
ain't his mostah. »
Here the speaker seemed to direct his words to St. -Ange.
Saw, I don't understand you, saw. I never said I'd loan
you money to bet for me. I didn't suspicion this from you, saw.
No, I won't take any more lemonade; it's the most notorious
stuff I ever drank, saw! ”
M. St. -Ange's replies were in falsetto and not without effect;
for presently the parson's indignation and anger began to melt.
« Don't ask me, Jools, I can't help you. It's no use; it's a matter
of conscience with me, Jools. ”
“Mais oui! 'tis a matt' of conscien' wid me, the same. ”
But, Jools, the money's none o' mine, nohow; it belongs to
Smyrny, you know. ”
"If I could make jus' one bet,” said the persuasive St. -Ange,
"I would leave this place, fas'-fas', yes. If I had thing — mais I
did not soupspicion this from you, Posson Jone'—"
Don't, Jools, don't! ”
“No, Posson Jone'! ”
«You're bound to win? ” said the parson, wavering.
« Mais certainement ! But it is not to win that I want; 'tis
me conscien'— me honor! »
Well, Jools, I hope I'm not a-doin' no wrong.
I'll loan you
some of this money if you say you'll come right out 'thout takin'
your winnin's. »
(
(C
## p. 3028 (#602) ###########################################
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GEORGE W. CABLE
All was still. The peeping children could see the parson as
he lifted his hand to his breast-pocket. There it paused a
moment in bewilderment, then plunged to the bottom. It came
back empty, and fell lifelessly at his side. His head dropped
upon his breast, his eyes were for a moment closed, his broad
palms were lifted and pressed against his forehead, a tremor
seized him, and he fell all in a lump to the floor. The children
ran off with their infant-loads, leaving Jules St. -Ange swearing
by all his deceased relatives, first to Miguel and Joe, and then to
the lifted parson, that he did not know what had become of the
money "except if the black man had got it.
In the rear of ancient New Orleans, beyond the sites of the
old rampart, a trio of Spanish forts, where the town has since
sprung up and grown old, green with all the luxuriance of the
wild Creole summer, lay the Congo Plains. Here stretched the
canvas of the historic Cayetano, who Sunday after Sunday sowed
the sawdust for his circus-ring.
But to-day the great showman had fallen short of his printed
promise. The hurricane had come by night, and with one fell
swash had made an irretrievable sop of everything. The circus
trailed away its bedraggled magnificence, and the ring was
cleared for the bull.
Then the sun seemed to come out and work for the people.
“See,” said the Spaniards, looking up at the glorious sky with
its great white fleets drawn off upon the horizon, see - heaven
smiles upon the bull-fight! ”
In the high upper seats of the rude amphitheatre sat the
gayly decked wives and daughters of the Gascons, from the
métairies along the Ridge, and the chattering Spanish women of
the Market, their shining hair unbonneted to the sun. Next
below were their husbands and lovers in Sunday blouses, milk-
men, butchers, bakers, black-bearded fishermen, Sicilian fruit-
erers, swarthy Portuguese sailors in little woolen caps, and
strangers of the graver sort; mariners of England, Germany, and
Holland. The lowest seats were full of trappers, smugglers
Canadian voyageurs, drinking and singing; Américains, too -
more's the shame from the upper rivers — who will not keep
their seats - who ply the bottle, and who will get home by-and-
by and tell how wicked Sodom is; broad-brimmed, silver-braided
Mexicans too, with their copper cheeks and bat's eyes, and their
1
## p. 3029 (#603) ###########################################
GEORGE W. CABLE
3029
tinkling spurred heels. Yonder in that quieter section are the
quadroon women in their black lace shawls — and there is Bap-
tiste; and below them are the turbaned black women, and there
is — but he vanishes – Colossus.
The afternoon is advancing, yet the sport, though loudly
demanded, does not begin. The Américains grow derisive and
find pastime in gibes and raillery. They mock the various
Latins with their national inflections, and answer their scowls
with laughter. Some of the more aggressive shout pretty French
greetings to the women of Gascony, and one bargeman, amid
peals of applause, stands on a seat and hurls a kiss to the
quadroons. The marines of England, Germany, and Holland, as
spectators, like the fun, while the Spaniards look black and cast
defiant imprecations upon their persecutors. Some Gascons, with
timely caution, pick their women out and depart, running a ter-
rible fire of gallantries.
In hope of truce, a new call is raised for the bull: " The
bull! the bull! - hush ! »
In a tier near the ground a man is standing and calling -
standing head and shoulders above the rest - calling in the
Américaine tongue. Another man, big and red, named Joe, and
a handsome little Creole in elegant dress and full of laughter,
wish to stop him, but the flatboatmen, ha-ha-ing and cheering,
will not suffer it. Ah, through some shameful knavery of the
men into whose hands he has fallen, he is drunk! Even the
women can see that; and now he throws his arms wildly and
raises his voice until the whole great circle hears it. He is
preaching!
Ah! kind Lord, for a special providence now! The men of
his own nation — men from the land of the open English Bible
and temperance cup and song — are cheering him on to mad dis-
And now another call for the appointed sport is drowned
by the flatboatmen singing the ancient tune of Mear. ' You
can hear the words-
"Old Grimes is dead, that good old soul -- »
from ribald lips and throats turned brazen with laughter, from
singers who toss their hats aloft and roll in their seats; the
chorus swells to the accompaniment of a thousand brogans -
“He used to wear an old gray coat
All buttoned down before. »
## p. 3030 (#604) ###########################################
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GEORGE W. CABLE
A ribboned man in the arena is trying to be heard, and the
Latins raise one mighty cry for silence. The big red man gets
a hand over the parson's mouth, and the ribboned man seizes his
moment.
«They have been endeavoring for hours,” he says, "to draw
the terrible animals from their dens, but such is their strength
and fierceness, that — »
His voice is drowned. Enough has been heard to warrant the
inference that the beasts cannot be whipped out of the storm-
drenched cages to which menagerie-life and long starvation have
attached them, and from the roar of indignation the man of
ribbons flies. The noise increases. Men are standing up by
hundreds, and women are imploring to be let out of the tur-
moil. All at once, like the bursting of a dam, the whole mass
pours down into the ring. They sweep across the
arena and
over the showman's barriers. Miguel gets a frightful trampling.
Who cares for gates or doors? They tear the beasts' houses bar
from bar, and, laying hold of the gaunt buffalo, drag him forth
by feet, ears, and tail; and in the midst of the mêlée, still head
and shoulders above all, wilder, with the cup of the wicked, than
any beast, is the man of God from the Florida parishes!
In his arms he bore and all the people shouted at once
when they saw it - the tiger. He had lifted it high up with its
back to his breast, his arms clasped under its shoulders; the
wretched brute had curled up caterpillar-wise, with its long tail
against its belly, and through its filed teeth grinned a fixed and
impotent wrath. And Parson Jones was shouting: -
«The tiger and the buffler shell lay down together! You dah
to say they shayn't and I'll comb you with this varmint from
head to foot! The tiger and the buffler shell lay down together,
They shell! Now, you, Joe! Behold! I am here to see it done,
The lion and the buffler shell lay down together! ”
Mouthing these words again and again, the parson forced his
way through the surge in the wake of the buffalo.
This creature
the Latins had secured by a lariat over his head, and were drag-
ging across the old rampart and into a street of the city.
The Northern races were trying to prevent, and there was
pommeling and knocking down, cursing and knife-drawing, until
Jules St. -Ange was quite carried away with the fun, laughed,
clapped his hands, and swore with delight, and ever kept close
to the gallant parson.
>
## p. 3031 (#605) ###########################################
GEORGE W. CABLE
3031
Joe, contrariwise, counted all this child's-play an interruption.
He had come to find Colossus and the money. In an unlucky
moment he made bold to lay hold of the parson, but a piece of
the broken barriers in the hands of a flat-boatman felled him to
the sod, the terrible crowd swept over him, the lariat was cut,
and the giant parson hurled the tiger upon the buffalo's back.
In another instant both brutes were dead at the hands of the
mob; Jones was lifted from his feet, and prating of Scripture
and the millennium, of Paul at Ephesus and Daniel in the buf-
fier's ” den, was borne aloft upon the shoulders of the huzzaing
Américains Half an hour later he was sleeping heavily on the
floor of a cell in the calaboza.
When Parson Jones awoke, a bell was somewhere tolling for
midnight. Somebody was at the door of his cell with a key.
The lock grated, the door swung, the turnkey looked in and
stepped back, and a ray of moonlight fell upon M. Jules
St. -Ange. The prisoner sat upon the empty shackles and ring-
bolt in the centre of the floor.
“Misty Posson Jone',” said the visitor, softly.
«O Jools! "
Mais, w'at de matter, Posson Jone'? ”
“My sins, Jools, my sins! »
“Ah, Posson Jone', is that something to cry, because a man
get sometime a litt' bit intoxicate? Mais, if a man keep all the
time intoxicate, I think that is again' the conscien'. "
"Jools, Jools, your eyes is darkened - oh! Jools, where's my
pore old niggah ? ”
“Posson Jone', never min'; he is wid Baptiste. ”
«Where ? »
“I don' know w'ere – mais he is wid Baptiste. Baptiste is a
beautiful to take care of somebody. ”
"Is he as good as you, Jools? ” asked Parson Jones, sin.
cerely.
Jules was slightly staggered.
“You know, Posson Jone', you know, a nigger cannot be good
as a w'ite man — mais Baptiste is a good nigger. ”
The parson moaned and dropped his chin into his hands.
“I was to of left for home to-morrow, sun-up, on the Isa-
bella schooner. Pore Smyrny! ” He deeply sighed.
Posson Jone',” said Jules, leaning against the wall and smil-
ing, "I swear you is the moz funny man I ever see.
If I was
## p. 3032 (#606) ###########################################
3032
GEORGE W. CABLE
SO
can
sermon
you I would say, me, 'Ah! 'ow I am lucky! the money I los', it
was not mine, anyhow! My faith! shall a man make hisse'f to
be the more sorry because the money he los' is not his ?
Me, I
would say, 'It is a specious providence. '
“Ah! Misty Posson Jone',” he continued, “you make a
droll sermon ad the bull-ring. Ha! ha! I swear I thing you
make money to preach thad
many time ad the
theatre St. Philippe. Hah! you is the moz brave dat I never see,
mais ad the same time the moz rilligious man. Where I'm goin'
to fin' one priest to make like dat? Mais, why you can't cheer
up an' be 'appy ? Me, if I should be miserabl’ like that I would
kill meself. ”
The countryman only shook his head.
Bien, Posson Jone', I have the so good news for you. ”
The prisoner looked up with eager inquiry.
“Las' evening when they lock' you, I come right off at M.
De Blanc's house to get you let out of de calaboose; M. De
Blanc he is the judge. So soon I was entering – Ah! Jules,
me boy, juz the man to make complete the game! ) Posson
Jone', it was a specious providence! I win in t'ree hours more
dan six hundred dollah! Look. ” He produced a mass of bank-
notes, bons, and due-bills.
“And you got the pass? ” asked the parson, regarding the
money with a sadness incomprehensible to Jules.
“It is here; it take the effect so soon the daylight. ”
"Jools, my friend, your kindness is in vain. ”
The Creole's face became a perfect blank.
“Because," said the parson, "for two reasons: firstly, I have
broken the laws, and ought to stand the penalty; and secondly
- you must really excuse me, Jools, you know, but the pass has
been got onfairly, I'm afeerd. You told the judge I was inno-
cent; and in neither case it don't become a Christian (which I
hope I can still say I am one) to do evil that good may come. '
I muss stay. ”
M. St. -Ange stood up aghast, and for a moment speechless,
at this exhibition of moral heroism; but an artifice was presently
hit upon.
« Mais, Posson Jone'! ” - in his old falsetto--“de
order — you cannot read it, it is in French — compel you to go
hout, sir! »
“Is that so ? ” cried the parson, bounding up with radiant
face is that so, Jools ? "
## p. 3033 (#607) ###########################################
GEORGE W. CABLE
3033
The young man nodded, smiling; but though he smiled, the
fountain of his tenderness was opened. He made the sign of the
cross as the parson knelt in prayer, and even whispered Hail
Mary,” etc. , quite through, twice over.
Morning broke in
summer glory upon a cluster of villas
behind the city, nestled under live-oaks and magnolias on the
banks of a deep bayou, and known as Suburb St. Jean.
With the first beam came the West-Floridian and the Creole
out upon the bank below the village. Upon the parson's arm
hung a pair of antique saddle-bags. Baptiste limped wearily
behind; both his eyes were encircled with broad blue rings, and
one cheek-bone bore the official impress of every knuckle of
Colossus's left hand. The beautiful to take care of somebody
had lost his charge. At mention of the negro he became wild,
and half in English, half in the "gumbo” dialect, said mur-
derous things. Intimidated by Jules to calmness, he became able
to speak confidently on one point; he could, would, and did
swear that Colossus had gone home to the Florida parishes; he
was almost certain; in fact, he thought so.
There was a clicking of pulleys as the three appeared upon
the bayou's margin, and Baptiste pointed out, in the deep
shadow of a great oak, the Isabella, moored among the bulrushes,
and just spreading her sails for departure. Moving down to
where she lay, the parson and his friend paused on the bank,
loath to say farewell.
"O Jools! ” said the parson, "supposin' Colossus ain't gone
home! O Jools, if you'll look him out for me, I'll never forget
you - I'll never forget you, nohow, Jools. No, Jools, I never
will believe he taken that money. Yes, I know all niggahs will
steal» — he set foot
upon the gang-plank — “but Colossus
wouldn't steal from me. Good-by. ”
“Misty Posson Jone',” said St. -Ange, putting his hand on
the parson's arm with genuine affection, “hol' on. You see dis
money - w'at I win las' night? Well, I win' it by a specious
providence, ain't it ? »
« There's no tellin',” said the humbled Jones. Providence
(Moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform. ) »
«Ah ! cried the Creole, c'est very true. I ged this money
in the mysterieuze way. Mais, if I keep dis money, you know
where it goin' be to-night?
## p. 3034 (#608) ###########################################
GEORGE W. CABLE
3034
1
"I really can't say,” replied the parson.
«Goin' to de dev'," said the sweetly smiling young man.
The schooner-captain, leaning against the shrouds, and even
Baptiste, laughed outright.
"O Jools, you mustn't! ”
“Well, den, w'at I shall do wid it? »
"Anything! ” answered the parson; "better donate it away to
some poor man
“Ah! Misty Posson Jone', dat is w'at I want. You los' five
hondred dollar'—'twas me fault. ”
"No, it wa'n't, Jools.
Mais, it was! »
No! ”
« It was me fault! I swear it was me fault! Mais, here is
five hundred dollar'; I wish you shall take it. Here! I don't
got no use for money. – Oh my faith! Posson Jone', you must
not begin to cry some more. ”
Parson Jones was choked with tears. When he found voice
he said:
"O Jools, Jools, Jools! my pore, noble, dear, misguidened
friend! ef you hed of hed a Christian raisin'! May the Lord
show you your errors better'n I kin, and bless you for your good
intentions — oh, no! I cayn't touch that money with a ten-foot
pole; it wa’n't rightly got; you must really excuse me, my dear
friend, but I cayn't touch it. ”
St. -Ange was petrified.
"Good-by, dear Jools, continued the parson. “I'm in the
Lord's haynds, and he's very merciful, which I hope and trust
you'll find it out. Good-by! ”— the schooner swung slowly off
before the breeze-good-by! ”
St. -Ange roused himself. "Posson Jone'! make me hany'ow
dis promise: you never, never, never will come back to New
Orleans. ”
“Ah, Jools, the Lord willin', I'll never leave home again!
"All right! ” cried the Creole; "I thing he's willin'. Adieu,
Posson Jone'. My faith'! you are
the so fighting an' moz
rilligious man as I never saw! Adieu! Adieu! »
Baptiste uttered a cry and presently ran by his master toward
the schooner, his hands full of clods.
St. -Ange looked just in time to see the sable form of Colossus
of Rhodes emerge from the vessel's hold, and the pastor of
Smyrna and Bethesda seize him in his embrace.
1
1
## p. 3035 (#609) ###########################################
GEORGE W. CABLE
3035
"O Colossus! you outlandish old nigger! Thank the Lord!
Thank the Lord ! »
The little Creole almost wept. He ran down the tow-path,
laughing and swearing, and making confused allusion to the en-
tire personnel and furniture of the lower regions.
By odd fortune, at the moment that St. -Ange further demon-
strated his delight by tripping his mulatto into a bog, the
schooner came brushing along the reedy bank with a graceful
curve, the sails flapped, and the crew fell to poling her slowly
along
Parson Jones was on the deck, kneeling once more in prayer.
His hat had fallen before him; behind him knelt his slave. In
thundering tones he was confessing himself “a plum fool,” from
whom "the conceit had been jolted out, and who had been
made to see that even his nigger had the longest head of the
two. "
Colossus clasped his hands and groaned.
The parson prayed for a contrite heart.
"Oh, yes! » cried Colossus.
The master acknowledged countless mercies.
« Dat's so! » cried the slave.
The master prayed that they might still be “piled on. ”
“Glory! ” cried the black man, clapping his hands; "pile on! ”
“An' now,” continued the parson, “bring this pore, back-
slidin' jackace of a parson and this pore ole fool nigger back to
thar home in peace! ”
"Pray fo’ de money! » called Colossus.
But the parson prayed for Jules.
Pray fo’ de money! ”repeated the negro.
« And oh, give thy servant back that there lost money! ”
Colossus rose stealthily, and tiptoed by his still shouting mas-
ter. St. -Ange, the captain, the crew, gazed in silent wonder at
the strategist. Pausing but an instant over the master's hat to
grin an acknowledgment of his beholders' speechless interest, he
softly placed in it the faithfully mourned and honestly prayed-for
Smyrna fund; then, saluted by the gesticulative, silent applause
of St. -Ange and the schooner-men, he resumed his first attitude
behind his roaring master.
“Amen! ” cried Colossus, meaning to bring him to a close.
“Onworthy though I be — cried Jones.
« Amen! » reiterated the negro.
## p. 3036 (#610) ###########################################
3036
GEORGE W. CABLE
"A-a-amen! ” said Parson Jones.
He rose to his feet, and, stooping to take up his hat, beheld
the well-known roll. As one stunned, he gazed for a moment
upon his slave, who still knelt with clasped hands and rolling
eyeballs; but when he became aware of the laughter and cheers
that greeted him from both deck and shore, he lifted eyes and
hands to heaven, and cried like the veriest babe. And when he
looked at the roll again, and hugged and kissed it, St. -Ange
tried to raise a second shout, but choked, and the crew fell to
their poles.
And now up runs Baptiste, covered with slime, and prepares
to cast his projectiles.
3025
«mind you, a roytious man, sech as ministers of de gospel and
dere body-sarvants, can take a leetle for de weak stomach. ”
But the fascinations of Colossus's eloquence must not mislead
us; this is the story of a true Christian; to wit, Parson Jones.
The parson and his new friend ate. But the coffee M. St. -
Ange declared he could not touch: it was too wretchedly bad.
At the French Market, near by, there was some noble coffee.
This, however, would have to be bought, and Parson Jones had
scruples.
“You see, Jools, every man has his conscience to guide him,
which it does so in - »
"Oh, yes! ” cried St. -Ange, "conscien'; thad is the bez, Pos-
son Jone'. Certainlee! I am a Catholique, you is a schismatique :
you thing it is wrong to dring some coffee - well, then, it is
wrong; you thing it is wrong to make the sugah to ged the so
large price — well, then, it is wrong; I thing it is right — well,
then, it is right: it is all 'abit; c'est tout. What a man thing is
right, is right; 'tis all 'abit. A man muz nod go again' his con
scien'. My faith! do you thing I would go again' my conscien'?
Mais allons, led us go and ged some coffee. ”
"Jools. "
« W'at ? »
“Jools, it ain't the drinkin' of coffee, but the buyin' of it on a
Sabbath. You must really excuse me, Jools, it's again' conscience,
you know. ”
"Ah! ” said St. -Ange, "c'est very true. For you it would be
a sin, mais for me it is only ’abit. Rilligion is a very strange;
I know a man one time, he thing it was wrong to go to cock-
fight Sunday evening. I thing it is all 'abit. Mais, come, Pos-
son Jone'; I have got one friend, Miguel; led us go at his house
and ged some coffee. Come; Miguel have no familie, only him
and Joe — always like to see friend; allons, led us come yonder. ”
“Why, Jools, my dear friend, you know,” said the shamefaced
parson, "I never visit on Sundays.
“Never w'at ? » asked the astounded Creole.
"No,” said Jones, smiling awkwardly.
Never visite ?
"Exceptin' sometimes amongst church-members,” said Parson
Jones.
"Mais,” said the seductive St. -Ange, "Miguel and Joe is
church-member — certainlee! They love to talk about rilligion.
V-190
## p. 3026 (#600) ###########################################
3026
GEORGE W. CABLE
man
Come at Miguel and talk about some rilligion. I am nearly
expire for me coffee. ”
Parson Jones took his hat from beneath his chair and rose up.
"Jools,” said the weak giant, “I ought to be in church right
now. ”
« Mais, the church is right yonder at Miguel', yes. Ah! ”
continued St. -Ange, as they descended the stairs, "I thing every
muz have the rilligion he like the bez me, I like the
Catholique rilligion the bez — for me it is the bez. Every man
will sure go to heaven if he like his rilligion the bez. ”
"Jools,” said the West-Floridian, laying his great hand tenderly
upon the Creole's shoulder, as they stepped out upon the ban-
quette, “do you think you have any shore hopes of heaven? ”
“Yass! ” replied St. -Ange; “I am sure-sure.
I thing every.
body will go to heaven. I thing you will go, et I thing Miguel
will go, et Joe — everybody, I thing — mais, hof course, not if they
not have been christen'. Even I thing some niggers will go. ”
"Jools,” said the parson, stopping in his walk — "Jools, I
don't want to lose my niggah. ”
“ You will not loose him. With Baptiste he cannot ged loose. ”
But Colossus's master was not reassured. “Now,” said he,
still tarrying, “this is jest the way; had I of gone to church - »
“Posson Jone'— ” said Jules.
“What? ”
"I tell you. We goin' to church ! ”
“Will you ? ” asked Jones, joyously.
"Allons, come along,” said Jules, taking his elbow.
They walked down the Rue Chartres, passed several corners,
and by-and-by turned into a cross-street. The parson stopped
an instant as they were turning, and looked back up the street.
“W'at you lookin'? ” asked his companion.
“I thought I saw Colossus,” answered the parson, with an
anxious face; “I reckon 'twa'nt him, though. ” And they went on.
The street they now entered was a very quiet one.
of any chance passer would have been at once drawn to a broad,
heavy, white brick edifice on the lower side of the way, with a
flag-pole standing out like a bowsprit from one of its great
windows, and a pair of lamps hanging before a large closed
entrance. It was a theatre, honeycombed with gambling-dens.
At this morning hour all was still, and the only sign of life was
a knot of little barefoot girls gathered within its narrow shade,
The eye
## p. 3027 (#601) ###########################################
GEORGE W. CABLE
3027
and each carrying an infant relative. Into this place the parson
and M. St. -Ange entered, the little nurses jumping up from the
sills to let them pass in.
A half-hour may have passed. At the end of that time the
whole juvenile company were laying alternate eyes and ears to
the chinks, to gather what they could of an interesting quarrel
going on within.
"I did not, saw! I given you no cause of offense, saw! It's
not so, saw! Mister Jools simply mistaken the house,-thinkin'
it was a Sabbath-school! No such thing, saw; I ain't bound to
bet! Yes, I kin git out! Yes, without bettin'! I hev a right to
my opinion; I reckon I'm a white man, saw! No, saw! I on'y
said I didn't think you could get the game on them cards. 'Sno
such thing, saw! I do not know how to play! I wouldn't hev a
rascal's money ef I should win it! Shoot ef you dare! You can
kill me, but you cayn't scare me! No, I shayn't bet! I'll die
first! Yes, saw; Mr. Jools can bet for me if he admires to; I
ain't his mostah. »
Here the speaker seemed to direct his words to St. -Ange.
Saw, I don't understand you, saw. I never said I'd loan
you money to bet for me. I didn't suspicion this from you, saw.
No, I won't take any more lemonade; it's the most notorious
stuff I ever drank, saw! ”
M. St. -Ange's replies were in falsetto and not without effect;
for presently the parson's indignation and anger began to melt.
« Don't ask me, Jools, I can't help you. It's no use; it's a matter
of conscience with me, Jools. ”
“Mais oui! 'tis a matt' of conscien' wid me, the same. ”
But, Jools, the money's none o' mine, nohow; it belongs to
Smyrny, you know. ”
"If I could make jus' one bet,” said the persuasive St. -Ange,
"I would leave this place, fas'-fas', yes. If I had thing — mais I
did not soupspicion this from you, Posson Jone'—"
Don't, Jools, don't! ”
“No, Posson Jone'! ”
«You're bound to win? ” said the parson, wavering.
« Mais certainement ! But it is not to win that I want; 'tis
me conscien'— me honor! »
Well, Jools, I hope I'm not a-doin' no wrong.
I'll loan you
some of this money if you say you'll come right out 'thout takin'
your winnin's. »
(
(C
## p. 3028 (#602) ###########################################
3028
GEORGE W. CABLE
All was still. The peeping children could see the parson as
he lifted his hand to his breast-pocket. There it paused a
moment in bewilderment, then plunged to the bottom. It came
back empty, and fell lifelessly at his side. His head dropped
upon his breast, his eyes were for a moment closed, his broad
palms were lifted and pressed against his forehead, a tremor
seized him, and he fell all in a lump to the floor. The children
ran off with their infant-loads, leaving Jules St. -Ange swearing
by all his deceased relatives, first to Miguel and Joe, and then to
the lifted parson, that he did not know what had become of the
money "except if the black man had got it.
In the rear of ancient New Orleans, beyond the sites of the
old rampart, a trio of Spanish forts, where the town has since
sprung up and grown old, green with all the luxuriance of the
wild Creole summer, lay the Congo Plains. Here stretched the
canvas of the historic Cayetano, who Sunday after Sunday sowed
the sawdust for his circus-ring.
But to-day the great showman had fallen short of his printed
promise. The hurricane had come by night, and with one fell
swash had made an irretrievable sop of everything. The circus
trailed away its bedraggled magnificence, and the ring was
cleared for the bull.
Then the sun seemed to come out and work for the people.
“See,” said the Spaniards, looking up at the glorious sky with
its great white fleets drawn off upon the horizon, see - heaven
smiles upon the bull-fight! ”
In the high upper seats of the rude amphitheatre sat the
gayly decked wives and daughters of the Gascons, from the
métairies along the Ridge, and the chattering Spanish women of
the Market, their shining hair unbonneted to the sun. Next
below were their husbands and lovers in Sunday blouses, milk-
men, butchers, bakers, black-bearded fishermen, Sicilian fruit-
erers, swarthy Portuguese sailors in little woolen caps, and
strangers of the graver sort; mariners of England, Germany, and
Holland. The lowest seats were full of trappers, smugglers
Canadian voyageurs, drinking and singing; Américains, too -
more's the shame from the upper rivers — who will not keep
their seats - who ply the bottle, and who will get home by-and-
by and tell how wicked Sodom is; broad-brimmed, silver-braided
Mexicans too, with their copper cheeks and bat's eyes, and their
1
## p. 3029 (#603) ###########################################
GEORGE W. CABLE
3029
tinkling spurred heels. Yonder in that quieter section are the
quadroon women in their black lace shawls — and there is Bap-
tiste; and below them are the turbaned black women, and there
is — but he vanishes – Colossus.
The afternoon is advancing, yet the sport, though loudly
demanded, does not begin. The Américains grow derisive and
find pastime in gibes and raillery. They mock the various
Latins with their national inflections, and answer their scowls
with laughter. Some of the more aggressive shout pretty French
greetings to the women of Gascony, and one bargeman, amid
peals of applause, stands on a seat and hurls a kiss to the
quadroons. The marines of England, Germany, and Holland, as
spectators, like the fun, while the Spaniards look black and cast
defiant imprecations upon their persecutors. Some Gascons, with
timely caution, pick their women out and depart, running a ter-
rible fire of gallantries.
In hope of truce, a new call is raised for the bull: " The
bull! the bull! - hush ! »
In a tier near the ground a man is standing and calling -
standing head and shoulders above the rest - calling in the
Américaine tongue. Another man, big and red, named Joe, and
a handsome little Creole in elegant dress and full of laughter,
wish to stop him, but the flatboatmen, ha-ha-ing and cheering,
will not suffer it. Ah, through some shameful knavery of the
men into whose hands he has fallen, he is drunk! Even the
women can see that; and now he throws his arms wildly and
raises his voice until the whole great circle hears it. He is
preaching!
Ah! kind Lord, for a special providence now! The men of
his own nation — men from the land of the open English Bible
and temperance cup and song — are cheering him on to mad dis-
And now another call for the appointed sport is drowned
by the flatboatmen singing the ancient tune of Mear. ' You
can hear the words-
"Old Grimes is dead, that good old soul -- »
from ribald lips and throats turned brazen with laughter, from
singers who toss their hats aloft and roll in their seats; the
chorus swells to the accompaniment of a thousand brogans -
“He used to wear an old gray coat
All buttoned down before. »
## p. 3030 (#604) ###########################################
3030
GEORGE W. CABLE
A ribboned man in the arena is trying to be heard, and the
Latins raise one mighty cry for silence. The big red man gets
a hand over the parson's mouth, and the ribboned man seizes his
moment.
«They have been endeavoring for hours,” he says, "to draw
the terrible animals from their dens, but such is their strength
and fierceness, that — »
His voice is drowned. Enough has been heard to warrant the
inference that the beasts cannot be whipped out of the storm-
drenched cages to which menagerie-life and long starvation have
attached them, and from the roar of indignation the man of
ribbons flies. The noise increases. Men are standing up by
hundreds, and women are imploring to be let out of the tur-
moil. All at once, like the bursting of a dam, the whole mass
pours down into the ring. They sweep across the
arena and
over the showman's barriers. Miguel gets a frightful trampling.
Who cares for gates or doors? They tear the beasts' houses bar
from bar, and, laying hold of the gaunt buffalo, drag him forth
by feet, ears, and tail; and in the midst of the mêlée, still head
and shoulders above all, wilder, with the cup of the wicked, than
any beast, is the man of God from the Florida parishes!
In his arms he bore and all the people shouted at once
when they saw it - the tiger. He had lifted it high up with its
back to his breast, his arms clasped under its shoulders; the
wretched brute had curled up caterpillar-wise, with its long tail
against its belly, and through its filed teeth grinned a fixed and
impotent wrath. And Parson Jones was shouting: -
«The tiger and the buffler shell lay down together! You dah
to say they shayn't and I'll comb you with this varmint from
head to foot! The tiger and the buffler shell lay down together,
They shell! Now, you, Joe! Behold! I am here to see it done,
The lion and the buffler shell lay down together! ”
Mouthing these words again and again, the parson forced his
way through the surge in the wake of the buffalo.
This creature
the Latins had secured by a lariat over his head, and were drag-
ging across the old rampart and into a street of the city.
The Northern races were trying to prevent, and there was
pommeling and knocking down, cursing and knife-drawing, until
Jules St. -Ange was quite carried away with the fun, laughed,
clapped his hands, and swore with delight, and ever kept close
to the gallant parson.
>
## p. 3031 (#605) ###########################################
GEORGE W. CABLE
3031
Joe, contrariwise, counted all this child's-play an interruption.
He had come to find Colossus and the money. In an unlucky
moment he made bold to lay hold of the parson, but a piece of
the broken barriers in the hands of a flat-boatman felled him to
the sod, the terrible crowd swept over him, the lariat was cut,
and the giant parson hurled the tiger upon the buffalo's back.
In another instant both brutes were dead at the hands of the
mob; Jones was lifted from his feet, and prating of Scripture
and the millennium, of Paul at Ephesus and Daniel in the buf-
fier's ” den, was borne aloft upon the shoulders of the huzzaing
Américains Half an hour later he was sleeping heavily on the
floor of a cell in the calaboza.
When Parson Jones awoke, a bell was somewhere tolling for
midnight. Somebody was at the door of his cell with a key.
The lock grated, the door swung, the turnkey looked in and
stepped back, and a ray of moonlight fell upon M. Jules
St. -Ange. The prisoner sat upon the empty shackles and ring-
bolt in the centre of the floor.
“Misty Posson Jone',” said the visitor, softly.
«O Jools! "
Mais, w'at de matter, Posson Jone'? ”
“My sins, Jools, my sins! »
“Ah, Posson Jone', is that something to cry, because a man
get sometime a litt' bit intoxicate? Mais, if a man keep all the
time intoxicate, I think that is again' the conscien'. "
"Jools, Jools, your eyes is darkened - oh! Jools, where's my
pore old niggah ? ”
“Posson Jone', never min'; he is wid Baptiste. ”
«Where ? »
“I don' know w'ere – mais he is wid Baptiste. Baptiste is a
beautiful to take care of somebody. ”
"Is he as good as you, Jools? ” asked Parson Jones, sin.
cerely.
Jules was slightly staggered.
“You know, Posson Jone', you know, a nigger cannot be good
as a w'ite man — mais Baptiste is a good nigger. ”
The parson moaned and dropped his chin into his hands.
“I was to of left for home to-morrow, sun-up, on the Isa-
bella schooner. Pore Smyrny! ” He deeply sighed.
Posson Jone',” said Jules, leaning against the wall and smil-
ing, "I swear you is the moz funny man I ever see.
If I was
## p. 3032 (#606) ###########################################
3032
GEORGE W. CABLE
SO
can
sermon
you I would say, me, 'Ah! 'ow I am lucky! the money I los', it
was not mine, anyhow! My faith! shall a man make hisse'f to
be the more sorry because the money he los' is not his ?
Me, I
would say, 'It is a specious providence. '
“Ah! Misty Posson Jone',” he continued, “you make a
droll sermon ad the bull-ring. Ha! ha! I swear I thing you
make money to preach thad
many time ad the
theatre St. Philippe. Hah! you is the moz brave dat I never see,
mais ad the same time the moz rilligious man. Where I'm goin'
to fin' one priest to make like dat? Mais, why you can't cheer
up an' be 'appy ? Me, if I should be miserabl’ like that I would
kill meself. ”
The countryman only shook his head.
Bien, Posson Jone', I have the so good news for you. ”
The prisoner looked up with eager inquiry.
“Las' evening when they lock' you, I come right off at M.
De Blanc's house to get you let out of de calaboose; M. De
Blanc he is the judge. So soon I was entering – Ah! Jules,
me boy, juz the man to make complete the game! ) Posson
Jone', it was a specious providence! I win in t'ree hours more
dan six hundred dollah! Look. ” He produced a mass of bank-
notes, bons, and due-bills.
“And you got the pass? ” asked the parson, regarding the
money with a sadness incomprehensible to Jules.
“It is here; it take the effect so soon the daylight. ”
"Jools, my friend, your kindness is in vain. ”
The Creole's face became a perfect blank.
“Because," said the parson, "for two reasons: firstly, I have
broken the laws, and ought to stand the penalty; and secondly
- you must really excuse me, Jools, you know, but the pass has
been got onfairly, I'm afeerd. You told the judge I was inno-
cent; and in neither case it don't become a Christian (which I
hope I can still say I am one) to do evil that good may come. '
I muss stay. ”
M. St. -Ange stood up aghast, and for a moment speechless,
at this exhibition of moral heroism; but an artifice was presently
hit upon.
« Mais, Posson Jone'! ” - in his old falsetto--“de
order — you cannot read it, it is in French — compel you to go
hout, sir! »
“Is that so ? ” cried the parson, bounding up with radiant
face is that so, Jools ? "
## p. 3033 (#607) ###########################################
GEORGE W. CABLE
3033
The young man nodded, smiling; but though he smiled, the
fountain of his tenderness was opened. He made the sign of the
cross as the parson knelt in prayer, and even whispered Hail
Mary,” etc. , quite through, twice over.
Morning broke in
summer glory upon a cluster of villas
behind the city, nestled under live-oaks and magnolias on the
banks of a deep bayou, and known as Suburb St. Jean.
With the first beam came the West-Floridian and the Creole
out upon the bank below the village. Upon the parson's arm
hung a pair of antique saddle-bags. Baptiste limped wearily
behind; both his eyes were encircled with broad blue rings, and
one cheek-bone bore the official impress of every knuckle of
Colossus's left hand. The beautiful to take care of somebody
had lost his charge. At mention of the negro he became wild,
and half in English, half in the "gumbo” dialect, said mur-
derous things. Intimidated by Jules to calmness, he became able
to speak confidently on one point; he could, would, and did
swear that Colossus had gone home to the Florida parishes; he
was almost certain; in fact, he thought so.
There was a clicking of pulleys as the three appeared upon
the bayou's margin, and Baptiste pointed out, in the deep
shadow of a great oak, the Isabella, moored among the bulrushes,
and just spreading her sails for departure. Moving down to
where she lay, the parson and his friend paused on the bank,
loath to say farewell.
"O Jools! ” said the parson, "supposin' Colossus ain't gone
home! O Jools, if you'll look him out for me, I'll never forget
you - I'll never forget you, nohow, Jools. No, Jools, I never
will believe he taken that money. Yes, I know all niggahs will
steal» — he set foot
upon the gang-plank — “but Colossus
wouldn't steal from me. Good-by. ”
“Misty Posson Jone',” said St. -Ange, putting his hand on
the parson's arm with genuine affection, “hol' on. You see dis
money - w'at I win las' night? Well, I win' it by a specious
providence, ain't it ? »
« There's no tellin',” said the humbled Jones. Providence
(Moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform. ) »
«Ah ! cried the Creole, c'est very true. I ged this money
in the mysterieuze way. Mais, if I keep dis money, you know
where it goin' be to-night?
## p. 3034 (#608) ###########################################
GEORGE W. CABLE
3034
1
"I really can't say,” replied the parson.
«Goin' to de dev'," said the sweetly smiling young man.
The schooner-captain, leaning against the shrouds, and even
Baptiste, laughed outright.
"O Jools, you mustn't! ”
“Well, den, w'at I shall do wid it? »
"Anything! ” answered the parson; "better donate it away to
some poor man
“Ah! Misty Posson Jone', dat is w'at I want. You los' five
hondred dollar'—'twas me fault. ”
"No, it wa'n't, Jools.
Mais, it was! »
No! ”
« It was me fault! I swear it was me fault! Mais, here is
five hundred dollar'; I wish you shall take it. Here! I don't
got no use for money. – Oh my faith! Posson Jone', you must
not begin to cry some more. ”
Parson Jones was choked with tears. When he found voice
he said:
"O Jools, Jools, Jools! my pore, noble, dear, misguidened
friend! ef you hed of hed a Christian raisin'! May the Lord
show you your errors better'n I kin, and bless you for your good
intentions — oh, no! I cayn't touch that money with a ten-foot
pole; it wa’n't rightly got; you must really excuse me, my dear
friend, but I cayn't touch it. ”
St. -Ange was petrified.
"Good-by, dear Jools, continued the parson. “I'm in the
Lord's haynds, and he's very merciful, which I hope and trust
you'll find it out. Good-by! ”— the schooner swung slowly off
before the breeze-good-by! ”
St. -Ange roused himself. "Posson Jone'! make me hany'ow
dis promise: you never, never, never will come back to New
Orleans. ”
“Ah, Jools, the Lord willin', I'll never leave home again!
"All right! ” cried the Creole; "I thing he's willin'. Adieu,
Posson Jone'. My faith'! you are
the so fighting an' moz
rilligious man as I never saw! Adieu! Adieu! »
Baptiste uttered a cry and presently ran by his master toward
the schooner, his hands full of clods.
St. -Ange looked just in time to see the sable form of Colossus
of Rhodes emerge from the vessel's hold, and the pastor of
Smyrna and Bethesda seize him in his embrace.
1
1
## p. 3035 (#609) ###########################################
GEORGE W. CABLE
3035
"O Colossus! you outlandish old nigger! Thank the Lord!
Thank the Lord ! »
The little Creole almost wept. He ran down the tow-path,
laughing and swearing, and making confused allusion to the en-
tire personnel and furniture of the lower regions.
By odd fortune, at the moment that St. -Ange further demon-
strated his delight by tripping his mulatto into a bog, the
schooner came brushing along the reedy bank with a graceful
curve, the sails flapped, and the crew fell to poling her slowly
along
Parson Jones was on the deck, kneeling once more in prayer.
His hat had fallen before him; behind him knelt his slave. In
thundering tones he was confessing himself “a plum fool,” from
whom "the conceit had been jolted out, and who had been
made to see that even his nigger had the longest head of the
two. "
Colossus clasped his hands and groaned.
The parson prayed for a contrite heart.
"Oh, yes! » cried Colossus.
The master acknowledged countless mercies.
« Dat's so! » cried the slave.
The master prayed that they might still be “piled on. ”
“Glory! ” cried the black man, clapping his hands; "pile on! ”
“An' now,” continued the parson, “bring this pore, back-
slidin' jackace of a parson and this pore ole fool nigger back to
thar home in peace! ”
"Pray fo’ de money! » called Colossus.
But the parson prayed for Jules.
Pray fo’ de money! ”repeated the negro.
« And oh, give thy servant back that there lost money! ”
Colossus rose stealthily, and tiptoed by his still shouting mas-
ter. St. -Ange, the captain, the crew, gazed in silent wonder at
the strategist. Pausing but an instant over the master's hat to
grin an acknowledgment of his beholders' speechless interest, he
softly placed in it the faithfully mourned and honestly prayed-for
Smyrna fund; then, saluted by the gesticulative, silent applause
of St. -Ange and the schooner-men, he resumed his first attitude
behind his roaring master.
“Amen! ” cried Colossus, meaning to bring him to a close.
“Onworthy though I be — cried Jones.
« Amen! » reiterated the negro.
## p. 3036 (#610) ###########################################
3036
GEORGE W. CABLE
"A-a-amen! ” said Parson Jones.
He rose to his feet, and, stooping to take up his hat, beheld
the well-known roll. As one stunned, he gazed for a moment
upon his slave, who still knelt with clasped hands and rolling
eyeballs; but when he became aware of the laughter and cheers
that greeted him from both deck and shore, he lifted eyes and
hands to heaven, and cried like the veriest babe. And when he
looked at the roll again, and hugged and kissed it, St. -Ange
tried to raise a second shout, but choked, and the crew fell to
their poles.
And now up runs Baptiste, covered with slime, and prepares
to cast his projectiles.
