The Devil's Own Part 25

"No, sah; she never done tol' me nuthin'. Ah didn't much mor'n see her enyhow, fur as thet goes."

"Not see her! Then she is not confined there with you?"

"Wiv me? Dar ain't n.o.body confined yer wiv me. Ah just ain't set eyes on n.o.body since Ah done got on board, 'cept de cook. Ah reckon dem white men aim fer ter tote me soufe, an' sell me fer a slave; dat's why Ah's locked up yere dis way. But Ah sure does know whar dis yer Rene Beaucaire wus."

"Where?"

"Wal', sah, it wus 'bout like dis. Long 'bout three o'clock in de manning, ol' Bill Sikes c.u.m up frum de lower pint, a drivin' his kivered wagon, an' made Ma.s.sa Shrunk git up out er bed fer ter git him anodder team o' hosses. Den dey done routed me up fer ter hustle up sum grub."

"Sikes; who is Sikes?"

"He lives down by de lower pike, Sah; he's an abolitionist, sah."

"Oh, I see; he and Shrunk worked together. He helped with the runaway slaves."

"Yas, sah. Ah's bin called up thet way afore. So Ah just nat'larly went ter work cookin', an' purty soon dey all ov 'em c.u.m stragglin' in ter de cabin fer ter eat. Dar was four ov 'em, sah," her voice a husky whisper. "Bill Sikes, totin' a gun in his han', a free n.i.g.g.e.r whut dey called Pete, an' two wimin. Furst like, bein' Ah wus right busy, Ah didn't take no heed ov dere faces, fer dey wus all m.u.f.fled 'round like; but dey hed fer ter unwrap dem veils fore dey cud eat--tho' de Lord knows dey didn't no one ov 'em eat much. De bigger one was a quadroon, maybe 'bout forty years ol', an' de odder she wan't much more'n a gal; an' dar wan't nuthin' ov de n.i.g.g.e.r 'bout her, 'cept it mought be de hair, an' de eyes--dem was sure black 'nough. Ah just nat'larly felt mighty sorry fer her, fer she done cried all de time, an' cudn't eat nuthin'."

"You learned who they were? how they came there?"

"Course Ah did. Sikes he 'splained all 'bout 'em ter Ma.s.sa Shrunk, an'

Ah heerd whut he sed. Ah wus a waitin' on 'em. Seems like, dey hed run off frum de Beaucaire plantation, sumwhar down ribber on de Missouri side, 'cause ol' Beaucaire hed died, an' dey wus goin' fer ter be sold down soufe. De free n.i.g.g.e.r he wus helpin' fer ter git 'em away in his boat. De way I heerd 'em tell, dey got snagged in de dark, an'

den drifted ash.o.r.e at de lower pine. Wanderin' 'round, dey stumbled on Sikes, an', soon as he heard de story, he just hitched up, an' drove over whar we were. Took him 'bout three hours, Ah reckon, an' 'long de road one ov his hosses wint lame."

"And--and what then?" I asked breathlessly, glancing about to a.s.sure myself no one had appeared on deck, as she paused. "They got away?"

"'Cept fer de free n.i.g.g.e.r, de rest ov 'em started cross kintry fer Beardstown, sah. De n.i.g.g.e.r Pete, he didn't go, fer he'd made up his min' fer ter git bac' hom' ter ol' Missurry de furst chanst he got. We all ov us helped fer ter put 'em in de wagon, hid undeh a lot o' truck, an' den Sikes he done drove 'em out thro' de bluffs. Ah done walked wif de gal, an' she tol' mor' 'bout herself, an' whar she c.u.m frum; an'

dat wus her name, sah."

"Her name? What name?"

"Rene Beaucaire; de quadroon woman, she wus her mother."

I could scarcely voice my surprise, the quick throbbing of my heart threatening to choke me.

"She claimed that name? She actually told you she was Rene Beaucaire?"

"She sure did. Why? Wan't thet her name?"

"I do not know," I confessed. "I had supposed I had met such a person, but if what you tell me is true, I was mistaken. Everything has become confused. Perhaps I shall understand better, if you go on. What happened after they left?"

"Why, we just went back ter bed, an' 'long 'bout daylight, I reckon, sum fellars c.u.m ash.o.r.e off a steamboat, an' done broke inter de house; muster bin a dozen, er mor', white men, a cussin' an' swearin', an'

sayin' dey wus a huntin' dem thar Beaucaire n.i.g.g.e.rs. We never done heerd 'em till dey bust in de dore. One ob dem he knocked me down, an'

den Ah saw Ma.s.sa Shrunk kill one, afore dey got him. Ah don't know just whut did c.u.m ob de free n.i.g.g.e.r; Ah reckon maybe he run away.

Dar's a fellar on board yere whut killed Ma.s.sa Shrunk; an' he's de same one whut made me c.u.m 'long wid him."

"You mean the deputy sheriff? the man with the chin-whiskers?"

"No, sah. Ah don't mean him. He wus thar all right, but Ah never saw him hit n.o.body. It wus another fellar, a smooth-faced man, sorter tall like, all dressed up, an' who never talks much."

"Kirby--Joe Kirby, a river gambler."

"Dat's de name--Kurby. Wal', he's de one whut wus lookin' fer dis yere gal, Rene Beaucaire. He wanted her pow'ful bad. Dey hunted all 'round fer ter git hol' her, cussin' an' threatenin', an' a haulin' me round; but 'twan't no sorter use. So finally dey took me 'long ter a boat in de crick--a keel-boat, run by steam. Most de odder men disappeared; Ah never did know whar dey went, but dis yere Kurby, an' de man wif de chin-whiskers, dey done shut me up in de cabin. Ah don't know much whut did happen after dat, till 'bout de time de steamboat done hit us; an' 'bout de next thing Ah wus yanked up yere on deck."

"But there was another woman on the keel-boat when it was sunk--a prisoner also. Surely you must have seen her," I insisted.

"Ah saw her--yas," eagerly. "But Ah don't know who she wus, sah, nor whar she ever c.u.m frum."

"Then she is not there with you?"

"No, sah; Ah's yere all 'lone. Ah reckon, tho', she sure mus' be on board sumwhar. All what Ah does know is, dat de gal called Rene Beaucaire sure ain't on board; fer she, an' her mah, am at Beardstown long fore dis, an' a headin' right smart for Canady; while Ah's headin'

fer down soufe. Ah's a free n.i.g.g.e.r, an' dey's kidnapped me. Ah's just told yer all dis, Mister White Man, 'cause you's a frien' ob de Beaucaires--yer wus, wusn't yer?"

"Yes," I said soberly, "I am; and, if I can find any chance to help you, I am going to do it, Elsie. Be careful now; don't talk any more--the captain is just coming out of the pilot house."

As greatly as this brief, hastily whispered conversation had served to clear up certain puzzling matters in my mind, the total result of the information thus imparted by Elsie Clark only rendered the situation more complex and puzzling. Evidently the other prisoner had not been confined on the upper deck, but had been more securely hidden away below, where her presence on board would better escape detection. For what purpose? A sinister one, beyond all doubt--the expression of a vague fear in Kirby's heart that, through some accident, her ident.i.ty might be discovered, and his plans disarranged. I was beginning to suspect I might not have rightly gauged those plans. The first suspicion which a.s.sailed me was whether or not the man himself had already determined that his prisoner was not merely a helpless slave in his hands, to be dealt with as he pleased under the law, but a free white woman. If so, and he still desired to keep control, he would naturally guard her all the more closely from either speech, or contact with others. His only safety would lie in such action. I had heard him express boastingly his original design relative to both these girls; I comprehended the part he intended Eloise Beaucaire to play in his future, and realized that he cared more to gain possession of her, to get her into his power, than he did to obtain control of the slave.

This knowledge helped me to understand the predicament which this revelation put him into, and how desperately he would strive to retain the upper hand. If, in very truth, she was Judge Beaucaire's white daughter, and could gain communication with others of her cla.s.s, bringing to them proof of her ident.i.ty, there would be real men enough on board the _Adventurer_ to rally to her support. Those army officers alone would be sufficient to overcome any friends Kirby might call upon, and in that case the gambler's house of cards would fall instantly into ruins. We were already sailing through free territory, and even now he held on to his slaves rather through courtesy than law.

Once it was whispered that one of these slaves was white, the daughter of a wealthy planter, stolen by force, the game would be up.

But would she ever proclaim her right to freedom? It seemed like a strange question, and yet there remained a reason still for silence.

If she was indeed Eloise Beaucaire--and even as to this I was not as yet wholly convinced--she had deliberately a.s.sumed to be Rene, doing so for a specific purpose--that object being to afford the other an opportunity for escape. She, conscious of her white blood, her standing of respectability, had felt reasonably safe in this escapade; had decided that no great harm could befall her through such a masquerade for a few days. If worst came to worst she could openly proclaim her name at any moment, a.s.sured of protection at the hands of anyone present, and thus defy Kirby. I recalled to memory their conversation, which I had overheard in the library at Beaucaire; and I understood now what had easily led to all this--her belief, from Kirby's own words, that nothing further could be done until the necessary legal papers had been served on her in person. This faith, coupled with the mysterious disappearance of Rene and the quadroon mother, and her being mistaken for the absent girl, all led her inevitably to the conclusion that she must continue to act out the part a.s.sumed until those others were safe beyond pursuit. With quick wit she had grasped this chance for service; had encouraged Kirby to believe her the slave, and then, in sudden desperation, had been driven into trusting me in an effort to keep out of his hands.

This theory seemed possible enough; yet what she might decide to do now, under the stress of these new conditions, was no less a problem.

She possessed no knowledge regarding the others, such as I did. She had no means of guessing that the two others had already actually escaped, and were even then beyond the power of their pursuers. Her one thought still would be the continuation of deceit, the insistence that she was Rene. To do otherwise would defeat her purpose, make her previous sacrifice useless. She must still fight silently for delay.

Why, she had not so much as trusted me. From the very beginning she had encouraged me in the belief that she was a negress, never once arousing the faintest suspicion in my mind. Not by the slip of the tongue, or the glance of an eye, had she permitted either of us to forget the barrier of race between. Nothing then, I was convinced, short of death or disgrace, could ever compel her to confess the truth yet. Kirby might suspect, might fear, but he had surely never learned who she was from her lips--that she was Eloise Beaucaire.

And was she? Was the proof of her ident.i.ty, as yet produced, the story of Elsie Clark, sufficiently satisfactory to my own mind? It became more so as I thought, as I remembered. Every link in the chain of evidence seemed to fall noiselessly into its place, now that I compared my own experience with the details furnished me by the mulatto girl.

No other conclusion appeared possible, or probable; no other solution fully met the facts in the case. The conviction that this young woman was white, educated, refined, the daughter of good blood--no fleeing negress, cursed with the black stain of an alien race, a nameless slave--brought to me a sudden joy in discovery I made no attempt to conceal. "Eloise Beaucaire, Eloise Beaucaire"--the name repeated itself on my lips, as though it were a refrain. I knew instantly what it all meant--that some divine, mysterious hand had led from the very hour of my leaving Fort Armstrong, and would continue to lead until the will of G.o.d was done. It was not in the stars of Fate that such villainy should succeed; such sacrifice as hers fail of its reward. I might not know where to turn, or what to do; yet it was with far lighter heart, a heart stimulated by new hope, the gleam of love, that I faced the task before me.

CHAPTER XXI

THE LANDING AT YELLOW BANKS

Nevertheless, in spite of this resolve, and the fresh courage which had been awakened within me by the faith that from now on I battled for the love of Eloise Beaucaire, no immediate opportunity for service came.

All that the dark girl knew of her present whereabouts was that she had been lifted on board, and, in all probability, taken below. Certainly the girl had not been cabined on the upper deck; nor was I at present in any position to seek openly the place of her confinement. I could only wait patiently, and observe.

Supper was served me in front of the boilers, in company with the rest of the crew. Later, I was a.s.signed a sleeping s.p.a.ce on the lower deck, barely wide enough to lie in, and was permitted to sit among the others, under the uptilt of the swinging gangway, listening to their boisterousness, and rough play, or watching the dusk of evening descend over the deserted waters, as the laboring steamer battled against the current. It was a still, black night, and the _Adventurer_ made extremely slow progress, a leadsman at the bow calling off the depth of water, and a huge light, rather ingeniously arranged, casting a finger of radiance along the ghostly sh.o.r.e line. With no marks of guidance on either bank, the wheelsman felt his uncertain pa.s.sage upward, advancing so cautiously progress was scarcely noticeable, and I could frequently distinguish the voice of the anxious captain from the upper deck, above the hiss of the steam, as he called some hasty warning. In all probability we should have eventually been compelled to tie up against the bank, and await daylight, but for the disappearance of the heavy ma.s.ses of clouds overhead, and the welcome gleam of myriads of stars, reflected along the smooth surface of the water.

Three times, at intervals, I made an effort to explore the second deck, but each time met with failure to accomplish my object. The narrow s.p.a.ce extending between rail and cabin never seemed entirely deserted, and my last attempt brought me face to face with Mapes, who very curtly ordered me below, accompanying his command with a profane request to remain there. To protest, and thus possibly arouse the mate's suspicion as to the purpose of my presence on board, would have resulted in greater damage to our cause than any probable peril of the coming night. So I obeyed without a word, deeming it best to lie down quietly in the s.p.a.ce allotted, and endeavor to think out some feasible plan for the morrow, rather than be caught again prowling around blindly in the dark. To a.s.sist me in this decision Mapes hung about the lower deck, until satisfied that I had actually turned in.

But I made no effort to sleep, and my mind remained busy. Even in the course of those brief excursions I had acquired some little information of value, and of a nature to leave me more at ease. I was now convinced that Kirby, whatever might be his ultimate purpose regarding the girl, had no present intention of doing her further injury. He contemplated no immediate attempt at forcible possession, and would be well satisfied if he could only continue to hold her in strict seclusion. The thing he was guarding against now, and while they remained on board, was escape from discovery.

I could easily understand the reason for this. He dare not expose her to the view of others, or permit her the slightest opportunity to appeal to them for rescue. Whether the man still believed her to be of negro blood, or not, the girl's unusual appearance would be certain to exercise more weight than his unsupported word--her refined, Caucasian face, the purity of her language, her simple story, would a.s.suredly win an instant response from many of those on board. These waters were too far to the northward to be a safe hiding place for slave-hunters, and Kirby must be fully aware--knowing the characteristics of the river as he did--that his only security lay in keeping this woman in seclusion, carefully hidden away under lock and key, until he held her completely in his power, in a land where slavery was king. Then he could play the brute, but not here. I was convinced the man possessed brains and caution enough to deliberately choose this course--to do otherwise would mark him a fool, and that was not to be thought of. Even his reckless bravado would never drive him into an utterly unnecessary peril. All that he planned to accomplish later, could wait; but now his only purpose was to protect her from observation; to encourage his fellow-travelers to even forget that he had any slaves on board. There was a game of cards going on in the salon, in which he was partic.i.p.ating, but Tim, not concerned in it, was wandering back and forth, up and down the ladder, watchful of every movement about the two decks, and making it extremely difficult for anyone to pa.s.s his guard.

Satisfied as to this, and being intensely weary from my night without rest, and the hard work of the day, before I even realized the possibility, I fell sound asleep.

It was about the middle of the following afternoon when the _Adventurer_ poked her blunt nose around a point of land, and came into full view of the squalid hamlet of Yellow Banks. A half-hour later we lay snuggled up against the sh.o.r.e, holding position amid several other boats made fast to stout trees, busily unloading, and their broad gangplanks stretching from forward deck to bank. All about was a scene of confusion and bustle, mud, and frontier desolation. Inspired by the ceaseless profanity of both mates, the roustabouts began unloading cargo at once, a steady stream of men, black and white, burdened with whatever load they could s.n.a.t.c.h up, moving on an endless run across the stiff plank, and up the low bank to the drier summit. It chanced to be my good fortune to escape this labor, having been detailed by Mapes to drag boxes, bales and barrels forward to where the hurrying bearers could grasp them more readily. This brought me close to the forward stairs, down which the departing pa.s.sengers trooped, threading their insecure way among the trotting laborers, in an effort to get ash.o.r.e.