HOW IT WAS DONE.
“From Thee is all that soothes the life of man,
His high endeavor and his glad success,
His strength to suffer and his will to serve:
But O, thou bounteous Giver of all good,
Thou art of all thy gifts thyself the crown!
Give what thou canst, without thee we are poor,
And with thee rich, take what thou wilt away!”—_Cowper._
All the efforts of Peculiar to induce the bloodhound, Victor, to take
the scent of either of the gloves, had proved unavailing. At every trial
Victor persisted in going straight to the jail where his master,
Antoine, was confined. Peek began to despair of discovering any trace of
the abducted maiden.
Were dumb animals ever guided by spirit influence? There were many
curious facts showing that birds were sometimes used to convey
impressions, apparently from higher intelligences. At sea, not long ago,
a bird had flown repeatedly in the helmsman’s face, till the latter was
induced to change his course. The consequence was, his encounter with a
ship’s crew in a boat, who must have perished that night in the storm,
had they not been picked up. There were also instances in which dogs
would seem to have been the mere instruments of a super and supercanine
sagacity. But Victor plainly was not thus impressible. His instincts led
him to his master, but beyond that point they would not or could not be
made to exert themselves.
Had not Peek’s faith in the triumph of the right been large, he would
have despaired of any help from the coming of the United States forces.
For weeks the newspapers had teemed with paragraphs, some scientific and
some rhetorical, showing that New Orleans must not and could not be
taken. They all overflowed with bitterness toward the always “cowardly
and base-born” Yankees. The Mayor of the city wrote, in the true
magniloquent and grandiose style affected by the Rebel leaders: “As for
hoisting any flag not of our own adoption, the man lives not in our
midst whose hand and heart _would not be paralyzed at the mere thought
of such an act_!”
A well-known physician, who had simply expressed the opinion that
possibly the city might have to surrender, had been waited on by a
Vigilance Committee and warned. Taking the hint, the man of rhubarb
forthwith handed over a contribution of five hundred dollars, in
expiation of his offence.
All at once the confident heart of Rebeldom was stunned by the news that
two of the Yankee steamers had passed Forts Jackson and St. Philip. The
great ram had been powerless to prevent it. Then followed the
announcement that seven,—then thirteen,—then twenty,—then the whole of
Farragut’s fleet, excepting the Varuna, were coming. Yes, the Hartford
and the Brooklyn and the Mississippi and the Pensacola and the Richmond,
and the Lord knew how many more, were on their way up the great river.
They would soon be at English Bend; nay, they would soon be at the
Levee, and have the haughty city entirely at their mercy!
No sooner was the terrible news confirmed than the Rebel authorities
ordered the destruction of all the cotton-bales stored on the Levee. The
rage, the bitterness, the anguish of the pro-slavery chiefs was
indescribable. Several attempts were made to fire the city, and they
would probably have succeeded, but for a timely fall of rain. On the
landing of the United States forces, the frenzy of the Secessionists
passed all bounds; and one poor fellow, a physician, was hung by them
for simply telling a United States officer where to find the British
Consulate.
But if some hearts were sick and crushed at the spectacle, there were
many thousands in that great metropolis to whom the sight of the old
flag carried a joy and exultation transcending the power of words to
express; and one of these hearts beat under the black skin of Peek.
Followed by Victor, he ran to the Levee where United States troops were
landing, and there—O joy unspeakable!—standing on the upper deck of one
of the smaller steamers, and almost one of the first persons he saw, was
Mr. Vance.
Peek shouted his name, and Vance, leaping on shore, threw his arms
impulsively round the brawny negro, and pressed him to his breast. Brief
the time for explanations. In a few clear words, Peek made Vance
comprehend the precise state of affairs, and in five minutes the latter,
at the head of a couple of hundred soldiers, and with Peek walking at
his side, was on his way to the jail. Victor, the bloodhound, evidently
understood it all. He saw, at length, that he was going to carry his
point.
Arrived at the jail, a large, square, whitewashed building, with barred
windows, they encountered at the outer door three men smoking cigars.
The foremost of them, a stern-looking, middle-aged man, with fierce, red
whiskers, and who was in his shirt-sleeves, came forward, evidently
boiling over with a wrath he was vainly trying to conceal, and asked
what was wanted.
“There is a black man, Antoine Lafour, confined here. Produce him at
once.”
“But, sir,” said the deputy, “this is altogether against civilized
usage. This is a place for—”
“I can’t stop to parley with you. Produce the man instantly.”
“I shall do no such thing.”
Vance turned to an orderly, and said, “Arrest this man.” At once the
deputy was seized on either side by two soldiers. “Now, sir,” said
Vance, cocking his pistol and taking out his watch, “Produce Antoine
Lafour in five minutes, or I will shoot you dead.”
The bloodhound, who had been scenting with curious nose the man’s
person, now seconded the menace by a savage growl, which seemed to have
more effect even than the pistol, for the deputy, turning to one of the
men in attendance, said sulkily, “Bring out the nigger, and be quick
about it.”
In three minutes Antoine appeared, and the dog leaped bodily into his
arms, the negro talking to him much as he would to a human being. “I
knowed you’d do it, ole feller! Thar! Down! Down, I say, ole Vic! It
takes you,—don’t it? Down! Behave yourself afore folk. Why, Peek, is
this you?”
“Yes, Antoine, and this is Mr. Vance, and here’s the old flag, and
you’re no longer a slave.”
“What? I no longer a— No! Say them words agin, Peek! Free? Owner of my
own flesh an’ blood? Dis arm mine? Dis head mine? Bress de Lord, Peek!
Bress him for all his mercies! Amen! Hallelujah!”
The released negro could not forego a few wild antics expressive of his
rapture. Peek checked him, and bade him remember the company he was in;
and Antoine bowed to Vance and said: “’Scuze me, Kunnle. I don’t perfess
to be sich a high-tone gemmleman as Peek here, but—”
“Stop!” cried Peek; “where did you get those last words?”
“What words?” asked Antoine, showing the whites of his eyes with an
expression of concern at Peek’s suddenly serious manner.
“Those words,—‘high-tone gemmleman.’ Whom did you ever hear use them?”
“Yah, yah! Wall, Peek, those words I got from Kunnle Delancy Hyde.”
“Where,—where and when did you get them?”
“Bress yer, Peek, jes now,—not two minutes ago,—dar in the gallery whar
the Kunnle’s walkin’ up and down.”
Peek smiled significantly at Vance, and the latter, approaching the
deputy who had not yet been released from custody, remarked: “You have a
man named Hyde confined there.”
“Yes, Delancy Hyde. The scoundrel stole the funds given to him to pay
recruiting expenses.”
“For which I desire to thank him. Bring him out.”
“But, sir, you wouldn’t—”
“Five minutes, Mr. Deputy, I give you, a second time, in which to obey
my orders. If Mr. Delancy Hyde isn’t forthcoming before this second-hand
goes round five times, one of your friends here shall have the
opportunity of succeeding you in office, and you shall be deposited
where the wicked cease from troubling.”
The deputy was far from being agreeably struck at the prospect of
quitting the company of the wicked. But for them his vocation would be
wanting. And so he nodded to a subordinate, and in three minutes out
stalked the astonishing figure of Colonel Delancy Hyde, wearing a dirty
woollen Scotch cap, and attired in the coarsest costume of the jail.
Ignorant of the great event of the day, not perceiving the old flag, and
supposing that he had been called out to be shot, Hyde walked up to
Vance, and said: “Kunnle, you look like a high-tone gemmleman, and afore
I’m shot I want ter make a confidential request.”
“Well, sir, what is it?” said Vance, shading his face with his cap so as
not to be recognized. “Speak quick. I can’t spare you three minutes.”
“Wall, Kunnle, it’s jes this: I’ve a sister, yer see, in Alabamy, jest
out of Montgomery; her name’s Dorothy Rusk. She’s a widder with six
childern; one on ’em an idiot, one a cripple, and the eldest gal in a
consumption. Dorothy has had a cruel hard time on it, as you may reckon,
an’ I’ve ollerz paid her rent and a leetle over till this cussed war
broke out, since when I’ve been so hard up I’ve had ter scratch gravel
thunderin’ lively to git my own grub. Them Confed’rate rags that I
’propriated, I meant to send to Dorothy; but the fogies, they war too
quick for me. Wall, ter come ter the pint: I want you ter write a letter
ter Dorothy, jes tellin’ her that the reason why Delancy can’t remit is
that Delancy has been shot; and tellin’ her he sent his love and all
that—whar you can’t come it too strong, Kunnle, for yer see Dorothy an’
I, we was ’bout the same age, and used ter make mud-pies together, and
sail our boats together down thar in the old duck-pond, when we was
childern; an’ so yer see—”
Vance looked into his face. Yes, the battered old reprobate was trying
to gulp down his agitation, and there were tears rolling down his
cheeks. Vance was touched.
“Hyde, don’t you know me?” he said.
“What! Mr. Vance? Mr. Vance!”
“Nobody else, Hyde. He comes here a United States officer, you see. New
Orleans has surrendered to Uncle Sam. Look at that flag. Instead of
being shot, you are set at liberty. Here’s your old friend, Peek.”
The knees of Colonel Delancy Hyde smote each other, and his florid face
grew pale. Flesh and blood he could encounter well as any man, but a
ghost was a piling on of something he hadn’t bargained for. Yet there
palpably before him stood Peek, the identical Peek he believed to have
been drowned in the Mississippi some fifteen years back.
“Wall, how in creation—”
“It’s all right, Hyde,” interrupted Vance. “And now if you want that
sister of yours provided for, you just keep as close to my shadow as you
can.”
Hyde was too confounded and stupefied to make any reply. These
revelations coming upon him like successive shocks from a
galvanic-battery, were too much for his equanimity. Awestruck and
stunned, he stared stupidly, first at Vance, then at the flag, and
finally at Peek.
The roll of the drum, accompanied by Vance’s orders to the soldiers,
roused him, and then attaching himself to Peek, he marched on with the
rest, Peek beguiling the way with much useful and enlightening
information.
They had not marched farther than the next carriage-stand when Vance,
leaving Captain Onslow in command, with orders to bivouac in Canal
Street, slipped out of the ranks, and beckoning to Peek and his
companions, they all, including Antoine and Hyde, entered a vehicle
which drove off with the faithful Victor running at its side.
Behold them now in Vance’s old room at the St. Charles. The immediate
matter of concern was, how to find Clara? How was the search to be
commenced?
Antoine, a bright, well-formed negro of cheerful aspect, after
scratching his wool thoughtfully for a moment, said: “Peek, you jes gib
me them two glubs you say you’ve got.”
Antoine then took the gloves, and, throwing them on the floor, called
Victor’s attention to them, and said: “Now, Vic, I want yer to show
these gemmen your broughten up. Ob dem two glubs, you jes bring me de
one dat you tink you kn fine de owner ob right off straight, widout any
mistake. Now, be car’ful.”
Victor snuffed at the large glove, and instantly kicked it aside with
contempt. Then, after a thoughtful scenting of the small glove, he took
it up in his mouth and carried it to Antoine.
“Berry well,” said Antoine. “Dat’s your choice, is it? Now tell me, Vic,
hab yer had yer dinner?”
The dog barked affirmatively.
“Berry well. Now take a good drink.” And, filling a washbowl with water,
Antoine gave it to the dog, who lapped from it greedily.
“Hab yer had enough?” asked Antoine.
Victor uttered an affirmative bark.
“Wall, now,” said Antoine, “you jes take dis ere glub, an’ don’t yer
come back till you fine out su’thin’ ’bout de owner ob it. Understan’?”
The dog again barked assent, and Antoine, escorting him down-stairs and
out-of-doors, gave him the glove. Victor at once seized it between his
teeth and trotted off at “double-quick,” up St. Charles Street.
During the interval of waiting for Victor’s return, “Tell me now, Peek,”
said Vance, “of your own affairs. Have you been able to get any clew
from Amos Slink to guide you in your search for your wife?”
“All that he could do,” replied Peek, “was merely to confirm what I
already suspected as to Charlton’s agency in luring her back into the
clutch of Slavery.”
“I must make the acquaintance of that Charlton,” said Vance. “And by the
way, Hyde, you must know something of the man.”
“I know more nor I wish I did,” replied Hyde. “I could scar’ up some old
letters of his’n, I’m thinkin’, ef I was ter sarch in an old trunk in
the house of the Widder Rusk (her as is my sister) in Montgomery.”
“Those letters we must have, Hyde,” said Vance. “You must lay your plans
to get them. ’T would be hardly safe for you to trust yourself among the
Rebels. They’ve an awkward fashion of hanging up without ceremony all
who profane the sanctity of Confederate scrip. But you might send for
the letters.”
“That’s a fak, Kunnle Vance. I’m gittin’ over my taste for low society.
I want nothin’ more ter do with the Rebels. But I’ve a nephew at
Montgomery,—Delancy Hyde Rusk,—who can smuggle them letters through the
Rebel lines easy as a snake kn cahrry a toad through a stump-fence.
He’ll go his death for his Uncle Delancy. He’s got the raal Hyde blood
in him,—he has,—an’ no mistake.”
“Can he read and write?”
“I’m proud to say he kin, Kunnle. I towt his mother, and she towt him
and the rest of the childern.”
“Well, Hyde, go into the next room and write a letter to your nephew,
telling him to start at once for New York city, and report himself to
Mr. William C. Vance, Astor House. I’ll give you a couple of hundred
dollars to enclose for him to pay his expenses, and a couple of hundred
more for your sister.”
Four hundred dollars! What an epoch would it be in their domestic
history, when that stupendous sum should fall into the hands of Mrs.
Rusk! Colonel Hyde moved with alacrity to comply with Vance’s bidding.
Mr. Winslow and Captain Onslow now entered, followed by Colonel Blake,
between whom and Vance a friendship had sprung up during the voyage from
New York. Suddenly Peek, who had been looking from the window,
exclaimed: “There goes the man who could tell us, if he would, what we
want.”
“Who is it?” cried Vance.
“Ratcliff’s lawyer, Semmes. See him crossing the street!”
“Captain Onslow,” said Vance, “arrest the man at once.”
Five minutes did not elapse before Semmes, bland and suave, and
accompanied by Peek and Onslow, entered the room.
“Ha! my dear friend Winslow!” cried the old lawyer, putting out his
hand, “I’m delighted to see you. Make me acquainted with your friends.”
Winslow introduced him to all, not omitting Peek, to whom Semmes bowed
graciously, as if they had never met before, and as if the negro were
the whitest of Anglo-Saxons.
“Sit down, Mr. Semmes,” said Vance; “I have a few questions to put to
you. Please answer them categorically. Are you acquainted with a young
lady, claimed by Mr. Carberry Ratcliff as a slave, educated by him at
Mrs. Gentry’s school, and recently abducted by parties unknown from his
house near Lafayette Square?”
“I do know such a young person,” replied Semmes; “I had her in my charge
after Mr. Ratcliff’s compulsory departure from the city.”
“Well. And do you know where she now is?”
“I certainly do not.”
“Have you seen her since she left Ratcliff’s house?”
Happily for Semmes, before he could perjure himself irretrievably, there
was a knock at the door, and Antoine entered, followed by the
bloodhound, bearing something tied in a white handkerchief, in his
mouth.
A general sensation and uprising! For all except the lawyer had been
made acquainted with the nature of the dog’s search. Semmes glanced at
the bloodhound,—then at the negroes,—and then at the other persons
present, with their looks of absorbed attention. Surely, there was a
_dénouement_ expected; and might it not be fatal to him, if he left it
to be supposed that he was colluding with Ratcliff in what would be
stigmatized as rascality by low, cowardly, base-born Yankees, though,
after all, it was only the act of a slave-owner enforcing his legal
rights in a legitimate way?
Darting forward, just as Vance received from Antoine the little bundle
the dog had been carrying, the lawyer exclaimed: “Colonel Vance, I do
not _know_, but I can _conjecture_ where the girl is. Seek her at Number
21 Camelia Place.”
Vance paused, and looked the old lawyer straight in the eyes till the
latter withdrew his glance, and resorted to his snuff-box to cover his
discomfiture. Deep as he was, he saw that he had been fathomed. But
Vance bowed politely, and said: “We will see, sir, if your information
agrees with that of the dog.”
He untied the handkerchief, took out the paper-weight, and underneath it
found Clara’s note, which he opened and read. Then turning to the
lawyer, he said: “I congratulate you, Mr. Semmes. You _were_ right in
your _conjecture_.”
None but Semmes and Peek noticed the slightly sarcastic stress which
Vance put on this last word from his lips.
Vance now knelt on one knee, and resting on the other the fore-legs of
the bloodhound, patted his head and praised him in a manner which
Victor, by his low, gratified whine, seemed fully to comprehend and
appreciate.
Peek, who had been restless ever since the words “21 Camelia Place” had
fallen on his ears, here said: “Lend me your revolver, Mr. Vance, and
don’t leave till I come back. I promise not to rob you of your share in
this work.”
“I will trust you with the preliminary reconnoissance, Peek,” said
Vance, giving up the weapon. “Be quick about it.”
Peek beckoned to Antoine, and the two went out, followed by the
bloodhound.
Mr. Semmes, now realizing that by some display of zeal, even if it were
superserviceable, he might get rid of the ill odor which would follow
from lending himself to Ratcliff’s schemes, approached Vance and said:
“Colonel, it was only quite recently that I heard of the suspicions that
were entertained of foul play in the case of that little girl claimed by
Ratcliff as a slave. Immediately I looked into the notary’s record, and
I there found that the slave-child is set down as a quadroon; a
misstatement which clearly invalidates the title. I have also discovered
a letter, written in French, and published in L’Abeille, in which some
important facts relative to the loss of the Pontiac are given. The
writer, Monsieur Laboulie, is now in the city. Finally, I have to inform
you that Mr. Ripper, the auctioneer who sold the child, is now in this
house. I would suggest that both he and the Mrs. Gentry, who brought her
up, should be secured this very evening, as witnesses.”
“I like your suggestion, Mr. Semmes,” said Vance, in a tone which quite
reassured the lawyer; “go on and make all the investigations in your
power bearing on this case. Get the proper affidavit from Monsieur
Laboulie. Secure the parties you recommend as witnesses. I employ you
professionally.”
In his rapid and penetrating judgments of men, Vance rarely went astray;
and when Semmes, who was thinking of a little private business of his
own with the President of the Lafayette Bank, remarked, “If you can
dismiss me now, Colonel, I will meet you an hour hence at any place you
name,” Vance knew the old lawyer would keep his promise, and replied:
“Certainly, Mr. Semmes. You will find me at 21 Camelia Place.”
Peek and Antoine, taking a carriage, drove at full speed to the house
designated. Here they found to their surprise in the mulatto Sam, a
member of a secret society of men of African descent, bound together by
faith in the speedy advent of the United States forces, and by the
resolve to demand emancipation. Peek at once satisfied himself that
Clara was in no immediate danger. He found that Sam had withdrawn the
bullets from Ratcliff’s revolver, and was himself well armed, having
determined to shoot down Ratcliff, if necessary, in liberating Clara. In
pursuance of his plan he had lured the negrowoman, Agnes, up-stairs,
under the pretence already mentioned. Here he had gagged, bound, and
confined her securely. Hardly had he finished this job, when, looking
out of the window, he had seen Peek and Antoine get out of a carriage
and reconnoitre the house. Instantly he had run down-stairs, opened the
front door, and made himself known.
It was arranged that Antoine and Sam, well armed, and supported by the
bloodhound, should remain and look after Ratcliff, not precipitating
action, however, and not communicating with Clara, whose relief Peek had
generously resolved should first come from the hands of Vance.
Then jumping into the carriage, Peek drove to Lafayette Square, and
taking in Madame Josephine and Esha, returned to the St. Charles Hotel.
Here he told Vance all he had done, and introduced the two women,—Vance
greeting Esha with much emotion, as he recognized in her that attendant
at his wife’s death-bed for whom he had often sought.
Four carriages were now drawn up on Gravier Street. Into one stepped
Winslow, Hyde, and Vance; into another Semmes, Blake, Onslow, and
Blake’s trusty servant, Sergeant Decazes, the escaped slave. Into the
third carriage stepped Madame Josephine, Esha, and Peek; and into the
fourth, Mrs. Gentry and Mr. Ripper.
This last vehicle must be regarded as the centre of interest, for over
it the Loves and Graces languishingly hovered.
In introducing Ripper to Mrs. Gentry, Semmes had remarked, in an aside
to the former: “A retired schoolma’am: some money there!” Here was a
shaft that went straight to the auctioneer’s heart. In three minutes he
drew from the lady the fact that, ten days before, she had received a
visit from a Vigilance Committee, who had warned her, if she did not pay
over to them five thousand dollars within a week, her house would be
confiscated, sold, and the proceeds paid over to the Confederate
treasury. “Five thousand dollars indeed!” said the lady, in relating the
interview; “a whole year’s income! O, haven’t they been nicely come up
with!”
The Confederate highwaymen had done what Satan recommended the Lord to
do in the case of Job: they had tried Mrs. Gentry in her substance, and
she had not stood the test. It had wrought a very sudden and radical
change in her political notions. Even slavery was no longer the august
and unapproachable thing which she had hitherto imagined; and she threw
out a sentiment which savored so much of the abolition heresy, that
Ripper, thinking to advance himself in her good opinion, avowed himself
boldly an emancipationist, and declared that slavery was “played out.”
These words, strange to say, did not make him less charming in Mrs.
Gentry’s eyes.
The drive in the carriage soon offered an opportunity for tenderer
topics, and before they reached Camelia Street, the enterprising
auctioneer had declared that he really believed he had at last, after a
life-long search, found his “affinity.” And from that he ventured to
glide an arm round the lady’s waist,—a familiarity at which her
indignation was so feebly simulated, that it only added new fuel to
hope.
But Camelia Place was now reached, and the carriages stopped. The whole
party were noiselessly introduced into the house. Vance darted up to the
room where Clara’s note had instructed him he could find her. Seeing the
key on the outside, he turned it, opened the door, and presented himself
to Clara in the manner already related. The unsuspecting Ratcliff soon
followed, and then followed the scenes upon which the curtain has
already been raised.
As Vance left the house, with Clara on his arm, several of Ratcliff’s
slaves gathered round them. To all these Vance promised immediate
freedom and help. An old black hostler, named Juba, or Jube, who was
also a theologian and a strenuous preacher, was spokesman for the
freedmen. He proposed “tree chares for Massa Vance.” They were given
with a will.
“An’ now, Massa Vance,” said the Reverend Jube, “may de Lord bress yer
fur comin’ down har from de Norf ter free an’ help we. De Lord bress yer
an’ de young Missis likewise. An’ when yer labors am all ended, an’
yer’v chewed all de hard bones, an’ swollerd de bitter pill, may yer go
ober Jordan wid a tight hold on de Lord, an’ not leeb go till yer git
clar inter de city ob Zion.”[44]
-----
Footnote 44:
Actual words of a negro preacher, taken down on the spot by a hearer.