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.