The two Vidals--the father Captain and second in command at Fort Rosalie,[B] and the son Jean, who wore the stripes of a sub-lieutenant, though his face had scarcely a sign of beard on it yet--paced the parapet of the fort in absorbed talk. Below them rolled the brown flood of the Mississippi, gilded into tawny gold by the setting sun. In the splendor of that glow stood out in bold relief the galley which had arrived from New Orleans that day. Young Jean, who had been absent in the little Louisiana capital for two months, and had received during the visit his commission from Governor Perier, had been a passenger, and was now eagerly listening to the news of the fort. [B] Fort Rosalie, during the early years of the eighteenth century one of the advance-posts of the Louisiana colony, was built on the bluff where now stands the beautiful city of Natchez. This whole region for many miles up and down the river and inland was the seat of the Natchez nation, originally a Toltec race which had emigrated from Mexico shortly after the Spanish conquest. “It is almost word for word as I tell thee,” said the senior. “’Twas a month since that Monsieur le Commandant sent for Big Serpent to tell him the Governor’s wish, but not, as Monsieur Perier would have chosen to make it, the beginning of negotiation. For all feel that it is not well the Natchez should remain in power so near the fort. But Chopart’s words were like the lash of the slave-whip. “‘Does not my white brother know,’ answered the Great Sun of the Natchez, ‘that my people have lived in the village of White Apple for more years than there are hairs in the plaited scalp-lock which hangs from the top of my head to my waist?’ “‘Foolish savage!’ said Chopart. ‘What ties of friendship can there be between our races? Enough for you to know that you must obey your master’s orders, as I obey mine.’ “‘We have other lands; take them, but leave the village of White Apple to the Natchez. There is our temple, there the bones of our forefathers have slept since we came to the banks of the Father of Waters,’ pleaded Big Serpent. “‘Within the next moon comes the galley from the big village of the French. If White Apple is not then delivered to my soldiers, and your people gone, the great chief of the Natchez will be sent down the river, bound hand and foot, to rot in prison. Go. I have spoken,’ and Monsieur le Commandant waved Big Serpent out of his presence.” “And do the Natchez submit? Will Big Serpent give up their beautiful village? Mon Dieu! It’s a shame! It might have been managed differently hadst thou been made commandant instead of Chopart, _mon père_.”