The Devil's Own Part 23

"Hey! you out there! If you can swim, jump for it. I'm not going to run into that snag."

I measured the distance between us with my eye, and leaped as far out as possible, striking out with l.u.s.ty strokes. The swift current swung me about like a chip, and swept me downward in spite of every struggle.

I was squarely abreast of the boat, already caught in her suction, and being drawn straight in toward her wheel, when the looped end of a flying noose struck my shoulder.

"Keep your head, lad!" roared out a hoa.r.s.e voice. "Hang on now, an'

we'll get yer."

It was such a rush, such a breathless, desperate struggle, I can scarcely recall the details. All I really remember is that I gripped the rope, and clung; was dragged under again and again; was flung against the steamer's side, seemingly losing all consciousness, yet dimly realizing that outstretched hands grasped me, and lifted me up by main strength to the narrow footway, dropping me there in the pool of water oozing from my clothes. Someone spoke, lifting my head on his arm, in answer to a hail from above.

"Yes, he's all right, sir; just a bit groggy. What'll we do with him?"

"Bring him along up to Haines' cabin, and get him the old suit in my room. You might warm him up with a drink first. You tend to it, Mapes."

The liquor I drank out of a bottle burnt like fire, but brought me new strength, so that, with Mapes' help, I got to my feet, and stared about at the group of faces surrounding us. They were those of typical river men, two negroes and three whites, ragged, dirty, and disreputable.

Mapes was so bus.h.i.+ly bearded, that about all I could perceive of his face was the eyes, yet these were intelligent, and I instantly picked him out as being the mate.

"How long yer all bin roostin' on thet snag?" he questioned, evidently somewhat amused. "Dem me, stranger, if I ever see thet sorter thing done afore."

"I was caught there last night," I answered, unwilling to say more, "Boat got snagged in the dark, and went down."

"Live round yere, I reckon?"

"No; just floating. Came down the Illinois. Where is this steamer bound?"

"h.e.l.l alone knows," dryly. "Yeller Banks furst, enyhow; we're loaded with supplies."

"Supplies! For Yellow Banks?" in surprise. "Why; what's going on there? My friend, there aren't ten families within a hundred miles of that place."

Mapes laughed, his mouth opening like a red gash, exhibiting a row of yellow fangs.

"No, I reckon not; but thar's a h.e.l.l ov a lot o' fellers thar whut ain't families, but kin eat. Didn't yer know, pardner, thar's a right smart war on? thet the Illinoy militia is called out, an' is a marchin'

now fer Yeller Banks? They're liable fer ter be thar too afore ever this d.a.m.n scow makes it, if we hav' ter stop an' pick eny mor' blame fools outer the river. Come on, let's go up."

"Wait a minute. This is an Indian war? Black Hawk has broken loose?"

"Sure; raised perticular h.e.l.l. We heerd down et Saint Louee he'd killed 'bout a hundred whites, an' burned sum ov 'em--ther ol' devil."

"And where is he now?"

"Dunno; never wus up in yer afore. We bin runnin' 'tween Saint Louee an' New Orleans, 'till the Gov'ment took us. Maybe the captain kin tell yer--sumwhar up Rock River, I reckon, wharever that is."

We climbed the steep steps to the upper deck, and were met at the head of the ladder by the captain, evidently desirous of looking me over.

He was a solidly-built individual, wearing white side-whiskers, and a bulbous nose, and confronted me not altogether pleasantly.

"All right, are you? Water pretty cold yet, I reckon. Been sticking on that snag for long?"

"Several hours; but my boat was wrecked before we lodged there."

The captain laughed, and winked aside at the mate.

"Seems to be a mighty populous river up this way, hey, Mapes?" he remarked genially. "Castaways round every bend."

"What do you mean? Have you picked up others?"

"Certainly have. Hit a keel-boat twenty miles below."

"A keel-boat, operated by steam?"

"Couldn't say as to that. Was it, Mapes? The craft had gone down when I got on deck. Had four aboard, but we got 'em all off, an' stowed 'em back there in the texas. You better get along now, and shuck those wet clothes."

CHAPTER XIX

ON BOARD THE _ADVENTURER_

The captain turned rather sharply away, and I was thrust through an open cabin door by the grasp of the mate before I could really sense the true meaning of this unexpected news. Mapes paused long enough to gruffly indicate a coa.r.s.e suit of clothes draped over a stool, and was about to retire without further words, when I recovered sufficiently from the shock to halt him with a question.

"I suppose you saw those people picked up from the keel-boat?"

"Sure; helped pull 'em aboard. A d.a.m.ned queer combination, if you ask me; two n.i.g.g.e.r wenches, Joe Kirby, an' a deputy sheriff from down Saint Louee way."

"Two women, you say? both negresses?"

"Well, thet whut Joe sed they wus, an' I reckon he knew; an' neither ov 'em put up a holler whin he sed it. However one ov 'em looked ez white as enybody I ever saw. The deputy he tol' ther same story--sed they wus both slaves thet Kirby got frum an ol' plantation down below; som'

French name, it wus. Seems like the two wenches hed run away, an' the deputy hed caught 'em, an' wus a takin' 'em back. Kirby c.u.m 'long ter help, bein' as how they belonged ter him."

"You knew Kirby then?"

"h.e.l.l, ov course. Thar ain't many river men who don't, I reckon. What is it to you?"

"Nothing; it sounds like a strange story, that's all. I want to get this wet stuff off, and will be out on deck presently."

I was s.h.i.+vering with the cold, and lost no time s.h.i.+fting into the warm, dry clothing provided, spreading out my own soaked garments over the edge of the lower bunk, but careful first to remove my packet of private papers, which, wrapped securely in oiled silk, were not even damp. It was a typical steamer bunkhouse in which I found myself, evidently the abiding place of some one of the boat's petty officers, exceedingly cramped as to s.p.a.ce, containing two narrow berths, a stool and a washstand, but with ample air and light. The slats across the window permitted me a view of the river, and the low-lying sh.o.r.e beyond, past which we were slowly moving. The sun was just rising above the eastern horizon, and the water reflected a purple tinge.

With no desire to return immediately to the deck, I seated myself on the stool to consider the situation.

Fate had played a strange trick, and I knew not how best to turn it to advantage. One thing only was clear; whatever was to be accomplished, I would have to do it alone--nowhere could I turn for help. In the first place Kirby undoubtedly had the law with him, and besides was among friends--those who would naturally believe him, and were loyal to the inst.i.tution of slavery. The very fact that this was a Memphis boat we were on precluded any possibility that the crew would sympathize with a n.i.g.g.e.r-stealer. Nor could I antic.i.p.ate any a.s.sistance from without. Steamboats were few and far between on these northern waters, and at this time, if the report of war was true, everything afloat would be headed up stream, laden with troops and provisions. That the report was true I had no doubt. The probability of an outbreak was known before I left Fort Armstrong; the crisis had come earlier than expected, that was all.

This, then, was the situation--through an odd intervention of Providence here we were all together on this steamer, which was steadily churning its way northward, every turn of the wheel bearing us deeper into the wilderness. The chances were that we should thus be aboard for several days; certainly until we encountered some other boat bound down stream, which would accept us as pa.s.sengers. Meanwhile what should I do? How escape observation? How reach Rene, without encountering Kirby? The answer was not an easy one. The deputy would not know me, for I had never been seen by him. Kirby believed me dead, yet might recognize me in spite of that conviction if we met face to face. Still, would he? The daring hope that he might not came to me in a flash. Might it not be possible to so disguise myself as to become unnoticeable? I sprang up to stare at my features in the small mirror hanging over the washstand. The face which confronted me in surprise was almost a strange one even to my eyes. Instead of the smart young soldier, smoothly shaven, with closely-trimmed hair, and rather carefully attired, as I had appeared on board the _Warrior_, the gla.s.s reflected a bearded face, the skin visibly roughened and reddened by exposure, the hair ragged and uncombed. Even to my view there remained scarcely a familiar feature--the lack of razor and shears, the exposure to sun and water, the days of sickness and neglect, had all helped to transform me into a totally different-appearing person from what I had formerly been; the officer and gentleman had, by the mystery of environment, been changed into the outward semblance of a river roustabout. Nor was this all. The new character was emphasized by the clothes I wore--far too large to fit, also the texture and color, not to mention the dirt and grease, speaking loudly of a rough life, and the vicissitudes of poverty. The metamorphosis was complete; so complete that I laughed aloud, a.s.sured by that one glance that the gambler, confident that I was dead, would never by any possibility recognize me in this guise, or while habilitated in such nondescript garments. Unless some happening should expose me, some occurrence arouse suspicion, I felt convinced of my ability to even slouch past him on deck un.o.bserved, and unrecognized.

But the girl--Rene? And so this was how I had appeared to her. No wonder she questioned me; doubted my first explanation. The thought that my personal appearance was so disreputable had never occurred to me before, and even then, staring into that gla.s.s, I could scarcely bring myself to acknowledge the truth. I had first approached her confident that my appearance as a gentleman would awaken her trust; I had felt myself to be a most presentable young man in whom she must instantly repose faith. Yet, this had not been true at all--instead I came to her with the outward bearing of a worthless vagabond, a stubble-bearded outcast. And yet she had trusted me; would trust me again. More; she could never be deceived, or fail to recognize my presence aboard if she had the freedom of the deck. Kirby might be deceived, but not Rene. Still she was a woman of quick wit; once recovered from her first surprise at thus encountering me, neither by word or look would she ever betray her knowledge. If I could only plan to meet with her first alone, the peril of her recognition would not be extreme.

But I must also figure upon the other woman. Who could she be? Not Eloise Beaucaire surely, for the mate had only mentioned one of the two as being sufficiently white to be noticeable. That one would surely be Rene, and it was scarcely probable that Eloise, with no drop of negro blood in her veins, could appear colored. Perhaps this second woman was Delia, the quadroon mother. But if so, how did she chance to fall alone into Kirby's clutches? Was she aboard the keel-boat, locked below in the cabin, when it rammed into us? If she had been captured at Shrunk's camp during their murderous raid, what had become of her companion? Where was Eloise Beaucaire? The harder I sought to straighten out this mystery the more involved it became. I knew so little of the facts, there was nothing I could argue from. All that remained was for me to go forward blindly, trusting implicitly to the G.o.d of luck.

With every additional glance at the face reflected by the mirror, my confidence strengthened in the ability to encounter Kirby, and pa.s.s unrecognized. Convinced as he undoubtedly was of my death beneath the black waters of the river he could not possibly imagine my presence aboard the _Adventurer_, while my personal appearance was so utterly changed as to suggest to his mind no thought of familiarity. The conditions were all in my favor. I was smiling grimly at this conceit, well pleased at the chance thus afforded me, when the stateroom door was suddenly flung open, and the hairy face of the mate thrust within.

"I reckon yer better tote them wet duds down ter the boiler room," he said, gruffly, "an' then git sum grub. Likely 'nough yer wound't mind eatin' a bit. Be yer a river man?"