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 Issued by 
 
 jOouisvillQ <S^ 
 JsTashvillQ G.Ii. 
 
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 Copyrighted, 1921. by 
 Louisville & Nashville Railroad Co. 
 
 The eight tales, on pages 5 to 56 inclusive, are from the pen oj 
 
 Vic Calver, compiled by the Tourist Welcome Club 
 
 of Mobile, the gateway to the Gulf Coast. 
 
 .ABl'JSU 
 
 JUL -I i32i 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Page 
 
 Mobile, the Heart of the Storied South 5 
 
 The Shining Towers of El Dorado 12 
 
 In the Shadow of Fort St. Louis 19 
 
 In the King's Name 27 
 
 The Heart of Tuscaloosa 35 
 
 Madame La Vergne Smiles 41 
 
 The Last Slave 47 
 
 An Epic of the Sea 52 
 
 Modern Mobile 57 
 
 The Gulf Coast 59 
 
 En Route to Mobile 62 
 
Romances of Mobile 
 
 By Vic Calve r 
 
 Wrapt in a mantle of sunshine, fringed by a silver sea. 
 
 Glowing with flower and blossom, hard by the river' 
 mouth, 
 City of song and story, romance and chivalry. 
 
 Lies Mobile in its glory. Queen of the Golden South. 
 
 — Songs of the Gulf 
 
 FOREWORD 
 MOBILE, THE HEART OF THE STORIED SOUTH 
 
 When the Great Jehovah flung the world, flaming and new 
 made, from His almighty hand, the richest elements of Nature 
 were fused and gathered in the glowing spot destined, after 
 long ages of evolution, to mark the Land of Dixie. For this 
 divinely favored Empire of Flowers the Creator reserved the 
 softest, gentlest breezes and the balmiest zephyrs. Its myriads 
 of blooms, rioting by the banks of rippling streams and decking 
 the deep green of its woodlands, are painted with the richest 
 colors from the eternal laboratory. The deep crimson in the 
 heart of the rose flames against the dazzling white of the lily, 
 and the warm pink of the carnation shames the evening sunset, 
 
while the blue of the violet and the mignonette reflect in their 
 blossoms the glory of the Southern heavens. Mother Nature, 
 with loving skill, lined the forests with the vivid yet restful 
 green of the tropics and set around the feet of soaring trees 
 soft beds of delicate fern, as rare and beautiful as Venetian 
 lace. The languorous air is perfumed as from an unseen censer, 
 flooded from craggy hilltop to glistening strand with the 
 exquisite aroma of the magnolia. 
 
 In that primal day the Great Designer struck the eternal 
 hills with His wand and from their rocky heart gushed a million 
 springs of purest water, laughing their joyous way over 
 granite causeways, tossing their spray in murmuring channels 
 lined with pearly shell, broadening out into placid streams 
 amid the smiling meadows, and mingling in a great river 
 system sweeping grandly on into the bosom of the Gulf of 
 Mexico. Watered with the Tears of God, the land blooms 
 like a garden and over all the great domain broods the spirit 
 of peace, glorified with the loveliest art of Nature and cloaked 
 in a sheen of ardent sunlight. 
 
 In the sweeping dome of the heavens the Almighty has set 
 His brightest coronets. Against the purple arch of the mid- 
 night skies, He has draped sunbursts of dazzling stars; great 
 orbs swing high in their immeasurable orbits, planets march in 
 stately grandeur across the blue, a silver moon sheds its soft 
 effulgence over all the land, clothing it in mystic light, while 
 great stars set in the velvet cloth of night flame their brilliance 
 across infinities of space. A Southern night is one of Nature's 
 masterpieces, a hint of the stupendous beauty of the Celestial 
 Realm, a peep beyond the great white Gates of Eternity. 
 
 Leaving the coast line of this kingdom of charm. He has 
 spread the broad breast of the mighty Gulf, the noblest body 
 of water on the globe, stretching out to the burning Tropics 
 like a magic carpet. Its tremendous waters, as profoundly 
 deep as the rolling sea, comprise a marine dominion linking 
 the temperate and torrid zones, the broad highway to the 
 equator, the watery trail over which travel the argosies of the 
 world. Like jewels on its azure surface flash the greater and 
 lesser Antilles. Over its archaean bed rolls a flood that was 
 here at the dawn of creation and into its whispering waters 
 
juts the Peninsula of Yucatan, with ruins older than the 
 Pyramids of Egypt, where crumble mute evidences of a 
 civilization that was colonized from the shores of the lost 
 Continent of Atlantis. It is the watery band that binds 
 dominant and modern Columbia to the Land of the Latin and 
 the Lotus Eaters, the neutral territory between two worlds, 
 the dividing line of the Kingdom of Boreas and the Empire of 
 the Sun. 
 
 Like some rarely beautiful jewel, blazing in a gorgeous 
 setting, lies Mobile, the Heart and Center of the Storied 
 South, the great natural gateway to the Tropic Lands that 
 lie beyond the Gulf. Here in the early days came the questing 
 Spanish conquistador, seeking the fountain of youth and fabled 
 cities whose domes were plated with ruddy gold and whose 
 towers flashed with richest gems. Here came the sturdy 
 French voyageur to found a new empire under the lilies of 
 France. To this spot adventured the hardy Anglo-Saxon to 
 plant the banner of St. George in an overseas dominion. Here 
 flourished the flower of Southern chivalry, loyal gentlemen 
 unafraid, who drew their swords in the ill-fated emprise of the 
 Lost Cause and fought and died gallantly withal. And here is 
 arising in the light of a brighter and happier day the New 
 South, rich in resource beyond the dreams of avarice, beautiful 
 as a Garden of Eden, a Paradise of the New World, incom- 
 parable and serene. 
 
 Where the busy streets of Mobile now hum with life was 
 once the virgin wilderness, trodden alone by the moccasined 
 foot of the Chickasaw, the Creek and the Alibamon, the 
 velvet paw of the panther, the delicate foot of the deer, and 
 the steel claws of ranging Bruin. Then the great forests of 
 the littoral swung down in an unbroken flood from the foot of 
 the Appalachian Chain to the very waters of the Gulf. Here 
 the Spaniard clad in mail penetrated the greenwood, hoping 
 to see arise above its fronded foliage the spires of El Dorado. 
 Here the Sieur de Bienville founded his first city long before 
 New Orleans had risen from the marsh, and the flashing axes 
 of his men cut the logs of Fort St. Louis from the primal 
 forest before the first settlement arose on the banks of the 
 Father of Waters. 
 
Past the very doorsteps of Mobile sweeps the second largest 
 river system in the country, draining the richest agricultural 
 empire in the world. Its waters murmur through villages and 
 towns that are forever linked with the annals of the first 
 settlers, the crest of the waters flowing by the queen city of 
 them all— Mobile, famed in song and story, where broods to 
 this day the very soul and spirit of the Southland. Here is 
 the Heart of Dixie. 
 
 The shady streets of the city have echoed to the tread of 
 armed hosts and the clash of steel. The waters of its bay have 
 hung heavy with the smoke of battling armadas, split with 
 flame and lit with the spirit of death. Its quiet homes, 
 nestled beneath spreading trees, have been the scenes of 
 brilliant functions, on whose polished floors bewigged and 
 powdered gallants have stepped the measures of the stately 
 minuet. In its council halls matters of great pith and moment 
 have been decided, forming foundation stones of the Law 
 in this new land. Here was planted the Cross by the reverent 
 teachers of that early day and the savage Indian taught to 
 desert the worship of his heathen gods of wood and stream 
 and to bow to the one and only Great Spirit. Here were 
 conceived great voyages which led to wondrous discoveries. 
 On this riotously luxuriant coast was nested the lairs of swash- 
 bucklers and buccaneers who ravished the Spanish Main, and 
 in the old byways of Mobile many a terrible plot was hatched 
 that afterward flamed into fearsome action far to the South 
 over the rolling waters. Here the first sword in the Great 
 Rebellion flashed in the morning sunlight and here the last 
 Southern blade was sheathed in the face of overwhelming 
 odds and the mandates of an immutable fate. 
 
 Hearts are warm in the South and nowhere do they burn 
 with a more ardent flame than in Mobile. It is a city of ro- 
 mance, where the dreamy spirit of Love and the militant soul 
 of Adventure have ever gone hand in hand, gaily plotting the 
 lives and loves of its gallant sons and its glowingly beautiful 
 daughters. Even the speech of its people is softened to a 
 melodious cadence, the harsh gutturals of the North dis- 
 appearing in the delicious Southern drawl that beautifies the 
 mother tongue and enriches it with a velvety emollescence. 
 
Lying beside the murmuring waters of the Gulf, Mobile 
 epitomizes the Spirit of Dixie. 
 
 He who seeks surcease from the stern, forbidding grandeur 
 of the North, with its crested peaks of rock, its mantles of 
 snow, its relentless winters, its penetrating cold, its icy breath, 
 and its gaunt sterility during the winter solstice, may find a 
 smiling garden at the end of a brief journey in eternally sunny 
 Mobile. From its portals radiate steel ribbons whose tentacles 
 tie it to every section of the nation. In any city of the United 
 States one may purchase a ticket to the Gulf City. From its 
 water gate sail great vessels, floating hostelries that cut their 
 way through the green depths to every portion of the globe. 
 And around it lies a sportsman's paradise, a fisherman's dream 
 of delight. Here the artist will find numerous beauties for his 
 brushes, the sculptor masterful subjects for his marble, the 
 poet inspiration for his roundelays, and the tourist delectable 
 scenes, warm hospitality, quaint customs and lively compan- 
 ionship, the material for tales to be told in after years in the 
 flickering light of Northern firesides. 
 
 While winter holds the North tight in its grip of sleet and 
 ice and snow, and its rivers are sheeted with the frozen plates 
 of the Polar King, here in Mobile — Mother of the Mardi Gras 
 in America, where first was celebrated the beautiful old 
 European Feast of Fat Tuesday — is celebrated the Carnival 
 season. Gay knights, decked in silken hose and cloaked in 
 brocaded satin and velvet, and lovely ladies, garbed in soft 
 draperies with roses in their hair, do honor to King Felix and 
 his alluring Queen. No ice field bars the passage of ths royal 
 yacht in its voyage from the Elysian Fields to the Port of 
 Mobile. It cleaves its way through warm and placid waters 
 to its sunny berth. No stern February blast withers the blooms 
 on milady's breast; she gaily trips abroad in sunlight and 
 mellow weather. From flowered carriage and motor car, 
 from azalea decked float and blooming stage, the ladies of 
 Mobile pelt the smiling throngs with buds and blossoms. 
 Through the streets of the city surge the maskers, laughing, 
 jostling good-naturedly, making merry in a carnival spirit; 
 and over all shines the ardent Southern sun. 
 
On Mobile Nature has set her every sign and seal to give 
 assurance to mankind that here is prepared a place for his 
 residence. Free from the frigid gusts of the North, far removed 
 from the withering blight of equatorial heat, Mobile lies in a 
 magic zone twixt the two, where it is always springtime and 
 life is at its best. It is indeed a land where Romance has made 
 her home and where her delicate touch appears in all the 
 affairs of its lovable and hospitable people. 
 
 In the following pages will be found some small account of 
 how Romance has figured in the life of the city in the dim 
 past, a few brief episodes that are woven of more fact than 
 fancy, a blending of legend and cold truth, yet which are so 
 deliciously at variance with the commonplace and the customs 
 of a practical world as to seem the imagery of a poet's vision. 
 The same sprightly spirit that warmed the heart of the lovely 
 belles and gallant adventurers of Mobile in the Long Ago 
 burns high in the breasts of its people today. Gone is the 
 court sword, the powdered wig, the duello, the Sir Roger de 
 Coverly, the minuet, the plumed chapeau and the graceful 
 cloak; gone is the crinoline, the ruffled lace collar and the 
 beauty spot that marked the cheek of the Southern belle, but 
 it is merely a change of habit, a slightly differing garb. Beneath 
 the tailor-made gown and the dun and unattractive cloth of 
 modern costume beat the same high hearts and surges the 
 same spirit and hot current of courage that made Mobile in 
 its early days indeed the City of Romance and the Tourney 
 Ground of Debonair Adventure. 
 
 To you in the North, the East or the West, whose eye 
 may scan these pages, is extended a cordial invitation to come 
 and see us in the South. You may be sure of a warm welcome, 
 a gracious courtesy and a real Southern hospitality. When 
 next you plan a journey into new scenes take up the open road 
 that leads into Dixie and view the loveliness of her broad 
 acres, her forested hills, her rippling streams, and the beauties 
 of her Gulf-washed coast. And having looked upon Dixie and 
 Dixie's heart, which lies "Way Down Mobile," you will forever 
 thereafter love her and seek her out again and again. Mobile 
 beckons to you, brothers and fellow citizens of the nation, and 
 bids you "Come!" 
 
Royal Street, Mobile 
 
 ■ 1. '■ k 
 
 liliriillj 
 
 Cawthon Hotel, Mobile 
 
THE SHINING TOWERS OF EL DORADO 
 
 Beyond the shore, behind the wood, 
 
 Fast locked from prying eyes, 
 Sir Juan beheld a city fair 
 
 Where golden towers arise. 
 
 — Songs of the Gulf 
 
 Anxiously the mail-clad figure in the bow of the Spanish 
 caravel scanned the long, low coast, now veiled in a roaring 
 curtain of shoreward hurrying breakers. The great, clumsy 
 sails had been lowered, yet the blunt-prowed vessel sped along 
 at racing speed before the rush of a September gale. It was 
 the close of a windy, blustery day at sea in the year of grace 
 1519, and now with the swift approach of night the tempest 
 was rising. The unknown coast was a fearsome place, where 
 nameless terrors lurked, and it was plain to the daring little 
 band aboard, that shelter must soon be found or, with the 
 passing of the storm, the bones of the caravel would strew the 
 virgin strand. 
 
 Another and heavier figure, also in armor, joined the anxious 
 watcher who peered out into the murk over the smoking spray 
 that leaped from the forefoot of the laboring boat. 
 
 "God's mercy, Juan, an' we find not safe anchorage eftsoons, 
 we will have small need of it, " quoth the stouter man. 
 
"Nay, not so, good my lord," replied the slighter of the two. 
 "With your Excellency aboard and the prayers of Carmelita 
 rising from a Spanish fireside, naught but fair fortune can 
 attend us. What saith our capitan?" 
 
 "Naught, my good Juan, save to aver that we are the 
 first in all the world to brave this western gulf. He tells his 
 beads i' the cabin what time he be not cursing the crew." 
 
 "Natheless will we win to harbor, my Lord Pineda, and I — 
 ah — I shall some soon day behold the bright vision of my 
 dreams." 
 
 Darker grew the face of the waters and louder shrieked the 
 gale as it sung through the taut rigging. 
 
 "Look, my lord!" howled Juan de Venturas into the close- 
 held ear of his excellency, Don Candelario Pineda, leader of 
 this small expedition, sent out by Garay, then the Spanish 
 governor of Jamaica. "Yonder methinks there is a break in 
 the surf. Ho, Capitan! To me! To me!" 
 
 There was a rush of feet and a half score of hurrying 
 figures swept to the bow. "What seest thou, Sir Juan?" 
 roared the Capitan, stamping to his side. 
 
 "A haven an' mine eyes betray me not," quoth Juan. 
 "Look you, on the starboard bow, Capitan. Is there not open 
 water beyond?" 
 
 "By Our Lady, it is God's truth," shouted the seaman. 
 "A passage! A passage! We must brave it, lead where it will! 
 Ho, you carrion! " he continued to the huddling sailors. "Set 
 the helm to starboard. " And thereafter came hurrying orders 
 of nautical import, interspersed with strange and curious 
 oaths such as the early captains in Spanish ships had coined 
 on many a far-flung sea. 
 
 Slowly the lumbering vessel obeyed the helm, and snoring 
 through the water, at last made way past what was some day 
 to be known as Dauphin Island and into the comparatively 
 quiet waters of Mobile Bay. In the lee of the island the caravel 
 cast anchor and rode out the storm. With the coming of 
 dawn, the sun arose over a sparkling, placid bay, fringed with 
 the fresh green of the forest to the very water's edge at times, 
 here broken by a stretch of golden sand, there by the but- 
 tresses of tall, red cliffs. 
 
Silently the little band knelt on the wet decks and thanked 
 God for deliverance, and Don Candelario, in reverent and 
 grateful mood, influenced by the religious zeal that charac- 
 terized the fierce warriors of Spain, named the bay Espiritu 
 Santo, a name which it was to bear through a century of 
 silence in New World history, until another adventurous soul, 
 this time from France, was to rename it Mobile. 
 
 Cautiously feeling its way, the caravel swung up the bay, 
 nosing out the channel that led to the river above. Juan de 
 Venturas, his heart bounding with the optimism of youth, 
 was impatient to get ashore. And, indeed, no less so was Don 
 Candelario, though his reserved manner betrayed it not. 
 At last, in the early afternoon, a small boat put out from the 
 caravel and the first ashore was Juan, leaping from the boat 
 ere it touched the sand and wading through the water, and 
 thus was he the first of the white conquerors from beyond the 
 rolling Atlantic to set his foot on Alabama soil. 
 
 Juan, intent on gaining a solid footing, had kept his eyes 
 on the shining shingle a few feet before his eyes, when he was 
 arrested by a shout from Don Candelario, who followed close 
 behind. 
 
 "Hold, Juan! On guard! Cast thine eyes upward and to 
 the fore!" And Juan, looking up, saw the greenwood part and 
 a stately Indian, gay in feathered headdress, approaching. 
 The savage, with a dignified gesture, held his hand aloft in a 
 signal that means the wide world over "1 come in peace." 
 The boat's crew crowded ashore, surrounding their leaders. 
 The Indian slowly approached. In sign language the Spaniards 
 made it known that their errand was not hostile, at which 
 the savage raised a shout and from the wood that lined the 
 shore emerged a great company of braves, who bravely 
 inspected these strangers, with fair white skin, the like of 
 which they had never beheld before. 
 
 "Ha! Don Candelario!" shouted Juan, his young eyes lit 
 with the fires of hope, "behold the outposts of El Dorado. 
 Those woods but mask the way that leads to treasure and the 
 heart of Carmelita. The legends speak sooth — here, here, in 
 this new world will we find at last the smiling gardens and the 
 vaults of jewels." 
 
Beyond the strip of woods lay a great village, where the 
 conquistadores were treated with marked respect, and for 
 forty days Don Candelario lingered by the beautiful bay, 
 careening his vessel, the while his men mapped the shore. 
 During these days the voyageurs ascended the river for miles, 
 early finding the Indian capital of Maubila. Then, having 
 learned all that might be and claiming the land for Spain, 
 Don Candelario gave orders that on the morrow the caravel 
 hoist sail and tempt again the heaving waters of the Gulf. 
 
 Not so Juan. Night after night in a castle in far Castile, 
 he had poured over old chronicles, being taught the mystery 
 of letters by a monk, which was a rare accomplishment among 
 the gallants of Spain and one that gained him place with this 
 expedition overseas. In these narratives was set forth the 
 story of the fabled El Dorado, a mystic land of fabulous wealth, 
 where the streets were paved with gold and the towers of the 
 city flashed with a million rare and precious gems. This he 
 hoped to find in the new land on which he had set foot. With 
 treasure trove here acquired, Juan, a youth of good family 
 albeit fallen in fortune, could return to Spain and openly 
 court the Lady Carmelita, upon whom many rich suitors cast 
 envious eyes. Juan was set in his purpose to remain. 
 
 Despite argument, threats, cajolery, promises, all means 
 brought to bear by Don Candelario and his companions, Juan 
 determined to remain, and when commanded to embark, in 
 open revolt, fled into the forest. The Indians were friendly 
 enough and, he argued, when he had been enticed back to the 
 shore, he would completely gain their confidence and they 
 would at last lead him to El Dorado, the existence of which 
 he was firmly convinced and to which he held the Indians 
 knew the key. Thus it happed that on a sunny day the 
 Spaniards set sail, leaving many things for Juan's comfort 
 and promising to return anon. 
 
 Alas, when Juan waved his mailed hand to them over a 
 glistening tract of water, as the caravel swept seaward, it was 
 the last they were ever to see of Juan or he of them. Laughing 
 he turned toward the greenwood, which swallowed him up, 
 and no white man ever beheld Juan de Venturas again. First 
 of the Spaniards to set foot on the soil of Alabama, he left 
 
his bones to whiten in its hills. The Great Silence which 
 envelops Alabama history like a cloak for a century subse- 
 quent, folded him in its wings and his fate is but a legend 
 told at Indian firesides. 
 
 Years afterward De Soto with his merciless conquistadores 
 swept over the land, returning evil for good, sacking Maubila, 
 the capital of the Emperor Tuscaloosa, breaking the heart of 
 the splendid savage, scattering his people and wrecking his 
 empire of the wilderness. At the sack of Maubila, when the 
 Spaniards counted an hundred of their dead on the field as 
 the price they paid for victory, an Indian captive exhibited 
 to the grim Spanish chief a coat of mail, a silken doublet, a 
 Toledo blade and a battered casque. 
 
 Said the Indian: "Had thy soldiers been such men as 
 was the wearer of these a hundred Spanish warriors would 
 not have died this day nor the Emperor Tuscaloosa gone to 
 the bosom of the Great Spirit." 
 
 Fiercely pressed for an explanation of these reminders of a 
 Spanish warrior, the Indian recounted: 
 
 "I had the tale from my father. Many years ago the first 
 of the Spaniards came in a great boat from out the Big Waters 
 on which my people have never dared to venture. We called 
 this one, who stayed among us, after the rest had sailed into 
 the west, Gleaming Beetle, because of his strange armor 
 which was hard and bright, as you see, like the armor of a 
 beetle. He was a man, not such as thou and thy butchers. 
 He was brave, generous, but sought to teach of a new god, 
 of which we would have none, yet we left him to worship as 
 he would in peace. In his words were truth, even as those 
 of our Emperor, whom ye have betrayed. He taught us many 
 things and with him brought healing ointments and simples 
 of great power. He was as one of us and all respected and 
 honored him despite his pale skin. 
 
 "Ever he pressed us for what he held was our secret — the 
 trail to a land of rich pebbles and yellow metal, which he 
 called El Dorado, asking that we lead him thither. And no 
 man knew of what he prattled ceaselessly. For months he 
 sought to make us talk of that which we knew not. Ever and 
 anon he would take the trail into the forest and our scouts 
 
would come upon him on some high hill to the north, gazing 
 anxiously into the distance for a glimpse of the shining towers 
 of which he spoke. Nothing could abate his faith. And at 
 last we believed that he had been touched of the Great Spirit 
 and saw visions not of earth. As was the custom in our tribe, for 
 this we but honored him the more. In all things else was he 
 as other men, but this humor of his brain we could not allay. 
 
 "Gleaming Beetle was skilled in warlike strategy and taught 
 us much that enabled us to prevail over our enemies. He 
 built for us cunning stockades, taught us to throw firebrands, 
 to charge in order and to ambush an enemy in a manner that 
 was as new to us as to them. In time he was made a chief 
 and led us in many a fray far to the north. At such times and 
 at our head he would charge shouting: 'Santiago! Santiago!' 
 
 "Once on the reaches of the river above Maubila, when we 
 were sore beset, an arrow found a rent in his armor and he was 
 stricken of a great wound. For weeks he lingered in my 
 father's tepee, but the fever would not break. At the close 
 of a day when the sky was aflame in the west he asked that 
 he be placed without, where he could look into the eye of the 
 declining sun. And thus, saith my father, he spoke as the 
 rays of the sun bathed him with a garment of fire: 
 
 " 'Carmelita, at last I behold the shining towers of El 
 Dorado! Rest thou sweetly, beloved. Tomorrow 1 will reach 
 them, then ho, for Spain and thee !' 1 1 was the fever tearing him 
 and burning his brain, said my father, so that he saw a vision 
 which to him was real, or mayhap the Great Spirit showed 
 unto him those things which mortal eye may not behold. 
 
 "Then, raising his weakened arms to the sun, he cried: 
 *E1 Dorado! El Dorado! 1 see thy towers! 1 come!' And 
 then the Great Spirit swept him to His bosom. Thus passed 
 Gleaming Beetle and these be his possessions." 
 
 An idle tale, say you? But an Indian legend? Perhaps — - 
 yet it may easily be so. In an Alabama mansion rests to this 
 day the sword, the coat of mail, the battered casque. If Juan 
 be not nor ever was, then the tale of Juan at least typifies the 
 
ardent, imaginative, daring conquistador of Spain. And it 
 may well be so that the first of these to press the soil of 
 Alabama died as did Juan de Venturas, seeking the Shining 
 Towers of El Dorado! 
 
 Battle House, Mobile 
 
 18 
 
IN THE SHADOW OF FORT ST. LOUIS 
 
 Nor locks, nor bars, nor voice of grim authority 
 
 May serve to daunt the daring heart of youth; 
 
 One god — Dan Cupid — rules by vast majority — 
 
 Lords may command, but Love will win, forsooth. 
 
 ■ — Songs of the Gulf 
 
 Lieutenant Henri Francois Carbonel was plainly ill at ease 
 and in an evil frame of mind. His usually good-natured, 
 bonny countenance was darkened by a most forbidding frown 
 and he gazed out over a bastion of the new Fort St. Louis, 
 set in an Alabama wilderness for the glory of France, with a 
 rebellious look that ill beset so brave and loyal an officer of 
 the King. Before his eyes swept the brown waters of the 
 Mobile River, lapping the piling of the outer stockade, while 
 back of him the ground swept upward to a hill. To his left 
 lay a stretch of marsh, while on his right could be caught a 
 glimpse of Mobile Bay over the shoulder of Choctaw Point. 
 
 "Zounds!" he muttered, gnawing a verdant moustache, 
 which he twirled the while fiercely. "Am I not of an age to 
 know my mind? Do I require a nurse to see that I stray not 
 abroad and meet disaster?" And he struck the bastion of the 
 fort with his fist and spoke aloud: "I will not. I will not 
 obey." 
 
"How now!" spoke a merry voice behind him. "What 
 terrible strait has brought our good Henri to such gloomy 
 visage? And what is it that thou wilt not do and whom is it 
 thou wilt not obey?" 
 
 "Nay, Valligny," answered Henri, glancing around, startled 
 and confused. "I did but jest. I mean it not. I am sore 
 distrait. I am — " And he sighed most prodigiously. 
 
 "Thou art in ill humor. And thy hat is sadly awry. And 
 thy face is that of a man hoping for death. Thou hast a 
 malady that is universal and tragic, but sweet withal. In 
 fine, my good Henri, thou art in love." Thus answered Louis 
 Villigny, a comrade in arms and a lieutenant of the line also, 
 laughing the while and poking Henri in his ribs. "Is Celeste, 
 then, unkind, my comrade?" 
 
 "No, no!" replied Henri, with emotion. "She is the 
 loveliest and sweetest of all the women in the world — " 
 
 "No doubt, no doubt." 
 
 "Of all the women in the world, yet 1 must not marry her!' 
 
 "Not marry her, quotha!" exclaimed Valligny. "Where- 
 fore?" 
 
 "That is to say, not marry her — just yet." 
 
 "Ah, just yet. And who hath so decreed?" 
 
 "The Sieur de Bienville," cried Henri, hopelessly. "Hehath 
 told me: 'Wait; 1 have other things for thee. Love must 
 bide while duty calls.' And then he looked at me with those 
 stern eyes and when I would question him, told me to hold 
 my peace. It is outrageous." 
 
 "Say not so, good Henri," said his comrade. "Whate'er 
 the Sieur designs is good and to the honor of France and all 
 Frenchmen in this far station. Which reminds me, I have a 
 message for thee from the commander. He bids thee wait 
 upon him in his private chamber and at once forthwith." 
 
 "Ah," replied Henri. "Now, perchance, 1 may know what 
 moves him to bar me from happiness. Au revoir, Louis; I 
 attend the Sieur." 
 
 As Henri strode with clanking sword toward the military 
 headquarters of Fort St. Louis he raised his eyes from the 
 ground, where he had held them in gloomy conjecture, and 
 as he looked about his woebegone countenance broke forth 
 
 20 
 
into a boyish smile. And the reason for this was almost upon 
 him — a rare and radiant maiden, sweet as a lily of France and 
 dainty as a piece of Dresden china. 
 
 "Whither away, Henri" she laughed, as she joined him, and 
 her eyes were pools of tenderness. "And how dost thou like 
 my new bodice? Is it not pretty?" 
 
 "Burlap would look well on thee, precious one," said Henri, 
 gallantly. "Good wine needs no bush, and you stand not in 
 need of satin nor silk nor velvet to be comely. Ah, Celeste! 
 1 have evil news." 
 
 "What is it, Henri? Are the Indians restless?" 
 
 "No, worse. Far worse. I would that were all." 
 
 "Worse, say you? Tell me quickly, Henri!" 
 
 "The Sieur de Bienville hath commanded that we shall 
 not marry." 
 
 "Shall not marry? Ah, Holy Mother befriend! Why not?" 
 
 "That is to say — not yet." 
 
 "And wherefore — not yet?" 
 
 "I know not," replied Henri, lugubriously. "I am even now 
 commanded to the presence of Bienville, and mayhap I may 
 learn." 
 
 "Then I will go with thee and learn also." 
 
 "Nay, Celeste. He will not permit. He is stern and hard 
 and cold and he may chide thee, and that I could not abide." 
 
 "With his soldiers he enforces discipline. Yet with the 
 women he is ever tender. He will not chide, Henri. I prithee, 
 let me go." 
 
 "Very well," agreed Henri. "But I fear me he will be 
 wroth." 
 
 A guard at the door passed them and in a moment they 
 stood in the presence of the great Frenchman who had the 
 vision to found a colony in a savage wilderness and to keep it 
 against Spaniard and Briton and Indian for France. 
 
 It was in the Fall of the year 1710. The original Fort St. 
 Louis, miles up the river, had been almost totally wrecked 
 by a great overflow of the Alabama, and the French had decided 
 to move to a place nearer the bay, the site of the present Mobile. 
 For a year past great trees had been felled, logs trimmed 
 and set, cannon dragged over the marshes, and where once 
 
 21 
 
the water murmured among the reeds and the sedge now 
 arose the strong walls of the new fort, the great stockade which 
 was to be the nucleus of a new empire, the embryo of a city 
 that was to reflect in time the culture and chivalry and 
 gorgeous pomp of the court of Louis XIV. And in this new 
 land Bienville's voice was the voice of Louis, and he who 
 disobeyed the Sieur disobeyed his king. 
 
 It was a strong face that Lieutenant Carbonal and Celeste 
 Gravier looked upon, a face that was moulded to command, 
 to direct, to lead, a face that men would trust and follow, 
 even unto death. Firm lips, a rather large Roman nose, a 
 high forehead, with stern eyes set wide apart, crowned with a 
 magisterial wig of snow. And yet there was a kindly gleam 
 in the deep eyes, a benevolence half hidden by austerity. 
 One would say, looking upon Bienville, "Here is both a war- 
 rior and a priest." 
 
 When the twain entered the room, Bienville arose with 
 courtly grace and set a chair for Celeste. 
 
 "Be seated. Mademoiselle Gravier. It is well you are here. 
 And thou, Henri, attend. Know you at the beginning that 
 I am distressed that your marriage with Mademoiselle 
 Gravier, of which I heartily approve, must wait. But France 
 calls you and you must obey." 
 
 Lieutenant Carbonel bowed. "I am content," he replied, 
 "but may I not serve her as well married as single?" 
 
 "No," said Bienville, "because you must leave the fort and 
 thy journey is not one to be undertaken by a maid." 
 
 "Leave?" cried both Henri and Celeste in a breath. "Leave 
 the fort?" 
 
 "Even so," replied the great colonizer. "I have news from 
 my couriers that the Spaniards at Pensacola have sown dis- 
 content among the Choctaws and they waver in their alle- 
 giance to France. I must set a man I may trust over them. 
 It is a dangerous and a delicate mission, and not one where a 
 wife may aid. I have selected thee, Carbonel, because I 
 know thee to be loyal and brave. Success will mean for thee 
 promotion. At dawn thou and a score of lusty fellows will set 
 forth and visit the Choctaws at Dog River. There must 
 you abide until I recall thee. Here are your orders, sealed. 
 
 22 
 
Open them when you arrive in the camp of the Choctaw 
 chief." 
 
 "I thank thee, my lord, for this confidence, and will, of 
 course, obey." said Henri. Then turning to Celeste: '*Ah, 
 sweetheart, it is France that calls. Fear not; I will return 
 and claim thee anon." 
 
 "Spoken like a soldier," exclaimed Bienville, rising and 
 giving Henri his hand. "Forgive me, mademoiselle, for rob- 
 bing you of your happiness; it is not irretrievably gone — 
 merely reserved for a happier time." 
 
 With a nod he dismissed them, and they departed, very 
 sorrowful, hand in hand, but content as it was for France. 
 
 The next morning Henri set forth with his men. It was 
 just at dawn. At noon the alarm bell clashed out its summons 
 and the people gathered at the fort. Celeste, dainty, charming 
 Celeste had disappeared. 
 
 "No word of this must go forward to Lieutenant Carbonel," 
 was the strict order of Bienville. "Search!" And search they 
 did, in the marshes, in the forest, over the hills to the west 
 and down the shore. But naught was learned of Celeste. 
 And there was one in the village that smiled and was hopeful 
 through it all. It was the good cure, Pere Antoine. 
 
 Weeks passed and so careful were the people to obey the 
 Sieur de Bienville that although messages were carried back 
 and forth from the Choctaw encampment to the fort, no man 
 had breathed a word of Celestes disappearance to Henri. The 
 winter came on with its sharp winds and ever the reports from 
 the Choctaw village sent by Carbonel grew more hopeful and 
 optimistic. The Spaniards had been outwitted. The Indians 
 remained loyal. Henri was well, as were the men. There had 
 been no disturbance. 
 
 Then came rumors to Bienville's ears that his favorite 
 lieutenant had committed the unforgivable crime. He had 
 married an Indian, or, at least, one abode within his tent. 
 Bienville was at first amazed and refused to believe. Then 
 exceedingly wroth. 
 
 23 
 
"Send for Carbonel," quoth Bienville. And Carbonel came. 
 Bienville frowned upon him. "Are these things true?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "That I am married? Yes, my lord," replied the lieutenant, 
 calmly. 
 
 "And thou, a gentleman of France, thou — mated to a 
 savage?" 
 
 "Nay, I said not so," replied Henri. 
 
 "Then to whom, pray? And where is thy faith, thy plighted 
 word? Dost know that Celeste, thy betrothed, disappeared 
 months since?" 
 
 "1 knew it, my lord," said Henri, "and it is well. Had 
 Celeste not disappeared the Indian and the Spaniard would 
 have been hammering at the gates of Fort Louis long ere this." 
 
 "You speak in riddles," quoth the Sieur. "Explain, sirrah, 
 1 charge thee." 
 
 "My lord Bienville," said Henri, dropping on one knee in 
 supplication, "forgive a youth and a maid. French blood is 
 warm and judgment travels not with youth. Bear with me 
 but a moment." Then going to the door he led in a young 
 woman clad in all the panoply of a forest savage, moccasined, 
 blanketed, and with dark braids as Indian girls wear draping 
 her shoulders in glory. Bienville started from his seat amazed. 
 "Hold, my lord!" cried Henri. "It is Celeste!" 
 
 "Celeste!" he cried, astonishment, anger and relief mingled 
 in his voice. "Celeste!" 
 
 "It was my fault, my lord," said Henri. 
 
 "Not so," said the pseudo-Indian maid, who was indeed 
 Celeste. "It was my plotting that did it. I prevailed on the 
 good cure, who is ever tender of heart, to assist me, my lord, 
 and when Henri and his men left the fort the cure and I 
 traveled on their trail — I as an Indian girl. None questioned 
 Pere Antoine. When Henri reached the Choctaw camp, lo, I 
 followed closely, and the good father. Henri was very angry, 
 but I know of ways to prevail over him whate'er his mood. 
 And then there was Father Antoine. And thus were we wed. 
 Forgive us." 
 
 "And," broke in Henri, "where all my arguments were of 
 no avail and when the Spaniards would have out-planned me, 
 
 24 
 
it was Celeste who always won the day. She has not only 
 brought me happiness but she has served France." 
 
 "And they have taken me into the tribe," said Celeste, 
 proudly, "1 am a — ah — blood sister to them all." 
 
 **Ah," said Bienville finally, after burying his head in 
 thought. "You have both disobeyed me and must be pun- 
 ished." Then his eyes grew tender. "Yet 1 am indeed glad to 
 behold thee again. Mademoiselle." 
 
 "Not Mademoiselle, my lord," remarked Celeste, with 
 sprightly air. "Madame Carbonel an' it please you." 
 
 "Ah, yes, pardon; I stand corrected. Now to the punish- 
 ment. Lieutenant Carbonel, come hither. Kneel. Art not 
 ashamed?" 
 
 "Aye, my lord, but strangely happy for a rebel." 
 
 "Then rise." And as the Sieur de Bienville touched his 
 shoulder it was an accolade. "Here is thy commission as a 
 Captain of the French overseas legion. With its duties you 
 will find it punishment enow. On Celeste 1 will be even 
 harder. Come, madam, husband or no, and kiss me." 
 
 A simple tale and one not meriting suspicion. Yet it took 
 high courage in those old days to cross the will of Bienville. 
 To those who may doubt this little story it may be said that 
 there is a quiet home in Springhill where one of the family 
 treasures is an old ivory casket, and in it, among other faded 
 things, is a marriage certificate in French, bearing the names 
 of Henri Francois Carbonel and Celeste Gravier. The 
 witnesses to the instrument are most curious. A rude drawing 
 of a deer stricken with an arrow and a burning brand, the 
 signatures of the savage witnesses, Deerslayer and The Fire- 
 maker, of the Choctaw tribe. 
 
 25 
 

 Bienville Square, Mobile 
 
 Launching One of the Ships Built in Mobile 
 
 26 
 
IN THE KING'S NAME! 
 
 For who dare censure a maiden's pride 
 When love plays a game with Fate! 
 
 Love of country is naught beside 
 
 The clear, high call of her mate. 
 
 Latin or Saxon, if he be bold. 
 
 She is his own to have and hold. 
 
 — Songs of the Gulf 
 
 Constance Manon Hazuer looked across the candle lit table 
 bright with white napery and shining silverware, sparkling 
 with crystal and groaning under the weight of good fare, and 
 decided that she despised Thomas Brady, her father's guest. 
 Tom, debonair and mildly enthused with rare wine, returned 
 the gaze but in his blue eyes was nothing but frank admiration. 
 It was a pleasant evening in the spring of 1763, and through 
 the long French windows came the breath of Southern magno- 
 lias and the pungent spice of pines. 
 
 News had just arrived in the old French capital of Mobile 
 of the signing of the Treaty of Paris and the colonial stronghold 
 of Louis breathlessly awaited its fate. It was known that 
 George of England desired peace, while his great minister, 
 Pitt, urged a war with Spain. Out of the hurly-burly of 
 negotiations Mobile would emerge the spoil of one or the other 
 — which? Britain or Spain? 
 
 27 
 
"As I was saying, Monsieur Thomas," Constance heard her 
 father murmuring in his repressed baritone, "the small mer- 
 chant is but a pawn in this game of kings. He gives his all for 
 la patria and she repays by leaving him to his fate and the 
 mercy of the conqueror." 
 
 Monsieur Raymond Hazuer was a kindly soul, once unques- 
 tionably handsome, but his aged face held a haunting weakness, 
 not effeminate but lacking the quality of decision. He was more 
 trader than warrior by instinct and training, too prone to 
 agree for patriotism, yet diplomatic in the extreme. He loved 
 France as much as may any colonist who has spent most of 
 his years abroad, but to his heart his country made no 
 definite, paramount appeal. Constance, on the other hand, 
 was a born partisan, alive with the spirit of patriotism which 
 she inherited from her Gascon mother. Her chestnut hair 
 crowned a face that was at once gentle and alluring, yet 
 marked with a certain resolution that her father's lacked. 
 She was a brightly beautiful girl, pausing just now on the 
 threshold of womanhood. At the moment she was much 
 displeased both with her father and his guest. 
 
 Tom Brady, on the other hand, was new from England 
 and as insular as the average Londoner. He was faintly 
 conscious of the fact that there were other countries lying 
 outside English shores, but he regarded them all impartially 
 as prospective colonies of the Empire. In a word, Tom was 
 hopelessly British. For this Constance felt quite certain in 
 her heart that it was her duty to hate him cordially. 
 
 "But, monsieur," said Tom, with fine British assurance, 
 "in this case the conqueror will be a gentleman, not a blood- 
 thirsty Spaniard. The English are the fairest men in the world, 
 and their assumption of government in Mobile will greatly 
 aid the city in every way." 
 
 "And what makes Monsieur Brady so certain the English 
 flag," said Constance, with a grimace at the word, "will 
 wave over Mobile?" 
 
 "Ah, of that 1 am certain," replied Tom. "His Majesty, 
 King George, desires it, and what the king wants that will he 
 take and hold." 
 
"There be rumors," said Constance, with evident huge 
 satisfaction, "that this wondrous king of yours is hard put to 
 it to hold his colonies in America." 
 
 "That, mademoiselle," replied Tom, flushing, "is the gossip 
 of fools, whose wish is father to the thought." 
 
 "I am charmed with your frankness," said Constance, 
 with rising spirit, her eyes flashing danger signals. Tom 
 thought her inexpressibly lovely in her annoyance. 
 
 "Tut, tut, Constance," interposed M. Hazeur. "Monsieur 
 Tom meant no offense. You will please recall he is our guest." 
 
 "Which in this case," replied Constance, "is synonymous 
 with conqueror, as he has just so candidly informed us. Rest 
 assured that 1, at least, will never salute the flag of England." 
 
 With this Constance arose, plainly angry. Monsieur 
 Hazeur was noticeably troubled. Tom was distinctly distressed, 
 repenting his hasty tongue. The gentlemen arose and bowed 
 as Constance, with head erect, swept from the room. 
 
 "Heed her not," said the old man; "she is but a child. I 
 crave your pardon, monsieur. Let us discuss business. 1 
 believe that England will win to Mobile and I am therefore 
 anxious to secure a London connection. Your father's firm is 
 responsible and I would have arranged to trade ere this had 
 politics permitted. Let us review the possibilities." 
 
 The elder Brady was a manufacturer of cloth who dealt 
 largely with the American colonies and Tom had been sent 
 abroad to secure new connections for the house. This was 
 his mission in Mobile. It was a time of great stress and unrest, 
 anxiety and deferred hope, and there was little love lost 
 'twixt the English and French. Tom's mission was not exactly 
 a primrose pathway. In M. Hazeur he perceived a man of 
 discretion and unbiased judgment. And he was not unaware of 
 the charms of mademoiselle. Thus he had been content to 
 linger in Mobile, ravishingly beautiful in its springtime dress 
 of flowers and blossoms. 
 
 Several weeks flew by and Tom and Constance were thrown 
 much together, each day being marked by passages-at-arms 
 between them, their national viewpoints being as widely 
 
 29 
 
divergent as the poles. Despite this daily contention, however, 
 Tom was soon hopelessly in love with Constance, yet amazed 
 that she should so tenaciously hold fast to her prejudices 
 against all things English. 
 
 For her part, Constance refused to own even to herself to 
 any tender feeling, although she was conscious of a genuine 
 liking for the fresh, manly English boy, with his impetuous 
 but narrow opinions and his engaging frankness. Tom had 
 little use for diplomacy, even in love, which he regarded as a 
 dodging of issues. His methods lacked finesse; were, in fact, 
 disconcertingly direct. So this was the reason for his approach- 
 ing Constance one morning in the sunlit garden, blazing with 
 azaleas, resolved to acquaint her with two leading facts. The 
 first of these he delivered, without preamble, as follows: 
 
 "Mademoiselle, there is a ship in the harbor sailing for 
 Pensacola on the tide. 1 am going aboard at sunset." 
 
 The girl started, flushed, and then replied: "I am indeed 
 sorry to see you go, monsieur. 1 was just beginning to harbor 
 the opinion that even an Englishmanmayhavehisadvantages." 
 
 "1 am most pleased," said Tom, "that 1 have found even 
 this small favor in your eyes. But 1 have further news, 
 tremendously important news. 1 am desperately and hope- 
 lessly in love, mademoiselle." 
 
 "How strange," murmured Constance. "1 had imagined 
 the passion foreign to your race." 
 
 "Indeed, no," warmly returned Tom. "The English can 
 love as ardently as any Frank. And I — ah — 1 am a most 
 amazing lover, Constance." 
 
 "You astonish me! 1 thought your heart was forever 
 bound up in cloth and contracts." 
 
 "And the lady that I adore," continued Tom, "is the 
 loveliest woman in all America. I would cheerfully die for 
 her. There is nothing 1 would not do to please her." Then 
 he cannily added: "Within reason." 
 
 "Ah yes. Within reason. There spoke the Briton. When 
 a Frenchman loves he has no reason. He is magnificently 
 insane. Is the lady English, this paragon whom you adore?" 
 
 "Alas, no. She is obstinately yet deliciously French. Ah, 
 Constance, you know — you must know — it is you I love. I 
 
 30 
 
am the most miserable of men. Won't you make me im- 
 measurably happy?" 
 
 "Now here is a pretty mess," said Constance, with a wholly 
 detached air, like one assaying a problem in trigonometry. 
 "A Briton loves a French maid who is deliciously French. 
 Here we have a self-confessed conqueror who sues for favor. 
 Truly a paradox. What will you do when the Spaniard 
 arrives?" But her glance was tender, albeit mischievous. 
 
 "He will not arrive," said Tom, with sturdy faith. "The 
 English flag will fly over Mobile ere Yuletide. And I shall be 
 here to uncover and cheer when it unfolds." 
 
 "Then if you be so sure, 1 will answer you when the standard 
 is unfurled. Make your boast good. Come to me in the 
 king's name. I may treat with a conqueror for terms, but 
 never with an idle boaster. " 
 
 "Constance!" 
 
 "Au revoir, monsieur, and bon voyage." And with a swish 
 of skirts Constance was gone. Nor did he see her when he 
 set out for the boat. He fancied he glimpsed her peeping 
 from a window, but when he looked again he could not be 
 sure. So, very despondently he sailed away. Looking back 
 at the city, over a moonlit trail of water, as the boat swung 
 out on the tide, he suddenly straightened and muttered: "By 
 jove! I'll do it! " 
 
 On October 20th, of the same year, Constance Hazeur 
 awoke to find the city in a turmoil. Martial music swelled 
 through the window of her chamber, which stood wide, as 
 the day was balmy. The tramp of marching hosts came to her 
 on the morning air. A bugle shrilled in the distance. A horse 
 clattered by. The low voice of the multitude buzzed and 
 hummed in her ears as she made her toilet. When she des- 
 scended to breakfast her father met her at the foot of the 
 stair. 
 
 "It has come, Constance," he said, relief quavering in his 
 voice. "The English are here. Ah, you see, 1 was right to 
 treat with Monsieur Brady." 
 
 31 
 
Constance was hardly enthusiastic, but she had in a measure 
 prepared herself for this inevitable event, the shadow of which 
 had preceded its arrival. She patted her father's cheek. 
 
 "At least, mon pere," she said, saucily, but with no lack of 
 respect, "none can doubt your judgment, whatever they may 
 say of your loyalty. " 
 
 "I am not disloyal," replied the old man, indignantly. 
 "But who am 1 to fly in the face of fate? I cannot fight 
 England alone! Come, Constance, daughter, let us be good 
 losers." 
 
 Out in the square there was gathered a great concourse of 
 people, jostling, laughing, in holiday attire. It did not look 
 like a surrender; rather was it a fiesta. "One would think it 
 Mardi Gras," thought Constance. Above the square on a stout 
 pole swung the standard bearing the lilies of France. There was 
 a burst of music and down the street leading into the square 
 marched a gay body of Highlanders, their feathered caps 
 winking in the sun, their tartans a bright splash of color against 
 the more sombre garb of the people lining the way. High and 
 clear the bagpipes shrilled their stirring melody, the pipers 
 skirling away for dear life. Amid a crescendo of martial 
 music the waving lilies of France rippled out in a last streaming 
 ribbon to the breeze, were dipped in salute and came down the 
 staff on a run. But a moment and a small knot of darker 
 color flew to the pole head and then broke out into the red 
 banner of St. George and merry England. One trooper, 
 resplendent in Highland costume, was tugging manfully at 
 the rope that swung the English flag aloft. There was some- 
 thing familiar in the set of the shoulders, a trick of holding 
 the head. Constance pressed closer, her heart a triphammer, 
 her cheeks aflame. 
 
 "Ah me!" breathed Constance, leaning heavily on her 
 father's arm. 
 
 "As 1 live," cried M, Hazeur, "it is Brady!" 
 
 Just then Tom's merry face was turned toward them and 
 he perceived what he afterward described as the loveliest 
 vision in the New World — Constance Hazeur, the glory of 
 unsullied youth in her face, gazing with startled eyes at the 
 standard of England, as though, he added, in adoration. 
 
 32 
 
"I have kept my word," he cried, as he made his way toward 
 them through the press. "Am I now an idle boaster?" But 
 Constance had fled. 
 
 Later, however, he came upon her in the garden where 
 he had said farewell. This time she did not flee. In her wide 
 eyes was the light of willing, glad surrender. 
 
 "Constance," he said, holding forth arms that fairly ached 
 for their sweet task. "Constance, as you bade me, I come in 
 the king's name! What is my answer?" 
 
 "Ah, monsieur," replied the girl, staying him with half- 
 raised arm, holding fast to her maiden freedom for one last 
 breathless instant, "when the great Louis surrenders, what 
 may a mere maid do save emulate the example of her 
 monarch?" 
 
 "Then have I also conquered in the empire of your heart, 
 little lass?" asked Tom softly. 
 
 "It is a rather pretty flag after all," she murmured and the 
 bonny brown head was buried on Tom's shoulder. To Tom 
 the sky flamed with a new glory, the earth broke up into 
 paradise, a choir of angel voices sang in his soul. The con- 
 queror had indeed come into his own. 
 
 Proof is not lacking of this little affair of the heart, this 
 romance of national differences sunk in a rose pool of love. 
 It was one of the very first of the long list of international 
 marriages that was one day to give to America the name 
 Melting Pot of the World. It will be observed, by way of 
 substantiation, that while there are no Hazeurs in Mobile, 
 there are many Bradys. 
 
 33 
 
A Mobile Residence Surrounded by Azaleas in Full Bloom 
 
 A Residence Subdivision in Mobile 
 
 34 
 
THE HEART OF TUSCALOOSA 
 
 The Spaniard was strong and clad in steel; 
 
 His heart was stout, but it could not feel 
 The mercy that comes from God. 
 The Indian's lips bore never a lie; 
 
 His heart was stout and he could but die 
 Like a man on his native sod. 
 
 — Songs of the Gulf 
 
 On a beautiful October day in 1 540, a Spaniard, who had 
 laid aside his mail on a couch of panther skins, was seated on 
 a rough stool in a richly caparisoned tent, above which floated 
 to the air the banner of Spain. He was of comely countenance, 
 albeit there were cruel lines about his mouth and his chin was 
 like a craggy rock. The eyes, too, held little of pity or mercy 
 in them, but were full and intelligent, bearing out the promise 
 of the broad, high forehead. 
 
 At the entrance to the tent stood a steel clad figure, on 
 guard, bearing in his hand a long pike and at his side a wicked 
 looking sword. 
 
 "Ho, guard!" shouted he who was within, "go quickly to 
 my Captain Villenueva and say to him that Hernando de 
 Soto would have speech with him and at once." 
 
 35 
 
The figure of the guard disappeared down a leafy recess 
 and shortly returned with a graceful youth, richly dressed in 
 silks that bore the trace of exposure to wind and weather. 
 
 "My lord," he said, doffing his plumed hat and saluting, 
 "what would you with me?" 
 
 "Is all prepared, my Manuel?" quoth De Soto, for it was 
 Hernando De Soto, already famous for his adventures and 
 accomplishments in Peru, who after a rest in Spain had quested 
 forth again seeking new ventures in an unknown land. 
 
 "The men are ready to march and the horses are packed," 
 replied Manuel. 
 
 "Then see to it that we move within the hour. And thou, 
 don thy armor, stripling, lest some savage rob thee of life 
 with one of their accursed arrows, the saints protect us!" 
 
 "I have sent a herald forth to the chief of the Indian city 
 to bid him prepare for our coming," replied Manuel, "and to 
 set everything in due order as is mete for thy reception." 
 
 "Enough," said De Soto. "I will join thee in short space." 
 
 Tents were struck, amid the neighing of horses and the 
 rude oaths of the soldiery, and the steel-clad train set forth 
 into the forest, flankers ahead, followed by De Soto, Villenueva 
 and other captains and officers who fared with him into this 
 unknown wild. For perhaps an hour they passed through a 
 rude trail, o'er which till a few days since no foot save that 
 of Tuscaloosa's warriors had ever passed. 
 
 A cry from ahead and the flankers came to rest at the edge 
 of a large savannah, in the midst of which rose the Indian 
 capital of Tuscaloosa, the citadel of the greatest warrior of 
 his time in all the stretches of what was some day to be the 
 sovereign state of Alabama. 
 
 In the center of the cluster of buildings and wigwams was a 
 large square, and on a mound at its upper end, on a sort of 
 piazza, sat Tuscaloosa, surrounded by his red warriors, almost 
 naked, but decked as to headgear with the plumes of rare 
 birds. Gathered in this space were the people of the powerful 
 tribe, the men well to the front, the women on tiptoe to the 
 rear, holding their papooses and stretching their necks with 
 eager curiosity. Through this assemblage a wide lane was 
 laid open, no warrior daring to cross the imaginary line set by 
 
 36 
 
Tuscaloosa. A drum began to beat, and the people stood as 
 graven images, bronze and immovable, as De Soto, a trifle in 
 advance, led his captains, all of them mounted on fine horses 
 to the foot of the mound. 
 
 Though no warrior flinched or moved a hair's breadth from 
 his place, yet involuntary tremors shook their limbs as a 
 horse would brush near. To these warriors the horse was an 
 object of supreme terror, their like never having been seen or 
 even told of in the legends of the race. That the men and 
 horses were one they truly believed, and crafty De Soto, 
 knowing this, permitted none to dismount for several minutes, 
 looking the while from his mount roundabout with the eye of 
 a conqueror and the mien of a sovereign. 
 
 A sturdy captain, long in the wilds, and familiar with the 
 sonorous tongue of the Alibamons, spurred his horse to the 
 side of De Soto, and addressed the warrior chieftain. 
 
 "Great chief," he said, "much honor is done you this day, 
 for powerful as thou art, yet a mightier has deigned to visit 
 thee. Behold the great lord and unconquerable knight of 
 Spain, Hernando De Soto, who would talk with thee through 
 these, my lips." 
 
 Tuscaloosa wore a coif about his head, while a mantle of 
 brilliant feathers reached to his feet. His special emblem of 
 authority was a sort of umbrella, bearing a white cross on a 
 black field. He did not deign to rise for De Soto, of which fact 
 the great explorer made sinister note, but spoke him fair. 
 
 "Welcome to Atahachi, my chief city," boomed the voice 
 of Tuscaloosa. "And may the Great Spirit lead thee to be as 
 just and generous to me and mine as we to thee and thine." 
 
 Whereupon De Soto gave the signal to dismount, and 
 much was the wonderment when the warriors observed that 
 men and horses were not indeed a single animal. 
 
 With slim grace then danced the maidens of the village to 
 delight the distinguished visitors, while food was brought and 
 served on broad leaves. Through all this the interpreter, for 
 De Soto, questioned the chieftain as to the surrounding 
 country, the numbers of his people and sites of his cities. 
 Tuscaloosa, although he fain would have kept silence, thought 
 it better policy to answer, and this he did with truth and 
 
 37 
 
accuracy, so that in time De Soto had a fair idea of his strength 
 and resources, which were indeed overwhelming. Yet so 
 dauntless was the heart of De Soto, so arrogant and confident 
 his nature, that after he learned all he would know, he com- 
 manded his men to mount and drive the people back. As the 
 horses plunged toward the crowd the Indians gave way in 
 terror, and then De Soto set his hand upon the person of 
 Tuscaloosa, and arrogantly placed him in arrest. 
 
 Stupified by this treatment of the chieftain they thought 
 under the direct protection of the Great Manitou, the Indians 
 suffered this outrage, and De Soto set forth for his camp carry- 
 ing with him Tuscaloosa and some of his bodyguard. 
 
 A few days later when De Soto had the chieftain into his 
 tent for further questioning, the chief remained silent, but in 
 his eyes were sullen lighting and the muscles of his great 
 chest heaved with emotion. At last, with a gesture that was 
 supremely majestic, he raised his hand for silence and said 
 to the interpreter: 
 
 "Lend thy mean and miserable ear, fellow, to the words of 
 Tuscaloosa. Tell thy merciless and conscienceless commander 
 that, throwing aside honor as of little worth and breaking his 
 pledged and knightly word as a reed, he has put an affront 
 upon me that the Great Spirit will avenge. For within the 
 present moon, many of those who come up out of the great 
 deep to snare me and my people, will lie weltering in their own 
 blood at the gates of Maubila. I may pass, but there be others, 
 as numerous as the leaves of the forest, and these will take, 
 for each insult he hath offered to me, a Spanish life. Now 
 march to the south, as it is written thou must, where fate 
 awaits thee with open, red hands, ready for thy throats. 1 
 have spoken. It is my last word. Let me go to the place 
 set aside for me in peace." 
 
 No threat of torture could move Tuscaloosa after this, 
 and at last the Spaniards, perceiving he would rather die than 
 speak, gave over and bound him and set him in a secure place 
 within the camp, with guards about armed with lance and 
 .sword. And through all this Tuscaloosa laid him down 
 to rest and slept like a child. Such was the great heart of 
 
 38 
 
Tuscaloosa. Though it crack with grief at the misfortunes of 
 his people, yet would he give no sign. 
 
 And so it happened that De Soto, in order to join Maldonado, 
 as Tuscaloosa had foretold, marched southward, and a few 
 days later, at the gates of Maubila, many of his knights and 
 gentlemen fell beneath the arrows of the Indians, until half 
 his force was gone and many of his horses stretched on the 
 plain by the swift-flowing Alabama River. 
 
 "Alas," quoth De Soto, as he stood upon his sword and 
 surveyed the stricken field, noting here a friend of his youth 
 stretched in death, and there another in agony transfixed 
 by a feathered dart, "alas, 1 am a broken man. 1 should have 
 kept the faith. Jesu Cristo, forgive! I am indeed sorely 
 punished for my fault. Bid them set free this chieftain, 
 Tuscaloosa, and let him depart in peace. And tell him that 
 he is a greater man than I." 
 
 And Tuscaloosa, when he was freed, giving no sign of 
 gratitude for freedom, silent, having spoken no word since 
 that night in the tent, went forth into the wilderness, the 
 last seen of him his waving plumes mingling like a splash of 
 crimson blood with the greenwood that swallowed him. 
 
 There is an antique strongbox, bound with rusted iron, 
 with old Spanish characters on a plate that are nearly inde- 
 cipherable on its lid, that is a treasured possession of a proud 
 family of Mobile, who trace their ancestry to the Spanish 
 conquistadores. If you can prevail upon the haughty owner 
 of this box to open it, which is quite unlikely, therein you 
 will see a ragged piece of cloth, with a white cross on a field 
 of black. It is the badge of kingship which once was Tusca- 
 loosa's. Pinned to it is a fragment of parchment, yellowed 
 with age, inscribed on which in Spanish are the words: 
 "Treasure it well. It belonged to the bravest man I ever 
 knew. Hernando De Soto." 
 
One of the Attractive Park Playgrounds in Mobile 
 
 Loading Cotton at the Municipal Wharf, Mobile 
 
 40 
 
MADAME LA VERGNE SMILES 
 
 Passion is not alone to be met 
 
 In the steely gaze of hate, 
 With eye of fire and jaw grim set 
 
 Like the frowning face of Fate; 
 But lurks sometimes behind a mask, 
 
 A mask that is but a wile, 
 A tool to fashion a horrid task, 
 
 And the tool is oft a smile. 
 
 — Songs of the Gulf 
 
 Madame La Vergne stood at the broad doors of her draw- 
 ing-room one summer night in 1832. The mansion occupied a 
 large plot of ground, surrounded by a garden on the site of 
 what had once been the outer bastions of Fort St. Louis. 
 Through the long French windows, which were open to the 
 garden, there floated the fragrance of jasmine and magnolia 
 and the scent of sweet grass. 
 
 The madame was a sumptuous figure, arrayed like the 
 grand dames of those old days, when pride of house and 
 family and stoutness and worth of heart were more largely 
 esteemed than riches. It was a period when Chivalry was 
 making its last stand against the assaults of Greed and 
 Avarice. There were men in those days, aye, and women, 
 too — men and women who held life lightly if their honor 
 be at stake. 
 
 41 
 
The madame, a woman of that ripe age when the hand of 
 time but has dignified a wondrous grace that was the gift of 
 her full-blown, ripe womanhood, was receiving. Famous for 
 her salons in the South, where dignitaries oft wondered at 
 her sage remarks, and instinctively laid bare their secrets to 
 her, her drawing room was the rallying point for all the wit, 
 beauty and wealth of the country roundabout, filled with 
 rich plantations, whose fruits were brought to the port of 
 Mobile by great puffing steamers and slow-moving barges. 
 
 The Gaul and the Saxon, the swart Spaniard, the Colonial 
 of every rank, welcomed a bidding to Madame La Vergne's. It 
 was a badge of honor, and this night every nation whose sons 
 had fashioned the land to what it was from the wilderness 
 it had been, was represented by the goodly company which 
 the Madame greeted as each entered her doorway. 
 
 There was a Stout, rotund governor, a man of full port and 
 tremendous dignity, a sprightly lieutenant of horse, a sagacious 
 man of the law, a student of profound subjects, who was 
 somewhat of a bore at times, several planters who owned 
 broad acres by the thousands and hundreds of slaves to do 
 their bidding. There was a rising young physician and a wise 
 and ancient judge, a merchant, a patron of the arts, a writer 
 of distinction. All these and more, with their ladies and 
 families, but each one of which had in some manner arrived 
 at sufficient distinction to be a guest of Madame La Vergne. 
 
 Now the Madame was of the aristocratic type of France 
 and her forebears had carried the oriflamme on many a battle- 
 field when England and France were at grips and knighthood 
 was in flower. And in her heart there burned as steadily as in 
 the breast of Joan of Arc a great and overwhelming love for 
 France. This she veiled for politic reasons, as she was not 
 a woman who wore her heart on the sleeve of her gown. But 
 when should one ever speak slightingly of France, she marked 
 it well. No longer did such a one enjoy her hospitality and 
 when occasion served, and she saw her way, she would bring 
 matters to such a pass through the exercise of her wit and 
 her influence, that dire misfortune would overwhelm he or 
 she who had lost favor in her regal eyes. 
 
 42 
 
Now the young lieutenant of horse came of EngHsh stock 
 and was mightily proud of it, while the young physician was 
 of an old French family, descended from the sturdy voyageurs 
 who were among the first to penetrate the woods of Alabama. 
 So, as the evening wore on, with music and dancing and gentle 
 converse, it chanced that Lieutenant Wilfred Carrollton and 
 Dr. Armand Lecoyne fell into conversation with the Madame, 
 where she sat in a quiet corner, the holy of holies of her court. 
 Matters seemly for such a company were discussed, art, 
 poetry, literature, the progress of the times, the growth of 
 the country, the news of rich argosies just arrived from over 
 seas, and finally ancient battles and famous warriors. 
 
 Now the lieutenant was of sturdy frame, broad of chest 
 and lithe of limb, while the doctor was slight and almost frail. 
 But in discussion he was quite the equal of the lieutenant, 
 and more polished in discourse, ever preserving a courteous 
 manner and speech, while the lieutenant was more or less 
 given to what closely approached the bombastic. He sang 
 the praises of Merrie England and showed scant interest in 
 the warrior tales of France. All of which was most displeasing 
 to the Madame, who had ceased to smile, and whose eyes 
 lost their charming glow in a sombre gloom half veiled by 
 long lashes. 
 
 "The English have ever been conquerors," said the lieu- 
 tenant. "The flag of St. George flies around the globe. It 
 has been planted from the Arctic to the Antarctic Circle and 
 it belts the tropics as does the equator itself." 
 
 "Ah, yes, quite true," replied Dr. Lecoyne, "yet 1 think 
 you will agree that the French also have produced men of 
 valor." 
 
 "Every nation has exhibited such, but they are exceptions 
 rather than the rule, while in England the man who is not at 
 heart a lion and a man of mettle is the exception." 
 
 This was an unfortunate speech and the Madame marked 
 him down as her prey. Sooner or later he would feel the 
 weight of her delicate hand, which was mightier at times, 
 much mightier than one which bore a broadsword. Yet she 
 was pleased to but listen and said naught. Dr. Lecoyne 
 flushed to the hair, but the lieutenant gazed at him with 
 
 43 
 
amusement. He knew his shaft had gone home and gloried in 
 his strength to injure and come away unscathed. 
 
 "The Heutenant is hardly fair," replied Armand. "In my 
 own family there have been many notable evidences of courage, 
 and among my ancestors were men whom even kings have 
 been pleased to call friend." 
 
 "Ah, perhaps," replied the lieutenant, who had probably 
 drank a little too much wine at dinner, which is famous for 
 setting foolish tongues to wagging. "But — ah, well — I 
 imagine things have changed in your family since those days. 
 
 My friend, yours is not the frame of a fighter, and it 
 will be your life's work to mend such as I when wounded and 
 to stick ever with your pills and physics." 
 
 "Were it not that the Madame is present, lieutenant, I 
 should be of a mind to challenge the truth of that statement." 
 
 The other laughed. "My good Armand, please don't be 
 ridiculous," he said. "When I need you I will have you 
 patch me up, but as for your taking offense at what 1 said, 
 that would be folly for you." 
 
 At this point the Madame intervened. "Children, children, 
 it is not good custom to quarrel. It is a sorry welcome to 
 hospitality. I pray you cease and have with me a stroll in 
 the moonlight." 
 
 "No sooner said than done," replied Lieutenant Carrollton. 
 And he offered the Madame his arm, who strangely enough, 
 failed to see it, but took that of Dr. Lecoyne. 
 
 The martial tone of the lieutenant soon melted under the 
 pleasant converse of Madame, as they walked about the 
 garden amid the smell of roses and magnolias. Lieutenant 
 Carrollton complained of a slight headache, which was simple 
 of explanation — he had dined too well. Madame proposed 
 they have a glass of wine, and Dr. Lecoyne offered to prescribe. 
 Drawing from his pocket a vial filled with an amber fluid he 
 offered it to Lieutenant Carrollton and advised ten drops 
 before retiring. 
 
 "Let me see your physic, doctor," said the Madame, and 
 she went nearer the light. No one but God saw her fumble 
 
 44 
 
in her breast, but when the bottle went back to the lieutenant 
 the amber had turned to green. 
 
 The following day, about the hour of noon, a gentleman 
 called on Madame and in the course of talk mentioned the 
 quick and sad death of Lieutenant Carrollton. He had gone 
 to bed and his servant found him stark in the morning. 
 But he did not know that Dr. Lecoyne had looked at the 
 bottle, and noted the changed color of its contents, and then, 
 after having smelt of it, had hidden it securely in a well, and 
 muttered "God forgive her, but how she loves France!" 
 
 When the caller had departed Madame went to the window, 
 and as she stood there in the sunlight, the glitter and somber- 
 ness left her eyes. She looked back into the room where a 
 great picture of Joan of Arc stood over the mantle. "She 
 would have done no less for France," said the Madame. 
 
 Then, once more, she smiled. 
 
 A yellowed letter addressed to Dr. Armand Lecoyne in the 
 hand of Madame La Vergne, which was delivered to him after 
 her death, was found among the doctor's effects when he, in 
 turn, had given up the ghost. But he who now possesses it 
 is not prone to show it to strangers. 
 
 Shipping Scene from Mobile Water Front 
 
 45 
 
New Country Club, Mobile 
 
 At one of the Resorts on the East Shore of Mobile Bay—Highest Point of 
 Land on the Coast between Norfolk and Galveston 
 
THE LAST SLAVE 
 
 'Neath an Afric moon, in a jungle green, 
 Poteet first heard a panther scream, 
 
 Clasped to his mother's breast. 
 As a man he fought with savage might. 
 Knowing no difference 'twixt Wrong and Right 
 
 But fought his level best. 
 Conquered, he found himself a slave 
 
 And felt the sting of the rod, 
 But Fate, which swept him over the wave, 
 
 Gave him a glimpse of God. 
 So out of Evil, Good may rise 
 And the soul of a slave attain the skies. 
 
 — Songs of the Gulf 
 
 It was a black night in Africa, but the moon was due to 
 rise within an hour. Poteet, the son of the chief of the village, 
 with some warriors of his tribe, all as black as the night 
 itself, held watch over the sleeping village. Often they peered 
 into the blackness of the bush and listened with ready assegais 
 for the slightest sound. A lion would roar somewhere in the 
 jungle afar off, there would be the cry of some wild thing as 
 it gave up its life to a night prowler. Not a sound from the 
 jungle save these. 
 
 With all its silvery grandeur the moon peeped over a 
 mountain, and poured its effulgence on the village. Still no 
 sound. Poteet fingered the charms he wore at his neck. An 
 uneasiness possessed him. The subtle intuition of the savage 
 
taught him danger was near, but he could not tell from which 
 direction it might come. 
 
 For a space after the moon arose even the animals of the 
 jungle were silent. It seemed as if all Africa must be asleep. 
 Then came the deluge. 
 
 With a blood-curdling shout a full two hundred naked 
 warriors broke cover, hurling spears as they came. Two of 
 Poteet's men fell before they came to grips with the invaders. 
 The village was aroused and poured from its mud huts by 
 scores. But the surprise was too complete. Many were 
 spared by the black foragers, but they well knew what it 
 meant, and several preferred to die, which they did by knife 
 and assegai, hurtling themselves into eternity in preference 
 to the slavery that awaited them if they lived. 
 
 Disarmed and surrounded, Poteet saw his father's house 
 sacked, as was the rest of the village, and the old men, includ- 
 ing his chieftain father, killed before his eyes. Then the march 
 began, which was to last for many weary days until the caval- 
 cade had reached the coast, where dwelt the fierce tribe who 
 made it a business of enslaving their black brethren and selling 
 them to whites who came in great ships and gave many beads 
 and mirrors and bright calicos for all they could deliver who 
 were young and strong — both men and women. Poteet, with 
 others, was put into a stockade, where he had a weary time of 
 it for many weeks. 
 
 Another night, just as the moon rose, a long, low, swift 
 ship, with sails flapping as it hove to, anchored off the coast. 
 Poteet, through a chink in the stockade, could see a boat put 
 off, which showed a light. Another answered from the shore. 
 Then the boat was beached on a sandy strip where the jungle 
 could not find a foothold. After this some men, white and 
 therefore more to be feared than any wild beast, came into 
 the stockade and looked over its inmates as the black man 
 would examine cattle for which he bartered. After this they 
 departed and all night long there was revelry in the coast 
 village. Square-faced gin flowed like water and every man and 
 woman of the tribe bore many curious ornaments on their 
 persons brought them by the all-powerful whites and given in 
 exchange for the slaves within the stockade. 
 
 48 
 
The next morning, shackled with irons brought from the 
 ship, Poteet and a full hundred of his companions, some of 
 his own tribe and others captured before, were marched down 
 to the ship and whipped into the hold. After this it was plain 
 hell — darkness, wormy food, rats, sickness, lashes on the back, 
 and death stalked among them. When one would die, others 
 would be compelled to bring him on deck and throw the body 
 into the sea. And ever they sailed westward, to what Poteet 
 often wondered, and wished that he might die. But he was 
 too strong, too young. Death was not to be his portion. 
 
 For weeks and weeks the vessel ploughed westward, until 
 one night Poteet heard the rattle of chains and knew they had 
 come to a halt. For a time there was silence. Then without 
 the slightest warning the voice of a six-pounder sounded on the 
 night air. It was the first gun Poteet had ever heard and he 
 felt quite sure some of the devils of his savage worship had 
 arrived on the scene. 
 
 Then came shouts, more clamping of chains, curses, and a 
 rattle of musketry. Once more the ship got under way, and 
 finally a shot came into the hold and made an end of many, 
 while it wounded many more. Then there was a cry of fire, 
 the ship scraped along the bottom, and at last, with a shout 
 of delight, the blacks saw the hatchway open and rough voices 
 bade them hurry above. Shackled, they waded through water 
 and landed in a wooded country, from where they were 
 driven by whips into the interior. Glancing fearfully back 
 over their shoulders they could see the ship they had just 
 quitted in flames. 
 
 Thus came Poteet into Mobile Bay, the last man to leave 
 the ship and the last slave to be brought from the west coast 
 of Africa by the demons who were known as blackbirders. 
 The great law of the land had reached forth its hand to savage 
 Africa and forever stopped the atrocious trade in human 
 souls. 
 
 Now Poteet had been greatly in love with a dusky maiden 
 of his own tribe and been unable to note whether she was 
 taken with the storming party or not, as the males were 
 separated from the women both ashore and aboard. What 
 was his delight then, when they at last arrived the next 
 
 49 
 
morning in a large market place, to behold his black sweet- 
 heart among the women there set on display. But alas for 
 Poteet. He went on the block and was sold to a planter in the 
 neighborhood, while his woman was bought by a planter who 
 lived far to the north, "sold up river." 
 
 Poteet's strong young shoulders labored thereafter in the 
 cotton fields, and gradually he began to forget his sweetheart. 
 There were others, and Poteet took one of them. Marriages 
 were very lax among blacks at that time. Years passed and 
 Poteet would only occasionally recall the woman of Africa 
 who had been his star, but always with sadness. 
 
 Then one day came a great shock. The war was on, and he 
 heard of how the whites were fighting among themselves over 
 the question of slavery. Those up river, fearing invasion, 
 sold their slaves in the south, and planters near the gulf drove 
 sharp and lucrative bargains in human flesh. A new levee 
 arrived at Poteet's plantation, and behold, among them was 
 his sweetheart, grown, it is true, somewhat stout, but to his 
 black vision as comely, if not comelier, than of yore, when they 
 loved in the African jungle. 
 
 So Poteet, with the simplicity of procedure which marked 
 his race, told his wife to seek another cabin, as her successor 
 had arrived. And he took his sweetheart to his bosom and his 
 home. 
 
 So after many years, parted in the jungles of another con- 
 tinent, Poteet was united with his heart's desire in the valleys 
 of Alabama. And who shall say his heart, covered though it 
 be with a skin that was as a raven's wing, did not feel all the 
 glory and the power of love with as potent a sense of appre- 
 ciation as his whiter brethren who lived by his labor, held him 
 a slave, and whipped him when they list. 
 
 All this was very satisfactory to the owner of Poteet, as 
 there were many promising pickaninnies and his family grew 
 apace, each one of them representing more dollars than many 
 bales of cotton would bring. 
 
 Then the roar of the guns drew nearer, and finally one day 
 Poteet and his wife gained their freedom. "Glory Hallelujah!" 
 they shouted, and then, after they got this long-wished-for 
 freedom, they wondered what they would do with it. Poteet 
 
 50 
 
decided he would have none of it, and so did the wife of 
 Poteet. Although the master was broken in fortune they 
 would not leave him, and so they stayed on for years. 
 
 Poteet still lives as do many of his progeny. Poteet is the 
 possessor of a crop of snowy wool and has achieved to much 
 dignity and honor among his brethren. He is a grand supreme 
 master of this lodge and magnificent potentate of another, 
 he has quite a store of this world's goods, and can still talk 
 his native tongue. He is way past a century, and if you care 
 to make the short trip, just take a car to the suburb of Crigh- 
 ton and inquire for Poteet. Anybody there will direct you. 
 He is the Last Slave. 
 
 IF'^ "i 
 
 .aC^' 
 
 Court House, Mobile 
 
 51 
 
AN EPIC OF THE SEA 
 
 Oh, sing a song of a summer sea 
 
 And the Jove of a man and maid, 
 When the God of Things As They Ought To Be 
 
 A curious prank had played. 
 How the sea arose in a howling storm 
 
 And caught those twain in his maw. 
 But married them safe in the early morn 
 
 And punished a father-in-law. 
 
 ■ — Songs of the Gulf 
 
 To bring to an end these little tales, it has been thought 
 best to reserve for the last the strangest of them all, which 
 concerns itself with the love of a man and a maid, which has 
 ever been the most popular of all writings of either fact or 
 fiction. 
 
 Not so many years ago there lived in Mobile a young fellow 
 who had since boyhood decided to follow the sea, and to this 
 end he studied navigation with such good effect that when but 
 twenty-three he was the first officer of a coastwise vessel of 
 no mean tonnage. A captain's billet was one of his ambitions, 
 but he also fostered another, and that was to marry a decidedly 
 lovely Mobile girl, whose family were much better off finan- 
 cially than that of the young sailor, who had naught but what 
 he earned. The young woman's family frowned on his suit. 
 
 52 
 
However, when he had reached the rank of first officer, with 
 good prospects of commanding a vessel of his own, he went to 
 the young woman's father and formally asked for her hand. 
 The father merely laughed at him and told him not to aspire 
 too high, but to look among his own class. There are some 
 very proud families in Mobile. 
 
 No matter what precautions were taken by the parents of 
 the young woman, however, they could not keeptheloversapart 
 while the young officer was ashore. Secret trysts were kept 
 and lovers' vows exchanged, as well as ardent kisses, which 
 are more dangerous than dynamite in such circumstances. 
 John Graham, the father of the maid, knowing these things 
 to be going on, set a watch on his daughter and one day in 
 beautiful Monroe Park, which looks out over Mobile Bay, 
 he surprised the two embracing in a secluded spot. 
 
 Mr. Graham (who, by the way, is not Mr. Graham at all) 
 was extremely displeased and took his daughter home with 
 him, after soundly berating the young fellow, whom we shall 
 call Robert Brown, for what he conceived to be his outrageous 
 conduct. The following day Robert called upon Mr. Graham 
 and, after reminding him that he was a man of honor, and of 
 respectable parents, said that he intended to marry his 
 daughter Helen if he had to force the doors of Hades to obtain 
 her. To Robert the doors of Mr. Graham's house were much 
 like the doors of Hades, because they swallowed up Helen and 
 he dared not follow her in. 
 
 "You get to sea, young man, and mind your business. 
 Concern yourself with helms, not Helens, with mariners and 
 not marriages. " This was John Graham's dismissal. 
 
 "To sea 1 will go," said young Robert, "but I warn you 
 that the sea to which you send me and which takes me away 
 from Helen, will give her back to me. Of that I am sure, as 
 I dreamed it several times of late and my dreams always 
 come true. " 
 
 "Tush and nonsense! Make yourself scarce," replied old 
 man Graham, and he shoved Robert, with very little ceremony, 
 the nearest way out. 
 
 At the same time Mr Graham was a little bit worried 
 about the affair. The line on which Robert was employed 
 
 53 
 
only ran to near-by points and the young fellow was frequently 
 in port. Helen was in open revolt against her father and 
 declared she would see Robert whenever opportunity offered. 
 The days had gone by when fathers could lock their daughters 
 up in towers, so Mr. Graham decided to use strategy. 
 
 Having considerable influence in a commercial way, he 
 went to some of his friends who held stock in the line and had 
 Robert transferred to a vessel which went to far South 
 American ports and was absent for several months at a time. 
 This meant an increase of pay to Robert, which delighted 
 him greatly until he happened to remember how it would 
 separate him for so long from his beloved Helen. 
 
 Returning from the first voyage, which had kept him away 
 for several months, Robert and Helen decided to brave the 
 parental anger and marry secretly, and they very nearly 
 succeeded, the irate Mr. Graham getting over to Bay Minette 
 just in time to stop the ceremony, much to the discomfiture 
 of the young couple and the chagrin of the judge, who expected 
 a good fee. The next day Robert put to sea. 
 
 The longer the old gentleman reflected on this seemingly 
 unappeasable passion of his daughter and the young officer, 
 the more he was convinced he must take some drastic means 
 to prevent them meeting again, or he was sure the mischief 
 would be irremediably accomplished. As the days drew nearer 
 when Robert would again be in port, the father arrived at a 
 sudden decision, A steamer was leaving for Europe in two 
 days and he decided to take it and his daughter Helen with 
 him. By travel he figured she might learn to forget her silly 
 romance. Protesting with every fiber of her being, Helen 
 went aboard and she and her father set sail for Europe. At 
 this same moment Robert's vessel was ploughing its way up 
 the South American coast, homeward bound. 
 
 When the vessel containing Mr. Graham and his daughter 
 entered the western end of the Yucatan channel, the one of 
 which Robert was an officer entered the eastern end of this 
 treacherous strait. 
 
 As everyone knows it is hereabout that the most cyclonic 
 storms are born, which afterward sweep up the gulf and lay 
 low great cities. The Fates were busy that day. A low sky 
 
 54 
 
overhung the channel and there was a driving rain. Then the 
 wind began to rise, and in a short time it was howHng a 
 hurricane. It grew black as night and the watch could not 
 see a hundred yards ahead. Then suddenly out of the storm 
 loomed on the Graham boat's quarter a huge shadow bearing 
 down on it with the speed of doom. Too late was it seen from 
 the deck, and too late had the oncoming vessel perceived the 
 boat in its path. There was a sickening crash, a splintering of 
 wood and tearing of steel plates, shouts, and lights, and the 
 launching of boats. The sea was running mountain high and 
 some of the boats were smashed to kindling against the 
 heaving sides of the vessels. Helen, who was being lowered 
 into a boat, by means of a rope, looked into the very jaws of 
 death, when the rope parted and threw her into the sea. In 
 a twinkling she was swept away and, it was believed, lost. 
 
 Now it so happened that the powers that wait on lovers' 
 needs were also abroad that night, and as Robert's boat put 
 its nose into a wave, he saw clinging to a spar the form of a 
 woman, half dead. As the boat swept by the spar he reached 
 out and grabbed her by the hair. It was too dark in the boat 
 for recognition and haste was necessary, as both vessels were 
 sinking and they feared being drawn into the vortex. 
 All night the storm raged and all night the men in the boat 
 labored with the oars to keep her head to the sea. Then with 
 the coming of morning, the storm broke and the sea began to 
 go down. The bundle of sodden misery which Robert had 
 rescued from the sea stirred slightly and he made his way to 
 her to reassure her. She looked up at him. 
 
 "Robert! ' she cried. "Am I dreaming.?" 
 
 "Helen, my sweetheart!" said Robert, stricken with amaze- 
 ment and joy. 
 
 You may well imagine the scene, which, while it was a taste 
 of heaven to the lovers, was most amusing to the sailors, who 
 now that they felt safe could once again afford to smile. But 
 Robert was not displeased. He openly and brazenly hugged 
 his Helen to his heart's content and let the opinion of his 
 companions in misery go hang. The next day they made their 
 way to a Cuban port and shortly after landing, that is to say 
 about five minutes afterward, Robert and Helen stood in the 
 
 55 
 
presence of a Spanish padre, and demanded to be married 
 forthwith. At this very moment a ship was putting into the 
 roadstead. A boat put out for shore and from it stepped John 
 Graham. He was stricken with sorrow, fearing his daughter 
 was lost and holding his austere treatment of her wholly 
 responsible. While he did not want her to marry Robert 
 he would ten thousand times have seen her his bride rather 
 than she lose her life. 
 
 On his way to an inn he passed an old church, and just as 
 he was passing, a miracle also came to pass. Out of the door 
 issued Robert and on his still wet and soiled arm was the most 
 radiant Helen he had ever beheld. Her face shone with a new 
 glory and at first he could scarcely believe his senses. But 
 Robert, strong in his love and his right of possession, said 
 "Hello, father mine, this is Mrs. Brown. When did you get 
 in?" 
 
 "Helen, my daughter. God be praised, because this night 
 I have been through hell itself at the thought of your loss." 
 
 "Father, I know you will forgive us. Robert doesn't look 
 very well just now, but he'll be the handsomest man in the 
 West Indies when he gets a change of clothes." 
 
 "I told you my dreams always came true, Mr. Graham," 
 said Robert. "The sea took me away from Helen and it has 
 handed her back to me, back on the wings of a storm, a 
 present from the deep. " 
 
 "1 suppose," said Mr. Graham, "I will have to say the 
 usual 'God bless you, my children,' and He alone knows how 
 glad 1 am of the chance. " 
 
 Now that was some years ago. Mr. Brown has prospered 
 outrageously of late and has made much money in ships, 
 not by working on them, but by buying and selling them. The 
 great war was his opportunity, and he has made the best of it. 
 For the rest there are quite a few little Browns running around 
 in the neighborhood of Bienville Square, and old John Graham 
 usually has one of them in tow. You may perchance meet 
 them some day, but as you were told at first his name is not 
 Graham and the children's name is anything but Brown. It 
 is a much longer name. 
 

 
 I M 
 
 h ^ 
 
 £•_„.„. 
 
 MODERN MOBILE 
 
 The present day Mobile is a modern, energetic, commercial 
 metropolis with a foreign trade that makes it a port of the 
 first magnitude. It is a city that is always interesting to the 
 tourist. Though modern and up-to-date, it still retains an 
 atmosphere of the romantic days of the long ago. It was 
 founded in 1699 by Bienville, who raised the French standard 
 on Mobile's bay shore and planted a settlement there, and 
 for a long time Mobile was the capital of the French Colony 
 of Louisiana. Its existence has since then been varied and it 
 has lived under five flags— French, English, Spanish, Con- 
 federate, and American, and it, in a sense, has kept the essence 
 of them all. 
 
 Mobile is the second largest city in Alabama, having a 
 population of 60, 1 5 1 according to the 1 920 census, and is the 
 only seaport in the state, located on the west bank of the 
 Mobile river, where it empties into Mobile bay thirty miles 
 from the Gulf of Mexico. The Mobile river is a stream of 
 much consequence, formed by the Alabama and Tombigbee 
 rivers which flow through lands rich in cotton, mineral, and 
 timber resources, and these products have for years found 
 their way downstream to Mobile. 
 
 57 
 
During the last few years, the shipbuilding industry has 
 developed to wonderful proportions in Mobile, due largely to 
 its favorable location, natural harbor, and close proximity to 
 the Gulf and to the enterprise of its inhabitants. 
 
 The broad, shaded avenues, fine old homes, substantial build- 
 ings, and busy streets, testify to the wealth, taste, refinement, 
 and high ideals of its citizens. Beautiful parks, and boule- 
 vards, and a climate which permits the enjoyment of outdoor 
 life at all seasons naturally calls everyone into the open. The 
 city lies along the shore of the bay and is backed by forest- 
 crowned hills — a suitable background for a beautiful city. There 
 is a wonderful old shell road along rising banks of the bay shore, 
 winding under great oak and magnolia trees, with the shining 
 water glistening in the distance — ^a delight to the motorist. 
 
 Water excursions are always interesting; to the many popu- 
 lar resorts in Baldwin county, along the eastern shore of the 
 bay — Fairhope, Daphne, Battles Wharf, Point Clear, etc., to 
 Magnolia Springs on the Magnolia river, to Ft. Morgan or 
 the "snapper banks." 
 
 The fisherman is in his element around Mobile; good 
 fishing, both fresh and salt water varieties, is found in the 
 bay, the countless bayous and lakes in the Delta above the 
 city and the numerous clear running streams in the vicinity, 
 and the hunter will find plenty of opportunity to test his skill. 
 
 One of the annual winter attractions at Mobile is the 
 Mardi Gras celebration, which is very creditable, and entered 
 into in the whole hearted spirit that characterizes Mobile in 
 all its undertakings. 
 
 Mobile is well supplied with fine hotels, while town and 
 country clubs offer typical southern hospitality to visitors 
 properly introduced, and such visitors are entertained after 
 the manner of the Southern chivalric code. Mobile has always 
 prided herself on her elegant and boundless hospitality and 
 visitors are not disappointed in this respect. The new 
 Country Club grounds consist of 280 acres and include an 
 18-hole golf course, lake, tennis courts, swimming pool, etc. 
 
 Electric cars reach all parts of the city and environs, making 
 nearby resorts easy of access, and for those of greater distance 
 down the bay there is convenient railroad and steamer service. 
 
 58 
 
Shell Road Along the Gulf Coast 
 
 THE GULF COAST 
 
 Every visitor to Mobile should avail himself of his close 
 proximity to the beautiful Gulf Coast resorts and visit those 
 delightful places, situated but a short distance away, on the 
 line of the Louisville & Nashville Railroad, and quickly and 
 conveniently reached in a few hours. 
 
 A more charmingly picturesque country than this, or gayer 
 scenes than those presented at these resorts which stretch 
 continuously for fifty miles along the Coast, would be hard to 
 imagine. 
 
 It is a real playground, summer or winter — a playground 
 for northern folk from November to May, and for Southrons 
 during the summer months. You can't ask for much more of 
 placid nature than has been here expended. There are pine 
 woods, forests of live oaks, all moss hung and mysterious, 
 long stretches of winding, shaded roads, woodland paths, 
 quaint southern hamlets and modern resorts teeming with 
 gayety and active life; lovely retreats where you can swing in 
 a hammock all day and drowse in the narcotic air. And there 
 is the sparkling water, the beach, the surf, boating, fishing — 
 anything and everything that calls from the salt waterside. 
 
 59 
 
Going south on the Louisville & Nashville Railroad from 
 Mobile, it is impossible to escape the infection of joyous 
 living, even if you wanted to do that. At every stop 
 throngs of people are going and coming — youth and age alike, 
 getting on or off the trains. Laughter and breezy, sunny, 
 fragrant air greet you. It is moreover a place of sane, natural 
 outdoor joys in surroundings of homely comfort or of luxurious 
 ease, whichever you prefer. It is a locality of ancient and 
 honorable traditions and the natives are descended from 
 holders of the soil since the first days of the white settler. 
 They make you welcome with a stately, southern hospitality, 
 and have put at your disposal the best their home land affords. 
 Every resort and every old plantation home is shaded by 
 age-old ancestral oaks and grown over with trailing vines, 
 roses and perennials; and they all look out over the gulf waters, 
 at the dancing waves, the scudding sails, the beach and the 
 surf. No choicer spot exists and greater comfort is not to be 
 found. The winter climate is ideal, not uncomfortably warm, 
 but moderate and bracing, putting snap and ginger into the 
 system. 
 
 History lends its background of fact to a long list of interest- 
 ing tradition and romantic legends concerning this locality. 
 
 Fishing Party on Mississippi Sound Off the Gulf Coast 
 
 60 
 
The Gulf Coast Section Is the Sportsman's Paradise 
 
 and the "atmosphere," while wholly American, has the foreign 
 flavor in sufficient degree to give it diversity and variety. 
 Topographically, the coast lies low and curving, rising gently 
 toward the hinterland, which is forested with pines, broken in 
 the clearings, by rich and productive farm lands. The shore 
 line is much indented, the numerous bays, "bayous," "sounds" 
 and lakes giving a seemingly endless and all-surrounding 
 waterscape. Lying off the shore is a line of islands, forming 
 the outer bulwark of Mississippi Sound, and fronting this are 
 the resorts that have been famous since pre-revolutionary 
 days — the towns which began as settlements of the early 
 explorers and fortifications of the French colonies, begun under 
 the brothers de Bienville and d' Iberville. 
 
 The best known of the resorts along the Coast, west of 
 Mobile, are Pascagoula, Ocean Springs, Biloxi, Mississippi 
 City, Gulfport, Pass Christian and Bay St. Louis. Pensacola, 
 to the southeast of Mobile about one hundred miles, is also 
 located practically on the Gulf and is a most charming resort 
 and a commercial center of considerable importance. These 
 resorts are described in detail in folder entitled "The Gulf 
 Coast ' published by the Louisville & Nashville Railroad, a 
 copy of which will be furnished free to those writing for it 
 to any of the representatives listed on page 63. 
 
 61 
 
A feature of travel on trains of the Louisville & Nashville R^R. is the excel- 
 lence of its Dining Car Service. All meals a la carte, 
 and the cuisine is unsurpassed. 
 
 EN ROUTE TO MOBILE 
 
 The Louisville & Nashville Railroad, with its connections, 
 operates through steel trains from Chicago, St. Louis, Cincin- 
 nati, Louisville, New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Wash- 
 ington, Jacksonville, Fla., New Orleans and intermediate ter- 
 ritory to Mobile and the various resorts on the Gulf Coast. 
 The schedules are fast and convenient and the roadbed and track 
 are as substantial and smooth as of any line in the country. 
 
 These trains are all modern and up-to-date in every par- 
 ticular, and are sumptuously equipped with all facilities 
 tending toward the comfort and convenience of passengers, 
 carrying through electric-lighted drawing-room sleepers, 
 coaches, reclining chair cars, etc. Dining car service on all 
 through trains that is not surpassed anywhere. 
 
 Intending travelers are invited to communicate freely with 
 representatives shown on the following page. They will 
 gladly provide information in regard to Louisville & Nash- 
 ville Railroad service, schedules, fares, etc., secure sleeping 
 car reservations, and render assistance in any way possible. 
 
 62 
 
For information relating to Louisville & Nashville Railroad 
 service, fares, schedules, sleeping car reservations, etc., com- 
 municate with any of the following passenger representatives: 
 
 ATLANTA. GA 
 
 BIRMINGHAM. ALA 
 
 CHICAGO. ILL 
 
 CINCINNATI, OHIO 
 
 CLEVELAND, OHIO 
 DALLAS. TEXAS . . 
 DETROIT, MICH . 
 EVANS VILLE, IND . 
 
 HOUSTON, TEXAS 
 
 INDIANAPOLIS, IND 
 JACKSONVILLE, FLA 
 
 KANSAS CITY, MO. 
 KNOXVILLE. TENN 
 
 LEXINGTON, KY. 
 LOUISVILLE, KY. 
 
 MEMPHIS. TENN 
 
 MINNEAPOLIS. MINN 
 
 MOBILE, ALA 
 
 MONTGOMERY, ALA 
 NASHVILLE. TENN . . 
 
 NEW ORLEANS, LA . 
 
 NEW YORK. N. Y 
 
 OWENSBORO, KY 
 
 PENSACOLA, FLA 
 
 PITTSBURGH. PA. . 
 RUSSELLVILLE. KY 
 ST. LOUIS, MO. . .. 
 
 SELMA, ALA 
 
 TUSCALOOSA, ALA. 
 
 H. C. Bailey, Division Passenger Agent 722 Hoalcv Bldg. 
 
 B. L. Butler. City Passenger Agent 722 Hcalcv Bldg. 
 
 A. C. Northern, Joint City Ticltet Agent 46 North Broad" Street 
 
 T. F. Lawrence, Ticket Agent Union Depot 
 
 J. H. Settle Division Passenger Agent 
 
 I. N. Atkinson, Agent Joint City Ticket Office. . . . 2010 First Avenue 
 
 C. W. Coleman. Ticket Agent Union Depot 
 
 P. W. Morrow. N.-W. Passenger Agent 332 Marquette Bldg 
 
 Tyndall Ball, Traveling Passenger Agent 332 Marcjuette Bldg. 
 
 C". C. Case, City Passenger Agent 332 Marquette Bldg. 
 
 F. D. Bush, Division Passenger Agent 615 Union Central Bldg. 
 
 J. H. (iENTRY. Traveling Passenger Agent.. . .615 Union Central Bldg. 
 
 A. J. Anzer, City Passenger Agent 615 Union Central Bldg. 
 
 J. M. MiNTURN, Agent Consolidated Ticket Office 6th and Main 
 
 J. E. Pendery, Ticket Agent Pearl and liutlcr stn'ots 
 
 J. F. Rolf, Ticket Agent Central Union Station 
 
 J. I. Zempke, Traveling Passenger Agent 706 Hippodrunio Bldg. 
 
 T. H. KiNGSLEY, Traveling Pass. Agent, 703 Creat Southern Life Bldg. 
 H. E. Porter, Traveling Passenger Agent 605 Fres Press Bldg. 
 
 D. C. McOehee, Traveling Passenger Agent First and Main 
 
 W. J. Mann, Agent Consolidated Ticket Office First and Main 
 
 N. A. Littlepage, Ticket Agent L. & N. Station 
 
 L. N. SIMMS, Traveling Passenger Agent 202 Scanlan Bldg. 
 
 Jack Gauntt, Passenger Agent 202 Scanlan Bldg. 
 
 H. M. Mounts, Traveling Passenger Agent, 310 Merchants Bank Bldg. 
 
 H. C. Bretney, Florida Passenger Agent 134 West Bav Street 
 
 H. S. Ellis, Traveling Passenger Agent 134 West Bay Street 
 
 F. M. Ditto, Traveling Pass'r Agent. . . .418 Railway Exchange Bldg. 
 
 D. S. Chandler, District Passenger Agent Farragut Hotel 
 
 L. A. BiNKLEY, City Ticket Agent Farragut Hotel 
 
 J. A. Baker, Ticket Agent L. «fe N. Station 
 
 F. B. Carr, General Agent Union Station 
 
 W. H. Harrison, Traveling Passenger Agent Union Station 
 
 E. J. TEED, Joint Ticket Agent Union Station 
 
 Milton Smith Assistant General Passenger Agent 
 
 C. J. LiEBER Assistant General Passenger Agent 
 
 J. H. Milliken District Passenger Agent 
 
 E. G. Jones, City Passenger Agent 204 Marion E. Taylor Bldg. 
 
 F. T. Alexander, Agent Consolidated Ticket Office, 4th and Market 
 
 R. F. Penn, Ticket Agent Union Station 
 
 J. S. Younger, Ticket Agent Baxter Avenue Station 
 
 C;. B. McClean, Dist. Pass'r Agt., 1504 Union and Planters Bank Bldg. 
 Roy Sutton, Agent Joint City Ticket Office 60 North Main 
 
 E. A. Gaulding, Ticket Agent Calhoun Street Station 
 
 .H. L. Sweeney, Traveling Pass'r Agent, 633 Metropolitan Life Bldg. 
 
 H. C. Geron, City Passenger Agent 63 Conti Street 
 
 G. W. King, Agent Consolidated Ticket Office, 51 South Roval Street 
 
 F. J. MuRPHREE, Ticket Agent L. & N. Station 
 
 .W. M. Hays, Traveling Pass'r Agent, 601 First National Bank Bldg. 
 
 F. M. Harbin, Agent Consolidated Ticket Office Exchange Hotel 
 
 S. T. SURATT, Ticket Agent Union Depot 
 
 R. C. Wallis, District Passenger Agent. .Fourth and Church Streets 
 
 I- M • O'Brien City Passenger Agent 
 
 \V . M. Hunt, Agent Consolidated Ticket Office. Independent Life Bldg 
 
 W. B. Reynolds, Ticket Agent Union station 
 
 J. K. Ridgely, General Passenger Agent, 1413 Whitney Bank Bldg. 
 
 E. C. Runte, District Passenger Agent 1413 Whitney Bank Bldg. 
 
 R. C. DUTRUCH, City Passenger Agent 1413 Whitney Bank Bldg. 
 
 J. E. Lambert, Agent Joint City Ticket Office St. Charles Hotel 
 
 J. B. Michel, Ticket Agent L. & N. Depot 
 
 IRA F. ScHWEGEL, Eastern Passenger Agent 
 
 609 Knickerbocker Bldg. Broadway and 42nd Street 
 c;lark Dunn, Traveling Passenger Agent. . . 609 Knickerbocker Bldg. 
 
 W. C. Huston Division Passenger Agent 
 
 S. H. Burke. District Passenger Agent San Carlos Hotel Bldg. 
 
 James M. Wickstead. City Ticket Agent San Carlos Hotel Bldg. 
 
 (". M. Kelly, Ticket Agent L. & N. Station 
 
 J. R. Almand, Traveling Passenger Agent . . . 402 No. 230 Fifth Avenue 
 
 Wm. Bryan Traveling Pa.sscngcr Agent 
 
 Geo. E. Herring, Division Pass'r Agent. . 1206 Boatnicn'.s Bank Bldg 
 Cj. U. Yager. City Passenger Agent 1206 Boatinon'.s Bank Bldg 
 
 F. W. Schwaneck, City Ticket Agent 318 North Broadway 
 
 A. C. Barnett. Ticket Agent Union station 
 
 J. S. Stallings Passenger .Agent 
 
 Geo. C:. Miller Pas.senger and Ticket Agent 
 
 W. A. RUSSELL, R, D. PUSEY, 
 
 Passenger Traffic Manager General Passenger Agent 
 
 LOUISVILLE, KY. 
 
 63 
 
Map Showing the Lines of the Louisville & Nashville Railroad, the Logical Route to Mobile 
 
 POOLE BROS. CHICAGO. 
 
LIBRftRY OF CONGRESS 
 
 I 
 
 014 540 364 9