re
reserving me for the dinner of the chief, who was to arrive next day. In a
moment I was dead with terror; in that instant I lost all feeling. I had
become indifferent to all. I saw nothing, I heard nothing. Towards evening
one of the sub-chiefs approached and gave me some water in a gourd. I
drank without knowing what I did; thereupon he set himself to examine me
as the butcher examines the lamb that he is about to kill; he seemed to
find me worthy to be served on the table of the head-chief, but as he was
hungry and did not wish to wait [blot], he drew from its sheath the knife
that he carried at his belt and before I had had time to guess what he
intended to do [Enough to say, in place of literal translation, that the
savage, from the outside of her right thigh, flayed off a large piece of
her flesh.] It must be supposed that I again lost consciousness. When I
came to myself, I was lying some paces away from the stake of torture on a
heap of cloaks, and a soldier was kneeling beside me, while I was
surrounded by about a hundred others. The ground was strewed with dead
Indians. I learned later that Vizey had reached the woods and by chance
had stumbled into Fort Latourette, full of troops. Without loss of time,
the brave soldiers set out, and arrived just in time to save me. A
physician dressed my wound, they put me into an ambulance and brought me
away to Fort Latourette, where I still am. A fierce fever took possession
of me. My generous protectors did not know to whom to write; they watched
over me and showed every care imaginable.

Now that I am better, I write you, my brother, and close with these
words: I await you! make all haste! Your sister, Louisa Cheval.

[Illustration]

"My grandmother," resumes the memorandum of the Creole great-grandniece,
"had often read this letter, and had recounted to me the incidents that
followed its reception. She was then but three years old, but as her aunt
lived three years in her (_i.e._, the aunt's) brother's family, my
grandmother had known her, and described her to me as a young woman with
white hair and walking with a staff. It was with difficulty that she used
her right leg. My great-grandfather used to tell his children that his
sister Louise had been blooming and gay, and spoke especially of her
beautiful blonde hair. A few hours had sufficed to change it to snow, and
on the once charming countenance of the poor invalid to stamp an
expression of grief and despair.