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.