It was on Sunday,
and there were a number of decently dressed people, young and old,
upon the gallery or piazza, and there were great numbers of cattle
grazing out on the prairie. Here, I thought, I may find some cool
water, and perhaps something to mix with it. I landed, and went to the
front gate, and called. This was quite near the house, and I thought
some one said, 'Come in.' I opened the gate, and started for the
house. At this juncture, a tall, dark man, wearing a very angry look,
came from the interior of the house, and stopping at the gallery door,
looked scowlingly down upon me as I approached the steps. '_Arretez!_'
he said, waving his hand. This wave I understood, but not the word,
and stopped. He spoke to me in French: I did not understand. I asked
for water: this he did not understand, as it was pronounced with
considerable of the brogue. Turning abruptly round, he called aloud,
'_Pierre!_' and a negro man came out, who was directed to ask me what
I wanted. I told him, water: this he translated for his master. He
spoke again angrily to the negro, who told me there was water in the
bayou.
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