George Hale, yielding to the importuning letters of his brother
Richard, consented that Evaleen should risk the peril of a voyage to
New Orleans. Luckily the young lady was to have travelling companions.
One of her uncle's letters contained this passage: "Ask your father to
hunt up my old-time friend, Dr. Eloy Deville, to whose care and
medical skill I owe my life. He still lives, I believe, in Gallipolis.
Tell dear old Frenchy and little Lucrèce--I suppose she is now
almost grown--that I have unearthed family facts much to their
worldly advantage. They must come to this city, to the French quarter.
My discoveries are astounding, but credible. Eloy may inherit a
fortune. I will see that he loses nothing. My advice is, come at once.
The doctor and his daughter will be good company for you on your
voyage."
Eloy was easily induced to do as his friend and former patient
advised.
"Oui, monsieur, certainment shall we depart most glad from ze log hut.
Lucrèce, ma chère fille, dance for ze delight! We shall, on ze
to-morrow, us depart, on ze joli bateau with ze mademoiselle; quick
shall run ze stream, row ze oar, fly ze sail--we come right away to
ze excellent long friend of your father. Ze honor and ze felicity
shall be to me to serve mademoiselle for ze sake of her divine uncle,
for ze own beautiful sake of ze fair angel."
The Buckeye, on which Evaleen and her friends took passage, carried a
cargo for the Southern market. The crew numbered eight picked men,
commanded by Eli Winslow, a talkative Vermonter, with none too much
experience on the Mississippi, but overstocked with self-confidence.
Such clothing and household goods as he thought essential to take
along for himself and daughter, Doctor Deville packed in old trunks,
or tied up in bundles, all of which were deposited on the river bank,
six hours ahead of time. The luggage included a basket of Bordeaux, a
surgeon's case, a chest of medicine, and a violin in a green bag. At
last the barge hove in sight, announced by the echoing of the boat
horn. The fidgety Frenchman gave Lucrèce a kiss and almost dislocated
her arm by pulling her after him to the landing. A long half hour he
had yet to wait before The Buckeye was made fast to the posts on the
bank and Eloy was helped on board, still holding fast to his _chère
fille_. It would require a volume to report the conversation which
enlivened the many days' journey down the Ohio and the Mississippi.
The doctor chirruped constantly. He knew a little of everything, and
talked much of nothing, very amusingly. Often he sang French songs,
often played dance tunes on the violin, now and then took an
enlivening taste of wine.
Past Cincinnati, past Louisville and the Falls of the Ohio, past
Shawnee Town, past Fort Massac, and Diamond Island and Battery Rock,
the vessel moved slowly and steadily along. The voyagers were told
that the lower river was infested still by wreckers, one scene of
whose frequent depredations was Wolf Island. Captain Winslow
discoursed much on the state of Western commerce, and the dangers
which menaced travel.
"A great part," said he, "of the Territory of Mississippi, stretching
from Tennessee to Natchez, is unbroken forest, inhabited by Indians,
and infested with wolves and panthers. We shall see no sign of
civilization on the eastern shore until after we have skirted six
hundred miles of waste, howling wilderness."
At length they came to where the Ohio is merged and lost in the
Mississippi. The turbid onhurrying volume of mighty waters heaved and
foamed, as if troubled by furious, disturbing forces working below.
The boat shuddered and its strong joints groaned in the strenuous hug
of the river.
"Hereafter we can proceed only by daylight," said Winslow. "We shall
have many dangers to contend with--a succession of chutes, races,
chains, and cypress bends. You will see no end of this gloomy forest.
There are plenty of rattlesnakes, bears, and catamounts in those
jungles, doctor."
"Par bleu! Ze catamount shall stay in ze jungle and delight heself
with her family amiable. We not shall invite heem to tea. Are no
inhabitants in this wilderness?"
"A few whites and some Indians. See those squaws digging wild potatoes
for food."
"Do many boats go to New Orleans?" asked Miss Hale.
"Yes, ma'am; all sorts from a birch canoe to a full-rigged ship.
Hundreds are lost. We are now coming to a wreck-heap."
The passengers saw an immense huddle of drifted logs, and the broken
timbers of shattered boats, and entire scows, rotting, half-submerged,
or warping high and dry on top of the hill of confused ruin. The sight
of these hulks, abandoned to the grinding eddies, added a sense of
dread to the weary anxiety already felt by the girls. The progress
down the Ohio had been tedious; how much more so the interminable
windings on the Mississippi, and the long, lonesome nights, made
sleepless by the cries of birds that flit in darkness, and by the
howls of wild beasts. Evaleen's nocturnal fears, when the barge lay
moored, were not so well founded as were the apprehensions which
daylight renewed, of disaster on the treacherous flood. The more she
learned of the river, the more she realized the risks of each day's
navigation.
"Young ladies, see! That is a sawyer; an ugly one, sticking its sharp
horn up to hook us. I don't mind a danger which shows above water; but
your sleeping sawyer is the mischief to be dreaded."
"What's a sleeping sawyer?"
"If I could point out the nasty thing, I wouldn't dread it; a sleeping
sawyer does its sawing under the surface. We are liable to run on to
the point of one any second."
"Mercy! Do you think we are coming on a sleeping sawyer now?" asked
Evaleen.
The captain hoped not, and directed attention to another phenomenon
not of a nature to induce feelings of security.
"What do you see away down the river?"
"Do you mean that low island?"
"Yes, an island and not an island. Wait until we drift nearer. You
will see river moss and rank water plants growing over the surface,
but it is not part of the firm land; it is a wooden island."
"How? A wooden island?"
"Just so. We shall see many such. Logs and all kinds of drift lodge
against the upper part of a stable island or peninsula, and the
accumulated mass grows into a great raft matted together by roots and
vines. The whole thing, driven by winds or currents, sometimes swings
free from its anchorage and drifts away. Then it is called a floating,
or wandering island."
Lucrèce, who had been sweeping the circle of the horizon with the
seaman's glass, caught far to the northward, the glimpse of a sail.
"I see away up the river what looks like a leetle black house, with a
white thing on the roof."
"That boat," said Winslow, "is miles and miles behind us; it is above
the second bend. Let me look.--She carries a square sail, amidships,
as we do, but she is not a barge. Stop, I know what she is--there's a
flag at the top of the mast--she must be a government transport,
coming with troops for Fort Adams or the Natchitoches country."
Lucrèce caught a quick breath and asked eagerly:
"Troops from St. Louis, think you?"
"Most likely, miss."
Evaleen's interest was also excited, but she kept silent, and soon
slipped away alone into her cabin. The French maiden remained on deck
a long time, watching the transport, whenever she could bring it
within the field of vision.
"The soldiers, will they perhaps overtake us?" she inquired, turning
her brilliant big eyes to Winslow.
"Like enough; but you needn't be afraid of the reg'lars; they won't
molest us."
"I haf no fear; I haf curiositee."
At last Lucrèce returned the glass to the captain, thanked him, and
slowly sought her companion, keeping a small, brown hand just over her
heart to make sure that a precious letter which she carried there was
still safe and in its right place.
Lucrèce and Evaleen had readily fallen into sympathetic relations.
Days of chattering on deck, and nights of prattle before falling
asleep on the same couch, left few girlish secrets unexchanged. The
scant experience of Lucrèce's isolated life had brought her only a
small stock of personal doings or feelings to disclose. Yet, up to the
hour of her coming into the private cabin, after seeing the government
transport, she had not told the very thing which she knew would most
surely enlist the sympathy of Evaleen or of any other woman.
Now, Lucrèce was moved to pour out her simple heart in maiden
confidence to Miss Hale, her only female friend.
"Ah, ma sweet Evaleen, I no more shall be able to hide my feeling--I
tell you, right as it happen, the beginning and the end of my story,
that no person shall know.
"One day, at Gallipolis, a young soldier there stopped. He came in the
mail-boat, and the reason he entered our cottage was one of the boatmen
had been hurt by accident--his arm crushed, poor man--and as papa is
known by all as a surgeon, the young officer--he was capitaine--he run
up the hill to our log cabin. I tell him mon père, alas, was not at
home--mon père had gone that day to Belpie. The very handsome face--how
shall I say?--was upset by disappointment--teach me if I use the wrong
word. I saw the sad regret and was grieved also. He looked in my eyes
with a kind pity for the hurt boatman, and quickly I spoke. 'Monsieur,
I, also, can use the instruments of mon père, and wrap the bandages.
Always I assist. Mon père names me his aide. I will go and dress the
hurt arm.' The young man did not say no, but his eyes were full of
doubt, very much in doubt of me. I took the surgeon's case, and we made
haste to the mail-boat. How they all did stare and stare! I had handled
the sharp knives, and my father had taught me perfection. Instantly I
did the operation nécessaire, the brave captain much helping. Then the
gallant soldier brought me home, carrying the case, and, oh, my Evaleen,
how shall I say, he kissed my lips, say 'Forgive,' and went away. I have
see him no more."
As Evaleen listened to these naive sentences, her expression grew more
and more troubled.
"Kissed you!"
Lucrèce nodded.
"At Gallipolis? A captain? Do you know his name?"
"His name--oh, yes, I know his name--Warren Danvers."
Evaleen's lip quivered. A shade of anxiety and pain saddened her
countenance.
"I should resent the insult," she said coldly. "Have you told me all?"
"No, my sweetest sister; I confess to you now my great, precious
secret. Alas, I give my heart that day. I love that only man."
"You _love_ him? This is the silliest tale I ever heard. Let us go out
and breathe the fresh air. Absurd! Do you fancy he loves you?"
"He has written me one letter of love--here it is."
Lucrèce drew a tiny note from her bosom and went with Evaleen near
the prow of the barge to take the evening breeze. The first pale stars
were barely visible in the clear sky.
Lucrèce unfolded the missive, and held it up in the dim light, but
she did not know that tears were blinding Evaleen's eyes.
"Sometime, Lucrèce, but not now, I will tell you a story of foolish
love to match your own. We are all alike, and we all hope against
reason."
"No; there is no reason, no wisdom, no prudence--only love. Yes, yes,
something more, as I see the only star that shines there above the
dark trees, and seems to die and live again while we look at it. I see
the hope that my soldier loves me and will be faithful."
On the sixth day after leaving the mouth of the Ohio, the boat had
passed the third Chickasaw Bluff, and was within fifty miles of
Natchez, when blue-black clouds suddenly overcast the sky, and a
violent storm burst upon the river. Buffeted by opposing forces, the
Mississippi soon began to fume and rage like a wrathful brute. The
three passengers were on deck.
"How wicked the river looks under this indigo sky!" said Evaleen. "I
wish we were ashore. There must be extreme danger in such a high
wind."
"There is always danger on the Mississippi, but such gusts soon blow
over. We are safer in midstream than near shore. I'll manage the boat,
never fear. You and Miss Deville had best go into the cabin before the
rain comes upon us."
The girls had scarcely found shelter when a volley of big drops swept,
rattling, over the deck. Soon the waves rose so high as to bury the
running board of the barge. The cotton-wood trees along the shore were
twisted and torn up; blinding spray and rain filled the dark air. The
captain saw his vessel in danger of drifting upon a wooden island, and
could not decide whether to steer to the right or to the left of the
obstruction. Voices from the eastern bank of the river were heard,
shouting through the storm.
"Sheer clear of the island! This is the safe channel! Row in close to
this side! There's a bayou here!"
Winslow could not see the men who gave this warning, but he was
relieved. The halloo and answering shouts were heard by Lucrèce and
Evaleen. Regardless of advice, and wind, and rain, they returned to
deck. The men, unable to steady the barge, lost presence of mind; the
captain knew not what orders to give, but finally commanded,
"Lower the yawl, we will try to make fast to a tree. Quick! Steady!
Four of you jump in! John, take charge of the cordelle; can you row,
doctor? We need help."
"Certainment. Do not fear, my two brave daughters; this good shower
shall refresh ze atmosphere."
He sprang into the yawl with the others, and seized the oars. The
barge was driven and sucked toward a revolving eddy. Evaleen,
observing the consternation of the rivermen, felt a sudden shock of
terror.
"Lucrèce!" she cried, grasping the French girl by the wrist. "We are
lost! We shall drown! The men can do nothing! How the boat creaks and
trembles!"
Lucrèce was preternaturally calm. She took Evaleen protectingly in
her arms.
"Have no fear, my sister. Mon père shall not let us perish--he has
the strong rope. And see! see, is there not somebody who could come to
our aid?"
Evaleen gazed through the driving haze, and saw, tossing on the rough
water, a skiff which seemed to be making toilsome progress toward the
doomed craft. Farther up the stream she thought she could discern the
party in the yawl, striving to reach shore with the cumbersome
cordelle. Pole, nor oar, nor rudder could save the Buckeye from the
fury of the eddy. The slender craft, sixty feet in length, was whirled
round and round with dizzy rapidity. The violence of the down-pull at
the vortex broke her in the middle. All on board fled aft, to the
highest deck, an elevation peculiar to barges. There remained the
forlorn hope that the men in the skiff might approach the sinking
wreck. This they did. They pulled alongside the half-hull, and with
great difficulty and risk succeeded in taking the girls aboard. Three
of the four boat-hands on the barge at the time of the disaster
perished in the funnel of the eddy. One swam ashore. Evaleen devoutly
thanked the Divine Power for her deliverance. Lucrèce crossed
herself. The French girl's anxiety was now all for her father. She did
not see the yawl, though it had landed.
"Mon père! O mon père--mon pauvre père!"
"He'll turn up, mam'sel," said a voice she did not like. There were
two men in the skiff. Lucrèce now observed their appearance closely.
A look at the features of the man who had spoken confirmed a reviving
impression that he and the ribald boatman who had insulted her from
the deck of Burr's flatboat at Gallipolis were the same. He affected
not to identify her, but kept gloating eyes on Evaleen.
"You needn't feel a bit afraid, young ladies; you are in trusty hands.
Our business is to save property and to rescue folks. We will row you
to a safe place, and then come back and help the men pick up what they
can of their wrecked goods."
Evaleen saw floating barrels and boxes, part of the cargo of the
Buckeye. She also noticed skiffs putting out from shore.
"Them is some of our organization coming to save goods. This here eddy
is a dangerous place for boats."
"Why did you direct our captain to pass this way, if it is a dangerous
place?" asked Lucrèce.
"Oh, the island over yonder is a damned sight more dangerous, ain't
it, Abe?"
"You are not rowing direct for the shore. I shall be very grateful to
you, gentlemen, if you land us at the nearest point and assist our
friends who are out on the water in a yawl."
"Be easy, miss; we'll look after your friends by and by. I reckon they
can take care of themselves, though."
"Ladies fust, and gents next," interjected Sheldrake, leering at
Evaleen. "We know how to be perlite to women. Don't we, cap? Specially
to purty women. The young lady is right when she calls me and you
gents, eh, cap?"
"Shut your gab, and mind your oar," answered the chief.
What object had these unknown watermen in conveying their unwilling
passengers away from communication with Captain Winslow and Doctor
Deville? Evaleen could not hide her dismay. Lucrèce grew desperate.
"Will you stop the boat, sir? I beg it as a favor. I must go back to
mon père. He will think us drowned. I must find him."
"Keep cool, miss. We will help you to a place where you will be taken
good care of, by nice folks. You can stay there and rest yourselves,
and get a bite to eat and a glass of cordial, while we go back to look
after the salvage."
Five minutes more and the skiff was brought to rest beside a scow
loaded with damaged merchandise. The abducted women were hustled to
the shore.
"Come along, miss; this way."
Thus speaking, Palafox, going ahead, almost dragged Evaleen by an
obscure path to Cacosotte's Tavern. Lucrèce followed perforce,
convoyed by Sheldrake. When they reached the threshold, the chief
outlaw kicked the door, which was soon opened from within. The
frowning face and bold bosom of Mex fronted the captives. With one
hand she flung back the tangled hank of her long black hair, while the
light of her black eyes shone full on Evaleen. The side glare cast on
Lucrèce was less vicious.
"Mex, here is two fine ladies that will stop in our house a while,"
said Palafox. "Treat 'em to the best you've got. Take mighty good care
of 'em till I come back, Blackie, or you'll hear from me. Put 'em in
number three, there's most light there, and it's safer. Tell Sott,
when he comes back, to keep his nine eyes on the front door, to see
that nobody that oughtn't to gets in or out."
"One apiece for us, eh, Mex?" added Sheldrake.
The kidnappers departed, after fastening the outer bolt of the door.
Mex, sole custodian of the unwilling guests, scowled upon them, in
silence. Evaleen came to her with appealing looks.
"Please unlock the door and let us go. Here, take my purse. I will
give you more if you will set us free--all I have. You are a woman;
have pity; let us go."
Mex grasped the silken purse, keeping her eyes steadily on the
beautiful pleader.
"You window woman?"
Evaleen, nonplussed, ventured to nod acquiescence with these
unintelligible words.
"White antelope?"
The captive nodded again, in dumb perplexity, eager to encourage any
sign of human kindness on the part of the wild being into whose power
she had fallen.
"White Mex teeth." She showed her sharp incisors, presenting an aspect
of fierce scorn.
"Castiliano. My home. Come."
The laconic hostess accompanied these words with a gesture, beckoning
the young ladies to follow her, and led the way through the second
room, to the heavy wooden portal of the third.
"Mex let lady out."
With exulting hearts, the girls heard this promise. The dark woman
opened the door and motioned them to enter, which they did. Mex then
slammed the door, and bolted it upon her unlucky prisoners.