I
Anthony Stevens paused on the broad door-stone of the Black Horse
Tavern, and looked up and down Second Street.
It was much changed since he had seen it, years before; it was now
thick-ribbed and confident; there was an assurance in the way it
protruded its store windows, like well-filled bellies. But, and the
young man noted this with pleasure, there was nothing stodgy in its
new fatness; rather, there was that air of readiness one sees on the
ordered deck of a well-mastered ship.
Second Street had been the much known street of Anthony's boyhood; his
racing feet had kicked up its dust; he had spun tops on its stones; he
had often followed its length away into the Northern Liberties where
the woods began; from where he stood, he could see the turn he'd taken
into Vine Street of a hot afternoon, and then down to the river, to
splash and shout with other young adventurers in the dock next the
shipyard.
It was an autumn morning; the wind and sun were in the street, and
touched one with a bright coolness. Accustomed to the heavy balm of
New Orleans, Anthony felt oddly light, and brisk of foot. He crossed
Sassafras Street; at the foot of Mulberry he saw the shallops tied to
the corder's wharf, their lugs furled tightly, just as others like
them had been, years before; and there were the same ranks of gum, and
hickory, and oak, marshaled against the coming of winter, even then
stirring in the North.
At Pewter Platter Alley, Anthony turned toward the river. From Front
to Water Street the way narrowed, and there was a sharp descent by
means of worn stone steps; the wind was chill and high on the river,
and through the lessened throat of the thoroughfare whistled the reek
of the docks; with it came the smell of trampled mud, of pitch and
cordage, and the peppery, alien scent of cargoes from far-off places.
In Water Street, across the tops of the counting-houses, he could see
the great masts of an Indiaman at Clifford's Wharf; two-wheeled drays,
burdened with bundles and bales and barrels, trundled through the
alleys; Anthony could hear the blocks creaking on a Liverpool packet,
which shoved its sharp nose between two buildings. From the deck of a
sloop-of-war taking in stores, a fife shrilled: "Come Away to Billy
Cooper's."
Anthony spoke to a man engaged in heading up some kegs of salt fish.
"Where shall I find the place of business of a merchant named
Magruder?" asked he. "He is engaged in the trade with New Orleans."
The man pointed with his hammer.
"He's at the head of Bickley's Wharf," said he. "Turn in here, then on
past Crousillat's, and you are at his door."
Anthony thanked the man, and picked along through an alley whose
stones were slippery with mud; then, on the waterfront, he made his
way through the drays, the sweating horses, the piles of merchandise,
to a square building standing by itself; over the door swung a faded
sign: "J. Magruder, Gulf Ports and West Indies." Anthony pushed open
the door, and found himself in a great, low-ceilinged room heaped with
casks of rum, packs of hides, barrels of tallow, cheese, and salted
pork. There were also stores of hemp and corded bales of buffalo-robes,
boxes of dried fruits, and hogsheads of tobacco. The place was dim with
the bulk of stuff that crowded it, and here and there a whale-oil lamp
lighted the way among the narrow aisles.
A stout man came forward.
"Yes, sir," said he, expectantly. He valued the young man for a moment,
and then said with an air of confidence, "I'll venture, sir, it is in
the matter of the _Bristol Pride_."
Anthony smiled.
"Well," said he, "that good vessel has done its part in my being here;
there's no denying that."
"It is a marvelous thing, sir," said the stout man, smilingly, "how
news gets abroad. The _Pride_ only rounded the bend an hour ago; and
yet a score of gentlemen have been here already. But," and he pointed
through the glass of the door to where a small brig was anchored in the
stream, "it's a common saying, though, that good news travels fast; and
that ship carries in her hold three pipes of as fine brandy as ever
bore the stamp of the king of Spain."
"Well," said Anthony, good-humoredly, "I can well believe it. And not
only the three pipes of brandy are under her hatches; there are also
two puncheons of sherry that came by way of St. Kitts--a rare, brown
wine, as I had occasion to notice on the levee at New Orleans, and with
the sun in every drop of it."
The stout man looked at him with a changed interest.
"Am I to understand, sir, that you came as a passenger in the brig?" he
inquired.
"Yes," replied Anthony. "She became windbound at Newcastle yesterday;
so I left her and came on by chaise."
"Your name would be Stevens, then?"
"Yes," said the young man. "Do I speak to Mr. Magruder?"
"No; I am clerk to him." Beckoning Anthony to follow, he threaded his
way along one of the dim aisles toward the back of the warehouse. "Mr.
Magruder is beyond, here."
They passed into a dingy counting-room where there was a tall desk with
a long-legged stool, some chests, a cupboard, whose open doors showed
it crammed with invoices and bills of lading, and a litter of odds and
ends of things the place trafficked in.
At the desk was a stoop-shouldered man with a mean face and a sidelong
look. When he heard Anthony's name he put aside the ledger he'd had his
nose in, and stood examining him in a furtive way that caused a creep
of dislike through the young man's blood.
"Mr. Magruder?" asked Anthony, shortly.
The West Indian trader came forward and gave him a meager handshake.
"I have been expecting you," he said, "and but now sent aboard to ask
after you. Word came back that you'd already come ashore; in fact," as
Anthony sat down, "that you'd left the ship yesterday." Anxiety pinched
his face into meaner lines than before. "I trust you have not been
showing yourself a great deal in public places."
"I reached the city about dark," said the young man, stretching his
legs, unconcernedly. "I took my supper at a tavern, and then went to
bed."
Magruder seemed put at ease by this.
"That is as it should be," he said. He sat down facing Anthony; warmed
by a thin glow of hospitality, he took from a waistcoat pocket a silver
snuff-box, upon whose lid was engraved a schooner under full sail. He
offered it to his visitor; when the young man refused, he took a spare
pinch himself; he sat and snuffled over its bite for a long time, with
great relish, meanwhile studying Anthony with the same furtive look as
before.
"Your reply to my letter was handed me by the master of the ship
_Loadstar_, about a month ago," he said.
"Yes, Señor Montufars said he gave it to him," said Anthony. "You
see, when your word came concerning the affairs of the firm of Rufus
Stevens' Sons, I was a week's journey up the river, and Montufars was
in care of my affairs. As the matter seemed urgent, he wrote to you at
once, it being his thought I'd return in time to take passage on the
_Bristol Pride_."
The face of the West Indian merchant went a dirty gray as Anthony spoke.
"Do you tell me a third person answered my letter?" His voice lifted to
almost a shriek; his hands were held out, clawing like talons. "Do you
tell me that he read what I wrote for your eyes alone?"
The features of the man worked like one in a fit; startled, Anthony got
up and went to him.
"What is it? Are you ill? Is there anything I can do?"
The frantic hands drummed upon Anthony's breast.
"Montufars is a damned Spaniard," said the trader. "He will talk.
His like always does. He'll spread the matter all about New Orleans,
and it'll come north on every ship. Good God, why did I undertake
this matter!" He wrung his hands, and all but groveled in fear. "What
madness induced me to put such a thing on paper--with my name to it, as
a witness against me?"
The man's rat-like panic made Anthony's gorge rise, and he turned away,
saying curtly:
"Try and get yourself in hand; a grown man don't give way like this,
even with cause. And, God knows," impatiently, "there's little enough
cause for agitation, or anything else, in that communication of yours,
if that's what you're afraid of. It was only a bare line or two, and
even those set down in such a way as would puzzle the devil himself."
He planted himself at a window that overlooked the traffic of an alley,
and stood frowning and stroking his chin. A clock on the wall ticked
monotonously; for a space this was the only sound in the room, but
gradually Anthony became aware of another--a sort of sniggering; he
turned and saw Magruder, still with the dirty look of fear upon him,
but shaking with laughter.
"The man's mad!" Anthony told himself. "I was a fool to give any heed
to him in the first place."
"So you found it a puzzle, did you?" chuckled the trader. "Its
meaning was hard to come at, eh?" There was a slinking gratification
in his voice, and his grin had in it a sort of cowering pleasure.
"Of course, you did. The writing of that letter cost me a deal of
trouble; I desired it to say little and you to infer much; it was
framed to safeguard me against any such misadventure as that which
has happened. I should have remembered that; for I have no ground for
uneasiness--none, whatever."
Anthony promptly put aside all idea of madness; he sat down, crossed
his booted legs, eased himself back in his chair, and fell to studying
the other with a shrewd narrowing of his eyes.
Anthony was a tall young man, lean and hard, and with a body of supple
power. His face was long; but when he smiled it lit up wonderfully; his
hair was trimmed short, giving him the "Brutus head" then slowly coming
into fashion. There was something about him that suggested outdoors;
he had the keen, ready look of one who knew the wilderness, and the
savages thereof, who had faced torrent and desert, and mountains and
seas, in quest of those hard-won things that are the jewels of the
world's trade.
"From what you have said," spoke the young man, at length, "but more
especially from how you've looked, I draw that you have a dread of
being known in this matter."
"Outside there in the docks," said Magruder, "there are a score or more
of fine, deep-water ships; on the wharves and in the warehouses there
are much rich stuffs. But if they, to the last block and spar, to the
last bale and barrel, were offered me as the price of making it known
that I'd brought you north, as I have, I'd refuse."
Anthony cocked a shrewd eye at him.
"That," said he, "is keeping your mouth close shut, indeed."
"It is," said the West Indian merchant. He shook a skinny, warning
finger. "And if you are wise you'll be equally cautious."
Anthony pulled his chair nearer.
"I'm going to speak candidly," said he. "I've known you only for a few
minutes, Mr. Magruder, but in that time you've shown me that you are a
man of no great courage."
"No," admitted Magruder, readily enough. "I am none of your brawlers."
"Very good," said Anthony. "But, for all that habit of mind, you send
me a letter which, according to your own view of it, has danger written
across its very face."
Magruder sucked in his thin lips; his fingers began plucking at a
button on the sleeve of his coat.
"There must have been an excellent reason for your venturing so much,"
said Anthony. "And that reason is, I think--money. For, from all
I've heard of you aboard your own brig, you are a close trader, Mr.
Magruder; your methods are careful; you are of the kind who think far,
but hazard little."
"I am none of your wasters," said the man.
"It has been the custom of the firm of Rufus Stevens' Sons," said
Anthony, "to carry outside moneys in certain of its business; and it
comes to me that at some time or other you have adventured with them in
a ship that's sailed, and met with misfortune."
Magruder stopped plucking at the button; his hand went up in a
trembling gesture, and his voice was sunk to almost a whisper as he
said:
"Yes, you are right. I have moneys in some of your uncle's
transactions; and because I've seen loss looking at me, everywhere I
turned, I sent for you. There are items in my ledger that a madman
might have placed there. What have I, who have scraped and struggled
all my life, to do with high-colored plans that only lead aboard a
vessel that never comes to port? What have I, who believe in plain,
sure business, to do with letters of marque and decks crowded with
hectoring ruffians? On this very desk, a year ago," and here his voice
lifted in thin bitterness, "I told down one thousand gold johannes for
a venture to the slave coast. And not a single blackamoor has been sold
to my account anywhere in the islands."
"I'm sorry to hear this," said Anthony, "for it not only marks a
serious loss to you, but it seems to show that Rufus Stevens' Sons is
in shoal water."
"It was a black day for his house when your grandfather died," said
Magruder. "And it was a worse one when your Creole mother coaxed your
father away to Louisiana, and so left the trade and ships of the firm
in the hands of your uncle."
Anthony looked perplexed.
"In New Orleans," said he, "merchants speak of my uncle with something
like awe. In Havana, Martinique, and St. Kitts I've heard shipmasters
tell tales of his enterprises that were like romances. If my mind has
been made up to any one thing, it is that my uncle is a very prince of
merchants."
"He has done fine things; he has done clever and difficult things,"
said the other. "I'll take no credit from him that's his due. But you
are his nephew, and I'll say to you what I'd say to no one else. Let
things progress as they are, and, great as is his house, it'll be
that weak; rich as it is, it'll be that poor; splendid as are its
adventures on the sea, they'll be that defenseless."
Anthony frowned at the man.
"That has a good deal of the sound of the letter you sent me," said
he. "You've brought me a long distance to see you, Mr. Magruder, and
so I think I can in all fairness expect words from you that I can make
something of."
But the trader shook his head.
"Too plain speech is bad," said he. "One should never let the tongue
venture where the hand dare not follow."
Anthony's boots scraped suddenly upon the floor; the chair creaked
under him as he sat upright.
"The part that the hand has to do," said he, and there was a sharp cut
to his voice that Magruder had not heard before, "you may leave to me.
So speak up, sir, for I'm not used to your way of doing business, and
tell you plainly that I do not like it."
Again the dirty gray came into Magruder's face, and again he began to
cringe.
"I can speak no plainer, because I have no plain knowledge," said he.
"I can point to nothing; I can accuse no one. But," and here he crowded
close to the young man, and whispered in his ear, "there is a force at
work in Rufus Stevens' Sons that means ruin."
"Good God!" said Anthony, more exasperated than ever. "Am I to get
nothing from you at all?" He pushed the trader away, and got upon his
feet. "At least," said he, "you can tell me what the thing is you are
afraid of."
But Magruder shook his head.
"I do not know even that," said he.
Anthony clapped his tall beaver upon his head and buttoned up his coat.
"Good morning," said he.
But Magruder put a hand upon his arm.
"Very like," said he, "you've seen a deal, both at sea and on land.
Strange things come to those who sail the ships of the world and who
travel in its wilderness places. But for all that, young man, you've
never seen a stranger thing than you'll see here in this port--in the
counting-room of your uncle--if you have the mind for it, and the
patience to wait and watch."
"Good morning," said Anthony. He pushed open the door, passed through
the wareroom, and so out upon the waterfront, among the trundling
drays, and the wilderness of spars and rigging.