Part 13

Detectives were set upon the search for Despard, but of course only as spies--since as yet we could allege nothing stronger than suspicion against him. The _espionage_, however, was likely to prove unsuccessful: for up to the hour of the _Sultana's_ leaving--which occurred just at sunset--the sportsman's whereabouts had not been ascertained; and the detectives, in quaint phraseology, declared their belief that the "gentleman was G.T.T." (Gone To Texas).

Story 2, Chapter XII.

THE MISSOURI BELLE.

The traveller who ascends the mighty Mississippi, will see neither hill nor mountain--nothing that can he called highland--until he has attained a thousand miles from its mouth. Only the bold headland on which stands the town of Natchez, and those very similar projections known as the "Chickasaw Bluffs," one of which forms the site of the flourishing city of Memphis. All the rest, on both sides of the river, as far as the eye can reach, is low _alluvion_, rising only a few feet above the surface of the stream, and often, for hundreds of miles, periodically drowned by inundation, or covered continuously by a stagnant marsh. The forest hides all this from the eye; and frequently the banks of the river have the appearance of dry land, when there is not a spot of earth upon which you may rest your foot.

This character continues till you have passed the mouth of the Ohio, and have entered upon the regions of Missouri and the Illinois. There the scene changes as if by magic. The river no more appears wandering over a flat country; but runs in the bottom of a deep gorge or valley, whose sides are nearly precipitous--often rising to the height of hundreds of feet above the surface of the water.

We had been six days steaming up the river; and on the seventh at sunset, the _Sultana_ reached the highland region, entering the gorge-like valley, just as night was closing over it.

It was the period of a full moon, and as yet the fair queen was low in the heavens--so low that her light fell upon the water, only in those reaches where the river trended in an easterly or westerly direction.

Whenever the course was north or south--and this was the general direction--the high bluffs completely overshadowed the stream; and then only the glare of the fires lit up the dark water ravine through which we were passing.

The sudden changes from light to darkness, and from darkness back to brilliant moonlight, had an effect that was curious and interesting. They resembled the transformations in a theatre. One moment we were steaming along in the most sombre shadow--the crest of the bluffy with its crowning trees and _shot_ towers, dimly outlined above us--the next, we would shoot out under the white fulness of the moonlight, that rendered even minute objects along the _facade_ of the banks, almost as visible as by day.

This ever-shifting panorama appeared more the work of magic, than the effect of natural causes, and I had lingered upon the hurricane-deck to observe its changes long after my companions had gone below.

While thus engaged, my ear caught the peculiar sound produced by the 'scape pipe of a high-pressure boat; and which is easily distinguished from all other explosive noises. At first it seemed the echo from our own--for I had already noticed the reverberations which the cliffs sent back at different points on our passage. I soon became convinced that the sounds I now heard were not echoes; but that another boat was making its way through the dark gorges, apparently coming down stream. This was made certain by the sudden appearance of a brilliant lamp directly in front of us, find more conspicuous still was the red glare of the fires burning in the furnaces--which are always placed in the forward part of the boat.

It was one of the darkest ravines of the river, where the two boats came in sight of each other; but the lights of each guided the pilot of the other, and there was neither danger nor difficulty in passing. Each held to the larboard--as two carriages would have done upon an ordinary road--and a wide space was left between them: for the channel, though narrower here than elsewhere, still afforded a sufficiency of room.

It was quick work, however, and the pilot of each boat adroitly performed his duty. The bend was of short reach; and, from the time I caught sight of the descending steamer, I could scarcely have counted two hundred till she had met and was overlapping the _Sultana_. Like two fiery meteors they brushed past one another--each bearing onward in her own direction, without hail or the exchange of a single word I had just time, as the stranger glided by, to make out upon her wheel-house the name _Missouri Belle_; but, before I could have counted another hundred, she had forged round a projection of the bluffs, and her lights were no longer visible.

I stood gazing after her with emotions vivid and singular. What was there that caused me to do so! The incident of meeting a steamboat on the Mississippi? There was nothing extraordinary in that--an occurrence so common as scarcely to deserve being regarded an incident. Was it the name of the boat, which I had been enabled to decipher? Some old remembrance connected with her?

No, nothing of the kind. The emotions that had suddenly arisen in my mind, were springing from a very different cause; and I may at once declare it.

Abaft of the _Missouri Belle_, and in the little gangway that encircles the ladies' cabin, I had caught sight of a group of three persons, standing outside one of the state-room doors. Of the identity of these persons I could not be mistaken--though the sight was sufficient to stagger my belief. Of two I was sure: for the light shone more fairly upon them. The third only remained unrecognised--the darkness hindering my view of this individual--and, but for a horrid suspicion that flashed into my brain at the moment, I should not have thought of even guessing at his identity.

The two that I had recognised were women--ladies. They were Madame Dardonville and her daughter Olympe. The third was a man, who stood sufficiently near them to come under the same light--the glare of the _Sultana's_ fires--but the unexpected presence of the ladies so astounded me, that I did not see _him_ till too late to distinguish either his form or face. I only saw that it was a man--nothing more; but, for all that, a painful suspicion--a presentiment of some horrid evil--took immediate possession of my soul; and I became at once imbued with the idea that my friends were in danger.

Gladly would I have adopted the belief that there was some error; and that what I had seen was a fancy--a vision of the brain. Certainly the glimpse I had of those fair faces--especially of the beautiful countenance of Olympe--was short and evanescent as any dream could have been; but it was too real. I saw her face well enough to recognise it-- well enough even to note its expression, which I fancied to be more sad than smiling. Beyond a doubt the widow and her daughter had passed us in the _Missouri Belle_--strange though the circumstance might and did appear to me at the moment.

And what, after all, was there strange in it? Could it not be easily explained? Her affairs may have been set tied earlier than she expected--they should have been arranged by that time--and, without waiting for De Hauteroche, she may have formed the resolution to travel without him. The journey from Saint Louis to New Orleans is accounted nothing; and in all parts of the States ladies are accustomed to travel alone, and may do so with perfect safety and convenience.

But, then, they were _not_ alone--at least they did not appear to be. There was the man--_the man_!

Some friend, perhaps, of the family? Some distant relative or retainer? Perhaps, only a domestic?

Could I have believed this, I should have escaped that feeling of uneasiness that was every moment growing upon me; but I could not. Something seemed to tell me, that the man I had seen was neither relative nor friend--but an _enemy_. Something seemed to whisper his name--_Monsieur Jacques Despard_.

Story 2, Chapter XIII.

THE TWO PILOTS.

My suspicions were only vague and ill-defined. I had the presentiment of an evil--but what evil? Even admitting that the man who accompanied Madame Dardonville and her daughter, was the swindler Despard--what injury could they receive from his presence? But what reason had I to think it was he? Not the least. Indeed, upon reflection, I could not myself imagine what had brought this man into my mind: though that might be accounted for--since the forgery, of which we more than suspected him, was one of the first things to be inquired into, on our arrival in Saint Louis--and there we should be in the morning.

There was little reason, however, in all this, to connect him with the presence of the ladies on board the _Missouri Belle_; and the more I reflected on the matter, the more improbable did it appear.

The circumstance of meeting Madame Dardonville on her way downward, was certainly strange enough--especially when I remembered her letter. In that she had distinctly arranged that we should come up for her; and had stated her intention to travel back by the _Sultana_. Had she written again, and once more altered the arrangement? It had been her original design, as appeared by her second letter--to have gone to New Orleans at an earlier date; but some business, connected with the administration of her estate, had delayed her. Was this cause of detention unexpectedly removed? and had she, in consequence, started southward, without waiting for the _Sultana_? Perhaps she had written a third letter, which had not reached New Orleans at the time of our leaving it?

All these were probabilities--or rather possibilities--that passed through my mind; but, viewing them in their most favourable aspect, they failed to satisfy me. I could not help suspecting that there was a mystery--that there was something wrong.

The pilot was at his post inside his little cabin of glass, silent as is his wont. I would have entered into conversation with him; but just at that moment his second appeared, coming out of the pilot's cabin, and rubbing his eyes to get them open for his work. A bell had just announced the hour of change, and the second was about to enter on his turn of duty. The ceremony was simple; and consisted in the old pilot handing over the spokes to the one that relieved him, and then squeezing himself out of the glass house. A little conversation followed before the relieved officer retired to his "bunk." Seated within ear-shot, I could not help overhearing it. "Durnation dark--whar are we anyhow?"

"Jest below _Shirt-tail_ bend--thar's the bluff."

"Durn me! if I can see a steim. I couldn't see a white hoss at the eend of my nose this minnit. I reckon I'll be runnin' the old boat into the bank, if it don't clear a bit."

It certainly was a dark night. Some heavy clouds had drifted over the moon, and she was no longer visible.

"Oh, no fear," rejoined the other, "you ain't got the sleep out of your eyes, you'll see clearer by-'n-bye."

"Wal--it's to be hoped. Much dirt in the water?"

"A few--there's a putty considerable drift comin' down. That last spell o' wet has done it, I reckon. I han't seed many _sawyers_, but you'd better keep a sharp look-out. Thar's bound to be some o' 'em settled in the bend."

"I'll watch 'em--say, what boat was that?"

"_Massoury Belle_."

"Oh! she's in the Ohio trade now?"

"So I've heerd."

"I thought they wouldn't run her to Orleans agin. She aint the style for below."

"No, she wa'nt big enough. Old What's-his-name has bought her, and's goin' to run her reg'larly 'tween Saint Louis and Cinc'natti. She's jest the thing for that trade. Good night!"

Thus ended the dialogue; and, in a few seconds after, the retiring officer had entered one of the little boxes adjacent to the wheel-house, and shut himself up for the night.

Up to a certain point I had listened to this conversation with but little attention, and might not have noticed it at all, but for its quaint oddity. All at once, however, it became deeply interesting to me--at that point when it turned upon the _Missouri Belle_.

What could the man mean by the boat no longer running to Orleans? New Orleans, of course, he meant--for these men are perfect Lacons in conversation, and I understood the curtailment of the name. Was it possible the boat was not _then_ on her way to New Orleans? and was she bound round to Cincinatti?

If such were the case, the presence of Madame Dardonville on board of her, would indeed be a mysterious circumstance! For what purpose could _she_ be going to Cincinatti? and, least of all, at such a crisis--when she should be expecting her friends from the south?

Had I heard aright? Or had I properly interpreted what I had heard?

Beyond doubt the pilot's words were to the effect, that the boat was no longer to run to New Orleans, but from Saint Louis to Cincinatti, and of course _vice versa_. Perhaps he might mean prospectively? Was it some new arrangement of ownership, not yet completed?

The boat might be hereafter intended for the Ohio trade, but had not yet commenced running to Cincinatti: she might be making her final trip to New Orleans? Only this hypothesis could explain the puzzle.

It occurred to me that I might arrive at a more lucid understanding by an application to the occupant of the wheel-house--at all events he could interpret what I had just heard. I addressed myself him accordingly.

I had no fear of being snubbed. These Mississippi pilots are fine fellows, sometimes a little dry with curious intruders, but never rude, never impolite to a gentleman.

"Did I understand you to say that the boat we have just met--the _Missouri Belle_--is in the Ohio trade?"

"Wal, stranger, that's what I've heerd."

"That means that she is to run between Saint Louis and Cincinatti."

"Course it do."

"And do you think she is on her way to Cincinatti now?"

"Why, stranger, whar else 'ud she be goin'?"

"I thought she might be going down to New Orleans."

"Wal, she did run thar form'lly; but she's off that now. She's changed hands lately, and's been put on the other line, 'tween Saint Louis and Cinc'natti, which air a trade she'll suit for better. She wa'nt big enough for below; but bein' a light draught critter, she's jest the thing to get over the Falls."

"And you are certain she is now on the way to Cincinatti?"

"No, that I aint, stranger. She may be on top o' a durnation snag, or chuck up on a sand-bar at this minnit, for what I can tell. All I know for sartin is that she's boun' for Cinc'natti; and if nothin' happens her, she'll be thar in less 'n four days from now. Whether she breaks down, howsomever, air a question beyont my calkerlationa. She mout an' she mout not."

With this sublime resignation to probabilities, the tall speaker in the glass house, evidently intended that the conversation should come to a close, for I observed that he bent his gaze more eagerly ahead, and seemed to direct his attention exclusively to the tiller. Perhaps the idea of the _Missouri Belle_ resting upon a snag or sand-bar, had suggested the probability of the _Sultana_ getting into a similar predicament, and stimulated him to increased caution in the performance of his duty.

Though I had succeeded in concealing my emotions from the steersman, it was not without an effort. The information he imparted was full of serious meaning; and augmented the feeling of uneasiness, from which I already suffered. Stronger than ever did I feel that presentiment of evil.

The statement of the pilot admitted of no interpretation but one. It was direct and point blank: that the _Missouri Belle_ was bound for Cincinatti. The man could have no motive for misleading me. Why should he? I had asked a simple question, without much show of interest or curiosity; he had answered it from pure politeness. There was not the slightest reason why he should make a misstatement; and I accepted what he had said as the truth.

The riddle had assumed a new character, and had become altogether more difficult of solution. "What," I repeated to myself, "can Madame Dardonville have to do on a Cincinatti boat? Surely there is something astray?"

It did not appear exactly _en regle_, for the lady to leave Saint Louis in the expectation of a visit from her New Orleans friends; but I presumed she had sent a second despatch, which had not been received. Moreover, she was going down to them, and it mattered less about their coming up for her. These were my first reflections after seeing her upon the down-river boat, and until I had heard the talk of the two pilots. Now, however, circumstances had a different appearance. On the _Missouri Belle_ she could not be going to New Orleans, but to Cincinatti. Did she expect us to follow her there? and for what end? Perhaps she would only go as far as the Ohio mouth, in this boat, and there wait for another, coming down the Ohio river? This method of getting from Saint Louis to New Orleans was common enough, when there did not chance to be a boat going direct. The large hotel at Cairo offered a temporary sojourn for such passengers. But why should Madame Dardonville adopt this roundabout method, and especially at such a time?

A score of conjectures passed through my mind, all ending idly. The only one at all satisfactory, was that, perhaps, I had been in an error from the very beginning. Perhaps, after all, I had neither seen Madame Dardonville nor her daughter; but two ladies who very much resembled them! It was not the first _equivoque_ I had experienced; and this should have rendered me less confident of the evidence of my senses. Notwithstanding these reflections, however, I could not convince myself that I was in error.

So long, therefore, as there was the slightest doubt, I felt that it would be imprudent to communicate my suspicions to my travelling companions. It could serve no good purpose; and would only render them uneasy, as I was myself,--in all likelihood, much more so. Ere long we should all know the truth; and should it prove that I was mistaken, I would have the satisfaction of having saved my friends from unnecessary pain, and myself from ridicule.

Though I joined them the moment after, I gave neither of them the slightest hint of what I had seen or suspected.

Story 2, Chapter XIV.

NO ONE ON THE WATCH.

It was ten o'clock on the following day, when the _Sultana_ snorting under a full head of steam, brought us within sight of the "Mound City," so called from certain Indian tumuli, that here form a conspicuous feature on the banks of the mighty river.

Long before reaching our destination, my travelling companions and I had ascended to the hurricane-deck; and we were straining our eyes to catch sight, not of the spires and cupolas that overtop the town, but of a building that had for all of us a far greater interest--a white cottage or villa, with green Venetians--the villa Dardonville. As it stood conspicuously near the western bank of the river, and we knew that it was visible from the level of the water, we expected soon to be gratified with a view of it, especially, as we were now nearly opposite to it. A skirting of oak woods appeared alone to conceal it; and, as the boat forged ahead, we gazed eagerly into the vista that was gradually opening beyond them.

Slowly and gently, as if by the passage of a panoramic picture, the villa was disclosed to our view; and my companions hailed its appearance with exclamations of delight. Visions of a happy meeting with old dear friends, of sumptuous hospitality, of free rural enjoyments, of many pleasurable incidents, were before the minds of both; and as for Luis, the sight of that pretty homestead could not fail to call up emotions of a still more thrilling kind.

Though I had myself seen the villa before, and from the water, it was a new sight to both my friends. It was, in fact, a new house, and had been built by Dardonville on retiring from business. On Luis's last visit to Saint Louis, the family was residing in the city. It was shortly after, that they had removed to the charming abode on the bluff.

My friends were enthusiastic in their praises of the pretty mansion. They admired its style of architecture, its smooth sloping lawn, its shrubberies; in short, both were in the mood for admiring.

As the boat arrived directly in front of it, and the house came fully into view, it did not strike me as presenting so hospitable an appearance: in fact, an observer, knowing nothing of its inmates, would have given it a character altogether different. The front door was shut close; and so, too, were the Venetian shutters, every one of them. Even the gate of the verandah railings appeared to be latched and locked. There was no life, human or animal, stirring about the place; not a creature to be seen. There was no smoke issuing from the chimneys, not a film. The place had the appearance of being uninhabited, deserted!

My companions could not help noticing this, though without having any suspicion that the house might be empty.

Why are the windows closed? and on such a beautiful morning?

I could only make answer to this pertinent query, by observing that the house faced eastward; and the sun might be too strong at that hour.

"_Parbleu_!" exclaimed Adele, "I feel cold enough; you see, I shiver? For my part, I should open every blind, and admit all the sun I could get. I shall do so, as soon as we get there."

"But la!" continued she, after a pause, "surely they expect us? and by the _Sultana_, too? You would think some one would be on the look out? They must certainly hear the blowing of our grand boat? And yet no one appears--not even a face at the windows! Come, M'amselle Olympe, this is barely kind of you."

Adele endeavoured to disfigure her beautiful countenance with a slight grimace, expressive of chagrin; but the laugh that followed showed how little she was in earnest.

"It may be," interposed Luis, "they are not astir yet: it is early."

"Early, _mon frere_? it is ten o'clock!"

"True, it is that hour," assented Luis, after consulting his watch.

"Besides, where is old Pluto? where Calypse and Chloe? Some of them should be abroad. At least, one of them might have been playing sentinel, I think?"

These were the familiar names of Madame Dardonville's domestics, all known to myself.

"Ah!" exclaimed Adele, a new thought suggesting itself, "I fancy I can explain. Madame and Olympe are gone up to town, that's it. Perhaps she knows that the boat is near: she may have heard it from below, and has driven up to the landing to meet us? Of course Pluto would be with her, and the others are busy in the house. That explains all. So we shall meet her at the landing. Well, that will be charming!"

I gave my assent to this explanation, though far from believing it to be the true one. The deserted appearance of the house was a new element of anxiety to me; and, combined with what I already knew, almost confirmed the terrible suspicion that had shaped itself in my imagination. Though straggling to conceal my real thoughts, it was with difficulty I succeeded in doing so. More than once my companions regarded me with inquiring looks: as though they observed a singularity in my bearing and behaviour.

With a sense of the keenest anxiety, I looked forward to the moment of our arrival: I did not indulge in much hope that Adele's conjecture would prove correct.