WILKINSON'S BLUFFS.

A STORY OF THE RED RIVER, LOUISIANA.

THE facts I am about to relate, are not the less true because they wear the air of romance, and resemble many of the groundworks of the fictions which fanciful writers weave from their imagination. Not only the incidents of my story are familiar to the people of this venerable town, but there are now living here descendants of those who played prominent parts in the events which I shall relate.

At the period of my story, which was shortly before Burr's attempt to raise an expedition against the Spanish possessions in Mexico, this country presented some of the most sublime and romantic scenery in the world. The valley of the Red River rivalled in richness and variety of views the famous vale of Avoca, and far exceeded it in grandeur and sublimity. The dark waters of the Red River meandered without a murmur, through a country beautifully diversified in hill and dale, now gently stretching through broad prairies and spreading out into wide lakes, then gathering its waters within narrow banks, and rushing like a torrent down a precipice, madly foaming along some high bluff, and then boldly pushing its onward course through a dark primeval forest, where the sound of civilization had not aroused the slumber

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ing echoes, or disturbed the wild beasts in their lairs. Amid all this rich and beautiful scenery, there is not a more attractive and romantic spot on Red River than Wilkinson's Bluffs, near the town of Natchitoches. These bluffs ascend to an immense height from the river, and are perfectly perpendicular. The river moves in a quiet and steady current at the foot of the heights, and the scenery around is full of sombre sublimity and impressive grandeur.

On the top of the bluffs, and not far from their edge, there stood, at the time of my story, a plain and rough, but strongly built house, the domicile of a Frenchman of the name of Jean B. Villemont. This Villemont was about forty-six years of age, and was a man of strong passions and terrible wrath. He had emigrated from France a few years before, bringing with him his wife and lovely daughter, just fifteen, and fresh and blooming as a May flower. Shortly after his arrival at Natchitoches, his wife died, and thus was the principal restraint removed from his passions. At this remote period of the settlement of Louisiana, there existed all through the frontier portion of the State, organized bands of robbers, who kept the settlements in continual terror by their violence and depredations. The individuals constituting these bands were well known to the colonists, few of whom had the boldness to incur the awful revenge which usually awaited those who informed upon these malefactors. No settlement suffered more from these depredators than Natchitoches, which at this time was the principal trading point of the north-west portion of Louisiana.

A man of the evil passions and restless character of Villemont could not long resist the inducements which were offered to join the robbers of Red River (who were then commanded by a celebrated Spaniard). He applied for admission into their society, but found much opposition from the fraternity. The ground of this opposition was the fear that the secrets of the band might leak out through the beautiful daughter of Villemont, at whose shrine all the young colonists were accustomed to worship. This opposition was, however, so far satisfied, that it was agreed to admit Villemont on condition of his giving earnest of his valour and determination by disposing of some of the numerous enemies of the hand. He willingly accepted the condition, and took a most horrid oath to destroy whomsoever the chief might designate.

"Name him!" exclaimed Villemont, grasping his knife and grinning with ferocious desire to prove a valour which had been called in question-and if he were my own father, brother, or son, this knife shall find his heart!"

"The man you are to kill, is Auguste Prudhomme!" slowly and oracularly pronounced the grim captain of the robbers.

At the mention of the name of Prudhomme, the face of Villemont grew deadly pale-his eyes began to wander, and his lips to quiver. "What! do you tremble? do you hesitate ?" exclaimed the Spaniard, with fury flashing in his eye.

But the struggle was over, the lingering humanity, the hesitation,

the doubt, had passed away from Villemont's face, and an expression of savage ferocity and determination darkened his countenance.

And who was Auguste Prudhomme, and how had he rendered himself the object of the hate and revenge of the robbers of the Red River? Auguste Prudhomme was one of the bravest and most gallant of the young Frenchmen who had remained in Natchitoches after the cession of Louisiana to the United States. His courage, skill in arms, coolness and sagacity, had given him a leading position among the colonists, and thus had he been compelled to take a decided part in exposing and punishing the perpetrators of the numerous murders and robberies which occurred so frequently in that neighbourhood. The robbers, however, feared as well as hated Prudhomme. His undaunted bravery and great strength kept them in continual awe, and eluded many attempts which had been made to waylay and assassinate him. But it was not fear that caused Villemont's face to grow pale at the idea of destroying young Prudhomme. Amid the desolation which evil passion had left in the moral sentiments of Villemont, there grew a single flower of humanity, a single virtue linked to a thousand vices. It was love of his daughter-his gentle, beautiful Eugenie-the only memento of affection of her whose virtues, whilst she lived, held in restraint the savage inclinations of the passionate husband. Eugenie had long been the belle, the adored of the young men of Natchitoches. Among others who had yielded to her charms was the gallant and handsome Prudhomme. A warm and mutual affection soon grew up between them, and they became affianced lovers.

Rarely did a day pass over that the lovers did not meet in Villemont's little but, near the bluffs, and spend the swift flying hours in delightful interchanges of vows and pleasant dalliance. The absence of the father, who was seldom at home, afforded the lovers frequent opportunities for these delicious interviews. Villemont, however, was not ignorant of the attachment of Prudhomme to his daughter, nor could he be considered as entirely insensible to her happiness. But his passions, his misanthropic hate of the world, and brutal selfishness, prevailed over all the natural feelings of the father, and he cheerfully prepared to execute the command of his chief. Two of the boldest of the robbers volunteered to accompany him.

It was twelve o'clock at night. The two lovers were sitting together in the little parlour of Villemont. The night was cold, and the windows were up. Presently, Auguste arose, and was preparing to take leave of Eugenie, when, looking out of the window, he perceived three persons creeping stealthily along the edge of the woods, in the direction of Villemont's hut. Accustomed to danger, to constant exposures, and ambuscades, Prudhomme's suspicions were aroused, and shading himself with a slight curtain, which hung by the window, he watched the movements of the suspicious individuals. He observed that they came to a stand, and seemed to be holding a consultation. By their gestures, they plainly indicated that their purposes had reference to some individual in the hut.

"We are in danger, my beloved," remarked Prudhomme, turning to his beautiful betrothed," we must prepare for it."

Eugenie, as heroic as she was lovely, rushed towards the mantelpiece, and took from it a rifle-Prudhomme drew his sword, and thus the lovers prepared to make a gallant defence. They had scarcely prepared for the encounter, when there was a knock at the door. No answer was given. Another, and another knock, and still there was no response. Then there was a pause of nearly a minute, which was followed by violent blows, as of a battering ram, against the door. This force prevailed, and soon the door was broken through, and three savage men came rushing into the room. Awed by the heroic attitude of Prudhomme and Eugenie, the ruffians stopped, and seemed to hesitate for a moment. Soon however, one of them sprang forward, nearly on the point of Prudhomme's sword and in a voice of passion, exclaimed:

"How came you here-how dare you violate the sanctity of my house?"

It was Villemont. Though disguised in robbers' garb, Eugenie did not fail to recognise her only parent-her father. Her heart sunk, her lovely frame trembled, and but for the left arm of her lover, which encircled her waist, she would have fallen to the floor. Quickly, however, was she aroused, when, perceiving one of the robbers aiming a pistol at Prudhomme, she raised the rifle and shot him dead. Almost at the same moment she was struck down by her father. Prudhomme stooped to raise her prostrate form, when both Villemont and the other robber rushed upon him and levelled him to the floor, by blows of their guns.

Seizing the insensible form of his daughter, Villemont directed the other robber to take that of Prudhomme, and thus they dragged the lovers to the edge of the bluff, a few yards from the house. Casting a glance down the fearful descent, Villemont threw his eyes towards the sky with a hellish laugh, as if defying the vengeance of Heaven, and gave the body of his daughter a push down the awful abyss. Quickly the robber followed the example; and threw the body of Prudhomme over the bluff. The father cast a look down the fearful precipice. The white figure of his daughter was discernible in the waters below, and her arm appeared to wave him towards her. It was the pang of remorse, the gleam of conscience, flitted across the dark soul of the murderer-the weakness of humanity came over him, darkness seemed to close around him. Casting an imploring look to Heaven, with a terrific scream he rushed to the edge and leaped down the precipice.

Several days afterwards, three bodies were taken out of the river at Clouterville, thirty miles below. They proved to be those of the murderer and suicide and his innocent victims. They were buried in the same grave, in the cemetery of this little valley.

As for the robber companion of Villemont, he led a life of bloodshed, violence, and drunkenness for a few years, until one day he was