San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1891-05-08
ANDRE THE MINSTREL.

1t was in the good old days, not so long
ago when measured by years, but ages re-
moved from the present by the perspective
Of cataclysmal change, the good old days
when plantation life in the low country
was in its age of gold Morning was bloom
ing out full and rosy, and the dew hung
heavy on the hedges of yapon and Cherokee
rose, rs the minstrel Andre DuvaI awoke
and assumed sitting posture.
He rubbed his eyes vigorously for a mo-
ment, with the unconscious grace of a
young animal, looked about TO collect his
faculties; then. letting fall his small, sun
burnt hands on his knees, smiled forlornly.
Overhead the leaves of the magnolia
were thick; the hedge behind him stood up
tangled, thorny, full of flowers; the air,
stirring gently, bore the smell of marsh
plants and the fragrance of orange blooms,
a not unpeasing mixture. Everywhere
the hooking birds were singing, the gross
beaks whistling the starlings fiuting.
Andre Duval looked himself over half
contemptuously, half quizzically, his gray
eyes lingering with every patch on his coat
and trousers, and concentrating themselves
ut last on a somewhat rusty great toe pro-
truding from sadly worn shoe. Beside
All night he had slept there very sweetly,
and now he felt rested, if not refreshed;
hungry, too. as only young, strong fell
low can be after prolonged fast.
Lately he had been in New Orleans, liv-
ing he scarcely knew how, getting on fairly
well in low way while his clothes had re-
manned decent; but the time came for him
to try the country, and if that failed him
well, what? Hewas not of a temperament
that reckons accurately. The future fur
nished him no particular field for specula-
ton: the past had no data that he could
use. He had come from the southern hill
country of France to Louisiana with some
sort of dream in his brain, had landed
without money, and, of course, had found
nothing that he had expected to find. The
real was the reverse of his ideal.
Those were the days when New Orleans
and the plantations of lower Louisiana
were at the zenith of prosperity. Men
scarcely knew how rich they were, nor did
they seem TO care how they spent their
money; still good for naught, shabbily
dressed, with nothing but a guitar and a
few songs to recommend him, might, if a
trifie reserved and in a way proud starve
even there.
For sennight Andre had tramped
through the country, taking no note of
directions, turning this way to evade a
swamp, that way to find a place where a
stream could be waded, and now and again
lingering for a day or two at a plantation.
Sometimes he got food at the negro cabins,
sometimes at the mansions; but usually
his bed was mother EARTH with only tree
for shelter. Luckily, the weather was fine.
After fashion, Andre had enjoyed his
leisurely pilgrimage, especially when he
was not hungry. Never had he dreamed
of such luXuriance of trees shrubs, grasses,
weeds, flowers; nor had his imagination
ever suggested such fruitfulness as the
plantations, the orange groves and the gar
dens presented to his eyes. And then the
mansions! Those great, rambling, vine
covered, tree shaded, gallery cirCled struct-
ures impressed him as the abodes of princes
in exile. He poetized concerning them,
and constructed romances, in which the
medieval spirit was revived with all its
ancient splendOr.
On this particular morning. so rosy, so
dewy, so fragrant, Andre awoke with sur
prise that he had slept so late; much more
was he surprised to find that he was on the
confines of a plantation, and near the
grandeSt mansion that he had yet seen.
Through a rift in the hedge he could de-
scry, just beyond the little field great
roof, a heavy stack of chimneys, broad
verandas and small PANIED windows, all
half hidden in foliage and long moss, with
great, gray tree boles showing through and
gnarled branches reaching across. Still
beyond all this bayou cleaned like silver
studded with diamonds as the breeze played
over it. He rubbed his eyes again and got
upon his knees, the better to gaze at the
beautiful picture. A dream had suffused
his sleep during the night just gone, and
its spell had not yet departed from his i'm
agination. Surely yonder house was the
house of which he had dreamed! Why,
yes; there was the great gate with the
monstrous posts to uphold it, and there
was the boat house by the bayou. Again
he rubbed his eyes.
Being thus occupied, Andre Duval was
i'll prepared for the shock that just then
came upon him in the form of a huge an
imal, that rushed against him from behind,
with a loud bow-6ow-wow-wowl" Over he
tumbled, and was held down by the weight
of thu great, black, shaggy assailant.
"WOw-wow- bowP'
Andres nose and mouth were buried in
the soft ground so that he could scarcely
breathe, much less cry out, and a muzzle
with atrocious teeth was mumbling at the
back of his neck while heavy paws pressed
hard upon his outstretched arms.
"Aha! What have you there, Achille, old
fellow? Hold, you wolff Come off, sayl
Be doLel Be donep'
Andre heard these EXPLANATIONS given
in a soft French voice-a very soft French
voice-but firm and manly one as well.
The big teeth that had been ready to sink
into his neck were removed in an instant,
though the animal kept its place on his