Lippincott's Magazine of Popular Literature and Science, Vol. 22, November, 1878Various
History
Lippincott's Magazine of Popular Literature and Science, Vol. 22, November, 1878
Various
Literature, Modern -- 19th century -- Periodicals; Science -- Periodicals
Three days later a long funeral cortége passed from the gates of the
Levassour plantation and took its way along the dusty road toward the
Catholic church of the settlement, some three miles off. In and out
between the massive green walls of shining Cherokee rose-vines, which
formed impenetrable barriers on either side of the way, wound the long
line of old-fashioned chariots with black coachmen in queer, antiquated
liveries, preceded by the tawdry French hearse with its numerous gilt
devices and huge nodding plumes. The pitiless sun beat down upon them,
and the blinding clouds of dust rose and choked them, but the mourners,
both black and white, who formed the procession--and it was closed by a
throng of weeping negroes on foot--were too much interested and absorbed
in their melancholy task to feel either the one or the other, for such
an occasion as this had never taken place in all that quiet country-side
before. Inside of that hearse, in a snow-white coffin covered with
flowers and gayly decorated with cut paper, silver crosses and waxen
saints, reposed the mortal remains of Madame Hypolite Levassour, who had
died at midnight thirty-six hours previously; and by her side in another
coffin, more hastily contrived, lay the body of her well-beloved
son-in-law and physician, Docteur Alphège Cherbuliez, who within six
hours after her death had been killed by a shot-gun in the hands of an
unknown assassin. Two negro men, Gérard Grôl and Pierre Lambas, had been
arrested on strong suspicion, and were now in close confinement awaiting
the trial which both knew would be short, sharp and swift, and
administered by a judge who would not wait for legal proceedings to
assist or confirm his decisions. Circumstantial evidence was strong
against them, and the two unfortunate wretches were not more conscious
that the sun was shining in heaven, making the narrow caboose in which
they had been confined an unendurable, suffocating den of heat, than
they were that when the dead were buried and grief was satisfied
vengeance would make sudden and terrible work with them.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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