"Who?"
"Why, dat same Bossy Bradley. Ob coas' Mass' Henry hadn't no money on de groun', for who's agwine to be a-toatin' two thousan' dollars 'bout 'im? So he guv de planter Bradley his writin' fo' de amount—which dem call a purmissory note. Wal, dat 'ere note arn't been paid yet; an' it's de no-payment ob it dat make Mass' Henry 'pear sech fr'en's wi' mass' planter Bradley. Now, sar, ye's got de explication ob de whole sarcumstance."
"I hope it is the true one."
"What, massa! Why for you hope dat? You say you Mass' Henry fr'en'? Sure you no wish 'im two thousan' dollar debt to Bossy Bradley?"
It was not strange the negro should express surprise at my speech. I had answered mechanically, and without thought of the interpretation he might put upon it—thinking only of myself, and the relief his explanation had caused me.
It was now my turn to explain. I could not leave Jake in the belief that I was gratified to hear of his master's indebtedness.
"No, no!" I responded, endeavoring to explain away what I had said. "I merely meant that I hoped it was no worse. Two thousand dollars is not much—for a rich planter to pay."
"Lor', massa! It am a big heap, two thousan' dollar! Great big heap fo' young Mass' Henry. He nebba pay dat hisseff, till de ole squire die, an' leab um some ob dat 'ere plantashun in Tennessee. He no make money hyar like Bossy Bradley. Ah, Mass' Henry 'pend more'n he make. Dat dis chile am sure ob. Cuss dem cards, anyhow! Dey's de ruin ob ebberybody dat teches um, 'ceptin' de gammelin' sportsmen themselves. T'ank de Lor'! I hear Mass' Henry sw'a he nebba tech dem no more. Dat's one bit o' sattafacshun, it is."
Notwithstanding that I feared being thought too inquisitive, the intelligence displayed by my sable companion tempted me to inquire further.
"Does Mr. Bradley often visit your master?"
"Well, sar, dat depend—"
"On what?"
"On de seezun ob de y'ar."
"On the season of the year! You mean he comes at one time more than another?"
"Yes, sar; jess so."
Jake had ceased to be communicative, and required drawing.
"I suppose there are times when business requires him to be at your master's plantation?"
"Wal, ye see, dar's de summer seezun, he doan' come much den. I b'lieve him been only twice dis summer, an' de once you see um you'seff, sar. An dar's de winter seezun. Den Mass' Bradley go good deal down to de grand city—Orleans. So de folks say."
"That would leave him no time to visit your master's plantation."
"Ah, he find time fo' dat."
"But when?"
"Wal, sar, I tellyouwhen; when mass'r's sister—Miss Corneel—come down to 'tay on de plantashun. Dat am de troof."
More than half prepared for the communication, it did not come with such a surprise. To conceal my thoughts from him who had made it, I said, with an air of carelessness—which cost me an effort:
"Perhaps he is Miss Woodley's sweetheart?"
"May be so, sar; may be so."
Though Jake's answer was not conclusive, I forbore to question him further. I had started a subject that was causing me pain; and further disclosures could only increase it.
After all, what was Miss Woodley to me? The interest I felt in her—was it more than friendship? Why should I interfere in an affair that did not concern me? Cornelia Woodley was no child; but an accomplished lady of several seasons' experience. If she chose to throw herself away upon this worthless man, why should I care? And if I did, what could I do to prevent it? Both she and her brother were strangers to me. I had no right to give counsel; nor would they be likely to accept it.
My best way would be to avoid even the desire for interference; and to do this Imustforsake the society into which chance had accidentally thrown me. It was only to take horse, and continue my travels. It would be a complete change of programme; but the circumstances required it. The prospect of seeing Miss Woodley again, so pleasant on leaving Tennessee, I could now only contemplate with pain. The promise I had made could be easily broken. She would scarce care for my keeping it.
From these gloomy reflections I was startled by the voice of the skiffman.
"Talk ob de debbil," said he, "an' dat genlum shoo to be clost by. Dis time, howeber, we wa' talkin' ob de angel."
"An angel! What do you mean, Jake?"
"Look yonda, sar! What you see yonda?"
"I see a steamboat."
"Ya—jess so. An' in dat 'teamboat dar am a angel! Sartin shoo dar am."
"I don't understand you."
"Golly, mass'r! Doan' ye see dat de boat go stop at Mass' Woodley landin'?"
"Yes; I see that."
"Wal, what she go dar for but put some'dy 'shore. She take no freight from dar, kase we hab none to gub her. We make no cotton, nor no corn to spare from de plantashun. Shoo, den, she land some passager; an' sartin shoo dat passager am de young missa come down from ole Tennessee. Tole ye so, sar. Look! de boat shove off 'gin, an' you see 't am de Cherokee, one ob dem Cumberlan' boats dat run up to Nashville."
About the boat he was right. In ten minutes after she came booming past, almost swamping our eggshell of a skiff. I read upon her side the lettering "Cherokee."
I could not help looking with interest upon that splendid craft in whose gilded saloon had lately sat the woman then occupying my thoughts. But it was an interest clouded with apprehension.
On reaching Henry Woodley's house, I learned that his sister had arrived by the Cherokee, and Nat Bradleyalong with her!
CHAPTER XI.
HOSTILE GUESTS.
Yes, Nat Bradley had landed from the boat along with her, and was there at the house, apparently a welcome guest!
It was with difficulty I could conceal my chagrin, despite the silliness of my showing it.
I succeeded, however, determined next day to take leave of a hospitality that had hitherto given me pleasure, but henceforth could only cause pain.
Bradley did not stay for the night. He had come ashore there, because there was no landing-place on his own plantation. He had been up to Vicksburg on business, and had availed himself of the steamboat to return.
These particulars I gathered from his conversation with my host. I regarded them as plausible excuses. No doubt he had been up to Vicksburg; but not upon business. He had gone there to meet Cornelia Woodley, and accompany her back in the boat. Nothing could be clearer.
He took his leave, borrowing a horse from my host, and promising to bring him back on the morrow. Before that time I too determined upon being gone.
It was easier to talk of such a determination than to carry it out. It is not often that the singed moth succeeds in escaping from the candle, nor the bird from the serpent that allures it. And with either of these might my case be compared.
My proposal of departure was met by surprise on the part of my planter host. So abrupt! So unexpected! He would not hear of it. It would be such a disappointment to him. He had been organizing a grand hunt—the grandest we had yet had—a bearbattuein the canebrakes of the Arkansas side, and all for my especial entertainment. Surely I would not disappoint him?
"You will not?" said his sister, as we were left for a moment alone.
I scarce knew what to say.
"Why do you leave us in such haste?"
Still less could I make answer to this question.
"It is very unkind of you," she continued to urge; "and not very gallant," added she, with a provoking pout. "You appear to have been contented here till I came. I shall think you are running away to avoid me."
There was truth in this, though not in the sense she intended.
I was on the eve of making reply—of reiterating my determination to depart—of telling her why I had taken it—perhaps of speaking some silly reproach.
I was prevented from making this fool of myself by a generosity I little deserved.
"Do stay!" she said, coming near, and almost entreating me. "My brother will be so vexed by your leaving us; and I too. If you go I shall always think it was my presence that had driven you away."
What could be the meaning of that speech? It made me feel that I was either a favored or a flattered man. If the first she who made it was an angel; if the second, a cruel coquette. In which category should I place Cornelia Woodley?
To discover this, was the object of my next remark, the rudeness of which can only be excused by the torture my suspicions were causing me.
"Not your presence, Miss Woodley," I said, "but that of one whose absence would no doubt cause you far greater regret than mine."
The surprise that leaped up into her great gazelle eyes was not unpleasing to me. There was something in it that spoke of innocence. At least, it was not coquetry.
"Of whom do you speak, sir?"
I hesitated to give the name. I may have been wronging her. In any case I had no right to interfere with her predilections. My speech had placed me in a dilemma, from which I would have been too happy to escape without further controversy. Fortunately there was a chance; by her brother at that moment reappearing, to renew his solicitations.
This time they were successful. The short conversation with his sister had caused a change in my sentiments. It had inspired me with fresh hope; under the whisperings of which I was easily persuaded to stay for the grand bear-hunt.
Next day, according to promise, Bradley brought back the horse—one of his negroes riding another.
I felt certain it was only an excuse, as the man could as well have returned the horse without him.
His own was unsaddled and stabled, which told of his intention to make a stay.
Thus brought together, we were necessarily introduced, and for the first time I exchanged speech with a man for whom I had felt an instinctive aversion.
Neither our salutes nor after-communications were cordial; but the presence of our host and his sister relieved us from the necessity of any direct conversation.
I saw that there was a black cloud upon his brow, whenever Miss Woodley appeared to take an interest in any thing I said.
Once I had caught his eye turned upon me with a scowl so sullen and malignant as almost to tempt me to take notice of it.
And yet it rather gratified me to think thathemight be jealous.
The situation appeared to be irksome to all the party. Our host did not seem easy with two such ill-assorted guests, and his sister also showed signs of constraint.
Opportunely there came a relief.
My late skiffman, Jake, who had been scouting through the woods, brought in the report that "de pigeons war in clouds after de mas', up on de ridge among de beeches."
I was the only one present who did not clearly comprehend the announcement.
It was soon explained to me. The well-known migratory birds of America—the passenger-pigeons—had arrived among some beechwood that grew upon a ridge in the rear of the plantation. There making pause in their irregular flight, they were filling their crops with the scattered mast.
Small as was the game, and tame the sport of pigeon-shooting, it is one that can not be obtained every day, like the chase of the squirrel. The birds stay but a short time in any particular place—excepting in those grand roosts that are few and far between. Every one can not enjoy the sport of destroying them wholesale at their roosting-places; but in the autumn of the year, those who live in the neighborhood of beechen woods may have a chance to shoot them.
In a region where they but rarely show themselves, even the grand bear-hunter will not disdain to spend a day or two in popping away at pigeons.
Such a district was that in which lay the plantation of our host.
At the word "pigeons," Henry Woodley sprung to his gun, calling upon us to imitate his example.
We could not do otherwise than respond to the call, and all three started forth—our host, Bradley and myself.
Miss Woodley was, for the time, left alone.
CHAPTER XII.
THE PERILS OF PIGEON-SHOOTING.
I donot purpose to give a description of pigeon-shooting, as practiced in the backwoods of the West; though the sport has its peculiarities, some of which may be worth mentioning. It is not such a slaughter as has been represented, and the vast flocks—or "clouds," as the negro had called them—would lead one to conclude. This is true enough of the breeding-roosts, where the birds, inspired by the passion of love, or acting under the instincts of generation, appear to lose all sense of fear or self-preservation.
Elsewhere, and at other times, they become sufficiently shy; and though the gunner may always get within range of a single bird, or two or three, seated upon a branch, it requires both cover and careful stalking to obtain one of those wholesale shots poured into the thick of the flock and counting its score of victims. Almost invariably, when you are just upon the edge of shot-range, some old bird, wary from the last year's experience, gives the cue to the flock, that with a loud clapping of wings flits off to some other resting-place, a hundred yards further on through the woods.
The whole "gang," however, does not obey this signal of safety. Solitary birds here and there, in twos, threes, or half-a-dozen, remain irresolute upon the branches; and if you are contented to take aim at these, you may keep loading and firing, almost continuously.
For this reason they are not always pursued by shot-guns, some sportsmen preferring the rifle, these often showing the largest bag when the sport is over. They are sure of a bird to each shot, and as there are always some within range, there is no time wasted in idly following the flock.
It was so with a party whom we found on the ridge, young planters and others, who had preceded us there, having got word sooner than we, of the arrival of the pigeons. Some carried shot-guns, others were provided with the rifle. Among those provided with the latter, was Nat Bradley; who, as is usual with planters in riding about, had brought his gun along with him. I myself was armed with the same kind of weapon.
As in all cover-shooting, there is some danger in this sport, especially when the party is a large one; and at a season before the leaves have fallen from the trees. Each sportsman pursues his own course, without thinking of others; and, as the birds may be either upon the ground, the wing, or perched upon the lowermost branches, guns are not always pointed to the sky. With shot flying about, and now and then the bullet of a rifle, one might be excused for feeling a little nervous.
The sport was new to me, and I did not think of this danger, until the "z-zip" of a bullet passing close to my ear, admonished me that pigeon-shooting might prove any thing but a safe pastime.
So close had the thing come, that I felt the current of air sweeping across my cheek, and turning suddenly to the tree behind me, saw the fresh score where the ball had buried itself in the bark. At the same instant I heard the "spang" of the piece that had discharged it.
My first impulse was to proceed toward the incautious sportsman, and reproach him for his carelessness. I could not tell who it was. Some low pawpaws lay between, upon one of which I supposed the pigeon had perched, which had tempted the incautious shot.
The bullet seemed to have brought down its bird, for I had turned suddenly and saw that nothing flew away. All I could see was a blue puff of smoke, soaring up over the pawpaws.
In no very amiable humor, I proceeded toward the spot, but on reaching it I found no one upon whom to discharge my spleen. Guns were cracking in other parts of the wood, and I could see men moving about at the ends of long vistas, but not the man who had come so near shooting me!
It was altogether an odd circumstance, and I stopped to reflect upon it.
Was it carelessness on the part of one of my fellow-sportsmen; who, seeing what he had done, and ashamed of it, preferred sneaking away?
I might have thought so; but then, where was the pigeon? I had turned so quickly, that I must have seen it fall, or fly off.
I saw neither!
I now reached the pawpaw thicket. I could find no bird, either dead or wounded; but, while traversing about, I picked up the "patching" of the bullet. It was a piece of dressed doeskin.
There was nothing in this to guide me to the sportsman who had used it.
I now felt a growing desire to identify him; for the longer I reflected, the more I became convinced that the shot had not been accidental.
"The bullet!" thought I; "that may serve my purpose."
I returned to the tree in which it had buried itself; and, with my knife, carefully scooped it out of the bark.
It was of an unusual size for a hunting-rifle, about twenty to the pound. This would no doubt guide me to the gun from which it had been discharged.
Though the sportsmen were scattered through the woods, I took occasion to place myself in contact first with one, then the other, until I had got a glance at the caliber of their respective guns. There were five of them exclusive of Mr. Bradley.
Of these only two had rifles, both small bores, not larger than fifty to the pound.
From Bradley's rifle then had issued the bullet I had extracted from the tree; and, I now felt convinced that my own person was the "pigeon" at which it had been fired.
Without making known the circumstance, or stating my suspicions to any one, I reflected what would be best for me to do.
To charge the man with an attempt at murdering me, would seem so absurd. What motive could he have for such an atrocious act? We were perfect strangers to one another, with no quarrel between us, no circumstance to have given color to so serious an accusation. Supposing it proved to be Bradley's bullet, he would simply have to say that he fired it at a pigeon, and had not seen me. He might be reproached with negligence, but not accused of a crime, so monstrous as to appear improbable.
On the whole I thought it more prudent to keep my suspicions to myself, or communicate them only to my host on returning home.
Meanwhile I determined to make myself better acquainted with the bore of Mr. Bradley's rifle, and watch the direction in which it should be aimed. To do this it would be necessary to keep my eye upon him.
I now discovered that he was missing from among the sportsmen, nor was his gun any longer heard cracking through the woods.
Some one remarked this, and some one else added that it was not strange, as Nat Bradley cared nothing about shooting, and had likely gone home.
CHAPTER XIII.
REJECTED.
Itis difficult to describe the thoughts at that moment passing through my mind, about Mr. Nat Bradley and his mysterious movements. I can well remember them as being black and bitter. More than ever was I enraged at the man, who, failing to become my assassin, appeared to be successful as my rival. I could no longer conceal from myself the deep interest I felt in Cornelia Woodley.
The disappearance of Bradley was easily explained. I did not need to hear that he had gone back to the house. It was but the echo of my own instinct, the moment he was missed from the sporting party. Miss Woodley would be alone. It was no wonder he should seek such an opportunity. No wonder either, that pigeon-shooting should no longer seem sport to me, and that I should determine on retiring from it.
Without communicating my intention to any one, I strayed from the ridge, and toward the plantation-house.
I went with irresolution, now hesitating whether I should interrupt a scene, the very thought of which maddened me, and where I would, no doubt, be deemed a most unwelcome intruder.
But the madness itself stimulated me to proceed; and, on I went, like one who despairingly offers himself upon the altar of destruction.
Close to the house of Henry Woodley there was a clump of low timber, that might have been likened to an orchard. It was not this, however, only the grove of indigenous trees already mentioned, that, being of an ornamental kind, had been left standing for show and shade. A fence had been thrown around them, and some slight attempts made to give them the character of a cultivated shrubbery. Walks had been traced out, and a rustic seat or two placed at intervals among these natural arbors.
The path leading from the beachwood ridge ran through the inclosure, and upon this I was returning. There was a set of "bars" separating it from the woods behind; most of these were down, as we had left them on going out. I had stepped silently over, and was proceeding on toward the house, when voices, heard in conversation, caused me to come to a stop. There were two of them, both easily recognized. The first I heard was that of Nat Bradley, loud enough for me to make out the words, as also to tell to whom they were addressed.
I was too much interested in what was being said to feel either shame or reluctance at playing eavesdropper.
"You've made up your mind to that?"
I was not in time to catch the beginning of the speech, which appeared to be in the form of an interrogation.
The answer proved it to have been one.
"I have," was the reply, in a female voice—like that of Miss Woodley.
"I suppose you think I'm not rich enough; you intend to marry some grand fellow with a fortune, who can show you off? That's why you refuseme."
"Permit me to tell you, Mr. Nat Bradley, it has nothing to do with my refusing you."
"Come, Corneel; speak the truth; if it be only that, I can promise you that I too—"
"You need not make promises, I have spoken the truth, and once for all, I tell you that it is no use your asking me again. I have said it once before, I now say it again; Nat Bradley, Ican never be your wife."
There was an emphasis on the words that particularly pleased me.
A pause followed, and with a heart strangely palpitating I listened for the rejoinder.
It came in an accent half-agonized, half-angry.
"You won't, Corneel? you won't! Be it so. Then by heaven! you'll never be the wife of another man—or if you are, it will only be to become his widow. I swear by the Eternal, that if it cost me my life, I'll kill the man that marries you. Yes, the very day he makes you his bride. So now you may choose for yourself: either be my wife or some fool's widow. If I thought it was this fledgeless puppy that's staying with you, I wouldn't let it go that far. No, by—! I'd put an end to him before that sun should set. I'd—"
"Nat Bradley!" broke in the voice of the indignant girl. "Do you think I will listen to such a speech as you are addressing to me? You forget yourself, sir; or you forget me. Let me hear no more of it, or my brother shall be told of the liberty you are pleased to take in his absence."
To this speech I could hear no rejoinder, but instead, a rustling of female dress, and the sound of light footsteps passing away. I could tell that Miss Woodley had put an end to the interview by retiring toward the house.
For myself I felt contented enough to have gone back to the woods, and enjoyed pigeon-shooting for the rest of the day. But the word "puppy" rung in my ears, and alongside them was my cheeks, still tingling with that queer sensation I had experienced from the passage of the bullet.
I could not restrain myself from stepping round the tree that had hitherto concealed the speakers from my sight, and confronting the only one that remained upon the ground, Mr. Nat Bradley.
Had I been my own ghost—which he supposed I was—he could not have shown more surprise. I think now, as I thought then, that he was under the belief that he had killed me—and this may account for his consternation at seeing me. At all events the braggadocio to which he had been giving vent, seemed suddenly scared out of him; and he received me in a manner almost submissive.
"Mr. Bradley," I said, "will you have the goodness to let me look at your gun?"
"My gun!" he replied with an air of assumed surprise. "Oh! certainly; but why do you wish to see it?"
"Because I have a bullet here, that passed within less than an inch of my skull. I'm curious to know who came so near shooting me—by accident."
"My God! I hope it wasn't me."
"Well," I replied, after placing the bullet to the muzzle of his rifle, and satisfying myself it had come from no other, "I can only say that it was you who fired the shot, and let me caution you the next time you go pigeon-shooting to stick to the feathered game, and not select a 'fledgeless puppy' for your mark. I hope you understand me?"
Without waiting for an answer, I turned upon the path, and once more stepping over the bars, went back toward the beech-woods.
I rejoined the pigeon-shooting party with a zest for the sport I had not hitherto felt.
No one was made the wiser of what had happened; nor did I care to communicate to my host, how near he had been to having the expense of providing a coffin for his stranger guest!
On our return to the house we found Miss Woodley alone.
Where was Mr. Bradley? inquired her brother.
He had been there, but had taken his horse, and was gone.
Henry thought this nothing strange. He was an odd sort of fellow was Nat Bradley, and did queer things sometimes.
I was not surprised at his unexplained departure. After that interview with the mistress of the mansion, he would not be likely soon to show himself there again.
There was little said about it, and I could see that Miss Woodley had no suspicion of my having overheard what had passed between her and her rejected suitor.
For my part I intended to keep her secret. I was too contented at what I had heard to spoil my pleasure by divulging it, and unless Bradley himself should choose to demand explanations from me, I intended to leave the matter as it stood. Of course I could not help speculating upon what course he would take as regarded myself. Would he submit tamely to the treatment I had given him? Noted bully as he was, I might have expected a challenge, or what was more likely in that land of pseudo-chivalry, an "affair," that is, a rough fight with guns, knives, and pistols. Why it had not come off upon the spot, I could understand, or at all events I had conjectured. His rifle was empty, its last load having been discharged at my own person. He appeared to be unprovided with pistols—these weapons, perhaps, not being deemed appropriate for making a proposal of marriage. Unarmed, and taken by surprise by my sudden appearance, he had permitted me to depart without an encounter.
I supposed, however, it would come off sooner or later, and I waited for a communication.
But the next day passed, and there was none; and the next after, till a whole week had transpired without any word from Mr. Nat Bradley.
I made up my mind I should hear no more of him, and concluded that in this case the bully was also a coward.
CHAPTER XIV.
A SURLY SKIPPER.
Thegrand bear "battue" came off, and I participated in the sport. I enjoyed it all the more that Nat Bradley was not one of the hunters. Had he been so, I might have been mistaken for a bear, and got a bullet through my body. But he was not upon the ground, and I was saved from such apprehensions.
For a time I saw nothing more of him, as he did not come near the house. There were letters, moreover, received by my host, which I fancied were from him. I thought so from having caught sight of the messenger who carried them. He was the negro who had brought back the horse.
After reading them, my host appeared suddenly affected with low spirits. I could guess the nature of the correspondence. No doubt it related to the gambling debt of which the creditor was now spitefully claiming payment. I was happy in thinking it was no worse. For myself I was no longer unhappy, except in the thought of parting from that pleasant companionship to which chance had introduced me.
A change had come over my sentiments. So far from seeking an excuse for hurrying away, I was now thinking of one by which I might gracefully prolong my stay. A somewhat singular one suggested itself. I became seized with the fancy to make a voyage upon a flat-boat! In this way I could glide down to New Orleans, leaving my horse to be sent by steamer!
In truth Ihadsuch a fancy; though I confess I might not have gone so far as to attempt indulging it, but for the sake of the little stratagem that had suggested itself. I knew that the cotton-boat was coming down from Tennessee, and was to call at the plantation. It was to bring barrels of apples, sacks of walnuts, and other etceteras that do not thrive in the semi-tropical lowlands of the Mississippi. Moreover it was to take thence some packages of skins—the spoils of bucks, bears and panthers, which the hunting planter was in the habit of sending annually to New Orleans.
A week or two might elapse before the flat could be expected; and if I insisted on carrying out my caprice I could take passage upon that.
Such was my scheme.
It succeeded, and I found a plea for prolonging that intercourse, too pleasant to be easily interrupted.
Another week elapsed—it seemed only a day—and the Tennessee flat was reported at the landing. I could have wished it upon a snag, five hundred miles up-stream.
There was no help for it. The time had come for taking departure.
The peltries of the hunting planter were sent aboard, along with my own traps—these consisting of a spare suit of clothes, my chase trophies collected during my stay, and a stock of comestibles to serve me during a three-days' river voyage.
Bidding an adieu to Miss Woodley, which was not designed to be the last, I walked toward the landing, my host going along with me.
On reaching the river-bank, we found the crew of the flat engaged in getting the peltries aboard. I was a little surprised, and more than a little chagrined, to discover that the captain of the craft was no other than Mr. Black, her builder, whose uncivil behavior in Tennessee had caused mean unpleasant reminiscence. Stinger, too, was there acting as his mate, the hands, four in number, being negroes from Squire Woodley's plantation.
The discovery caused me to repent of my design—a voyage of three hundred miles in such company did not promise much pleasure, and I regretted my rashness in having proposed it.
It was too late, however, to recede, though I was not long in discovering that the captain of the craft would have been delighted by my doing so.
Every thing had been got aboard, the packages of skins, with the large case containing the souvenirs of my hunting achievements; but my personal luggage and the provision-hamper still rested on the shore, presided over by the plantation darky who had conveyed them to the landing.
The crew of the flat appeared to take no notice of these last, but were standing as if ready to draw in the plank.
"Mr. Black—I believe that is your name?" said my host, addressing himself to theci-devantboat-builder—"I've brought you a passenger. I hope you'll contrive to make him comfortable on the voyage."
"A passenger!" exclaimed the man, pretending surprise, for the negroes must have told him I was coming. "There ar'n't room for a passenger, Mr. Woodley."
"Oh, nonsense! You mustmakeroom, somehow or other."
"The bit o' caboose we hev air arredy crowded. Thar's me and Mr. Stinger in't, and thar's hardly room among the bales for the niggers to streetch themselves."
"You can roll two or three of the bales out upon the roof. You haven't far to take them now. By spreading a bit of tarpaulin over them, they'll get no harm."
"We hain't got no tarpaulin—neery a rag."
"Have some of my skins then; they will do admirably."
This proposal placed the captain of the flat in a dilemma. It was evident he did not wish me to proceed in his company, while at the same time he was at a loss for some reasonable objection that he might urge against my going.
What was causing his reluctance? I could guess. Neither could the planter, who, at first surprised, soon became indignant.
"Come! Mr. Black," he said, "this boat is my father's property, and therefore in some sense mine. My friend has expressed a wish to go down upon it, and I have given him a promise he shall; I must therefore insist upon your making the arrangement I propose, and taking him. Set your men to work and roll two or three cotton-bales out upon the roof."
To this Mr. Black replied that the cotton would get spoiled, and that he'd be in trouble with the broker to whom it was consigned.
"I'll be answerable for that," was the response of the young planter.
Since I had been his guest, I had not seen Henry Woodley in such a temper. He seemed to think that his character as a host was at stake, and felt the indignity of Black's behavior.
As his blood was up, I could see it would be of no use, my proposing to stay behind. Nor, indeed, had I any intention of doing so. Uninviting as was the prospect of making a three hundred miles' voyage in such surly companionship, I was now all the more determined upon it. I had originally committed myself to it as a subterfuge for prolonging my stay at the plantation, and although here was now an additional excuse, I could not creditably make use of it. To trudge back with my traps, and tell Miss Woodley the reason why, would be a humiliation I was not prepared to undergo. Sooner than do that, I would have consented to sleepsub Joveon the roof of the flat, with only my cloak to couch and cover me.
I was quite as indignant at the interruption as my friend—perhaps more determined that it should not stay me; and had the captain of the flat-boat held out any longer, he would have heard a little bit of my mind.
As it was, he reluctantly yielded to the remonstrances already made to him, and consented to receive me as a passenger.
It was now discovered that there would be sleeping-room enough, without disturbing the cotton-bales; and my traps were taken aboard and carried into the "cabin."
An apology for what had happened on the part of the young planter—a promise on my part to revisit him in the spring—a hearty hand-shake between us, and I was afloat upon the "Father of Waters," passenger in a "flat."
CHAPTER XV.
UNSOCIABLE COMPANIONS.
Slowas was our progress, it was made slower by the eccentric action of our steersman—who, for the first six hours, was the second officer of the boat—Mr. Stinger. Instead of keeping in the current, he appeared desirous of shunning it, now hugging one shore, now shooting across and holding for a time to the other.
About five miles below the plantation we had left, he brought to against the bank, Black leaping ashore and making the hawser fast around a tree. There was no appearance of a landing, nor settlement of any kind—nothing but the wild woods.
After a whispered communication with his steersman, but without a word to me, the captain of the craft disappeared among the palmettoes, leaving his crew to the tender mercies of the musketoes.
He was absent about two hours. When he returned, and the flat was once more set free, the steersman resumed his old style of seesawing from side to side, and keeping carefully out of the current.
It might be from prudence at that particular part of the river; "snags," invisible to my inexperienced eye, might be the cause of this crooked navigation.
I could not think so; but, from the relations that existed between us, I was hindered from making inquiry, either as to that, or why Mr. Black had so long absented himself.
I addressed myself to one of the negroes, whom I remembered having seen upon the Tennessee plantation. But the darky seemed to know no more than myself. He replied, with a puzzled expression:
"Doan' no why Mass' Stinger am a-toatin' de ole boat 'bout so; I 'pose he hab some reezan. Maybe dar's danger 'bout hyar 'mong de snags an' de sawyers."
My own explanation was different, though, as afterward proved, not any nearer the truth. I fancied that Mr. Black had made up his mind to punish me for forcing my company upon him. He would do it by making these delays anddetours, and so playing upon my patience, drive me ashore, at Natchez, Point Coupee, or some other stopping-place for steamboats.
Had this been his design, it would have succeeded. Long before night I had become sick both of my company and quarters, and intended to escape from them at the very first landing, where I might wait for some down-river steamboat.
Indeed, the thought had been in my mind at the moment of embarking. I did not declare it, as I knew it would humiliate my late host to think that the brute Black had beaten us. Now that I was alone, there was no reason why I should continue to endure the inconvenience of such a voyage. By going ashore at Natchez, I could put an end to it, and the Woodleys need be none the wiser.
All through the afternoon the zigzagging continued, and I think we must have crossed and recrossed about a score of times. It seemed a slow way of carrying Squire Woodley's cotton crop to its destination. At the rate we were progressing, it would be midwinter before our craft touched the levee of New Orleans.
When the sun set, we were not ten miles below the place of my embarkation. I conjectured this from not having seen the island where we had shot the eagle; though it was possible we might have passed without my recognizing it.
During the daylight I had contrived to kill time with my gun. Waterfowl were constantly flushing up before the boat, and land-birds flying across the river, and I amused myself by shooting them.
Now it was an osprey soaring above the stream; now a white egret or a blue heron perched upon the point of some sand-bar, or sailing along upon a drift-log.
Once I got a shot at the great Mississippi crane, and brought the bird down upon the water; but as the uncivil skipper would not allow his skiff to retrieve it, I had to lose my game.
The shooting, however, proved excellent sport. Indeed, it was partly in expectation of this I had first thought of making such a voyage.
When night came on I could not continue it; and I was forced to think of some other resource for destroying time.
There was no other. Conversation with such a crew was out of the question, and I was without books—even had it been possible to read them by the light of a dull tallow dip that burned in the hole called "caboose." I could not endure to stay in this noisome hole, in the company of four chattering negroes, who for some reason had been ordered to remain below. The two white men kept to the roof; and thither I repaired, intending to spend at least a portion of the night in the open air.
Though the day had been one of the hottest, it was now cool enough for heavy covering—the chill air of the swamp sweeping along the surface of the stream.
Unpacking my cloak I threw it over my shoulders and closed the clasp. There was sufficient breeze to make this precaution necessary. Then igniting a cigar, I commenced pacing to and fro over the rounded roof of the ark.
I soon discovered there was not much comfort in this. The night was dark, the planking uneven, and I was in danger of stumbling overboard.
I stopped, and taking stand near the edge, bent my eyes over the broad stream, watching the fire-flies as they flitted like sparks along the wooded shore, whose outlines I could barely trace through the darkness.
For a time I found distraction for my thoughts in listening to the many voices of Nature, sonorous around me. From the bank I could hear the barking of the wolf, and once or twice a catlike call which I supposed to be the cougar.
But the night-birds were more noisy, and rising above the constant "skirl" of the crickets, I could distinguish the trumpet-like note of the wild swan, the "honk" of the gander, and the plaintive call of the bull-bat.
For a long time I stood listening to these mingled voices—the psalmody of Nature. There were no human sounds to hinder me from hearing them. The four negroes were below, and the two white men upon the deck were silent as specters. I could see them standing together by the shaft of the long steering-oar, which, resting upon its pivot, traversed the boat longitudinally, reaching almost from stem to stern. They appeared to converse, but in a tone so low I could not hear what they were saying.
I had placed myself as far as possible from them, having no wish to court the companionship of such an unsocial couple.
Though carried on in whispers, I noticed that their conversation was of an earnest kind. I could tell this by their attitudes. Was it about me?
Despite the obscurity that surrounded them, I could see that their faces were turned toward me. I knew that they were chafed at my having come aboard against their will, though for what reason I was still unable to guess.
Beyond the incivility which they had already shown in every possible way, I expected nothing more. It seemed too ridiculous to apprehend danger.
And yet, at that moment, something of the kind stole into my thoughts. I had heard enough of these Mississippi boatmen to believe them capable of any thing—even of committing murder.
But why should these men murder me? My baggage was not big enough; and they had no reason to believe I carried money upon my person, in a sum sufficient to tempt them to such a crime.
Besides, there were the negroes, Squire Woodley's own slaves; such an attempt could not be made without their knowing of it. The thought was preposterous; and I dismissed it from my mind as soon as conceived.
And still I could not make out why the two were talking so earnestly. Their gestures, too, which I could just discern through the dim light, admonished me that some strange circumstance was being discussed between them. It could not be the guiding of the boat. Ever since nightfall they had ceased "quartering" the stream. The steering-oar was at rest, and the flat was gliding smoothly on, at the rate of four miles to the hour—the current at this place being unusually rapid. It could not be that.
By this time my cigar had nearly burnt out. Groping for another, I discovered I had left my case in the cabin. In going to get it, I passed close to where the two men were standing. Black had hold of the oar-handle, while Stinger was lounging at his elbow.
I had the cigar-stump still in my teeth—the remains of a good Havana, with a red coal at the end of it. I was curious to have a look at the fellows; and passing close to them, I increased the luminosity of the cigar by giving it a strong puff or two.
Never had such a faint light shone upon two more ill-favored faces. Both appeared distorted by some passion of a criminal kind; and, could I have imagined any motive for their murdering me, I might have believed at that moment, that such was their intention!
CHAPTER XVI.
A MAN OVERBOARD.
Ondescending into the "caboose," I found the four negroes stretched out and snoring. They had worked hard at the steering-oar while making these eccentric traverses, which even they did not understand. Poor wretches! had they known what was in store for them, they would not have gone to sleep. Even fatigue could not have overcome them.
The dip was burning dimly, and by its light I had some difficulty in finding my cigar-case. I laid my hands upon it at length, and drawing forth a fresh weed, kindled it at the cumulus of smoking wick.
For a moment I hesitated as to whether I should return to the roof, or take my seat upon a chest that formed part of the furniture of the cabin.
The stench decided me. The odor of greasy cooking-utensils, combined with that emanating from the shirts of four sweating Africans, was too powerful to be put down by the perfume of the best Havana, and I preferred returning to the roof.
As I ascended the steps, I heard a scrambling above me, as if the two men were struggling with the steering-oar.
I could not guess what it meant, and was all the more surprised at seeing them—as soon as the darkness permitted—exactly in the same spot where I had left them. Black was still grasping the handle of the oar, Stinger standing at his elbow.
I was about passing on to the stem, and had got between them and the beam, when I heard the former exclaim: "H—l fire! we'll be on a snag!"
At the same instant I saw him rush toward me, pressing the oar in front of him.
Before I had time to get out of the way, the huge piece of timber struck me in the ribs; and but that I had caught hold of it I should have been precipitated into the water.
My hold did not avail me, nor was it the intention of that ruffian steersman that it should.
"Let go!" he cried. "Let go, d—n ye, or ye'll have us on the snag!"
As he spoke, I saw his right hand raised from the oar, and then descending toward me. By the light of my cigar, still between my teeth, I saw the gleaming of steel. At the same time I felt a stinging sensation in my shoulder, the arm seemed to become suddenly paralyzed, my grasp became relaxed, and I fell back downward into the river!
For a second or two my cloak sustained me, but before I could turn upon my face and strike out to swim, the huge ark swept over me, sending me far below the surface. A loud drumming in my ears, a choking sensation in my throat—the sensation of drowning!
I came again to the surface, but without any clear idea of where I was, or what had happened me. It appeared like a horrible dream from which I was not yet awakened.
Soon my senses returned; I remembered having fallen from the flat; and then, that I had been pushed from it; and then, how I had struggled to save myself from going over; and then, why I had not succeeded.
During this process of thought, I was kept above water less by my own efforts, than by the cloak that covered my shoulders, and the rapid current that carried me along. But for these I might have gone back to the bottom, never more to rise. On attempting to swim, I found that my right arm was of no use to me.
I looked around for the flat, though without any design to recover footing upon it. It was no longer near me, nor in sight. Carried swiftly on by the current, it had disappeared in the darkness.
I did not shout to make known my situation. I had sufficiently recovered my senses to know that on board the boat there might be as much danger to me as in the water. Perhaps more; and I preferred trusting to the stream.
Working the cloak to the right side, so as to leave my left arm free, I struck out with it; not to swim, but simply to keep my head above water. In this way I glided on with the current.
I could not have kept long afloat. I felt I was each moment growing feebler; and with the utmost difficulty could save myself from sinking.
The surging current carried me along, but not toward the bank. I saw no bank; for that matter I might as well have been in the middle of the ocean.
Even had the shore been in sight, I could have done nothing to approach it. I could have made no effort beyond that I was making—just sufficient to sustain myself on the surface.
I should soon sink. I began to feel certain of it—to contemplate it with a sort of resignation. Quicker than the changes of a kaleidoscope, the scenes of my past life came before me. Father, mother, sisters, and brothers, were all at that moment remembered, and she whom I had late left. Oh! it was agony to think I should never see her again!
While giving way to this despairing thought, something struck me from behind. I felt some hard substance pressing against my thigh. It caused a thrill through my flesh, for it was a contact unexplained and unnatural. I could think only of one thing, the snout of an alligator! I knew that I was now in that part of the Mississippi where this hideous saurian held his midnight revels.
Instinctively I increased my speed, but to no purpose; the bony proboscis still rubbed against my thigh. In another moment I should feel the huge jaws harshly closing upon and crushing it like a reed!
With an effort I turned round, to meet the monster face to face. In this way I preferred perishing.
In another moment I lay with my left arm clasped around it, embracing it as I might my dearest friend, as if it had been—
What I had mistaken for an ugly alligator, was a floating tree-trunk; like myself rudely flung upon the flood, but with a buoyancy far surpassing mine.
The log proved light enough to sustain not only itself, but faint sinking me; and straddling it longitudinally, I gave myself up to the current with a gratitude to God, whose hand, I could not help thinking, had been stretched out to preserve me!
After that, I became unconscious.
CHAPTER XVII.
ADRIFT.
Myunconsciousness resembled sleep. It was not that, but syncope. I had fainted through exhaustion.
Fortunately the cloak, still upon my shoulders, clung around the tree-trunk, and hindered me from slipping off. Otherwise I might have gone to the bottom without knowing it.
My syncope was of short duration, though how long I could not tell. I could guess at the time afterward from knowing the distance I must have drifted.
I awoke to find myself lying upon the log. It was afloat, as I could tell by its motion underneath me; and I supposed myself drifting down-stream.
As my senses became clearer I perceived that this was not the case. Although the log bobbed about, as I stirred upon it, I now saw that it was close to the bank, and held as if by a hawser.
It was dark all around me, darker than ever; but I could see that I was under the shadow of trees, whose moss-covered arms stretched out over the stream. The gleaming of fire-flies upon the bank above gave me no aid in reconnoitering the situation. Their false, fitful light only misled me.
After a time I discovered the cause of my having come to; and even recognized the spot. It was the same where I had made landing from the skiff, while eagle-shooting on the island.
There was the huge fallen cypress with its roots upon the bank and trunk slanting down into the river. Despite the darkness and the confusion of my ideas, I remembered it.
I was still lying along the log, having as yet made no attempt to leave it. I felt too weak for the effort. Fortunate that it was so; for soon after I discovered the singular manner in which I was moored. The skirt of my cloak, trailing upon the water, had caught in a snag of the cypress, and held fast. As the garment was also hooked to the log on which I lay, the latter had been arrested in its course, and turned round under the shelter of the tree, where the current ceased to act upon it. Had I started suddenly up, or made any incautious movement, I might have detached the chance fastening and gone adrift again, to be carried God knows whither. Perceiving this danger, I took my measures accordingly.
Gently hauling upon the hawser of soaked broadcloth, I succeeded in grasping one of the branches of the cypress, and drawing the log close to its trunk, I was enabled to crawl from one to the other.
I did not accomplish this without an effort; I had but one arm to work with, the left. My right hung useless by my side.
Scrambling along the slanting trunk, I got up to the level of the bank, and then dropping off, I staggered a step or two through the palmettoes, and fell prostrate to the earth.
For a time I felt utterly unable to recover my feet. I wondered at my weakness, and could not account for it. The mere fatigue could not have caused it. I knew that I was wounded. My helpless arm, and the pain in my shoulder, told me that I had received a stab; I had seen the knife that had given it; but in the darkness I did not know that much of the moisture bathing my body was my own blood. This it was that had so utterly enfeebled me.
I had just strength left to take off my coat, grope for the wound—though it was easily found—and bind it up in strips torn from my dripping shirt.
After that I fell back into a recumbent attitude. I could sustain myself in no other.
But for the discomfort caused by my wet clothes I could have gone to sleep, for I felt deathlike drowsy. Every thread was saturated, and, with only one arm, I could not wring them out. I succeeded, however, in expelling most of the water from my cloak, by pressing it with my feet against the trunk of a tree, and then spreading it over me, I lay swathed in dampness.
The night was not cold. It had been chill only in the breeze of the river. Under the shelter of the trees there was not a breath stirring; and with the heat of my body, I was soon surrounded by an atmosphere resembling a vapor-bath.
Soothed by its warmth, my drowsiness increased, and I gradually sunk into a slumber.
It was not sound nor natural, only the slumber of exhaustion. I awoke at intervals to a sort of half-consciousness, scarce knowing whether I was sleeping or waking.
Once I was aroused to a clearer comprehension. It was a sound that startled me. It appeared to be a shot, instantly followed by a shriek, like the cry of some one in extreme agony!
I thought there were voices afterward; and I lay for a long while listening, but I could hear only the constant "skirl" of the grasshoppers and tree-toads, with now and then the "glucking" of the great swamp-frog, and the hoot of the horned owl. The shot and the shriek may have been only a fancy—the dream of a disordered brain. I tried to think so, but could not. I had heard the first through my sleep; but the second rung in my awakened ear, as also the voices that succeeded it. I could not bring myself to believe that I had not actually heard them.
I did not think of connecting these sounds with what had occurred to me on the flat. By that time Mr. Black and his boat would be miles away—far out of my hearing. I knew that some hours had passed since I had been pushed overboard. The boat going in the center current would have forged far ahead of me, and my floating log. Besides I had now been some time on the island.
I lay reflecting on what had occurred.
Though unable to account for the conduct of the ruffian, I did not attribute it to any deep design. I had simply crossed him in some whim, and I knew that for even so slight a cause life is often sacrificed on the Mississippi.
What design could he have in killing me? I could not think of any; not even a motive.
Kept awake by the stinging pain of my wound, I continued to reflect. I remembered the strange behavior of the skiffman Jake, and the statement he had made about strange sounds heard upon the island—"de debbil's island," as he called it. There appeared to be some truth at the bottom of what I had ridiculed as a superstition!
I slept no more for the remainder of that night. I was filled with horrid fear; and with joy I hailed the first gray glimmer of the moon, as it came slowly stealing through the festoons of Spanish moss, that curtained my ungrateful couch.
CHAPTER XVIII.
ILL-OMENED SOUNDS.
Withthe sun fairly up, my strength had to some degree returned. I was still feeble as a child, but able to stand upon my feet.
My first care was to quench my thirst. It is always so with those severely wounded, especially where there has been much loss of blood.
Though near me there was water sufficient to have surfeited the whole human race, I had some difficulty in drinking of it. It was only accessible by means of the sloping tree-trunk. I succeeded in crawling down this, and satisfying the appetite that distressed me.
Returning to the bank, I bethought me of the next move to be made: which of course was, how I should get off the island. I did not spend much time in speculating about this. My eagle-shooting excursion was still fresh in my remembrance, and along with it the lagoon to which it had led me in the chase of the wounded bird, with the old dug-out I had seen under the cypress.
"How fortunate," I thought, "there is such a chance of getting off! Otherwise I might remain on this island heaven knows how long. It might be days before any boat would come past, near enough to be hailed, and with nothing to eat."
So ran my reflections as I gathered up my cloak, now nearly dry, slung it, scarf-like over my shoulder, and with a staggering step set forth in the direction of the dug-out.
My course was far from being direct; I had but a slight recollection of my former traces, which, of themselves, had been sufficiently eccentric. I was again going by guess, and now slowly, faint, and tottering in my steps.
More by chance, than by guidance, they conducted me to the deadwood where I had discovered the eagle's nest. As I came into the opening under it, I was saluted by the screams of the bereaved birds—all three of which, startled by my approach, circled in the air above. I could not help thinking they recognized me, and that their screams were in retaliation, to mock my misfortune. I hastened on, looking for the lagoon.
From the deadwood I could proceed directly. I had twice traversed the ground, and remembered the trace. Sure of my direction, I walked on more calmly, and soon came in sight of the sunflash that shot down through the break caused by the lagoon.
At the same moment I came suddenly to a stop—at the sound of human voices!
They were not loud, but heard only in low murmuring, as of men engaged in earnest conversation. The speakers were evidently by the edge of the lagoon to which I was tending.
"How fortunate," thought I, "to find people upon the island. Some hunters, perhaps?"
I should get off without the necessity of having to take the old dug-out, about the management of which, with my disabled arm, I had misgivings.
While thus congratulating myself, one of the voices was raised a little louder—just then giving vent to an exclamation. I recognized the voice. It was the same that had sworn at me the night before as I clung to the steering-oar. It had been ever since ringing in my ears. It was the voice of the boatman Black.
My first feeling was of extreme surprise. What could the flat-boat captain be doing on the island? And was his craft there too? It might be. The sounds reached me direct from the lagoon. The boat might be in it.
Listening, I again heard the voices, mingling with the tread of heavy boots, as of men hurrying to and fro over hollow planking. Beyond doubt the boat was in the bayou!
What was it doing there? Had it met with an accident, and been taken to the lagoon for safety and repair? I had heard that the river-current was at that point especially dangerous, and this suggested the thought.
It never occurred to me that they had brought to on my account. I could not suppose this. I was certain as I lived they intended taking my life, and were under the impression that they had succeeded. Had Black merely pushed me overboard, I might have had doubts; but the thrust of his knife, and the fierce exclamation that accompanied it, left no uncertainty as to his intention.
And now, recalling this, my first feeling of surprise gave way to one of alarm. Whatever cause of hostility these ruffians had against me would still exist. Moreover, their design of taking my life would now be strengthened by an instinct for their own preservation. Seeing that I still lived, they would know that their attempt at assassination could not go altogether unpunished, despite the lawlessness of the land in which they lived.
In that remote and solitary place, unseen by human eyes save their own, they might renew it, with every chance of success considering my crippled condition.
True, there would be the negroes, whose presence in the daylight might restrain them. But I was not sure of this. They might find some means of getting the black men out of the way; and I knew that, even if eye-witnesses of the most fearful crime, the testimony of the slave is often controlled by the fear of the torturing cowskin. They could order the four men below, as they had done before, and then do with me as they pleased, drag me to a distance among the trees, and murder me at their leisure. I felt too feeble to make the slightest resistance.
These conjectures passed through my mind in less time than I have taken to state them; and under a horrid apprehension, I not only hesitated to advance, but feared to retreat, lest the rustling of the leaves might betray my presence.
For some minutes I remained thus irresolute, when it occurred to me that some one might stray out among the trees and discover me. A giant cypress stood near, whose huge buttresses, surrounded by "knees" about my own hight, offered an excellent place for concealment; and gliding silently into one of its dark niches, I took stand, cowering like a fugitive, who feels that the ruthless pursuer is upon his track and close to his hiding-place!
For some time I remained a prey to horrid apprehensions. After my experience of the previous night, I was justified in having them.
They were keen enough to keep me quiet. I made no more noise than was caused by my quick breathing.
For nearly an hour I stood in my "stall," between the two broad buttresses of the cypress, considering what I should do. I was still irresolute about retreating. The whole surface of the island was beset with palmettoes, whose stiff, fan-like fronds made a loud rustling when touched. I could not pass through them without risk of being heard. Why I had not been discovered while making my approach was probably because the boatmen were busy about some matter that engrossed their attention. They were very near me—not thirty yards off, and but for the underwood I should have been certainly seen. If caught retreating, I should have given them the very opportunity they would desire—that is, if they meant to murder me.
Besides, I could think of no way by which I was to get off the island. I should gladly have gone back to the craft that had conveyed me thither, the drift-log, and once more trusted myself to the current. But I remembered that, on leaving it, it had become disentangled from the cypress and resumed its course down the river. Even this waif was no longer available.
My next thought was to steal back to the side from which I had come, watch for some passing boat, hail her to bring to and take me off. But I knew there would be but little hope in this. I had reason to believe that the boats did not pass on that side. Though there the channel was wider, it was not so safe, and both steamers and flats kept to the other. I knew nothing of how the land lay, and I was apprehensive that by proceeding to make an exploration, I should be seen by the assassins of the flat. Even should a steamboat appear, I dared not hail with my voice, and any signal I should make would scarce be regarded.
My thoughts once more reverted to the dug-out. It was not likely the old craft would be disturbed by the crew of the cotton-boat, who had their skiff for a tender.
Concealed as the canoe was, under the fronds of the palmettoes, it might even escape their notice. I could wait till they took their departure, and then avail myself of it, to get off from the island. This, at length, became my determination.
I only hoped I should not be long detained; though I could form no idea of what was causing the detention of the cotton-boat. It did not appear to be an accident.
There was no sound of saw, or hammers, or any thing like making repairs—only the hum of voices, with the tramping and shuffling of feet.
I listened to make out what was said, but could not. The conversation appeared to be carried on in a low tone, as if under restraint. There were three voices taking part in the talk, but Black's was the only one I could recognize. A second, I thought, was Stinger's; but the man was of a taciturn habit, and I only heard it at long intervals. The third was unknown to me.
Nor was any of them the voice of a negro. This I thought strange. Actively engaged as they appeared to be, if there were darkies employed at the work their silence was inexplicable. I heard neither their chattering nor jocund cachinnation.
After a time a fourth voice fell upon my ear, and in a tone that seemed to direct, or command. I was startled to think it was that of the planter, Bradley!
I listened more attentively than ever, straining my ears to their utmost. I could hear nothing but sound—the low humming of human voices, deadened in its passage through the thick shrubbery, and at intervals drowned by the shrieking of the grasshoppers. For all this I could tell that there were four voices, one of them I was almost certain being that of Bradley.
It was with something more than curiosity that I interrogated myself as to what he could be doing there. I could only answer by conjecture. At first it seemed very strange. But then I remembered that Bradley's plantation was not far off. Perhaps an accident had happened to the boat, he had been apprised of it, and come to render assistance?
This conjecture was natural enough, and but for other circumstances might have satisfied me. It did not, and I continued to seek for some other explanation. If I could only get sight of the speakers, this might be obtained. But I could not without danger of exposing myself to their view. I might hear what they were saying by making a nearer approach, but this would be equally perilous.
All at once it occurred to me that I might accomplish my object by climbing up into the cypress. The sounds would be carried upward, and in the tree-top I might be able to understand the talk going on in the lagoon. I saw that the ascent would be easy. One of the buttresses offered a slanting ridge, not much more difficult to scale than the rounds of a ladder; and by this I clambered up into the tree.
CHAPTER XIX.
A SINGULAR PROCEEDING.
Onceamong the branches, I felt myself safe from being seen. The streamers of Spanish moss formed a festoonery around me thick enough to have concealed an elephant. By keeping quiet there would be no danger of my being detected, and I kept as still as a man may be expected to who believes his life depends upon so slight a thing as the swishing of a leaf, or the snapping of a twig.