Shocked and unmanned as I was at this discovery, to pause there staring at those gruesome figures would have only brought fresh alarm to the two watching my every movement from the edge of the clearing. Gripping my nerves I advanced over the first body, watchful for any sign of the presence of life within the cabin. There was none—the work of the murder had been completed, and the perpetrators had fled. I saw the entire interior at a glance, the few articles of rude, hand-made furniture, several overturned, the fire yet smouldering on the hearth, some broken crockery, and pewter dishes on the floor, and on every side the evidences of a fierce, brutal struggle. The dead man, with ghastly countenance upturned to the roof rafters, and the snowy beard, was undoubtedly the negro helper, Amos Shrunk. Pete's description of the appearance of the man left this identification beyond all dispute. He had been stricken down by a savage blow, which had literally crushed in one side of his head, but his dead hands yet gripped a rifle, as though he had fallen fighting to the last.
The other man, the one lying across the threshold, had been shot, although I did not ascertain this fact until after I turned the body over sufficiently to reveal the face. This was disfigured by the wound and covered with blood, so that the features could scarcely be seen, yet I instantly recognized the fellow—Carver. Surprised out of all control by this unexpected discovery, I steadied myself against the log wall, fully aroused to the sinister meaning of his presence. To a degree the complete significance of this tragedy instantly gripped my mind. It this fellow Carver had been one of the assailants, then it was absolutely certain that Kirby must have also been present—the leader of the attack. This inevitably meant that both men had been aboard the steamer, and later were put ashore at the mouth of the Illinois. And now that I thought about it, why not? It was no accident, and I wondered that the possibility had never occurred to me before. The gambler naturally knew all the gossip of the river, and, beyond question, he would be aware of the reported existence of this underground station for runaway slaves. It was common talk as far down as St. Louis, and his mind would instantly revert to the possibility that the fleeing Rene might seek escape through the assistance of Shrunk. The mysterious vanishing of the boat would serve to increase that suspicion. Even if this had not occurred to him at first, the steamer would have brought news that no keel-boat had been seen on the lower river, while the captain of theJohn B. Glover, or someone else on board, would have been sure to have mentioned the negro-helper and suggest that he might have had a hand in the affair. To follow that trail was, indeed, the most natural thing for Kirby to do.
And he had promptly accepted the chance; blindly, no doubt, and yet guided by good fortune. He had not overtaken Rene, because she was not yet there, but he had unexpectedly come upon the other fugitives, and, even though the encounter had cost the life of his henchman, Carver, it also resulted in the death of two men who had come between him and his prey—the negro, and the abolitionist. The scene cleared in my brain and became vivid and real. I could almost picture in detail each act of the grim tragedy. The two revengeful trackers—if there were only two engaged, for others might have been recruited on the steamer—must have crept up to the hut in the night, or early morning. Possibly Kirby had learned of some other means of approach from the direction of the big river. Anyway, the fact that Shrunk had been trapped within the cabin would indicate the final attack was a surprise. The negro might have been asleep outside, and met his death in an attempt at escape, but the old white man, finding flight impossible, had fought desperately to the last and had killed one antagonist before receiving his death blow. This was all plain enough, but what had become of Kirby, of the two women—Eloise, and the quadroon mother?
I searched the cabin without uncovering the slightest trace of their presence, or finding a single article which could be associated with them. Kirby himself must have fled the scene of the tragedy immediately—without even pausing long enough to turn his companion over to ascertain the nature of his wound. Had something occurred to frighten him? Had the fellow fled alone back to a waiting boat at the shore, perchance seriously injured himself in the melee, or had he secured the two women, and, reckless as to all else, driven them along with him to some place of concealment until they could be transported down the river? Nothing could answer these questions; no discovery enabled me to lift the veil. Uncertain what to do, or how to act, I could only return to the waiting girl and the negro to tell them what I had found.
They listened as though scarcely comprehending, Sam uttering little moans of horror, and appearing helpless from fright, but Rene quiet, merely exhibiting her emotion in the whiteness of her face and quickened breathing. Her eyes, wide-open, questioning, seemed to sense my uncertainty. As I ended the tale and concluded with my theory as to what had occurred following the deed of blood, her quick mind asserted itself.
"But this must have happened very lately; the men were not long dead?"
"I cannot judge how long; their bodies were cold."
"Yet the fire still smouldered, you said. When do you think that steamer could have landed here?"
"Why, perhaps early last evening."
"And it has not occurred to you that the boat might have waited here while the man Kirby went ashore?"
"No; that could scarcely be true, if the steamer was transporting troops; what was it you were thinking about?"
She buried her face in her hands; then lifted it once more to mine, with a new conviction in her eyes.
"It is all dark, of course," she said slowly, "we can only guess at what happened. But to me it seems impossible that the man Kirby could have accomplished all this alone—without assistance. The boat we saw at the landing was not his; it must have been Pete's, and there is no evidence of any other trail leading here from the river. If, as you imagine, he knew the captain of that steamer, and some of the other men aboard were Missourians and defenders of slavery, he would have no trouble in enlisting their help to recover his runaway slaves. They would be only too glad to break up an abolitionist's nest. That is what I believe has happened; they came ashore in a party, and the steamer waited for them. Even if it was a troop boat, the captain could easily make excuses for an hour's delay."
"And you think the prisoners were taken along? Yet Kirby would not want to transport them up the river."
"As to that," she insisted, "he could not help himself. He needed to get away quickly, and there were no other means available. He could only hope to connect later with some craft south-bound on which to return. There are keel-boats and barges always floating down stream from the mines. He dare not remain here; that was why they were in such haste; why, they did not even wait to bury the bodies."
"You may be right," I admitted, impressed, yet not wholly convinced. "But what can we do?"
She looked at me reproachfully.
"You should not ask that of a girl."
The words stung me.
"No; this is my task. I was thoughtlessly cruel. Neither can we remain here, only long enough to bury those bodies. It would be inhuman not to do that. Sam, there is an old spade leaning against the cabin wall—go over and get it."
"Ah ain't goin' fer ter tetch no daid man, sah."
"I'll attend to that; all you need do is dig. Over there at the edge of the wood will answer, and we shall have to place all three in one grave—we can do no more."
He started on his mission reluctantly enough, glancing constantly backward over his shoulder to insure himself of our presence, and carefully avoiding any approach to the open door.
"Am I to simply remain here?" the girl asked, as I took the first step to follow him. "Can I not be of some help?"
"I think not; I can get along very nicely. It is not a pleasant sight inside. Here is the best place for you, as it might not be safe for you to go any further away. We do not know positively where those men have gone. They might be hiding somewhere in the woods. You can turn away and face the forest, so as to see nothing. We shall not be long."
"And—and," she faltered, "what will be done after that?"
"I will endeavor to think out some plan. I confess I do not yet know what will be best. To remain here is, of course, impossible, while to return down the river means certain capture. Perhaps you may be able to suggest something."
Unpleasant as our task was, it proved to be less difficult of accomplishment than I had anticipated. There were blankets in the cabin bunks, and in these I wrapped the bodies. They were too heavy, however, for me to transport alone, and it required some threatening to induce Sam to give me the assistance necessary to deposit them in the shallow grave. Only the fear that I would not have him with us longer compelled his joining me. He was more frightened at the thought of being left alone than of contact with the dead. In bearing Pete's body from where it lay in the woods, we were compelled to pass by near where Rene sat, but she kept her eyes averted, and I experienced no desire to address her with empty words. Sam filled in the loose earth, rounding it into form, and the two of us stood above the fresh mound, our bent heads bared to the sunlight, while I endeavored to repeat brokenly a few words of prayer. As I finally turned gladly away, it was to note that the girl had risen to her feet and stood motionless, with face toward us. Her attitude and expression is still in memory the one dear remembrance of the scene. My inclination was to join her at once, but I knew that the negro would never enter the cabin alone, and now our first necessity was food. Of this I found a fair supply, and, compelling him to assist me, we hastily prepared a warm meal over the open fire. It was eaten without, no one of us desiring to remain in the midst of that scene of death; and the very knowledge that the dreaded burial was completed and that we were now free to depart, brought to all of us a renewed courage.
The sun was high in the heavens by this time, the golden light brightening the little clearing and dissipating the gloom of the surrounding forest. All suspicion that the murderer, or murderers, might still remain in the immediate neighborhood of their crime had entirely deserted my mind. Where, and by what means, they had fled could not be determined, but I felt assured they were no longer near by, I had sought in vain for any other path than the one we had followed from the mouth of the creek, while the suggestion which Rene had advanced, that the steamer had tied up to the shore, permitting the raiding party to land, grew more and more plausible to my mind. It scarcely seemed probable that one man alone, or even two men, had committed this crime, and the sole survivor disappear so completely with the prisoners. I had turned each detail over and over in my thought, while I worked, yet to but little purpose. The only present solution of the problem seemed to be our return to that hidden basin where our boat lay, and the remaining there in concealment until the darkness of another night rendered it safe to once more venture upon. the river. Perhaps during those intervening hours, we might, by conferring together, decide our future course; some new thought might guide us in the right direction, or some occurrence drive us into definite action.
I spoke of this to her, as I finally approached where she rested on the stump, eager and glad to escape from all memories of that somber cabin I had just left. She stood before me, listening quietly, her eyes lifting to my face, as though she sought to read there the exact meaning of my words.
"You—you are no longer so confident," she said, "your plan has failed?"
"I am afraid it has," I admitted, "for it was based altogether on the assistance of Amos Shrunk. He is no longer alive, and I do not know where to turn for guidance. There would seem to be danger in every direction; the only question is—in which way lies the least?"
"You begin to regret your attempt to aid me?"
"No," impulsively. "So far as that goes, I would do it all over again. Your safety means more to me now than ever before—you must believe that."
"Why should I? All I have brought you is trouble. I can read in your face how discouraged you are. You must not think I do not understand. I do understand—perfectly. I can see how all this has happened. You cannot really care. What you have done has been only a response to impulse; merely undertaken through a spirit of adventure. Then—then why not let it end here, and—Sam and I can go on to—to whatever is before us? It is nothing to you."
"You actually believe I would consent to that?" I asked, in startled surprise at the vehemence of her words. "That I could prove such a cur?"
"But why not? It would not be a cowardly act at all. I could not blame you, for I have no claim on your service—never have had. You have done a thousand times too much already; you have risked honor, reputation, and neglected duty to aid my escape; and—and I am nothing to you—can be nothing."
"Nothing to me!"
"Certainly not. Why speak like that? Have you forgotten again that I am a slave—a negress? Think, Lieutenant Knox, what it would mean to you to be caught in my company; to be overtaken while attempting to assist me in escaping from my master. Now no one dreams of such a thing, and no one ever need dream. You have had your adventure; let it end here. I shall be grateful to you always, but—but I cannot bear to drag you deeper into this mire."
"You order me to leave you?"
"I cannot order; I am a slave. My only privilege is to request, urge, implore. I can merely insist that it will be best—best for us both—for you to go. Surely you also must realize that this is true?"
"I do not know exactly what I realize," I said doubtfully. "Nothing seems altogether clear in my mind. If I could leave you in safety, in the care of friends, perhaps I should not hesitate—but now—"
"Am I any worse off than the others?" she interrupted. "I, at least, have yet the chance of escape, while they remain helplessly in Kirby's clutches. When—when I think of them, I no longer care about myself; I—I feel almost responsible for their fate, and—and it would kill me to know that I had dragged you down also. You have no right to sacrifice yourself for such as I."
"You have been brooding over all this," I said gently, "sitting here alone, and thinking while we worked. I am not going to answer you now. There is no need. Nothing can be done until night, whatever we decide upon. You will go back with us to the boat?"
"Yes; I simply cannot stay here," her eyes wandering toward the cabin.
I took the lead on the return, finding the path easy enough to follow in the full light of day. The sincere honesty of her plea—the knowledge that she actually meant it—only served to draw me closer, to strengthen my determination not to desert. Her face was ever before me as I advanced—a bravely pathetic face, wonderfully womanly in its girlish contour—appealing to every impulse of my manhood. I admitted the truth of what she said—it had been largely love of adventure, the rash recklessness of youth, which had brought me here. But this was my inspiration no longer. I had begun to realize that something deeper, more worthy, now held me to the task. What this was I made no attempt to analyze—possibly I did not dare—but, nevertheless, the mere conception of deserting her in the midst of this wilderness was too utterly repugnant for expression. No, not that; whatever happened, it would never be that.
The last few rods of our journey lay through thick underbrush, and beneath the spreading branches of interlacing trees. It was a gloomy, primitive spot, where no evidence of man was apparent. Suddenly I emerged upon the bank of the creek, with the rude log wharf directly before me. I could hear in that silence the sound of those following, as they continued to crunch a passage through the thicket, but I stopped transfixed, staring at the water—nothing else greeted my eyes; both the boats were gone.
This unexpected discovery came to me like a blow; the very breath seemed to desert my lungs, as I stared down at the vacant stream. We had been out-generaled, tricked, and all our theories as to what had occurred were wrong. The duty we had performed to the dead had cost us our own chance to escape. Instead of being alone, as we had supposed, we were in the midst of enemies; we had been seen, watched, and while we loitered ashore, the murderers had stolen our boat and vanished, leaving us there helplessly marooned. All this was plain enough now, when it was already too late to remedy the evil. The struggling girl emerged through the tangle of shrubs, and paused suddenly at my side, her lips giving utterance to a cry of surprise.
"The—the boat! It is not here?"
"No; there is not a sign of it. Those fellows must be still in the neighborhood; must have seen us when we first came."
"But, what are we to do?"
I had no ready answer, yet the echo of utter despair in her voice stirred me to my own duty as swiftly as though she had thrust a knife into my side. Do? We must do something! We could not sit down idly there in the swamp. And to decide what was to be attempted was my part. If Kirby, and whoever was with him, had stolen the missing boat, as undoubtedly they had, they could have possessed but one purpose—escape. They were inspired to the act by a desire to get away, to flee from the scene of their crime. They must believe that we were left helpless, unable to pursue them, or create alarm. Yet if it was Kirby, why had he fled so swiftly, making no effort to take Rene captive also? It was she he was seeking; for the purpose of gaining possession of her these murders had been committed. Why, then, should he run away when he must have known the girl was already in his grasp? The same thought apparently occurred to her.
"You—you believe that Kirby did this?"
"What other conclusion is possible? We know that he passed us on the steamer—Sam saw him plainly. It was his man, Carver, whom we found dead in the hut. It could have been no one else."
"But," she questioned, unsatisfied, "he would have only one reason for being here—hunting me, his slave. That was his one purpose, was it not? If he saw us, then he must have known of my presence, that I was here with you. Why should he make no attempt to take me with him? Why should he steal our boat and run away?"
I shook my head, my glance shifting toward the negro, who stood just behind us, his mouth wide open, evidently smitten speechless.
"One theory is as good as another," I said, "and mine so far have all been wrong. What do you make of it, Sam?"
"Who, sah? Me, sah?"
"Yes, take a guess at this."
"'Pears like," he said, deliberately, rubbing his ear with one hand, "as how it mought hav' happen'd dis yere way, sah. Ah ain't a' sayin' it wus, it mought be. Maybe Massa Kirby nebber got no sight ob us 'tall, an' wus afeerd fer ter stay. He just know'd a party wus yere—likely 'nough sum Black Abolitionists, who'd be huntin' him if he didn't cl'ar out, just so soon as dey foun' dat Amos Shrunk wus ded. Her' wus his chance, an' he done took it."
"Yet he would surely recognize the boat?"
"Yas, sah; Ah reckon he wud, sah. Dat's de truth, whut stumps me. Dat white man am certenly full o' tricks. Ah sure wish Ah know'd just whar he wus now. Ah'd certenly feel a heap easier if Ah did." He bent suddenly forward, his glance at the edge of the log. "Dey ain't took but just de one boat, sah, fer de odder am shoved under dar out'r sight."
As I stooped further over I saw that this was true, the small rowboat, with the oars undisturbed in its bottom, had been pressed in beneath the concealment of the log wharf, almost completely hidden from above, yet to all appearances uninjured. The very fact that it should have been thus left only added to the mystery of the affair. If it had been Kirby's deliberate purpose to leave us there stranded ashore, why had he failed to crush in the boat's planking with a rock? Could the leaving of the craft in fit condition for our use be part of some carefully conceived plan; a bait to draw us into some set trap? Or did it occur merely as an incident of their hurried night? These were unanswerable questions, yet the mere knowledge that the boat was actually there and in navigable condition, promised us an opportunity to escape. While hope remained, however vague, it was not my nature to despair. Whether accident or design had been the cause, made no odds—I was willing to match my wits against Kirby and endeavor to win. And I must deal with facts, just as they were.
"It is my guess," I said, "that their only thought was to get away before the crime was discovered. The leaving of this boat means nothing, because the steam-operated keel-boat they escaped in, could never be overtaken, once they had a fair start. If Kirby was alone in this affair, and had those two women in his charge, getting away would be about all he could attend to. He'd hardly dare leave them long enough to sink this craft. But what does he know about running an engine?"
"Ah reckon as how he cud, sah, if he just had to," interposed the negro. "He wus a' foolin' mor' or les' wid dat one a' comin' up frum Saint Louee; an' he sure ask'd me a big lot o' questions. He done seemed right handy; he sure did."
"Then that probably is the explanation. Rene, would you be afraid to remain here alone for a little while?"
She glanced about into the gloom of the surrounding woods, her hesitancy answering me.
"It is not a pleasant prospect I admit, but there is no possible danger. Kirby has gone, beyond all question, but I wish to learn, if I can, the direction he has taken. All this must have happened only a short time ago—while we were at the cabin. The keel-boat can scarcely be entirely out of sight yet on either river, if we could only find a place to offer us a wide view."
"But could I not go with you?"
"Hardly with me, for I intend to swim the creek and try to reach the point at the mouth of the Illinois, from where I can see up and down the Mississippi. I am going to send Sam back through the woods there and have him climb that ridge. From the top he ought to have a good view up the valley of the Illinois. I suppose you might go with him."
"Ah sure wish yer wud, Missus," broke in the negro pleadingly. "Ah ain't perzackly feered fer ter go 'lone, but Ah's an' ol' man, an' Ah reckon as how a y'ung gal wus likely fer ter see mor'n Ah wud. 'Pears like Ah's done los' my glasses."
A faint smile lighted up her face—a mere glimmer of a smile.
"Yes, Sam, I'll go," she said, glancing up into my eyes and holding out her hand. "You wish me to, do you not?"
"I think it will be fully as well. I have some doubts as to Sam, but can absolutely trust you. Besides there is nothing to be done here. I shall not use the boat, then if anyone does chance this way, they will find nothing disturbed. You still retain the pistol?"
She nodded her response and without delaying my departure longer, I lowered myself into the water and swam toward the opposite shore, creeping forth amid a tangle of roots, and immediately disappearing in the underbrush. Sam had already vanished, as I paused an instant to glance back, but she lingered at the edge of the wood to wave her hand. I found a rough passage for the first few rods, being obliged to almost tear a way through the close growth and unable to see a yard in advance. But this ended suddenly at the edge of the sand flat, with the converging waters of the two rivers visible just beyond. My view from here was narrowed, however, by high ridges on both sides, and, with a desire not to expose myself to any chance eye, I followed the line of forest until able to climb the slope, and thus attain the crest of the bluff.
From this vantage point the view was extensive, both up and down the big river, as well as across to the opposite bank. For miles nothing could escape my eyes, the mighty stream sweeping majestically past where I lay, liquid silver in the sunshine. Its tremendous volume had never so impressed me as in that moment of silent observation, nor had I ever realized before its sublime desolation. Along that entire surface but three objects met my gaze—a small island, green with trees, seemingly anchored just beyond the mouth of the Illinois; a lumbering barge almost opposite me, clearly outlined against the distant shore, and barely moving with the current; and far away below a thin smudge of smoke, arising from behind a headland, as though curling upward from the stack of some steamer. I watched this closely, until convinced the craft was bound down stream and moving swiftly. The smudge became a mere whisp and finally vanished entirely. I waited some time for the vessel to appear at the lower end of the bend, but it was then only a speck, scarcely distinguishable. I felt no doubt but what this was the stolen keel-boat, speeding toward St. Louis.
Armed, as I believed, with this knowledge that Kirby had actually fled, beyond any possibility of doing us any further injury, I did not hurry my return, but remained for some time on the bluff, watching those rushing waters, and endeavoring to outline some feasible plan for the coming night. With this final disappearance of the gambler we were left free to proceed, and it seemed to me with no great danger of arousing suspicion, so long as we exercised reasonable precautions. The girl to all appearances was white; no one would ever question that, particularly as she possessed sufficient intelligence and refinement to thus impress anyone she might meet, If necessary we might travel as man and wife, with Sam as our servant. Our means of travel would attract no particular attention in that country—the edge of the wilderness; it was common enough. This struck me as the most reasonable course to pursue—to work our way quietly up the Illinois by night, keeping close in shore to avoid any passing steamer, until we arrived close to Beardstown. There, if necessary, we might begin our masquerade, but it need not be a long one. Undoubtedly there were blacks in the town, both slaves and free negroes, with whom Sam could easily establish an acquaintance. By this means we would soon be able to identify that particular preacher into whose care I hoped to confide Rene. Of course, the girl might refuse to enter into the game, might decline to assume the role assigned her, however innocent I intended it to be—indeed, I felt convinced she would meet the suggestion with indignation. But why worry about that now? Let this be kept as a last resort. There was no necessity for me to even mention this part of my plan until after our approach to Beardstown; then the necessity of our going forward with it might be so apparent, she could not refuse to carry out her part. With this point thus settled in my own mind I felt ready to rejoin the others.
I must have been absent in the neighborhood of two hours, and they had returned to the bank of the creek some time in advance of me. As I appeared at the edge of the wood, Sam hailed, offering to row the boat across.
"All right," I replied, confident we were alone. "It will save me another wetting. You saw nothing?"
"No, sah; leastways, not much," busily fitting the oars into the row-locks. "We cud see up de Illinois mor'n ten mile. Ah reckon, but dar wan't no boat nowhar, 'cepting an o' scow tied up ter de bank."
"I thought so. The keel-boat has gone down the Mississippi."
"Yer done saw her, sah?"
"I saw her smoke; she was hidden by a big bend just below. Don't sit there staring at me—come across."
Rene greeted me with a smile, as I scrambled up on the slippery log, and asked a number of questions. I answered these as best I could and then explained, so far as I deemed it desirable, the general nature of the plans I had made. Both she and the listening negro in the boat below agreed that the safer course for us to choose led up the Illinois, because every mile traversed in that direction brought us nearer the goal sought, and among those who were the enemies of slavery. To proceed northward along the Mississippi would only serve to plunge us into an unbroken wilderness, already threatened by Indian war, while to venture down that stream meant almost certain capture. The Illinois route offered the only hope, and we decided to venture it, although Rene pleaded earnestly that she and the negro be permitted to go on alone. To this suggestion, however, I would not consent, and the girl finally yielded her reluctant permission for me to accompany them until she could be safely left in the care of white friends.
She took anxious part in our discussion, bravely endeavoring to hide the anguish she felt, yet I knew her real thought was elsewhere—with those two in Kirby's hands, already well on their way to St. Louis. Try as she would she was unable to banish from her mind the conception that she was largely to blame for their misfortune, or submerge the idea that it was cowardly in her to seek escape, while leaving them in such peril. I lingered, talking with her for some time after Sam had fallen asleep, yet the only result was the bringing of tears to her eyes and a reluctantly given pledge that she would do whatever I believed to be best and right. The girl was not wholly convinced by my argument, but no other course of action seemed open to her. She appeared so tired and worn that I left her at last in the little glade where we had found refuge, hoping she might fall asleep. I doubt if she did, although I dozed irregularly, my back against a tree, and it was already growing dusk when she came forth again from her retreat, and joined us in a hastily prepared meal.
Sam and I stowed away in the boat whatever provender remained, and I assisted her to a seat at the stern, wrapping a blanket carefully about her body, for the night air in those dank shadows already began to chill. I took possession of the oars myself, believing the negro would serve best as a lookout in the bow, and thus settled we headed the boat out through the tangle of trees toward the invisible river. The silent gloom of night shut about us in an impenetrable veil, and we simply had to feel our slow way to the mouth of the creek, Sam calling back directions, and pressing aside the branches that impeded progress. I sat facing the motionless girl, but could barely distinguish her shapeless form, wrapped in the blanket; and not once did her voice break the stillness. The night hung heavy; not even the gentle ripple of water disturbed the solemn silence of our slow progress.
Suddenly we shot out through the screen of concealing boughs into the broader stream beyond, and I struggled hastily to swerve the boat's bow upward against the current. The downward sweep of the water at this point was not particularly strong, the main channel being some distance further out, and we were soon making perceptible progress. The light here in the open was better, although dim enough still, and revealing little of our surroundings. All was wrapped in gloom along shore, and beyond the radius of a few yards no objects could be discerned. The river itself swept past us, a hidden mystery. Sam knelt on his knees, peering eagerly forward into the blackness, an occasional growl of his voice the only evidence of his presence. I doubt if I had taken a dozen strokes, my whole attention centered on my task, when the sudden rocking of the boat told me he had scrambled to his feet. Almost at the same instant my ears distinguished the sharp chugging of an engine straight ahead; then came his shout of alarm, "God, A'mighty! Dar's de keel-boat, sah. Dey's goin' fer ter ram us!"
I twisted about in my seat, caught a vague glimpse of the advancing shadow, and leaped to my feet, an oar gripped in my hands. Scarcely was I poised to strike, when the speeding prow ripped into us, and I was catapulted into the black water.
There was the echo of an oath, a harsh, cruel laugh, the crash of planking, a strange, half-human cry of fright from the negro—that was all. The sudden violence of the blow must have hurled me high into the air, for I struck the water clear of both boats, and so far out in the stream, that when I came again struggling to the surface, I was in the full sweep of the current, against which I had to struggle desperately. In the brief second that intervened between Sam's shout of warning, and the crash of the two boats, I had seen almost nothing—only that black, menacing hulk, looming up between us and the shore, more like a shadow than a reality. Yet now, fighting to keep my head above water, and not to be swept away, I was able to realize instantly what had occurred. I had been mistaken; Kirby had not fled down the river; instead he had craftily waited this chance to attack us at a disadvantage. Convinced that we would decide to make use of the rowboat, which he had left uninjured for that very purpose, and that we would venture forth just so soon as the night became dark enough, he had hidden the stolen craft in some covert along shore, to await our coming. Then he sprang on us, as the tiger leaps on his prey. He had calculated well, for the blunt prow of the speeding keel-boat had struck us squarely, crushing in the sides of our frail craft, and flinging me headlong.
What had become the fate of the others I could not for the moment determine. I could see little, with eyes scarcely above the surface, and struggling hard to breast the sweep of the current. The darkness shadowed everything, the bulk of the keel-boat alone appearing in the distance, and that, shapelessly outlined. The craft bore no light, and had it not been for a voice speaking, I doubt if I could have located even that. The rowboat could not be distinguished—it must have sunken, or else drifted away, a helpless wreck. The first sound my ears caught, echoing across the water, was an oath, and a question, "By God! a good job; do you see that fellow anywhere?"
"Naw," the response a mere growl. "He's a goner, I reckon; never knowed whut hit him, jedgin' frum the way he upended it."
"Well, then he isn't likely to bother us any more. Suppose he was the white man?"
"Sure he wus; it wus the nigger who was up ahead. We hit him, an' he dropped in 'tween ther boats, an' went down like a stone. He never yeeped but just onct, when I furst gripped ther girl. I don't reckon as she wus hurt et all; leastwise I never aimed fer ter hurt her none."
"Has she said anything?"
"Not a damned twitter; maybe she's fainted. I dunno, but that's ther way females do. What shall I do with the bird, Kirby?"
"Oh, hold on to her there awhile, long as she's quiet. I'm going to try the steam again, and get outside into the big river. Hell, man, but this hasn't been such a bad night's work. Now if we only make it to St. Louis, we'll have the laugh on Donaldson."
"I reckon he won't laugh much," with a chuckle. "It's cost him a valuable nigger."
"You mean Sam? Yes, that's so. But I'd like to know who that other fellow was—the white one."
"Him! oh, sum abolitionist likely; maybe one o' ol' Shrunk's gang. It's a damn good thing fer this kintry we got him, an' I ain't worryin' none 'bount any nigger-stealer. The boat must 'er gone down, I reckon; enyhow ther whol' side wus caved in. What's ther matter with yer engine?"
"It's all right now—keep your eyes peeled ahead."
The steam began to sizz, settling swiftly into a rhythmatic chugging, as the revolving wheel began to churn up the water astern. Confident of being safely hidden by the darkness, I permitted the current to bear me downward, my muscles aching painfully from the struggle, and with no other thought in my mind except to keep well out of sight of the occupants of the boat. To be perceived by them, and overtaken in the water, meant certain death, while, if they continued to believe that I had actually sunk beneath the surface, some future carelessness on their part might yield me an unexpected opportunity to serve Rene. The few words overheard had made sufficiently plain the situation. Poor Sam had already found freedom in death, crushed between the two colliding boats, but the girl had been grasped in time, and hauled uninjured aboard the heavier craft. This had been the object of the attack—to gain possession of her. Very evidently I had not been seen, at least not closely enough to be recognized by Kirby. In a measure this afforded me a decided advantage, provided we ever encountered each other again—and I meant that we should. The account between us was not closed by this incident; far from it. There in that black water, struggling to keep afloat, while being swept resistlessly out into the river, with no immediate object before me except to remain concealed by the veil of darkness, I resolved solemnly to myself that this affair should never end, until it was ended right. In that moment of decision I cared not at all for Rene Beaucaire's drop of negro blood, nor for the fact that she was a slave in her master's hands. Her appeal to me ignored all this. To my mind she was but a woman, a sweet, lovable, girlish woman, in the unrestrained power of a brute, and dependent alone on me for rescue. That was enough; I cared for nothing more.
The intense blackness hid me completely, as I held my head barely above the surface, no longer making any effort to stem the downward sweep of the stream. Conscious of being thus borne rapidly to the mouth of the river, my only endeavor was to keep afloat, and conserve my strength. The ceaseless noise of the engine told me accurately the position of the keel-boat, although, by this time, there was a stretch of rushing water between us which prevented me even seeing the hulking shadow of the craft. Judging from the sound, however, it was easy to determine that the heavy boat was traveling much faster than I, and was steadily passing me, close in against the dense shadow of the southern shore. With silent strokes I waited patiently, until the steady chugging of the engine grew faint in the distance, and then finally ceased entirely.
I was alone in the grasp of the waters, wrapped in the night silence, both shores veiled beneath the dense shadows; every dim outline had vanished, and I realized that the swift current had already swept me into the broad Mississippi. Uncertain in that moment which way to turn, and conscious of a strange lassitude, I made no struggle to reach land, but permitted myself to be borne downward in the grip of the water. Suddenly something drifted against my body, a black, ill-defined object, tossing about on the swell of the waves, and instinctively I grasped at it, recognizing instantly the shell of our wrecked boat. It was all awash, a great hole stove in its side well forward, and so filled with water the added weight of my body would have sunk it instantly. Yet the thing remained buoyant enough to float, and I clung to its stern, thankful even for this slight help.
There was no occasion for fear, although I became aware that the sweep of the current was steadily bearing us further out toward the center of the broad stream, and soon felt convinced that escape from my predicament would be impossible until after daylight. I could perceive absolutely nothing by which to shape a course, the sky above, and the water beneath being equally black. Not a star glimmered overhead, and no revealing spark of light appeared along either shore, or sparkled across the river surface. The only sound to reach my ears was the soft lapping of water against the side of the boat to which I clung. The loneliness was complete; the intense blackness strained my eyes, and I constantly felt as though some mysterious weight was dragging me down into the depths. Yet the struggle to keep afloat was no longer necessary, and my head sank in relief on the hands gripping at the boat's stern, while we floated silently on through the black mystery.
I know not how long this lasted—it might have been for hours, as I took no account of time. My mind seemed dazed, incapable of consecutive thought although a thousand illogical conceptions flashed through the brain, each in turn fading away into another, before I was fully aware of its meaning. Occasionally some far-off noise aroused me from lethargy, yet none of these could be identified, except once the mournful cry of a wild animal far away to the right; while twice we were tossed about in whirlpools, my grip nearly dislodged before the mad water swept us again into the sturdy current. I think we must have drifted close in toward the western shore, for once I imagined I could vaguely distinguish the tops of trees outlined against the slightly lighter sky. Yet this vision was so fleeting, I dare not loosen my hold upon the boat to swim in that direction; and, even as I gazed in uncertainty, the dim outline vanished as though it had been a dream, and we were again being forced outward into the swirling waters.
Suddenly the wrecked boat's bow grated against something immovable; then became fixed, the stern swinging slowly about, until it also caught, and I could feel the full volume of down-pouring water pressing against my body. It struck with such force I was barely able to work my way forward along the side of the half-submerged craft in an effort to ascertain what it was blocking our progress. Yet a moment later, even in that darkness, and obliged to rely entirely upon the sense of touch, the truth of my situation became clear. The blindly floating boat had drifted upon a snag, seemingly the major portion of a tree, now held by some spit of sand. I struggled vainly in an attempt to release the grip which, held us, but the force of the current had securely wedged the boat's bow beneath a limb, a bare, leafless tentacle, making all my efforts useless. The ceaseless water rippled about me, the only sound in the silent night, and despairing of any escape, I found a submerged branch on which to stand, gripped the boat desperately to prevent being swept away, and waited for the dawn.
It seemed a long while coming, and never did man gaze on a more dismal, ghastly scene than was revealed to me by those first gray gleams dimly showing in the far east. All about stretched utter desolation; wherever my eyes turned, the vista was the same—a wide stretch of restless, brown water surging and leaping past, bounded by low-lying shores, forlorn and deserted. There was no smoke, no evidence of life anywhere visible, no sign of habitation; all was wilderness. The snag on which I rested was nearly in the center of the great river, an ugly mass of dead wood, sodden with water, forking out of the stream, with grotesque limbs thrust up into the air. The force of the current had driven the nose of the boat so firmly beneath one branch as to sink it below the surface, making it impossible to be freed. In the dull light I struggled hopelessly to extricate the craft, my feet slipping on the water-soaked log. Twice I fell into the stream, barely able to clamber back again, but my best efforts were without results. The increase in light gave me by this time a wider view of my surroundings, but brought with it no increase of hope. I was utterly alone, and only by swimming could I attain either bank.
How far I had aimlessly drifted down stream during the night was a mere matter of conjecture. I possessed no knowledge of where I was. No familiar object along shore afforded any clue as to my position, and I could not even determine which bank offered me the greater chance of assistance. Each appeared about equally bare and desolate, entirely devoid of promise. However, I chose the west shore for my experiment, as the current seemed less strong in that direction, and was about to plunge in, determined to fight a way across, when my eyes suddenly detected a faint wreath of smoke curling up into the pale sky above a headland far to the southward. As I stared at this it became black and distinct, tossed about in the wind. I watched intently, clinging to my support, scarcely trusting my eyesight, while that first wisp deepened into a cloud, advancing slowly toward me. There was no longer doubt of what it was—unquestionably some steamer was pushing its course up stream. Even before my ears could detect the far-off chug of the engine, the boat itself rounded the sharp point of the headland, and came forth into full view, heading out toward the middle of the river in a search for deeper water.
It was an unusually large steamboat for those days, a lower river packet I guessed, with two funnels painted yellow, and a high pilot house, surmounted by a huge brazen eagle. At first, approaching me, bow on, I could perceive but little of its dimensions, nor gain clear view of the decks, but when it veered slightly these were revealed, and I had a glimpse of a few figures grouped forward, the great wheel astern splashing the water, and between a long row of windows reflecting the glare of the early sun. Even as I gazed at this vision a flag crept up the slender staff at the bow, and reaching the top rippled out in the crisp breeze. A moment later I deciphered the lettering across the white front of the pilot house,Adventurer, of Memphis.
Indifferent at that moment as to where the approaching boat might be bound, or my reception on board; desirous only of immediate escape from my unfortunate predicament, I managed to remove my sodden coat, and furiously wave it in the air as a signal. At first there was no response, no evidence that I had even been seen; then slowly, deliberately, the steamer changed its course, and came straight up the river, struggling against the full strength of the current. I could see a man step from out the pilot house onto the upper forward deck, lean out over the rail, and speak to the others below, pointing toward me across the water. A half-dozen grouped themselves at the bow, ready for action, their figures growing more sharply defined as the struggling craft approached. The man above stood shading his eyes with one hand, and gesticulating with the other. Finally the sound of his voice reached me.
"Hey! you out there! If you can swim, jump for it. I'm not going to run into that snag."
I measured the distance between us with my eye, and leaped as far out as possible, striking out with lusty strokes. The swift current swung me about like a chip, and swept me downward in spite of every struggle. I was squarely abreast of the boat, already caught in her suction, and being drawn straight in toward her wheel, when the looped end of a flying noose struck my shoulder.
"Keep your head, lad!" roared out a hoarse voice. "Hang on now, an' we'll get yer."
It was such a rush, such a breathless, desperate struggle, I can scarcely recall the details. All I really remember is that I gripped the rope, and clung; was dragged under again and again; was flung against the steamer's side, seemingly losing all consciousness, yet dimly realizing that outstretched hands grasped me, and lifted me up by main strength to the narrow footway, dropping me there in the pool of water oozing from my clothes. Someone spoke, lifting my head on his arm, in answer to a hail from above.
"Yes, he's all right, sir; just a bit groggy. What'll we do with him?"
"Bring him along up to Haines' cabin, and get him the old suit in my room. You might warm him up with a drink first. You tend to it, Mapes."
The liquor I drank out of a bottle burnt like fire, but brought me new strength, so that, with Mapes' help, I got to my feet, and stared about at the group of faces surrounding us. They were those of typical river men, two negroes and three whites, ragged, dirty, and disreputable. Mapes was so bushily bearded, that about all I could perceive of his face was the eyes, yet these were intelligent, and I instantly picked him out as being the mate.
"How long yer all bin roostin' on thet snag?" he questioned, evidently somewhat amused. "Dem me, stranger, if I ever see thet sorter thing done afore."
"I was caught there last night," I answered, unwilling to say more, "Boat got snagged in the dark, and went down."
"Live round yere, I reckon?"
"No; just floating. Came down the Illinois. Where is this steamer bound?"
"Hell alone knows," dryly. "Yeller Banks furst, enyhow; we're loaded with supplies."
"Supplies! For Yellow Banks?" in surprise. "Why; what's going on there? My friend, there aren't ten families within a hundred miles of that place."
Mapes laughed, his mouth opening like a red gash, exhibiting a row of yellow fangs.
"No, I reckon not; but thar's a hell ov a lot o' fellers thar whut ain't families, but kin eat. Didn't yer know, pardner, thar's a right smart war on? thet the Illinoy militia is called out, an' is a marchin' now fer Yeller Banks? They're liable fer ter be thar too afore ever this damn scow makes it, if we hav' ter stop an' pick eny mor' blame fools outer the river. Come on, let's go up."
"Wait a minute. This is an Indian war? Black Hawk has broken loose?"
"Sure; raised perticular hell. We heerd down et Saint Louee he'd killed 'bout a hundred whites, an' burned sum ov 'em—ther ol' devil."
"And where is he now?"
"Dunno; never wus up in yer afore. We bin runnin' 'tween Saint Louee an' New Orleans, 'till the Gov'ment took us. Maybe the captain kin tell yer—sumwhar up Rock River, I reckon, wharever that is."
We climbed the steep steps to the upper deck, and were met at the head of the ladder by the captain, evidently desirous of looking me over. He was a solidly-built individual, wearing white side-whiskers, and a bulbous nose, and confronted me not altogether pleasantly.
"All right, are you? Water pretty cold yet, I reckon. Been sticking on that snag for long?"
"Several hours; but my boat was wrecked before we lodged there."
The captain laughed, and winked aside at the mate.
"Seems to be a mighty populous river up this way, hey, Mapes?" he remarked genially. "Castaways round every bend."
"What do you mean? Have you picked up others?"
"Certainly have. Hit a keel-boat twenty miles below."
"A keel-boat, operated by steam?"
"Couldn't say as to that. Was it, Mapes? The craft had gone down when I got on deck. Had four aboard, but we got 'em all off, an' stowed 'em back there in the texas. You better get along now, and shuck those wet clothes."