St. Paul daily globe. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn.) 1884-1896, 1886-02-03
A TALE OF CREOLE LIFE.
Two Rich Women Who Tortured
Their Unwilling Slaves.
Maddened Creatures Who Tore n
Cruel Mistress to Pieces.

Let us dine together" said my Creole
friend Felix st. Ange, and in a few min
ntes after we were seated at table in the
care de la Regence in Royal street. Our
repast was light, for it was sweltering
summer day. To him, born in New
orleans, Who could trace his hot blood back
century, the excessive heat was mere
Oagatelle; to me, coming from a colder
CLINE, the superheated air was simply SUI
locating.
Il see you suffer-" said st. Ange. LET
US go out to the Spanish fort and enjoy the
evening breeze, if we can"
We walked through ROYAL street and as
we neared Hospital street St Ange touched
my arm and said: Let us cross to the
other side" Something indefnable about
his tone and action attracted NV attention.
and as we passed on our way my ewes be-
came fixed on a deserted mansion which
stood upon the corner. 1t gave evidence of
having been ariStOcratic in its day, but il
looked as If the shadow of a destroying an
gel had fallen upon it. The porch was
worm-eaten and decaYed the jalousie
blinds, shattered and hanging from rusted
and broken hinges, the window panes,
where any existed, were covered with the
dust of years. and even the small statue of
the doorway, was begrimed and scarcely
! recognizable. Stray sparrows had built
their nests under the caves, and vagrant
dog had taken undisputed possession of the
courtyard. There was no sign of life about
the place-it seemed blighted. AS we
passed on our way l noticed that st. Ange
kept his face ayerted from the deserted
house. He was silent and depressed
Dusk found us at the Spanish fort. The
band was playing a languid, dreamy air,
the perfume of the magnolas and orange
blossoms filled US with its fragrance, and
the soft breeze which Pierre Canonge apOs-
trOphiZed in his magnificent poem, Breeze
OF the South, careSsed our cheeks. AS we
slipped our glOrias yentured to ask st.
Ange why he crossed over Royal street at
Hospital and why he kept his eyes away
from that deserted mansion. His face
| changed its color, and after he drained his
| glass to the bottom, he slowly said;
Il expected this. You do not know the
| horrible history of that place. Even when
L only think of it the thought unnerveS me.
II you promise not to interrupt me l will
tell you the story of the DEVILS house.
Many years ago, my friend, when the
wealthy CreOleS came from their plantations
to spend the winter in town, that mansion
was the property of Nine. de Laurie.
Its roof has sheltered such guests
as Lafayette, Rochambeau, Louis Philippe
and Marshal Ney. The satin shOd feet of
handsome women have stolen over its waxed
floors. Its wax-lights have snOne over
jewels and laces; its deserted walls have
echoed the walls of sorrow and the signs of
love. If you walk through the grand salon
in the broad sunlight OF to-day, you see
strange dscOloratiOns on the time-wOrn
floor. These dark stains represent the hOr-
rible mystery of the place-a history of
lust, cruelty and murder
TORTURED BY INHUMAN WOMEN.
Nine. de Laurie's mother was descend
ant of the most ariStOcratic French and
Spanish families who brought with them
TO this country the manners, customs and
vices of the Old World. Her plantation,
the BellecOur, was the finest in Lauderdale
county, and her slaves were many. But at
heart she was fiend. She glOated over the
agOnies of dying slave. Her cruel COM
mands were executed by her Overseer, Sc
bastian, dark and silent Portuguese. So
horrible did the fortunes inflicted on her
slaves become that one night the maddened
creatures revOlted, dragged her from the
house into the patio. and literally tore her
to pieces. Sebastian and Nine. de Laurie
escaped and fled to this city. Nine de
house with her slaves. She was never seen
out of doors. The entertainments for which
the house had been famous were discon-
tinued, and the window blinds were drawn
close both by night and by day. Soon
curious rumOrS gained circulation. Strange
noises issued from the clOsely-shut windows
and doors, they gained in volume until the
Mortified passers-by fancied they could dis
tinguish suppressed shrieks and grOans of
agony. Then it was whispered that the
daughter was initiating her mothers cruel
ties. At last the end came. One night an
armed mob marched through ROYAL street
| When they neared the house their wells
sounded like pack of wOlveS-they thrsted
for blood. You may have noticed in the
garden wall on Hospital street. little
pOStern gate almost completely hidden by
the clustering vines which climb around
it. Well, as the mob broke i'm the front
door. Nine. de Laurie with her Jewel cas-
ket elutched in her hand, and the arch
devil, Sebastian, made their escape through
that gate. They ran TO the river. jumped
into skitf and were rOwed over the rush
ing waters of the Mississippi To the other
shore. Some people say they escaped to
France-eertain it is they were never seen
here again. When the mob reached the
grand ballroom they found that it had been
converted into a torture chamber The
slaves had been nailed to the floor. Some
were dead, others dying-all were horribly
mutilated Robbed of their vengeance, the
people tore down the costly draperies.
slashed the pictures with axes, broke the
rare furniture to fragments and wrecked
the house. 1t has never been occupied
since. Now, my friend, you know the rea-
son why / crossed Royal street and why
Creole women and little children bless
themselves and shudder when they pass
The DEVILS House." w. G. b.