I had not been twenty minutes on my perch before becoming convinced thatmy lifehung upon just such a thread.
This conviction came not from any thing I heard; for still, as below, I could only make out the murmur of the men's voices; but I was now able to get sight of themselves.
One of the largest limbs of the cypress extended toward the lagoon, beyond which there was an open list communicating with that over the water. By creeping along this branch I believed I should have a view, not only of the bayou, but of the boat.
With only one hand to help me, it seemed a difficult task, but under the stimulus of something more than curiosity I attempted it. I succeeded.
The bayou, the boat, the crew, came under my eyes.
Not the crew as I had noted it when taking my departure from Henry Woodley's plantation, for the four negroes were not seen. I saw only white men.
There were three of them. Two were Black and his confederate, Stinger. The other, a man unknown to me, but whose physiognomy and general appearance rendered him a fit associate for the two already named.
All these appeared busy as bees, though not occupied in the same manner. I first saw Stinger, who was engaged on that end of the flat where the steps led down into the caboose. He was scrubbing the roof-boards and apparently, also, the slips, with a brush in hand and a bucket standing beside him.
Crawling a little further along the branch, the other two came in sight. There was a staging from the flat to the shore. It sloped down to the bottom of a sort of doorway in the side of the boat. I could see that a half-score cotton-bales had been rolled across it, and lay upon the land. Among these Black, in his shirt-sleeves, and the strange man, were busy.
The flat, after all, had met with an accident, and they were unloading to prevent it from sinking. This was my first impression, and I began to think therehadbeen a snag, and in some way or other I had been mistaken about the whole business.
I no longer wondered at the boat having been brought up the bayou. I only wondered at not seeing the negroes. There was not one of them visible. They might be inside the boat, assisting to get out the cotton. But then I should have heard their voices, or some noise they must necessarily have made, and there was none. Where could they be?
I had not been long looking on before I discovered that Black and his assistant were engaged in an operation that quite mystified me. As I have said, they were busy among the cotton-bales. With inquiring eyes I watched their proceedings. I saw the two take hold of a bale, unloose the ropes that bound it, rip off the "bagging" from one of its sides, and then stitch in its place another piece, after which the binding-cords were readjusted.
For some time I was puzzled by this singular proceeding, and it was only after a prolonged scrutiny that I could conjecture what it meant. At length, however, I arrived at the elucidation, strange and improbable as it appeared.
I observed that the pieces of canvas removed were from the sides that carried the plantation-mark and the name of the owner. I could make out the word "Woodley." On those that replaced them, which appeared in other respects precisely similar, I saw that there was a different mark, and a different name. In the large black lettering, I could read: "N. Bradley."
Up to this moment all had been conjecture. It was so no longer. The scheme became revealed to me, as by a flash of sudden sinister light. From my perch in the cypress tree I was looking upon a scene of piracy such as I had heard was far from being rare upon the Mississippi river.
The transaction was clear. The planter-pirates had taken possession of the cotton-boat, and were making their plunder presentable for a safe sale. That Bradley was at the back of it I had no doubt. His name going upon the bales proved his participation, and something more—the chief of the gang. He was not there himself, but I felt certain he had been but a few minutes before. I could almost have sworn to hearing his voice and that, too, giving directions to the others.
How had the capture been effected? My thoughts now reverted to the negroes, who had composed the crew. With increased interest, I again looked to see if they were upon the boat. If so they must be hidden somewhere and holding themselves unusually silent.
My eyes wandered to the hatchway of the little cabin, in which I had last seen them asleep. Were they asleep still, or in the slumber of death?
My blood ran cold at the horrid suspicion—colder as I thought of its probability.
There was no sign of any negro. Stinger was alone seen by the steps of the caboose, still occupied with his scrubbing-brush.
My attention now became particularly directed to this man. What could be his object in washing the rough planks forming the roof of a flat-boat? Of what was he cleansing them? And why with such care? for he was down upon his knees, devoting himself to the task with apparent earnestness.
In seeking an explanation, my eye rested upon the "suds" chased to and fro before his brush. I saw that they were of a crimson color, as if tinged with blood! I saw this with astonishment, with trembling. I remembered what I had heard in the night—that I had believed to be a dream—the shot, and the shriek that succeeded.
Had both been real? Had murder been committed? And was Stinger engaged in eliminating its traces?
The blacks were no longer upon the boat. Where were they? Was it their blood I saw, and were their bodies at the bottom of the lagoon?
Horrid as were these suspicions, I could not help having them; and the thought that they were true gradually becoming a conviction, kept me quiet in the tree.
CHAPTER XX.
A SPELL OF PADDLING.
I remainedsilent on the limb of the cypress. Even the irksomeness of my seat did not tempt me to descend.
I was now sensible of being in a position of real peril. The men were murderers—all four of them—and one more crime would be lightly added to their last. Taking my life would be a step necessary for their own safety, and I knew that if discovered I might expect but a short shrift of it. It needed nothing more to secure my silence.
I did not design remaining there forever, only until night. Then I should descend, make my way to the dug-out, which I hoped to find in its place, and, favored by this and the darkness, slip silently out of the lagoon into the open river. This was the plan traced out.
As nothing could be done before night, I summoned all my patience to await it. And all of it was called into play. Never in my life do I remember having spent what appeared a longer day. I thought it would have no end—that the sun was never to set. It was still early when I arrived at the foot of the cypress, for I had started by the first light to go toward the lagoon.
The time at first did not hang so heavily on my hands. I was furnished with a sort of melancholy entertainment in watching the movements of the three ruffians upon the flat. I still tried to catch their conversation, though it was no longer needed to elucidate the transaction in which they were engaged.
In this I was unsuccessful as ever. Though at times talking with apparent earnestness, they kept to a low key, as if themselves fearful of being overheard. No wonder they should, considering the work in which they were engaged.
I became wearied watching them, and soon after lost sight of them altogether.
After the bales that had been rolled out upon the bank were treated as described, all three—Stinger having completed his task of purification—entered inside the ark, and for several hours I saw no more of them.
I could guess, however, how they were engaged. The bringing ashore only the odd bales had been to make room for operations inside, where I had no doubt that the whole cargo was receiving the Bradley brand.
The quickness with which they appeared to execute their work of unroping, stitching and retying, told that it was not the first time of their having been similarly employed; and the pieces of old canvas strewed about the place, and which I had noticed on my former visit to the island, were now recalled to my recollection. In that solitary spot more than one shipment of cotton had changed its plantation-mark.
I could now understand what had appeared to puzzle his acquaintances—how Mr. Nat Bradley had so rapidly prospered on his new plantation. His boast of being able to make two bales in Mississippi for one in Tennessee I could no longer look upon as an idle vaunt. Under my eyes was the explanation.
It was a long, tedious, terrible vigil. Astride the limb of a tree, hungry, athirst, smarting under the pulsations of a fevered wound, a prey to apprehensions that by some sinister chance I might be discovered in my place of concealment, I thought that the day would never come to an end. And even when it should end, what certainty had I of being able to make good my escape? The dug-out on which I was placing my dependence might be no longer there, or if it was, I might not succeed in starting it from its moorings? I might be detected in attempting to pass the flat, which lay between the canoe and the narrow creek that communicated with the river.
Besides these, there were other probable contingencies—scores of them—to distress and keep me in constant apprehension, and in this state I passed the remainder of the day.
Just as the twilight gloom was beginning to darken over the island, I saw something to cheer me. I saw the three men come forth out of the cavernous opening in the side of the ark, each carrying an armful of spoiled canvas, which I recognized as the cast sides of the cotton-bales. I saw them make these up into a huge bundle, load it with heavy mud, tie a rope round the whole mass, and fling it into the lagoon, where, like a stone, it sunk to the bottom! After this the odd bales were rolled aboard, the staging drawn in, the hatch-door shut to, and the huge ark yielding to a pair of oars passed slowly and silently from my sight!
As soon as sure that they were gone for good, I descended from the tree, and waiting till the darkness had come down, I groped my way toward the place where I remembered having seen the dug-out.
I was not disappointed. I found the old craft, still resting neglected upon the water, either not seen, or not cared for, by the pirates, who had passed away.
Getting quietly aboard, and arming myself with the paddle, I unloosed the fastening of twisted vines, and pushed on toward the river, which I reached without hearing or seeing any one.
Fortunately the night was a dark one, like that which preceded it. I was further favored by a thick fog that had come on after sunset.
Once out in the river I had no difficulty about the direction. The current guided me, and setting the stern of the canoe straight against it, I plied the paddle with all the strength I could command.
I took good care to dip the blade lightly, so as to make no noise in the water. The flat might still be within ear-shot. It might have been brought to for some purpose, alongside that island plantation, which I now knew to be the property of a pirate, and by the border of which I was now slowly feeling my way. The chill fog seemed to have quieted the night-chanters of the forest, and a slight sound could be heard far off. The stroke of the paddle might reach the ears of the pirates, and prompt them to follow me in their skiff that served as a tender to the cotton-boat.
I knew that they could easily overtake me, in which case I might count upon certain death. They would recognize the dug-out and know whence I had taken it.
For the first mile or so, I made but a snail's progress. With only one hand to work with, and it the wrong one, I had great difficulty in keeping the canoe stern on to the stream. Several times it came round broadside to the current, causing me to lose way before I could again get it headed in the right direction.
As I began to feel more confident that there was no pursuit, I also became more adroit in the management of the craft. Further up, too, the current was not so rapid, and I had less fear about dipping my oar-blade into the water.
Still I was not free from apprehension, and I moved on as silently as ever, at intervals suspending my stroke and listening to catch any sound from below.
Once I fancied I heard the plunge of oars close behind me, and in fear I gazed into the thick fog, thinking I should see the pursuing skiff. I listened intently for the plash of an oar-blade, or the murmur of human voices.
I heard neither. I must have mistaken the sound that had reached me. It may have been caused by an alligator floundering through the flood, or some drift-tree turned suddenly over by the current.
Though still necessarily slow, my progress improved as I got further away from that place of horror—the Devil's Island. But I was not easy in my mind, until by the earliest break of day, I saw before me an open spot on the bank, which I recognized as the landing of Henry Woodley's plantation. There was no house near it, no erection of any kind. Only some cords of firewood upon the bank, intended for the supply of such passing steamboats as chose to put in for it. It was part of the industrial resources of the plantation.
The house stood a full half-mile from the river's edge, screened from view by the cottonwood forest.
At that early hour, I did not expect to see any one at the landing. I hoped not, as I did not myself wish to be seen. I had begun to reflect on the future, more than the past, on the punishment of these murdering pirates, and the mode of bringing it about.
I knew that in such a lawless land, justice might not be so easily obtained, and that despite the proofs I had, stratagem would still have to be resorted to. At all events, it would be as well that none of the plantation negroes should know of my return until I had first placed myself in communication with their master.
With the view of making my approach unobserved, I clung close along the bank, and came to at some distance below the landing-place.
Drawing the dug-out up under some branches that overhung the bank, I made it secure, at the same time that it was concealed from view. I did not intend that the old craft should drift down-stream, and perhaps tell a tale to the pirates below.
CHAPTER XXI.
A TERRIFIED DARKY.
Oncesafely ashore, I walked silently through the underwood in the direction of the landing.
There was no one there, nothing but the parallelopipedons of cordwood piled up in readiness for the firemen.
The question now arose how I was to get to the house—how to get inside it—without being seen by the negroes of the plantation. I knew that they were up, and stirring about the place. I could hear the murmur of their voices, with now and then the louder baying of a hound. Of course I could not approach the dwelling without being observed—much less get inside of it.
My plight too! My crippled arm which I carried slung in the silk scarf taken from my neck, with my coat hanging loose on my left shoulder. It is true that all this could be concealed under my cloak, but the cloak itself, and the trowsers underneath, were embrowned by the muddy water. In short, my whole person presented such an appearance as to have puzzled an intimate friend in identifying me.
While reflecting on what to do, I heard footsteps coming from the direction of the house. They were made known to me by the rustling of the dry leaves with which the wood-road was thickly covered.
The footfall was flat and heavy, evidently that of a negro.
Soon after I saw the negro himself. It was Jake.
With joy I recognized him—the very man I wanted to see. I could take the old skiffman into my confidence, and by him send a message to his master, to come out to me in the woods. This was the course to be pursued. Jake had not yet discovered me. I did not intend that he should, until I had taken steps to secure against his retreat. Were I to appear to him before he had got fairly upon the ground, he might mistake me for something else than I was, perhaps the spirit of that haunted island, from which I had truly come. In my enfeebled state, he could easily outrun me, and by reaching the house before me, spoil my plans of secrecy. Jake must be captured by stratagem.
Crouching behind one of the cords of firewood, I waited for him to advance. I could see that he wasen routefor the landing, perhaps to embark in the skiff, which was moored in its usual place.
He passed on without suspecting my presence.
He did not go down to the skiff, but out to a projecting point, upon which the steamboats usually rested their staging-plank.
There he stopped, and looked up the river, as if expecting a boat to come down.
His back was toward me, as I stepped from my place of concealment.
"Jake!" I said, "look this way!"
He turned suddenly, and I now saw that my precaution had not been an idle one. But for having him in a sort of peninsula, myself occupying the isthmus, he would certainly have made good his escape. As it was, he seemed half determined on rushing past me, and reaching the house. He even cast his eyes toward the skiff to see if there was any chance of retreating in that direction.
"Jake!" I said, in a reassuring voice. "What's the matter with you? Don't you know me?"
"Goramity, mass'r!" he gasped out, at length recognizing the man he had so often guided through the swamps. "Wha—wha—wha's comed oba you? Lor' a mercy! You's all kibbered oba wif mud, like a drown rat ob de ribba? 'Splain you'seff, mass'r. What de ole debbil hab been a-happen to ye?"
"Never mind, my good fellow. I have no time for explanations. I want to see your master."
"Come on den. He arn't up yet; but he soon rouse out for you."
"No—no. I want to see himdown here."
"Down hya!" echoed the darky, with a look of increased astonishment. "A'n't you comin' up to de big house, to get um washed, an' hab ya close bruss'd, an' eat ya breakfass?"
"No—not just yet, not till I've seen your master. And look here, Jake! I don't want any one to know that I am here except your master. You must tell him to come down without delay, and without any one suspecting that you went back to the house on that errand. Put this in your pocket, and let me see that you carry my message discreetly."
In the attempt to murder me I had not been robbed; and I was able to sharpen the zeal, also the intelligence, of my intended messenger by thedouceurof a dollar. I gave it less for this, than to impress him with the importance of the errand, and so secure greater caution in its accomplishment.
With some additional instructions I dismissed him; and taking seat upon a log under cover of some underwood, I awaited the coming of Henry Woodley.
I little expected that before seeing him, I should shake hands with his brother Walter. Yet such was the reality!
While sitting upon the log reflecting how much of my story should be told to my late host, and how much for the time kept back, I heard the deep sonorous bark that announces the "high pressure" steamboat. Looking up the river I saw the boat itself, rounding a sharp bend a little way above the landing.
When nearly opposite, her pilot-bell rung, her paddles ceased to move, and she lay to under hissing steam.
Presently a yawl with three men in it, shot out from her stern—two of them rowing, the third evidently a passenger.
I had scarce time to think who it might be, when the bow of the row-boat struck against the bank, and the passenger stepped ashore, carrying a carpet-bag along with him. I recognized the young Tennessean cotton-planter, Walter Woodley.
He did not so easily recognize me, and when he at length discovered who was the mud-bedaubed individual that saluted him, I need scarce say that his astonishment was extreme.
His story was easily told. He was on his way to New Orleans to look after the disposal of his cotton crop; and was merely making stop to see his sister and brother, intending to go on by the next boat.
My tale being more complicated was reserved for a later occasion—until the two brothers could have it at one hearing.
It was not long before we saw Henry, hurrying from the house; Jake following at respectful distance behind him.
The Mississippian was less surprised at seeing his brother than me. He had heard the stoppage signal of the steamer. Walter had been expected to come that day. It was for this the old skiffman had sauntered down to the landing—to see if there were any signs of the boat.
Only Jake himself was in attendance upon Henry. The negro had shown intelligence in the accomplishment of his mission.
By my appearance, Henry Woodley was still more astonished than his brother had been. He had more lately seen me in a different guise. But mingling with his astonishment, he had the suspicions of a sinister cause, arising from antecedents he could remember. Though he could see that something serious had occurred, he did not question me then. He waited till we should get to the house.
About this there was still the same difficulty. I assured him that the servants must not see me. I had my reasons, which I promised to explain afterward.
Both the brothers still wondering, Walter suggested a way. A change of clothes and hat; in short, a disguise. He had his own cloak over his arm, with other apparel in his portmanteau.
Mine to be rolled up, and carried as a parcel by Jake, who was in the secret. My pantaloons to be tucked inside the tops of my boots. A little mud was not remarkable upon the banks of the Mississippi.
Our host would precede us to the house; and on some pretense order the domestics out of the way, so that I might enter unobserved; or, if seen, no one would think otherwise than that I was some stranger, who had come ashore along with their master's brother.
The plan was feasible enough; but even had it been less so, I should have been disposed to adopt it. I was faint, and feeble; my wound paining me from the want of a proper dressing. I was, moreover, hungry, as a man may be who for two nights and a day has not tasted food; for I had not eaten a morsel since the supper that preceded the attempt at assassinating me. I was not loth to get under the hospitable roof of Henry Woodley, and partake of the ample breakfast that I knew would there be spread for me.
A short time served for making the change required; and closely enveloped in Walter Woodley's cloak, with trowsers, backwoods fashion, thrust inside my boots, I entered the plantation house, without exciting any suspicion.
Twenty minutes spent at the toilet, my host assisting, rendered me presentable in the drawing-room, where I was received by his sister with that sort of surprise that caused me a secret gratification. I was gratified by the look given me, in which pleasure at my appearance seemed suddenly to become pain at the sight of my disabled arm.
By the quick paling of her cheek, accompanied by an exclamation of alarm, I felt that Cornelia Woodley had an interest in my fate—something more than a wish for my welfare.
CHAPTER XXII.
AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR.
Mystory was told to the two brothers, their sister being spared the revelation. I deemed it too fearful to be imparted to a lady. A quarrel with the boatman Black, ending in my defeat; my being flung overboard, and compelled to save myself by swimming—this was sufficient to explain the condition in which I had presented myself. I preferred, for the time, submitting to a humiliation.
Wondering, Miss Woodley withdrew, leaving me to be more explicit with her brothers. To them I told the whole story in all its details. It is not necessary to say that both listened to the tale with astonishment. It seemed too horrid for belief, but there was no room for incredulity. My wound was a living witness to at least a portion of its truth, and for the rest, the circumstances were sufficient.
There was a confirmation in the character of Bradley. Both knew the man to be of a bad, brutal nature. Both had heard strange rumors concerning him; conjectures as to his mode of life, and the means by which he had so rapidly become rich, for at present he was so reputed. Gambling had usually been given as the cause, but of late there had been whisperings of a more sinister kind, in regard to the way in which Mr. Bradley had become possessed of so much property.
These had assumed no definite shape. It was only hinted in a general way that he must be engaged in some speculation besides the planting of cotton—something not quite so legitimate.
We are talking of a time when New Orleans and its adjacent neighborhood was not free from a taint of piracy on the high seas—to say nothing of the African slave-trade—with many other combinations of crime almost incredible.
Which of these might be the specialty of the Mississippi planter no one appeared definitely to know.
My experience of the two preceding days had furnished the clue. I had no longer a doubt that, along with the ostensible pursuit of cotton-planting, Mr. Bradley secretly combined the calling of apirate—for by this name is the river robber familiarly known in the region of the Mississippi.
My opinion was adopted by my listeners as I continued to tell them what I had seen. The facts spoke for themselves. Besides, both had heard of circumstances corroborative of what could be no longer called suspicion. For some years past there had been reports of flat-boats missing upon the Mississippi. Several had been spoken of. Henry Woodley had himself heard of an especial case, which had occurred in the preceding year. It was that of a flat, freighted with cotton, from a plantation somewhere up the Arkansas river. Its owner had dispatched it in charge of a crew of negroes, his own slaves, but had never heard more either of cotton or crew.
Most people supposed these missing boats to have perished in squalls, or "hurricanes," as they are called—to have gone to the bottom with their crews along with them, an occurrence not uncommon upon the Western rivers. But there were others who did not attribute all these losses to the storm; people of a more suspicious way of thinking, in whose memories were still fresh the exploits of the pirate Murrell. This robber had somewhat innocently been assumed to be the last of his race. Though it might be on a smaller scale, it was evident he had a successor in the planter Bradley.
As we continued to discuss what had occurred, and examine it in all its bearings, the whole scheme became clear. I now learnt for the first time that Black and his associate Stinger were complete strangers to the Woodley family. They had presented themselves on the Tennessee plantation as professed flat-builders and boatmen; and in this double capacity had they been employed. I recalled the fragment of conversation I had overheard between Black and Bradley on the wood path of the plantation. It had puzzled me at the time. Its signification was now clear, and I could understand the interest which Bradley had shown in the cotton crop about to be embarked. No doubt it was by his directions Black and Stinger had shown themselves in that quarter, and undertaken the building of the boat. They were simply his confederates in a good scheme of piracy, of which we had evidence of only a single act—no doubt far from being the first.
And there must have been murder, too! Where were the four negroes? They could not be kept out of the way—with tongues silent in such a transaction. Even if "run off" to Texas and sold, they could still talk; their talking might not be worth much, but it would in time direct suspicion upon the pirates, and put an end to the grand game they were playing with such impunity.
It was a frightful reflection to think of the sad fate of these unfortunate creatures—for we could scarce have a doubt of their having been butchered in cold blood!
There was no time to dwell upon or talk of it. Time enough for that when we had taken steps to be assured of its reality, and, if real, to punish the perpetrators of such an atrocious crime.
And what was the primary step to be taken? That was the question that came before us.
The intentions of the planter pirate were clear enough. His three confederates would carry the boat on to New Orleans, where the cargo could easily be disposed of. No doubt they had a ready way of doing this through somerespectablecotton-broker in collusion with the gang. Their object in taking so much trouble to alter the markings was of course to prevent identification. This would be effectual, since all cotton bales are alike—as much as eggs, peas, or sheep. The huge parallelopipedon covered with coarse canvas "bagging," and confined in its cording of hemp, is a thing not to be sworn to. Remove the mark, and it may belong to anybody. The two hundred bales sent down from Tennessee, worth over twelve thousand dollars, were for the time the property of Nat Bradley, as could be proved by his plantation-mark! Once sold by him, no man could reclaim them, that is without other evidence to substantiate the claim.
But for what I had witnessed upon the island, this would have been wanting. The boat that carried them would be easily put aside. Like all of its kind, it would be sold at the levee wharf, at once, to be broken up for firewood; or, what in this case was more likely, taken down the river, and sunk during the darkness of the night.
Would Bradley himself go down in the flat? We thought not. It would scarce comport with his character of rich planter and proprietor. Most likely he would follow it in one of the steamboats, from Natchez, or some near port. He may have taken the very one that brought Walter Woodley to his brother's plantation.
He could hail it from some landing below.
What would be our best course to pursue?
Henry's counsel was, that we should all three proceed to New Orleans, taking advantage of the first boat that came down the river, or what would be better still, riding post-haste to Natchez, and getting a boat there—one of the regular packets from that place to the great city below. By this means we might anticipate the sale of the cotton, and so recover it, at the same time bringing to justice the scoundrels that had stolen it.
This scheme might have answered well enough as regarded the three confederates. But, how about their chief? It would leave him a loophole of escape, and this could not be thought of. For my part, I was determined to punish the man who had twice made an attempt upon my life. I looked upon Black as but the representative of Bradley.
We had no proof to connect the latter with any of the crimes that had been committed. I could not swear to having seen him at the lagoon. My oath as to the identification of his voice would be too slight a testimony upon which to convict him, even of connivance. He would deny that he had been present; and as to placing his name upon the cotton-bales, any one might do that without either his knowledge or sanction.
Unless one of the three confederates should turn state's evidence, the chief pirate would escape the punishment he so justly deserved.
It would be a pity that any of the party should have such a chance, and there was no need for it. Let the thing take its course, let the cotton be sold and delivered, and then whether warehoused by a broker, or bought by a bona-fide purchaser, it would become known to whom the purchase-money was to be paid. Then we could discover who was chief of the pirates, and get the whole gang within the meshes of the law.
This was my advice, warmly seconded by Walter, and when fairly set before him, also appearing best to his brother.
It was agreed we should all three go down to New Orleans, place ourselves in communication with a respectable solicitor, and obtain the assistance of the law, in the accomplishment of our purpose.
At the close of our deliberations a surprise awaited us. Outside we heard the hoof-stroke of a horse. On looking through the window, we saw a man dismounting by the gate of the inclosure, and fastening his bridle to the post. As he faced toward the house, we recognized the piratical ruffian whose punishment we had been planning.
CHAPTER XXIII.
WAITING FOR A BOAT.
Visitunexpected and ill-timed—what could be its object? This was the thought of all three.
I for one must not be seen by him. The sight of me would frustrate all our plans—even the knowledge that I still lived.
Neither should the Tennessean. His presence would require explanation; and perhaps cause a change in the programme we had sketched out for the pirate.
Our host alone must receive him. There was just time for Henry to get out of the drawing-room, and close the door after him, when Mr. Bradley stepped into the porch.
Uninvited he could not gracefully go further.
Walter and I, silent inside, could hear every word that was said.
Bradley spoke first.
"Well, Hen," he said, after the usual exchange of salutations, "reckon I've got here too late."
"For what?" was the natural inquiry.
"Boat. I want to go down to Orleans. The Yazoo City was to have left Vicksburg yesterday evening, and I thought I might catch her at your landing. I suppose I'm too late, as I heard a boat pass, while I was coming through the woods. She was going down; and I reckon it must have been the City."
There was an interval of silence, during which we awaited Henry's response. He made none. The presence of such a guest—under such circumstances—had taken him by surprise; and he was no doubt hesitating as to what he should say.
As Bradley had put no direct interrogatory, he did not stay for an answer; but continued:
"She must have passed here very early—before you were out of your bed. Do you think any of your niggers saw her? They would know if it was the City. They could read the name I reckon?"
"Yes," replied Henry, at length, speaking with evasion. "Some of them did see a boat pass down. It was not the Yazoo City; but an up-river boat from the Ohio, I believe."
"Oh! in that case the City will be along yet. She ought to be near now. I'll go down to the landing to look out for her. You don't mind sending one of your niggers to fetch my horse back to the house here? There's one of mine coming after, to take him home."
"Certainly not," said Henry, evidently pleased at the prospect of his visitor making such a short stay. "One of them shall go down with you at once."
"And look ye, Henry Woodley!" continued Bradley, with a change of tone, "now that I'm here, I may as well tell you what I intend doing. I want that $2,000. I want it d—d bad; and I mean to have it. I've asked you for it half a score of times, till I'm sick of asking. And now I'll give you till I come back from Orleans, which will be in about a fortnight. If you can't pay then, why I must get judgment on the bill, and take some of your niggers. I'm sorry to be sharp with you; but I must have the money."
"When you come back—a fortnight you say—perhaps I may have—"
The debtor was thinking that before a fortnight's time he might be relieved of his liability in a way his creditor little expected.
"Oh! d—n yourperhaps!" rudely interrupted the latter. "If you don't have it—Hilloa! what's that?"
As he uttered this exclamation, we could hear Bradley rushing further out upon the porch, as if to inform himself of something that was passing outside.
There was an interval of profound stillness, and through a side-window in the drawing-room, in which the casement stood open, we could distinguish faint and far off the hollow sound of the "scape-pipe."
"By Jove, it's the boat! Ten chances to one if I'll be in time to catch her. Send after me for the horse!"
As he issued this impudent command, the unwelcome visitor hurried on through the gate, leaped into the saddle and went off at a gallop along the road, toward the landing.
As promised, a negro was dispatched after to take charge of his horse, and for some time we all listened in great anxiety. If Bradley should miss the boat, he would be sure to come back to the house and perhaps remain there waiting for another. This would be a serious interference with our plans, and might end in altogether defeating them, by his discovering of our presence upon the plantation!
It was a pleasant sound, that continued hissing of steam, that came borne upon the breeze from the direction of the river.
It told us that the boat was laying to, to take on board a passenger, who could be no other than Nat Bradley.
This was soon after confirmed by the return of his horse, ridden by the darky with the saddle stripped of its bags.
The planter pirate had posted to New Orleans to dispose of his late capture, perfectly unsuspicious that the owner was so near, and at the same time taking measures for the recovery of the spoil.
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE WHITE KERCHIEF.
Whilethanking the Yazoo City for having so opportunely disembarrassed us of the presence of Nat Bradley, we felt that he must be followed as speedily as possible.
If the flat had been taken on direct after leaving Devil's Island—and in all likelihood it had—it should reach New Orleans in four days at the furthest. Its crew would convey it as fast as possible, knowing the danger of delay. They could assist the current with a pair of sweeps, with which the craft was provided.
The Yazoo City would be there before them, but how about the boat by which we ourselves should have to make the journey?
There was no certainty when another steamboat might come along. It might be in an hour, but it might also be two or three days. A delay of the latter kind would be fatal to our scheme.
Once alongside the flat-boat-wharf on the New Orleans levee, it would not take much time to discharge the cargo, and remove it to some safe place of storage; and, as for the flat itself, it could be disposed of in a single night. We might reach New Orleans to find no trace either of boat or cotton, and as for the worthies composing the crew, it would be ten chances to one of our ever setting eyes on any of them again.
The cotton itself might be discovered. That was probable enough. It could not go aboard ship without undergoing the process of the cotton-press. This would cause delay, and it could be found either in the shed, attached to one of the great presses, or in the storing-house of a broker.
But when found, what then? It bore Bradley's plantation-mark along with his name. He would be upon the spot himself ready to swear to it, and Walter Woodley could not do the same.
Indeed, the young Tennessean was not so sure of being able to identify the flat. He had taken but little notice of it, when being built and laden, leaving all that to Black and his assistant Stinger.
Among these boats there is as much similarity as between the bales of cotton.
My identification of either craft or cargo would be still more doubtful. I could only make it good by finding the crew aboard of it, to all three of whom I could swear distinctly. But to bring Bradley within the power of the law, something more would be required than the testimony I was yet able to give. It would be necessary to connect him with the other three, either as their confederate or chief.
This could be done by allowing him to deal with the cotton on its arrival in New Orleans, taking care to secure the others before they had parted from the flat.
To do this we must reach New Orleans as soon as they, or not many hours after. A single day behind that of their arrival, and we might be too late.
Walter was surprised to find that his brother owed Nat Bradley two thousand dollars. I could see, however, that he scarce regretted it. It explained that sinister attachment which existed between the two, and which it had grieved him to think was a friendship. Now he knew it to be of a different nature, and preferred the knowledge.
"Never mind about the debt, Walt," said Henry, in answer to the inquiry as to how it had been contracted. "It is nothonestly due; and, if we succeed in bringing the scoundrel to justice, I suppose I shall be released from the liability."
"Ah! and if our suspicions prove true, I shall lose twice the amount, even if I recover my cotton."
"How?"
"Why, my negroes—four of the best hands we had. Poor fellows, I care not so much for the money, but to think that they have been made away with—murdered. It is fearful!"
"It is, indeed," said the elder, and less sentimental brother. "But in any case you will not lose by that, I mean in money. There are plenty of likely hands on Nat Bradley's plantation, though I've never known much of either it or them. Of course you can recover the full value of what you have lost; and, if it all prove true, you will have to proceed against Mr. Bradley's heirs instead of himself. There's not a moment to be lost. In my opinion, the best way would be for you, brother, to ride down to Natchez as fast as a horse can carry you, and see if you can get a boat there. There might be one of the Natchez and New Orleans packets starting at once; besides, you have still the chance of the up-river boat. If you get one before to-morrow night you will be in good time. Once in New Orleans, go direct to our old friend Charles Sawyer, who's practicing law among the creoles. He's sharp enough for what we want. You'll find his office in St. Charles street, near the Hotel. I can stay and watch our own landing, and follow by the first boat. Our friend here, I hope, will have no objection to go down along with me. Without him we would be helpless. You would lose your cotton, and I should have to pay a debt contracted with a swindler, which, but for foul play, I should never have been owing."
Henry Woodley seemed all at once to have changed his character, displaying an energy for which I had not given him credit. Perhaps it might be accounted for by his hope of getting rid of an incubus hitherto harassing him.
"Now, Walt!" he continued, "get ready to ride at top speed for Natchez. I'll order you the best horse in my stable." "Yao, Dick!" he cried, stepping out into the porch, and hailing one of the negroes seen outside the inclosure. "Put the saddle on the sorrel mare, and bring her round to the gate. Be quick about it."
In a few minutes the sorrel stood by the gate, Miss Woodley wondering about the preparations.
"Never mind, Corneel!" said her brother, in answer to her request for an explanation. "Walter is called to New Orleans on pressing business, and I am going to take boat for Natchez. I shall have to go down myself by the next snorter that comes along; and, as our young friend here promises to accompany me, we can't leave you alone. So you must make the trip too. On the way down I may let you into our secret. Now will that content you?"
Miss Woodley made no response. She smiled and seemed satisfied. The bantering tone in which her brother spoke, implied that there could not be much amiss. I too felt content at the prospect of having her for a fellow-passenger, on board a Mississippi steamboat.
I could not help remembering that it was in a similar situation I had first surrendered to her charms.
And after all, Walter went with us. There was no need for going that long gallop to Natchez.
Just as he was setting foot in the stirrup, the well-known "boom" of a steamboat was heard, awakening the echoes of the woods. It came from the up-river direction.
"Quick, Walt!" cried his brother. "Ride down to the landing, and signal her to stop. A white handkerchief will do it. Have you got one?"
"Here," said the fair "Corneel," gliding like a sylph toward the gate, and handing him her bit of embroidered "cambric." "I suppose this will do?"
"Ah!" thought I, giving way to a romantic fancy, "for the possession of such a trophy, the Spanish Armada might have come to an anchor."
Walter posted like a thunderbolt, while his brother and sister commenced packing their portmanteaus. I had none to pack, and remained standing in the porch, listening for the stopping of the approaching steamer.
I could soon tell that the signal had been successful. The "bark" of the boat, heard at short intervals, became changed to a hiss—a sure sign that the play of the engine was suspended.
Shortly after, the booming recommenced; but the frequent ringing of the pilot's bell told that the boat was being brought in to the landing.
This is only true of the inferior class of boats, or where the passenger expected is supposed to be one worth consideration. There were few captains on the river that would not have laid to for a Woodley, and fewer still could they have told that the white signal was the kerchief of the fair Cornelia.
On our arrival at the landing, we found the boat, with staging-plank out and ready. It was no humble "stern-wheel" that had thus condescended; but the noble "Sultana," in whose luxuriant saloons we steamed toward the "Crescent City."
Before arriving at our destination, we had the satisfaction to know that the planter pirate did not precede us. On passing Point Coupee, we also passed a little steamboat, and left her pulling asthmatically behind us. Upon her paddle-boxes we could read the lettering, "Yazoo City."
Still more to the purpose, we saw standing upon the hurricane-deck the man who was causing us to make theimprovisedvoyage—the planter pirate.
We saw him through the greenjalousiesof a "state-room," taking care he should not see us. Even then, the sight of any of our party, or his suspicion of our being aboard the Sultana, might have defeated our plans. We gave him no chance for either one or the other.
He was standing alone—abaft the pilot-house—apparently wrapt in contemplation. He may have been thinking of the future—of the disposal of his plunder. Or was his mind dwelling upon the past—upon the dark deeds which he had no doubt committed? It might be that his thoughts were still more bitterly occupied, with that fair being who stood by my side, and who now regarded him only with disgust.
I cared not to speculate on the past. I felt confident that between Nat Bradley and Cornelia Woodley there had been nocompromise. Whatever there had been, enough to know that it was now over.
The big boat passed on, leaving the Yazoo City dancing like a waif in her wake. Behind the glass shed, that sheltered the pilot, Nat Bradley disappeared from my sight.
In less than twenty hours after, we were passing Lafayette; and the grand dome of the St. Charles Hotel came under our eyes, rising high above the roofs of the Crescent City.
"We must not go there," suggested Henry Woodley, pointing to the conspicuous object.
"And why?" asked Walter. "It is the best hotel in New Orleans, is it not?"
"True," answered the elder brother, wiser in the ways of the great Southern city. "By all titles the best. But just for that reason must we shun it. We should not be twenty-four hours under its roof before finding for a fellow-guest the man we have no wish to encounter."
"Ah! I understand you," answered the Tennesseean. "You think that he will go there?"
"Sure of it. I know the St. Charles to be his regular stopping-place. I've seen him there in its grand drinking-saloon, swaggering among the loudest of its bullies."
"In that case we had best go elsewhere."
"We must do so. We can stop somewhere in the French quarters—at the St. Louis, or even some more humble hostelry. It will never do for him to know that we are in New Orleans, and as for our young friend here, he must keep out of sight until the time when his testimony be required to seal the fate of these scoundrels, whose exposure will perhaps explain why so many flats have gone to the bottom of the Mississippi. No doubt, sir," continued the speaker, turning to me with an odd air of jocularity, "you will be able to clear the character of the hurricane."
By this time the Sultana had commenced sounding her pilot-bells—those mysterious signals by which the steersman communicates his wishes to the Vulcan-like individual who stands by the engine below.
The effect was soon apparent by the boat rounding to in the stream, and bringing up alongside the levee.
With our light luggage, we were soon inside a two-horse coach, and trotting over the oyster-shells toward the St. Louis Hotel.
CHAPTER XXV.
A LOUISIANA LAWYER.
Onceinstalled in our hotel, we proceeded upon the business that brought us to New Orleans. The lawyer was looked up, and the circumstances laid before him.
Charley Sawyer appeared far less surprised by the story than might have been expected. Though still but a young man, he had been long enough in the Crescent City to become acquainted with the inner secrets of its social life. Engaged in practice at its criminal court, he had met with those strange types of crime for which New Orleans has been historically distinguished. As to our plan of proceeding, his advice corresponded with what we had already conceived.
"Although every thing seems straight for bringing the scoundrels to justice," said he, "we must proceed with caution. The law here is rather a rough institution as yet; and where men's liberty is concerned—to say nothing of their lives—the testimony must be clear and positive. If they have actually killed the poor negroes, there must be no loophole left for them to escape—not one of them, and least of all their chief. Bradley must be permitted tosell the cotton. That will be needed to connect him with the theft, robbery, or whatever we may have to call it."
"But suppose he have no opportunity?" suggested Walter Woodley. "There may not be anyone to purchase it all at once."
"No fear of that. I shall myself find him a purchaser. By good luck I chance to be acquainted with a cotton-broker who can be trusted in such a delicate negotiation. He can offer such a price as will secure a trade; and before the money be paid over we can get a warrant by deposition, and lodge Messrs. Bradley, Black & Co. in the calaboose. After that, the thing should be easy enough.
"And now," continued the lawyer, "we must act; and the first thing is, to find out whether the flat has got in. Would any of you know the boat? You, Mr. Walter Woodley, ought to be able to identify your own property."
"I really don't think I can," replied the young planter; "but I should know Black and Stinger, the men in charge. I could see them aboard."
"True. But they might also see you, if you went near enough to distinguish them. That would never do."
"I fancy I can manage that part of it," I suggested. "Black can be but slightly acquainted with my face, though I shall never forget his. By sacrificing my mustache, and borrowing a pair of whiskers from one of these creolecostumers—that and a change of dress would do, would it not?"
"The very thing," said the astute Sawyer. "You can put on a light camlet cloak—they are worn here. It will conceal the mark Mr. Black has for the time put upon you. That, with a broad-brimmed palmetto hat, and a pair ofcottonadetrowsers, will turn you into a creole complete. As for you, Henry Woodley, and your brother, your best plan will be for both of you to go back to the hotel, stay within doors, and wait till I communicate with you. It will not do for either to be seen in the streets—at least till we get the birds safe inside the cage."
In obedience to Sawyer's instructions the two brothers returned to the hotel, while I remained in his office to make the transformation required.
In order to avoid suspicion, a razor was obtained, and I did the shaving myself. It was not altogether pleasant to part with my pet mustaches; but I consoled myself with two thoughts—one that they would grow again, and the other that before they did I should see the man who had twice attempted my life stand in the felon's dock.
The garments necessary for my disguise were readily got at one of the levee "clothing stores," and the whiskers from a costume shop with which New Orleans, noted for its masked balls, is abundantly provided.
In less than an hour I was ready to play the part of a detective.
With Mr. Sawyer acting as guide we sallied forth, and took our way toward the flat-boat wharf.
Those not acquainted with the New Orleans "levee" must be told that it is a landing full four miles in length; that only a portion of it is provided with wharves, strong wooden platforms, supported by piles, driven deep into the river-bank. Between, are spaces where the natural slope of the levee is left unfurnished with such structures, and where boats, both flats and steamers, at low water, can project their staging-planks into the mud.
But by certain municipality laws the levee is apportioned, so that each kind of craft—ships, steamboats, flats, andrafts—has a stretch of shore appropriated to itself. There are the shipping wharves—two sets of them—the steamboat wharves, and, last of all, that portion of the levee set apart for the odd-looking embarkations known as "keels" and "flat-boats."
Of these there is usually a large "fleet" lying along shore—especially at that time of the year when the up-country produce is floated down from a hundred head-waters to the great depot and entrepot of the Mississippi Valley.
It was just then the season; and on reaching the flat-boat wharf, we found some hundreds of these antediluvian-like structures lying against the wharf, and so closely packed together that a man might have stepped from the roof of one to the other, throughout the whole conglomeration.
Sauntering along, without appearing to be particularly interested in any of them, Mr. Sawyer and I proceeded to make our reconnoissance. Most of them had their stagings out and were delivering their cargoes on shore—hogsheads of sugar and tobacco, barrels of pork, and bags of Indian corn. Some appeared to have been already emptied, and to be watching for a purchaser who would break them up for firewood.
There were a few lying a little way off from the levee, as if crowded out of place, and waiting for a chance to come in.
One of these particularly drew my attention. I fancied I had seen it before. It was only a vague conjecture, but I could not help thinking that it was the same craft on board of which I had spent some very unpleasant hours, and from which I had been so unceremoniously ejected. No one appeared above decks. Else I might have more easily identified it.
For some time my companion and I sauntered back and forward along the levee, keeping an eye on this particular flat. I had already communicated to him my suspicion that it was the one we were in search of. We watched the hatch-door of the caboose; but, though standing open, no one came out or went in; and no face could be seen.
It at length occurred to me that if we could get aboard, I might find a trace to satisfy me. There was no plank communicating with the shore; but there was one to the adjacent boat, which was engaged in getting out its cargo, and by using this, we could step to the roof of the craft suspected.
Sawyer led the way. A slight apology to the owner of the discharging flat was sufficient to frank us; and we passed on over its roof, and stepped across the chasm dividing the two.
I had just time to see that Stinger, with his scrubbing-brush, had not altogether effaced that hideous stain, when a head popped up through the hatch, and a rough voice demanded "what we were doing there?" The demand was prefaced by an oath. I had seen enough to satisfy me, before perceiving that the speaker was Mr. Black; and without staying to hear the reply, which I left the lawyer to make, I averted my face, and returned, apparently unconcerned, to the shore.
I could hear Mr. Sawyer making some excuse—that we were only exploring out of idle curiosity; and then overtaking me, we sauntered from the spot.
"From your behavior," said he, as soon as we had got to a safe distance, "I took it that our polite friend is one of the pirates. Is it so?"
"The man who gave me this," I replied, flirting up the corner of the camlet cloak, and showing my slung limb.
"So far good! We've treed the jackals; now for the lion himself. But first let us make sure of the birds in hand, before going after that in the bush. You stay here till I return to you."
And without further speech the lawyer walked hurriedly away in the direction of the houses. I did not quite comprehend the meaning of his figurative language.
It was soon made known, on his returning to me accompanied by a man of that peculiar cast of countenance not easily mistaken. In his keen inquiring eye, I could recognize the detective.
"You see that flat," said Sawyer, at the same time casting his eyes in a different direction—across the river to "Algiers." "I mean the one next to that unloading the Cincinnati pork-barrels."
"Ay, ay!" responded the detective, just glancing at the object spoken of, and then also appearing interested in something supposed to be on the opposite shore.
"Very well," muttered the lawyer; "you will keep it under your eye, take note of who comes ashore—who goes on board; and don't lose sight of it, either by day or night, till it begins to get out its cargo, which is cotton. As soon as you see the first bale rolled upon the bank you come to my office as quick as your legs can carry you."
"All right," signified the man, rather by a nod of the head than any expressed speech; while Sawyer by a sign summoned me to follow him.
"Now," said he, as we walked off together, "the first chapter is complete, and we must proceed to the second. We've done, for the time, with the flat. Let us go in for higher game, to be found upon a steamboat."
Saying this, Mr. Sawyer directed his steps toward the steamboat wharves. I made no inquiry as to his purpose. It was plain to me; and I accompanied him without making remark.
CHAPTER XXVI.
THE SPY-GLASS.
Tenminutes' brisk walking brought us alongside that portion of the levee set apart for steamboats—those huge embarkations of the Mississippi, many of which are not inappropriately styled "floating palaces."
At least two score of them lay opposite the landing; some coming in, others going out; some taking cargo aboard, and others discharging it on the wharf.
It was a crowded and busy scene; but unlike as among the flats, we anticipated no difficulty in identifying the particular boat with which we had business. We were in search of the "Yazoo City."
A single stroll along the line, and we saw she was not there. Scarce expecting her, we were pleased to discover she had not yet come in. It was just what we wanted.
"And now," said Mr. Sawyer, "we must stay till she does come in, and follow on the track of the expected passenger. Where was it you passed her?"
"Near Point Coupee."
"Let me see," said the lawyer, taking out his watch, and calculating the time that had transpired since the arrival of the Sultana.
"The Yazoo boat should have been in; she can not be long now, unless indeed she has stopped somewhere along the coast to take in cargo. In that case we may have a protracted vigil of it. It's not very pleasant standing in this hot sun. Besides it looks rather queer you carrying your cloak about your shoulders. Unfortunately we can not do this business by deputy, as it wants some one who knows our man by sight. For myself, I never saw Mr. Nat Bradley, though I've heard some strange stories about him, almost as strange as that you've told me. Confound that cloak! Those fellows appear to take notice of it. Stay! I have it. I think I see a better place from which to make observation—at all events we shall escape it ourselves. This way."
Without knowing the intention of my chaperone, I followed him. He had turned short off from the steamboat-wharf, and was proceeding in the direction of the houses that fronted upon the levee some two hundred yards from the river's bank.
"You see that restaurant?" he said, pointing to a large establishment toward which we were wending.
I answered in the affirmative.
"There is a saloon on the second floor, with open windows. Go up there and call for a couple of 'sherry cobblers.' I will be with you by the time they are mixed."
I did as directed, passing inside the restaurant, making my way up-stairs, and ordering the iced drinks.
The lawyer came in along with them. I could see that he had a telescope in his hand, fresh purchased from a "store."
"The very place for our purpose," he said, walking to one of the windows and glancing at the steamboats. "The Yazoo City can't come in without our seeing her from here, and with the help of this magnifier we may bring Mr. Bradley near enough to recognization. What!" he continued, placing the telescope to his eye, and looking along the levee; "have we a view of the flat as well? By my word we have. I can see the pork-boat—the flat itself, and Riggs, on post where we left him, as plain as the dome of St. Charles. Good! We shall now know the movements both of Mr. Bradley and his confederates, without getting out of our chairs. So no more about them for the present. Let's see how we can kill time with our sherry cobblers."
We had not much time to kill. We had only just commenced sipping through our straws, when we heard a "chuck, chuck" in the direction of Lafayette; and, looking up the river, we beheld a small boat making down for the wharves.
Her straight sides told she was a "stern-wheeler," but as she forged round in the crescent-like bend from which New Orleans derives one of its well-known names, my companion, with the glass at his eye, pronounced her the Yazoo City.
"Here!" he said, as the boat began to draw toward the wharf, "it's your turn with the telescope. Get Mr. Bradley in your field of vision, and keep him there till he comes near enough for the naked eye. What a divine conception my thinking of the spy-glass—quite a new idea in detection. We're not only saved exposure to the hot sun, but my man will never suspect the presence of a spy. If he should see us looking out of the window, he'd be cunning to guess our object."
The lawyer continued to talk, but I paid only slight attention to what he was saying. I knew it was only to fill up the time. I had got the Yazoo City in the field-view of the telescope and was raking her fore and aft in search of our pirate passenger.
I soon discovered the object of my search. He was upon the guards, near the top of the stairs leading down to the boiler-deck. I could make out a pair of saddle-bags hanging over his arm. I knew it was the whole of his luggage, and that he was prepared to step ashore as soon as the staging was shot out.
I announced my discovery to my companion.
"Let me have a squint at him," he requested. "It may be as well for me to get acquainted with the phiz of the interesting gentleman, and see how it will figure in a court of justice. In a Panama hat and blue cottonades, you say?"
"Yes; on the saloon deck, close to the head of the stairway."
"I have got his precious picture in my eye. Dressed like a dandy, too! Patent boots, and grand ruffled shirt! What a flash swaggerer! Let me see—let me see. I think I've seen that fellow before."
While my companion still kept his eye to the telescope, as if to familiarize himself with the person of the pirate planter, the little boat struggled into her place, shoved out her staging, and gave the impatient passengers a chance of stepping ashore.
Now that I had recognized him I no longer required the glass, and I could see that Mr. Bradley was among the first to take advantage of it.
As soon as he had reached the crest of the levee, he turned along it in the direction of the flat-boat landing.
"Good!" whispered Sawyer. "Just as I expected. We shall not have long to wait before something turns up that will enable us to trap him."
"Should we not follow him?"
"Not yet. Better let him first go down to the flat—aboard if he intends it. We can see what he does through this. When he comes ashore again, then it will be time enough to track him to his hotel. Such a grand fellow as that, unless he have some secret haunt of his own, will be sure to put up at the St. Charles. Yes! he's making direct for the flat!"
I could see this myself; but after a time, though the distance was still near enough for the naked eye, the pirate became mixed among the levee crowd of promenaders, and was lost to my sight.
"Good again!" muttered my companion. "He's going aboard the boat.... No! one of the crew coming ashore to meet him. It's the same who so politely received us.... Now they are together on the levee, and engaged in conversation. I wish we could only hear it. No doubt it would help our testimony a bit. Riggs has got his eyes upon them; askant, like a drake listening to thunder. Come! we must quit this, or he may escape us. As he's not going aboard, he won't stay long on the levee. We shall get down there about the time he has finished that bit of private conversation. Come!"
Tossing off what remained of the "cobblers," without the intervention of the straw, we paid the score, passed out into the street, and turned toward the flat-boat landing.
The lawyer had guessed the time truly. As we advanced along the line of shop fronts, we came once more in sight of him in the ruffled shirt and sky-blue cottonades. He was just parting from Black, who, having received his instructions, hurried back to the cotton-boat.
Bradley himself came crossing toward the houses, on his way to a hotel, which proving to be the St. Charles, once more made good the conjecture of my companion.
As we dogged him up Poydras street, across Tchoupatoulas and Camp, and into the great domed hostelry of St. Charles, he little dreamt that the spies of justice were treading so close upon his heels.
CHAPTER XXVII.
THE DEPOSITIONS.
I wascurious to know what would be the next step in the strategy of the New Orleans lawyer. I was not left long to speculate upon it.
"Now," he said, hurrying off once more in the direction of the levee, "I want a man willing to buy two hundred bales of cotton, without losing any time or making cavil as to price."
"You will not find such a man, I should think."
"I will! and in ten minutes' time, if I mistake not. Come and see!"
After passing two or three blocks in less than the time stipulated, my chaperone entered the door of a large warehouse-like building, on the front of which appeared, painted in large black letters, "CHEETHAM,Cotton-Broker."
I had just deciphered this lettering as Mr. Sawyer came out, bringing the cotton-broker along with him.
After hastily introducing me to Mr. Cheetham, the lawyer led off through the street in the direction of his office, my new acquaintance and myself close following.
The office was not far off, and we were soon inside it. Mr. Cheetham was told the reason why he had been dragged from his desk, and, for the third time making good the words of my singular companion, consented at once to make purchase of the cotton.
I was not so much surprised at this, having taken part in the explanation. Of course the cotton-broker was told the whole story, and the scheme by which the pirates were to be punished.
I was far more astonished at the matter-of-fact manner in which Mr. Cheetham listened to the details of the piracy, and the suspected assassination of the negroes, events which to me seemed tragical enough to startle the coldest imagination.