CAL Davidson’s taste in neckwear was a trifle vivid as compared with my own, yet I rather liked his shirts, and I found a morning waistcoat of his which I could classify as possible; beside which I obtained from John the cook a suit of flannels I had given him four years ago, and which he was saving against the day of his funeral and shipment back to China. So that, on the whole, I did rather well, and I was not ill content with life as I sat, with thePirate’s Own Bookin my lap, and Partial’s head on my knee, looking out over the passing panorama of the river. The banks now were low, the swamps, at times, showing their fan-topped cypresses close to where we passed; and all the live oaks carried their funereal Spanish moss, gray and ghostlike.
We sometimes passed river craft, going up or down, nondescript, dingy and slow, for the most part. Sometimes we were hailed gaily by monkey-like deck-hands, sometimes saluted by the pilot of a larger boat. At times we swept by busy plantation landings where the levees screened thewhite-pillared mansion houses so that we could only see the upper galleries. And now at these landings, we began to see the freight, made up as much of barrels as of bales. We were passing from cotton to cane. But though it still was early in the fall, the weather was not oppressive, and the breeze on the deck was cool. I had very much enjoyed my breakfast, and so had my shipmates L’Olonnois and Lafitte, to whom each moment now was a taste of paradise revealed. I envied them, for theirs, now, was that rare, fleeting and most delectable of all human states, the full realization of every cherished earthly dream. It made me quite happy that they were thus happy; and as to the right or wrong of it, I put that all aside for later explanation to them.
I looked up to see Peterson, who touched his cap.
“Yes, Peterson?”
“We’re on our last drum of gasoline, Mr. Harry,” said he. “Where’ll we put in—Baton Rouge?”
“No, we can’t do that, Peterson,” I answered. “Can’t we make it to New Orleans?”
“Hardly. But they carry gas at most of these landings now—so many power boats and autos nowadays, you see.”
“Very well. We’ll pass Bayou Sara and BatonRouge, and then you can run in at any landing you like, say twenty miles or so below. Can you make it that far?”
“Oh, yes, but you see, at Baton Rouge——”
“You may lay to long enough to mail these letters,” said I, frowning; “but the custom of getting the baseball scores is now suspended. And send John here.”
The old man touched his cap again, a trifle puzzled. I wondered if he recognized Davidson’s waistcoat—he asked no more questions.
“John,” said I to my Chinaman, “carry this to the ladies;” and handed him a card on which I had inscribed: “Black Bart’s compliments; and he desires the attendance of the ladies on deck for a parley. At once.”
John came back in a few moments and stood on one foot. “She say, she say, Misal Hally, she say no come.”
“Letter have got, John?”
“Lessah have got.”
“Take it back. Say, at once.”
“Lessah. At wullunce.”
“Lessah,” he added two moments later. “Catchee lettah, them lady, and she say, she say, go to hellee!”
“What! What’s that, John? She said nothing of the sort!”
“Lessah, said them. No catchee word, that what she mean. Lady, one time she say, she say, go topside when have got plenty leady for come.”
“Go back to your work, John,” said I. And I waited with much dignity, for perhaps ten minutes or so, before I heard any signs of life from the after suite. Then I heard the door pushed back, and saw a head come out, a head with dark tendrils of hair at the white neck’s nape, and two curls at the temple, and as clean and thoroughbred a sweep of jaw and chin as the bows of theBelle Helèneherself. She did not look at me, but studiously gazed across the river, pretended to yawn, idly looked back to see if she were followed; as she knew she was not to be.
At length, she turned as she stepped out on the deck. She was fresh as the dew itself, and like a rose. All color of rose was the soft skirt she wore, and the little bolero above, blue, with gold buttons, covered a soft rose-colored waist, light and subtle as a spider’s web, stretched from one grass stalk to another of a dewy morning. She was round and slender, and her neck was tall and round, and in the close fashion of dress which women of late have devised, to remind man once more of the ancient Garden, she seemed to me Eve herself, sweet, virginal, as yet in a garden dew-sweet in the morning of the world.
She turned, I say, and by mere chance and in great surprise, discovered me, now cap in hand, and bowing.
“Oh,” she remarked; very much surprised.
“Good morning, Eve,” said I. “Have you used Somebody’s Soap; or what is it that you have used? It is excellent.”
A faint color came to her cheek, the corners of her bowed lips twitched. “For a pirate, or a person of no culture, you do pretty well. As though a girl could sleep after all this hullabaloo.”
“You have slept very well,” said I. “You never looked better in all your life, Helena. And that is saying the whole litany.”
“You are absurd,” said she. “You must not begin it all again. We settled it once.”
“We settled it twenty times, or to be exact, thirteen times, Helena. The only trouble is, it would not stay settled. Tell me, is there any one else yet, Helena?”
“It is not any question for you to ask, or for me to answer.” She was cold at once. “I’ve not tried to hear of you or your plans, and I suppose the same is true of you. It is long since I have had a heartache over you—a headache is all you can give me now, or ever could. That is why I can not in the least understand why you are here now. Auntie is almost crazy, she is so frightened. Shethinks you are entirely crazy, and believes you have murdered Mr. Davidson.”
“I have not yet done so, although it is true I am wearing his shoes; or at least his waistcoat. How do you like it?”
“I like the one with pink stripes better,” she replied demurely.
“So then—so then!” I began; but choked in anger at her familiarity with Cal Davidson’s waistcoats. And my anger grew when I saw her smile.
“Tell me, are you engaged to him, Helena?” I demanded. “But I can see; you are.” She drew herself up as she stood, her hands behind her back.
“A fine question to ask, isn’t it? Especially in view of what we both know.”
“But you haven’t told me.”
“And am not going to.”
“Why not?”
“Because it is the right of a middle-aged woman like myself——”
“—Twenty-four,” said I.
“—To do as she likes in such matters. And she doesn’t need make any confidences with a man she hasn’t seen for years. And for whom she never—shenever——”
“Helena,” said I, and I felt pale, whether or not I looked it, “be careful. That hurts.”
“Oh, is it so?” she blazed. “I am glad if it does hurt.”
I bowed to her. “I am glad if it gives you pleasure to see me hurt. I am.Habeo!”
“But it was not so as to me,” I added presently. “Yes, I said good-by to you, that last time, and I meant it. I had tried for years, I believe, with every argument in my power, to explain to you that I loved you, to explain that in every human likelihood we would make a good match of it, that we—we—well, that we’d hit it off fine together, very likely. And then, I was well enough off—at first, at least——”
“Oh, don’t!” she protested. “It is like opening a grave. We buried it all, Harry. It’s over. Can’t you spare a girl, a middle-aged girl of twenty-four, this resurrection? We ended it. Why, Harry, we have to make out some sort of life for ourselves, don’t we? We can’t just sit down and—and——”
“No,” said I. “I tried it. I got me a little place, far up in the wilderness with what remained of my shattered fortunes—a few acres. And I sat down there and tried that ‘and—and’ business. It didn’t seem to work. But we don’t get on much in our parley, do we?”
“No. The most charitable thing I can think of is that you are crazy. Aunt Lucinda must beright. But what do you intend to do with us? We can’t get off the boat, and we can’t get any answer to our signals for help.”
“So you have signaled?”
“Of course. Waved things, you know.”
“Delightful! The passing steamers no doubt thought you a dissipated lot of northern joy-riders, bound south on some rich man’s yacht.”
“Instead of two troubled women on a stolen boat.”
“Are you engaged to Cal Davidson, Helena?”
“What earthly difference?”
“True, none at all. As you say, I have stolen his boat, stolen his wine, stolen his fried potatoes, stolen his waistcoats. But, bear witness, I drew the line at his neckties. Nowhere else, however!” And as I added this I looked at her narrowly.
“Will you put us ashore?” she asked, her color rising.
“No.”
“We’re coming to a town.”
“Baton Rouge. The capital of Louisiana. A quaint and delightful city of some sixty thousand inhabitants. The surrounding country is largely devoted to the sugar industry. But we do not stop. Tell me, are you engaged?”
But, suddenly, I saw her face, and on it was something of outraged dignity. I bent toward hereagerly. “Forgive me! I never wanted to give you pain, Helena. Forget my improper question.”
“Indeed!”
“I’ve been fair with you. And that’s hard for a man. Always, always,—let me tell you something women don’t understand—there’s the fight in a man’s soul to be both a gentleman and a brute, because a woman won’t love him till he’s a brute, and he hates himself when he isn’t a gentleman. It’s hard, sometimes, to be both. But I tried. I’ve been a gentleman—was once, at least. I told you the truth. When they investigated my father, and found that, acting under the standard of his day, he hadn’t run plumb with the standards of to-day, I came and told you of it. I released you then, although you never had promised me, because I knew you mightn’t want an alliance with—well, with a front page family, you know. It blew over, yes; but I was fair with you. You knew I had lost my money, and then you——”
“I remained ‘released’.”
“Yes, it is true.”
“And am free, have been, to do as I liked.”
“Yes, true.”
“And what earthly right has a man to try both rôles with a woman—that of discarded and accepted? You chose the first; and I never gaveyou the last. It is horrible, this sort of talk. It is abominable. For three years we have not met or spoken. I’ve not had a heartache since I told you. Don’t give me a headache now. And it would make my head ache, to follow these crazy notions. Put us ashore!”
“Not till I know the truth,” said I.
“About what?”
“Well, for instance, about the waistcoat with pink stripes.”
“You are silly.”
“Yes. How do you like my suit?”
“I never saw Mr. Davidson wear that one,” said she.
“For good reasons. It is my own, and four years old. You see, a poor man has to economize. And you know, since I lost my fortune, I’ve been living almost from hand to mouth. Honestly, Helena, many is the time when I’ve gone out fishing, trying to catch me a fish for my supper!”
“So does a poor girl have to economize,” said she.
“You are most sparing of the truth this morning, Helena, my dear,” I said.
“How dare you!” she blazed now at the tender phrase. “Fine, isn’t it, when I can’t get away? If I could, I’d go where I’d never see or hear of you again. I thought I had.”
“But you have not. You shall hear and see me daily till I know from your own lips the truth about you and—and every and any other man on earth who—well, who wears waistcoats with pink stripes.”
“We’ll have a long ride then,” said she calmly, and rose.
I rose also and bowed.
WE ran by the river-front of Baton Rouge, and lay to on the opposite side while our dingey ran in with mail. I sent Peterson and Lafitte ashore for the purpose, and meantime paced the deck in several frames of mind. I was arrested in this at length by L’Olonnois, who was standing forward, glasses in hand.
“Here they come,” said he, “and a humpin’ it up, too. Look, Jean Lafitte is standin’ up, wavin’ at us. Something’s up, sure. Mayhap, we are pursued by the enemy. Methinks ’tis hue and cry, good Sir.”
“It jolly well does look like it, mate,” said I, taking his glasses. “Something’s up.”
I could see the stubby dingey forced half out the water by Peterson’s oars, though she made little speed enough. And I saw men hurrying on the wharf, as though about to put out a boat.
“What’s wrong, Peterson?” I shouted as he came in range at last.
“Hurry up!” It was Lafitte who answered. “Clear the decks for action. Yon varlet has wired on ahead to have us stopped! They’re after us!” So came his call through cupped hands.
I ran to the falls and lowered away the blocks to hoist them aboard, even as I ordered speed and began to break out the anchor. We hardly were under way before a small power boat, bearing a bluecoated man, puffed alongside.
“What boat is this?” he called. “Belle Helène, of Mackinaw?”
In answer—without order from me,—my bloodthirsty mate, L’Olonnois, brought out the black burgee of the Jolly Rover, bearing a skull and cross-bones. “Have a look at that!” he piped. “Shall we clear the stern-chaser, Black Bart?”
“Hold on there, wait! I’ve got papers for you,” called the officer, still hanging at our rail, for I had not yet ordered full speed.
“He hollered to me he was going to arrest us, Mr. Harry,” explained Peterson, much out of breath. “What’s it all about? What papers does he mean?”
“The morning papers, very likely, Peterson,” said I. “The baseball scores.”
“Will you halt, now?” called the officer.
“No,” I answered, through the megaphone. “You have no authority to halt us. What’s your paper, and who is it for?”
“Wire from Calvin Davidson, Natchez, charging John Doe with running off with his boat.”
“This is not his boat,” I answered, “but my own, and I am not John Doe. We are on ourway to the coast, and not under any jurisdiction of yours.”
He stood up and drew a paper from his pocket, and began to read. In reply I pulled the whistle cord and drowned his voice; while at the same time I gave the engineer orders for full speed. Shaking his fist, he fell astern.
None the less, I was a bit thoughtful. After all, the Mississippi River, wide as it was, ran within certain well defined banks from which was no escaping. We were three hundred miles or more from the high seas, and passing between points of continuous telegraphic communication; so that a hue and cry down the river might indeed mean trouble for us. Moreover, even as I turned to pick up the course—for I had myself taken the wheel—I saw the figure of Aunt Lucinda on the after deck. She was on the point of heaving overboard a bottle—I heard it splash, saw it bob astern. “Now, the devil will be to pay,” thought I. But, on second thought, I slowed down, so that distinctly I saw the officer, also slowing down, stoop over and take the bottle aboard his launch.
“Ahoy, the launch!” I hailed. He put a hand at his ear as I megaphoned him. “Take this message for Mr. Calvin Davidson,” I hailed. He nodded that he heard. “—That to-night John Doe will wear his waistcoat, the one with the pink stripes. Do you get me?”
Apparently he did not get me, for he sat down suddenly and mopped his face. We left him so. And for aught I could know, he took back ashore material for a newspaper story, which bade fair to be better for the newspapers than for us on board theBelle Helène; for, up and down the river, the wires might carry the news that a crazy man had been guilty of piracy, highway robbery, abduction, I know not how many other crimes; and to arrest him on his mad career they might enlist all the authorities, municipal, county, state and even national. “John Doe,” said I to myself, “if I really were you, methinks I should make haste.” None the less I smiled; for, if I were John Doe only, then Calvin Davidson had no idea who had stolen his chartered yacht, and who was about to disport in his most cherished waistcoat! The situation pleased me very much. “L’Olonnois,” said I, “come hither, my hearty.”
“Aye, aye, Sir,” replied that worthy. “What is it, Black Bart?”
“Nothing, except I was just going to say that I enjoy it very much, this being a pirate.”
“So do I,” said he. “An’ let any pursue us at their peril!”
L’OLONNOIS was still all for training the stern-chaser Long Tom (theBelle Helène’sbrass yacht cannon) on the enemy, and came to me presently breathing defiance. “’F I only had any chain shot in the locker,” said he, “beshrew me, but I would pay him well for this! He’s got my Auntie Helen’s auntie scared silly.”
“And how about your Auntie Helena herself?” I asked of him. Thus far, he had been guilty of no nepotism whatever, and had treated his auntie as any other captive maiden, perchance fallen into his ruthless hands.
“Well, she ain’t so scared as she is mad, near’s I can see,” was his reply. “She sat there when I first drove ’em down-stairs, lookin’ at me, an’ she says, ‘Jimmy,’ says she, ‘what’s all this foolishness?’ An’ she reaches out her hand, an’ she offers me candy—she makes awful nice fudges, too. She knew that wasn’t fair! But I says to her. ‘Woman, cease all blandishments, for now you are in our power!’ An’ I liked that, fer I been in her power long enough. Then she set down, an’ near’s I can tell, she got to thinking things over. I know her—she’ll try to get away.”
“She has tried to do so, my good leftenant, is trying now. She and her Auntie Lucinda have thrown over I know not how many bottles carrying messages. It were only by mere chance yon varlet could escape coming over some of them. Add this to the fact that yon varlet has got the king’s navy after us, and marry! methinks we have full work cut out for us. Not that stout heart should falter, good leftenant, eh?”
“We follow Black Bart the Avenger,” said L’Olonnois, folding his arms and frowning heavily. “But say,” he added, “what seems funny to me is, you and my Auntie Helen must of known each other before now.”
“Not at all, not at all—that is, but casually, and long years since. It had long since escaped my mind.” I felt myself flushing sadly.
“I’ll tell her that—I knew she was mistaken. I was sure she was.”
“No! No! Jimmy, you’ll tell her nothing of the kind. I only meant——”
“Well, she remembers you, I’m almost sure, an’ so does Aunt Lucinda. Aunt Lucinda, why I’ve heard her back home tell Auntie Helena about as good fish in the sea, an’ she mustn’t bother over a man that’s poor. Was it you, Black Bart? And are you poor?”
“As I stand before you now, Jimmy L’Olonnois, I’m the poorest beggar in the world,” said I.“I have risked my all on one hazard. If I win, I shall be rich beyond compare. If I fail, I shall be poor indeed.”
“She knows that. She knows you’re poor, all right. I heard Aunt Lucinda tell her often. She said you was rich once, an’ lost it all, speculatin’ in a mine or something; an’ what was the use marryin’ a man who hadn’t anything? I don’t know, but I think that was why Aunt Lucinda worked up this trip with Mr. Davidson. He’s got money to burn—look at this yacht, an’ everything—an’ I know him and Auntie Lucinda, anyhow, have got it doped out that him an’ Auntie Helen’s goin’ to get married—even if they ain’t now, so far’s I know. Anyhow, our takin’ the ship has broke up something. But say, now, Black Bart——”
“Well, my good leftenant——”
“Igot a idea!”
“Indeed?”
“Yep. Looka here, now—why don’tyoujust do like the pirate book says?”
“How is that?”
“Marry the captive maid your own self?”
I felt my color rise yet more.
“Why, now, that happened right along in them days—pirate chief, he takes a beautiful maiden captive, an’ after makin’ all his prisoners walkthe plank but just her, he offers his hand an’ fortune. An’ lots of times, somehow, the beautiful maiden she married the ruthless pirate chief, an’ they lived happy ever after. Why don’t you?”
“I hadn’t thought of that, Jimmy,” I said, most mendaciously; “but the idea has some merit. In fact, we’ve already started in by taking the beautiful maiden captive, and, mayhap, yon varlet yet shall walk the plank, or swear a solemn oath never to wear such waistcoats as these again. But one thing lacks.”
“What?”
“The maiden’s consent!”
“No, it don’t! They never ast ’em—they just married ’em, that was all. An’ every time, they lived happy ever after. An’ they founded families that——”
“Jimmy!” I raised a hand. “That will do.”
“Well, anyhow, I wouldn’t pay any attention to Aunt Lucinda about it. She’s strong for yon varlet, for he’s got the dough.”
“And isn’t your Auntie Helena also—but no, on second thought, I will not ask you that——”
“Why no, sure not—it’s better to demand it of her own fair lips, an’ not take no for a answer. They always live happy ever after.”
—“Of course, Jimmy.”
—“And so would you.”
“I know it! I know it!”
“Well, then, why just don’t you?”
“Good leftenant, Black Bart will take your counsel into full advisement. Later, we shall see. Meantime, we must have a care for our good ship’s safety, for none may tell what plans yon varlet may be laying to circumvent us.”
So saying, I sought out Peterson and asked him for his maps and charts.
There was, as I found by consulting these, a deep bayou, an old river bed, that ran inland some thirty miles, apparently tapping a rich plantation country which was not served by the regular river boats.
“Do you know anything about this old channel, Peterson?” I inquired.
“Nothing at all except from hearsay and what you see here,” he replied. “I don’t know whether or not it has a bar at either end, but likely enough it has at both, though we might crowd through.”
“And how about the gasoline supply?”
“Enough to get us in, at least. And, I say, here’s a sort of plantation post-office marked. There’s just a bare chance we could get a drum or so in there. I don’t think we can, though.”
“What’s she drawing now as she runs, Peterson?”
“Four feet two inches. She’s a shade low bythe stern. We’ve quite a lot of supplies aboard, this early in the cruise. But I don’t suppose we’ve got enough.”
“Well, Peterson,” said I, “water leaves no trail. If there’s no one watching when we open up this next bend, run for the bayou, and we’ll see if we can get under cover. Of course, it’s all a mistake about Mr. Davidson’s wiring on to have us stopped—though we can’t blame him, since he hasn’t any idea who it is that has run away with the boat. But now, it suits me better to double in here, and let the chase try to find us on the main river; if there is any chase. You see, I don’t want to disturb the ladies unduly, and they might not understand it all if we were overhauled and asked to explain our change in the ownership.”
“Quite right, sir, and very good. I catch the idea. But, sir——”
He hesitated.
“Yes?”
“Well, sir, if I might be so bold, what are your plans about the two ladies?”
“I have none which will effect your navigation of the boat, Peterson.”
The old man flushed a shade. “Excuse me, Mr. Harry. I know you’ll do nothing out of the way. But the old hen—I beg pardon——”
“You mean the revered aunt, Peterson.”
“Yes, sir, the revered aunt. Well, sir, the revered aunt, dash her!—--”
“Yes, dash her starry toplights, Peterson; and even if need be, shiver her timbers! Go on——”
“Why, she’s been tryin’ to pull off a weddin’ on this boat ever since we left Mackinaw.”
“Why not? You mean that Mr. Davidson and the revered aunt were getting on well?”
“Oh, no, bless your heart, no! It was the young lady, Miss Emory. And she——”
I raised my hand. “Never mind, Peterson. We can’t discuss that at all. But now, I’m minded to give my friend Mr. Davidson a little game of follow-my-leader. And just to show how we’ll do that, we’ll begin with a preliminary go at hide-and-seek. Take the chance, Peterson, and run into the bayou. I’ll put off the small boat for soundings. If we can get gas, and can get in, and can get out unnoticed, maybe we can run by New Orleans in the night, and none the wiser.”
“And where then, Mr. Harry?”
“Peterson, the high seas have no bridges, and if they had, I should not cross them yet. Perhaps if I did, I then should burn them behind me.”
“She’s a mortal fine young woman, Mr. Harry, a mortal fine one. I’ll be sworn he makes a hard run for her. But so can we—eh, Mr. Harry? He’ll like enough pocket us in here, though.”
I made no answer to this. The old man left me to take the wheel, and I noted his head wag from side to side.
AS good fortune would have it, we swung in, opposite the screened mouth of Henry’s Bayou, at a time when the stream was free of all craft that might have observed us, although far across the forest we could see a black column of smoke, marking a river steamer coming up.
“Quick with that long boat, Lafitte,” I ordered; and he drew our old craft alongside as we slowed down. “Get over yonder and sound for a bar. Take the boat hook. If you get four feet, we’ll try it.”
My hardy young ruffian was nothing if not prompt, nor was he less efficient than the average deck-hand. It was he who did the sounding while Willie, our factotum, pulled slowly in toward the mouth of the old river bed. I watched them through the glasses, noting that rarely could Lafitte find any bottom at all with the long shaft of the boat hook. “She’s all right, Peterson,” said I. “Follow on in, slowly—I don’t want that steamer yonder to catch us.”
“Whydon’t you?” A voice I should know, to which all my body would thrill, did I hear it inany corner of the world, spoke at my elbow. I started for a half instant before I made reply, looking into her dark eyes, sensible again of the perfume most delirium-producing for a man: the scent of a woman’s hair.
“Because, Helena,” said I, “I wish our boat to lie unnoticed for a time, till the hue and cry has lulled a bit.”
“And then?” She bent on me her gaze, so difficult to resist, and smiled at me with the corners of her lips, so subtly irresistible. I felt a rush of fire sweep through all my being, and something she must have noted, for she gave back a bit and stood more aloof along the rail.
“And then,” said I savagely, “this boat runs by all the towns, till we reach the Gulf, and the open sea.”
“And then?”
“And then, Helena, we sail the ocean blue, you and I.”
“For how long?”
“Forever, Helena. Or, at least, until——”
“Until when?”
“Until you say you will marry me, Helena.”
She made no answer now at all beyond a scornful shrug of her shoulders. “Suppose I can not?” she said at last.
“If you can not, all the same you must andshall!” said I. “You shall be prisoner until you do.”
“Is there no law for such as you?”
“No. None on the high sea. None in my heart. Only one law I know any more, Helena—I who have upheld the law, obeyed it, reverenced it.”
“And that?”
“The law of the centuries, of the forest, of the sea. The law of love, Helena.”
“Ah, you go about it handsomely! If you wished me to despise you, to hate you, this would be very fit, what you say.”
“You may hate me, despise me, Helena. Let it be so. But you shall not ignore me, as you have these three years.”
“It was your fault; your wish—as well as my wish. We agreed to that. Why bring it up again? When the news came that you had quit your profession, and just at the time you had lost all your father’s fortune and your own, had turned your back and run away, when you should have stayed and fought—well, do you think a girl cares for that sort of man? No. A man must do something in this world. He mustn’t quit. He’s got tofight.”
“Not even if he has nothing to work for?”
“No, not even then. There are plenty of girls in the world——”
“One.”
—“And a man mustn’t throw away his life for any one woman. That isn’t right. He has his work to do, his place to make and hold. That’s what a woman wants in a man. But you didn’t. Now, you come and say we must forget all the years of off-and-on, all the time we—we—wasted, don’t you know? And because I am, for a little while, in your hands, you talk to me in a way of which you ought to be ashamed. You threaten me, a woman. You even almost compromise me. This will make talk. You speak to me as though, indeed, you were a buccaneer, and I, indeed, in your power absolutely. If I did not know you——”
“You do not. Forget the man you knew. I am not he.”
She spread out her hands mockingly, and yet more I felt my anger rise.
“I am another man. I am my father, and his great grandfather, and all his ancestors, pirates all. I know what I covet, and by the Lord! nothing shall stop me, least of all the law. I shall take my own where I find it.”
“And now listen!” I concluded. “I am master on this ship, no matter how I got it. Late poor, as you say, I shall be richer soon, for I shall take, law or no law, consent or no consent, what I want, what I will have. And that is you!
“Each day, at eleven, Helena,” I concluded, “I shall meet you on the after deck, and shall try to be kind, try to be courteous——”
“Why, Harry——”
“Try to be calm, too. I want to give you time to think. And I, too, must think. For a time, I wondered what was right, in case you had really pledged yourself to another man.”
“Suppose I had?” she asked, sphinx-like.
“I will try to discover that. Not that it would make any difference in my plans.”
“You would take what was another’s?” She still gazed at me, sphinx-like.
“Yes! By the Lord, Helena, my father did, and his, and so would I! So would I, if that were you! Let him fend for himself.”
She turned from the rail, her color a little heightened, affected to yawn, stretched her arms.
We were now passing over the bar, slowly, feeling our way, our skiff alongside, and the shelter of the curving, tree-covered bayou banks now beginning to hide us from view, though the bellowing steamer below had not yet entered our bend.
“Who is that boy?” she inquired lazily.
“That, madam, is no less than the celebrated freebooter, Jean Lafitte, who so long made this lower coast his rendezvous.”
“Nonsense! And you’re filling his head with wild ideas.”
“Say not so; ’twas he and your blessed blue-eyed pirate nephew, the cutthroat L’Olonnois, who filled my head with wild ideas.”
“How, then?”
“They took me prisoner, on my own—I mean, at the little place where I stop, up in the country. And not till by stern deeds I had won their confidence, did they accept me as comrade, and, at last, as leader—as I may modestly claim to be. And do not think that you can wheedle either of them away from Black Bart. L’Olonnois remembers you spanked him once, and has sworn a bitter vengeance.”
“Why did you happen to start sailing down this way?”
“Because I learned Cal Davidson had started—with you.”
“And all that way you had it in mind to overtake us?”
“Yes; and have done so; and have taken his ship away from him, and for all I know his bride.”
“He was your friend.”
“I thought so. I suppose he never knew that you and I used to—well, to know each other, before I lost my money.”
“He never spoke of that.”
“No difference, unless all for the better, for I shall, now, never give you up to any man on earth.”
“And I thought you the best product of our civilization, a man of education, of breeding.”
“No, not breeding, unless savagery gives it. I’m civilized no longer. When you stand near me, and your hair—go below, Helena! Go at once!”
She turned, moved slowly toward her door.
I finished calmly as I could. “To-morrow, at eleven, I shall give you an audience here on the deck. We shall have time. This is a wilderness. You can not get away, and I hope no one will find you. That is my risk. And oh! Helena,” I added, suddenly, feeling my heart soften at the pallor of her face—“Oh, Helena, Helena, try to think gently of me as you can, for all these miles I have followed after you; and all these years I have thought of you. You do not know—you do not know! It has been one long agony. Now go, please. I promise to keep myself as courteous as I can. You and I and Aunt Lucinda will just have a pleasant voyage together until—until that time. Try to be kind to me, Helena, as I shall try to be with you.”
Silent, unsmiling, she disappeared beyond her cabin door, nor would she eat dinner even in her cabin, although Aunt Lucinda did; and found the ninety-three was helping her neuralgia.
I know not if they slept, but I slept not at all.The shadows hung black about us as we lay at anchor four miles inland, silent, and with no lights burning to betray us. Now and again, I could hear faint voices of the night, betimes croakings, splashings in the black water about us. It was as though the jungle had enclosed us, deep and secret-keeping. And in my heart the fierce fever of the jungle’s teachings burned, so that I might not sleep.
But in the morning Helena was fresh, all in white, and with no more than a faint blue of shadow beneath her eyes. She honored us at breakfast, and made no manner of reference to what had gone on the evening before. This, then, I saw, was to be ourmodus vivendi; convention, the social customs we all had known, the art, the gloss, the veneer of life, as life runs on in society as we have organized it! Ah, she fought cunningly!
“Black Bart,” said L’Olonnois, after breakfast as we all stood on deck—Helena, Auntie Lucinda and all—“what’s all them things floatin’ around in the water?”
“They look like bottles, leftenant,” said I; “perhaps they may have floated in here. How do you suppose they came here, Mrs. Daniver?” I asked.
“How should I know?” sniffed that lady.
“Well, good leftenant, go overside, you andJean, and gather up all those bottles, and carry them with my compliments to the ladies at their cabin. You can have the satisfaction of throwing them all overboard later on, Mrs. Daniver. Only, remember, that there is no current in the bayou, and they will stay where they fall for weeks, unless for the wind.”
“And where shall we be, then?” demanded Auntie Lucinda, who had eaten a hearty breakfast, and I must say was looking uncommon fit for one so afflicted with neuralgia.
“Oh, very likely here, in the same place, my dear Mrs. Daniver,” said I, “unless war should break out meantime. At present we all seem to have a very goodmodus vivendi, and as I have no pressing engagements, I can conceive of nothing more charming than passing the winter here in your society.” Saying which I bowed, and turning to Helena, “At eleven, then, if you please?”
IHAD myself quite forgotten my appointed hour of eleven, feeling so sure that it would not be remembered, as of covenant, by the party of the second part, so to speak, and was sitting on the forward deck looking out over the interesting pictures of the landscape that lay about us. It was the morning of a Sabbath, and a Sabbath calm lay all about us—silence, and hush, and arrested action. The sun itself, warm at a time when soon the breezes must have been chill at my northern home, was veiled in a soft and tender mist, which brought into yet lower tones the pale greens and grays of the southern forest which came close to the bayou’s edge. The forest about us not yet fallen before the devastating northern lumbermen—men such as my father had been, who cared nothing for a tree or a country save as it might come to cash—was in part cypress, in part cottonwood, but on the ridge were many oaks, and over all hung the soft gray Spanish moss. The bayou itself, once the river, but now released from all the river’s troubling duties, held its unceasingcalm, fitted the complete retirement of the spot, and scarce a ripple broke it anywhere. Over it, on ahead, now and then passed a long-legged white crane, bound for some distant and inaccessible swamp; all things fitting perfectly into this quiet Sabbath picture.
My cigar was excellent, I had my copy of Epictetus at hand, and all seemed well with the world save one thing. Here, at hand, was everything man could ask, all comforts, many luxuries; and I knew, though Helena did not, that the safe increase of my fortune—that fortune which some had called tainted, and which I myself valued little, soon as I had helped increase it by the exercise of my profession—was quite enough to maintain equal comfort or luxury for us all our lives. But she was obstinate, and so was I. She would not say whether she loved Cal Davidson, and I would never undeceive her as to my supposed poverty. Why, the very fact that she had dismissed me when she thought my fortune gone—that, alone, should have proved her unworthy of a man’s second thought. Therefore, ergo, hence, and consequently, I could not have been a man; for I swear I was giving her a second thought, and a thousandth; until I rebelled at a weakness that could not put a mere woman out of mind.
And then, I slowly turned my head, and saw herstanding on the after deck. Her footfall was not audible on the rubber deck-mats, and she had not spoken. I resolved, as soon as I had leisure, to ask some scientific friends to explain how it was possible that with no sound or other appeal to any of the sensorial nerves, I could, at a distance of seventy-five feet, become conscious of the presence of a person no more than five feet five, who had not spoken a word, and was standing idly looking out over the ship’s rail, in quite the opposite direction from that in which I sat. And then the ship’s clock struck six bells, and recalled the appointment at eleven. Hastily I dropped Epictetus and my cigar, and hurried aft.
“Good morning again, Helena,” said I.
She stood looking on out over the water for a time, but, at length, turned toward me, just a finger up as to stifle a yawn. “Really,” said she, “while I am hardly so situated that I can well escape it or resent it, it does seem to me that you might well be just a trifle less familiar. Why not ‘Miss Emory’?”
“Because, Helena, I like ‘Helena’ better.”
A slow anger came into her eyes. She beat a swift foot on the deck.
“Don’t,” I said. “Don’t stamp with your feet. It reminds me of a Belgian hare, and I do not like them, potted or caged.”
“I might as well be one,” she broke out, “as well be one, caged here as we are, and insulted by a—a——”
“A ruthless buccaneer——”
“Yes, a ruthless buccaneer, who has remembered only brutalities.”
“And forgotten all amenities? Why, Helena, how could you! And after all the cork-tipped cigarettes I have given you, and all the ninety-three I have given your Auntie Lucinda—why look at the empty message bottles she and you have thrown out into the helpless and unhelping bayou—a perfect fleet of them, bobbing around. Shan’t I send the boys overboard to gather them in for you again?”
“A fine education you are giving those boys, aren’t you, filling their heads with lawless ideas! A fine debt we’ll all owe you for ruining the character of my nephew Jimmy. He was such a nice nephew, too.”
“Your admiration is mutual, Miss Emory—I mean, Helena. He says you are a very nice auntie, and your divinity fudges are not surpassed and seldom equaled. It is an accomplishment, however, of no special use to a poor pirate’s bride; as I intend you shall be.”
She had turned her back on me now.
“Besides, as to that,” I went on, “I am onlyaffording these young gentlemen the same advantages offered by the advertisements of the United States navy recruiting service—good wages, good fare, and an opportunity to see the world. Come now, we’ll all see the world together. Shall we not, Miss Emory—I mean, Helena?”
“We can’t live here forever, anyhow,” said she.
“I could,” was my swift answer. “Forever, in just this quiet scene. Forever, with all the world forgot, and just you standing there as you are, the most beautiful girl I ever saw; and once, I thought, the kindest.”
“That I am not.”
“No. I was much mistaken in you, much disappointed. It grieved me to see you fall below the standard I had set for you. I thought your ideals high and fine. They were not, as I learned to my sorrow. You were just like all the rest. You cared only for my money, because it could give you ease, luxury, station. When that was gone, you cared nothing for me.”
I stood looking at her lovely shoulders for some time, but she made no sign.
“And therefore, finding you so fallen,” I resumed, “finding you only, after all, like the other worthless, parasitic women of the day, Miss Emory—Helena, I mean—I resolved to do what I could to educate you. And so I offer you the same footingthat I do your nephew—good wages, good fare, and an opportunity to see the world.”
No answer whatever.
“Do you remember the Bay of Naples, at sunset, as we saw it when we first steamed in on the oldCity of Berlin, Helena?”
No answer.
“And do you recall Fuji-yama, with the white top—remember the rickshaw rides together, Helena?”
No answer.
“And then, the fiords of Norway, and the mountains? Or the chalk cliffs off Dover? And those sweet green fields of England—as we rode up to London town? And the taxis there, just you and I, Helena, with Aunt Lucinda happily evaded—just you and I? Yes, I am thinking of forcing Aunt Lucinda to walk the plank ere long, Helena. I want a world all my own, Helena, the world that was meant for us, Helena, made for us—a world with no living thing in it but yonder mocking-bird that’s singing; and you, and me.”
“Could you not dispense with the mocking-bird—and me?” she asked.
“No,” (I winced at her thrust, however). “No, not with you. And you know in your heart, in the bottom of your trifling and fickle and worthless heart, Helena Emory, that if it came to thetest, and if life and all the world and all happiness were to be either all yours or all mine, I’d go anywhere, do anything, and leave it all to you rather than keep any for myself.”
“Go, then!”
“If I might, I should. But male and female made He them. I spoke of us as units human, but not as the unithomo. Much as I despise you, Helena, I can not separate you from myself in my own thought. We seem to me to be like old Webster’s idea of the Union—‘one and indivisible.’ And since I can not divide us in any thought, I, John Doe, alias Black Bart, alias the man you once called Harry, have resolved that we shall go undivided, sink or swim, survive or perish. If the world were indeed my oyster, I should open it for us both; but saying both, I should see only you. Isn’t it odd, Helena?”
“It is eleven-thirty,” said she.
“Almost time for luncheon. Do you think me a ‘good provider,’ Helena?”
“Humph! Mr. Davidson was. While your stolen stores last in your stolen boat, I suppose we shall not be hungry.”
“Or thirsty?” She shrugged.
“Or barren of cork-tips of the evening? Or devoid of guitar strings?”
“I shall need none.”
“Ah, but you will! It belikes me much, fair maid, to disport me at ease this very eve, here on the deck, under the moon, and to hear you yourself and none other, fairest of all my captives, touch the lute, or whatever you may call it, to that same air you and I, fair maid, heard long ago together at a lattice under the Spanish moon. A swain touched then his lute, or whatever you may call it, to his Dulcinea. Here ’tis in the reverse. The fair maid, having no option, shall touch the lute, or whatever you call it, to John Doe, Black Bart, or whatever you may call him; who is her captor, who feels himself about to love her beyond all reason; and who, if he find no relief, presently, in music—which is better than drink—will go mad, go mad, and be what he should not be, a cruel master; whereas all he asks of fate is that he shall be only a kind captor and a gentle friend.”
Her head held very high, she passed me without a word and threw open the door of her suite.