THE PURCHASE PRICE
OR, THE CAUSE OF COMPROMISE
By
EMERSON HOUGH
AUTHOR OF
THE MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE
54-40 OR FIGHT
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
M. LEONE BRACKER AND EDMUND FREDERICK
1910
TO
HON. ALBERT J. BEVERIDGE
A PROGRESSIVE IN THE CAUSE OF
ACTUAL FREEDOM
CONTENTS
Chapter
I A LADY IN COMPANY
II THE GATEWAY AND SOME WHO PASSED
III THE QUESTION
IV THE GAME
V SPOLIA OPIMA
VI THE NEW MASTER
VII A CONFUSION IN CHATTELS
VIII THE SHADOW CABINET
IX TALLWOODS
X FREE AND THRALL
XI THE GARMENTS OF ANOTHER
XII THE NIGHT
XIII THE INVASION
XIV THE ARGUMENT
XV THE ARBITRAMENT
XVI THE ADJUDICATION
XVII THE LADY AT TALLWOODS
XVIII ON PAROLE
XIX THE ENEMY
XX THE ART OF DOCTOR JAMIESON
XXI THE PAYMENT
XXII THE WAY OF A MAID
XXIII IN WASHINGTON
XXIV IN THE NAME OF ALTRUISM
XXV THE ARTFUL GENTLEMAN PROM KENTUCKY
XXVI THE DISTINGUISHED GENTLEMAN FROM NEW YORK
XXVII A SPLENDID FAILURE
XXVIII IN ACKNOWLEDGMENT
XXIX IN OLD ST. GENEVIEVE
XXX THE TURNCOAT
XXXI THE SPECTER IN THE HOUSE
CHAPTER I
A LADY IN COMPANY
"Madam, you are charming! You have not slept, and yet you smile.
No man could ask a better prisoner."
She turned to him, smiling faintly.
"I thank you. At least we have had breakfast, and for such mercy I
am grateful to my jailer. I admit I was famished. What now?"
With just the turn of a shoulder she indicated the water front,
where, at the end of the dock on which they stood, lay the good
ship, _Mount Vernon_, river packet, the black smoke already pouring
from her stacks. In turn he smiled and also shrugged a shoulder.
"Let us not ask! My dear lady, I could journey on for ever with
one so young and pleasant as yourself. I will give you my promise
in exchange for your parole."
Now her gesture was more positive, her glance flashed more keenly
at him. "Do not be too rash," she answered. "My parole runs only
while we travel together privately. As soon as we reach coach or
boat, matters will change. I reserve the right of any prisoner to
secure life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. I shall
endeavor, believe me--and in my own way."
He frowned as she presently went on to make herself yet more clear.
"It was well enough when we traveled in our own private express,
from Washington here to Pittsburgh for then there was no chance for
escape. I gave my parole, because it pleased you and did not
jeopardize myself. Here my jailer may perhaps have some trouble
with me."
"You speak with the courage and fervor of the true leader of a
cause. Madam," he rejoined, now smiling. "What evil days are
these on which I have fallen--I, a mere soldier obeying orders!
Not that I have found the orders unpleasant; but it is not fair of
you to bring against mankind double weapons! Such is not the usage
of civilized warfare. Dangerous enough you are as woman alone,
without bringing to your aid those gifts of mind suited to problems
which men have been accustomed to arrogate to themselves."
"Arrogate is quite the right word. It is especially fit for a
jailer."
This time the shaft went home. The florid countenance of young
Captain Carlisle flushed yet ruddier beneath its tan. His lips set
still more tightly under the scant reddish mustache. With a
gesture of impatience he lifted his military hat and passed a hand
over the auburn hair which flamed above his white forehead. His
slim figure stiffened even as his face became more stern. Clad in
the full regimentals of his rank, he made a not unmanly figure as
he stood there, though hardly taller than this splendid woman whom
he addressed--a woman somewhat reserved, mocking, enigmatic; but,
as he had said, charming. That last word of description had been
easy for any man who had seen her, with her long-lashed dark eyes,
her clear cheek just touched with color, her heavy dark hair
impossible to conceal even under its engulfing bonnet, her wholly
exquisite and adequate figure equally unbanished even by the trying
costume of the day. She stood erect, easy, young, strong, fit to
live; and that nature had given her confidence in herself was
evidenced now in the carriage of head and body as she walked to and
fro, pausing to turn now and then, impatient, uneasy, like some
caged creature, as lithe, as beautiful, as dangerous and as
puzzling in the matter of future conduct. Even as he removed his
cap, Carlisle turned to her, a man's admiration in his eyes, a
gentleman's trouble also there.
[Illustration: Carlisle turned, a man's admiration in his eyes]
"My dear Countess St. Auban," said he, more formally, "I wish that
you might never use that word with me again,--jailer! I am only
doing my duty as a soldier. The army has offered to it all sorts
of unpleasant tasks. They selected me as agent for your
disappearance because I am an army officer. I had no option, I
must obey. In my profession there is not enough fighting, and too
much civilian work, police work, constable work, detective work.
There are fools often for officers, and over them politicians who
are worse fools, sometimes. Well, then, why blame a simple fellow
like me for doing what is given him to do? I have not liked the
duty, no matter how much I have enjoyed the experience. Now, with
puzzles ended and difficulties beginning, you threaten to make my
unhappy lot still harder!"
"Why did you bring me here?"
"That I do not know. I could not answer you even did I know."
"And why did I come?" she mused, half to herself.
"Nor can I say that. Needs must when the devil drives; and His
Majesty surely was on the box and using his whip-hand, two days
ago, back in Washington. Your own sense of fairness will admit as
much as that."
She threw back her head like a restless horse, blooded, mettlesome,
and resumed her pacing up and down, her hands now clasped behind
her back.
"When I left the carriage with my maid Jeanne, there," she resumed
at length; "when I passed through that dark train shed at midnight,
I felt that something was wrong. When the door of the railway
coach was opened I felt that conviction grow. When you met me--the
first time I ever saw you, sir,--I felt my heart turn cold."
"Madam!"
"And when the door of the coach closed on myself and my maid,--when
we rolled on away from the city, in spite of all I could do or
say--, why, then, sir, you were my jailer. Have matters changed
since then?"
"Madam, from the first you were splendid! You showed pure courage.
'I am a prisoner!' you cried at first--not more than that. But you
said it like a lady, a noblewoman. I admired you then because you
faced me--whom you had never seen before--with no more fear than
had I been a private and you my commanding officer."
"Fear wins nothing."
"Precisely. Then let us not fear what the future may have for us.
I have no directions beyond this point,--Pittsburg. I was to take
boat here, that was all. I was to convey you out into the West,
somewhere, anywhere, no one was to know where. And someway,
anyway, my instructions were, I was to lose you--to lose you.
Madam, in plain point of fact. And now, at the very time I am
indiscreet enough to tell you this much, you make my cheerful task
the more difficult by saying that you must be regarded only as a
prisoner of war!"
Serene, smiling, enigmatic, she faced him with no fear whatever
showing in her dark eyes. The clear light of the bright autumn
morning had no terrors for youth and health like hers. She put
back a truant curl from her forehead where it had sought egress to
the world, and looked him full in the face now, drawing a deep
breath which caused the round of her bosom to lift the lace at her
throat. Then, woman-like, she did the unlocked for, and laughed at
him, a low, full ripple of wholesome laughter, which evoked again a
wave of color to his sensitive face. Josephine St. Auban was a
prisoner,--a prisoner of state, in fact, and such by orders not
understood by herself, although, as she knew very well, a prisoner
without due process of law. Save for this tearful maid who stood
yonder, she was alone, friendless. Her escape, her safety even,
lay in her own hands. Yet, even now, learning for the first time
this much definitely regarding the mysterious journey into which
she had been entrapped--even now, a prisoner held fast in some
stern and mysterious grasp whose reason and whose nature she could
not know--she laughed, when she should have wept!
"My instructions were to take you out beyond this point," went on
Carlisle; "and then I was to lose you, as I have said. I have had
no definite instructions as to how that should be done, my dear
Countess." His eyes twinkled as he stiffened to his full height
and almost met the level of her own glance.
"The agent who conveyed my orders to me--he comes from Kentucky,
you see--said to me that while I could not bow-string you, it would
be quite proper to put you in a sack and throw you overboard.
'Only,' said he to me, 'be careful that this sack be tightly tied;
and be sure to drop her only where the water is deepest. And for
God's sake, my dear young man,' he said to me, 'be sure that you do
not drop her anywhere along the coast of my own state of Kentucky;
for if you do, she will untie the sack and swim ashore into my
constituency, where I have trouble enough without the Countess St.
Auban, active abolitionist, to increase it. Trouble '--said he to
me--'thy name is Josephine St. Auban!'
"My dear lady, to that last, I agree. But, there you have my
orders. You are, as may be seen, close to the throne, so far as we
have thrones in this country."
"Then I am safe until we get below the Kentucky shore?" she queried
calmly.
"I beg you not to feel disturbed,--" he began.
"Will you set me down at Louisville?"
"Madam, I can not."
"You have not been hampered with extraordinary orders. You have
just said, the carte blanche is in your hands."
"I have no stricter orders at any time than those I take from my
own conscience, Madam. I must act for your own good as well as for
that of others."
Her lip curled now. "Then not even this country is free! Even
here there are secret tribunals. Even here there are hired bravos."
"Ah, Madam, please, not that! I beg of you--"
"Excellently kind of you all, to care so tenderly for me--and
yourselves! I, only a woman, living openly, with ill will for
none, paying ray own way, violating no law of the land--"
"Your words are very bitter, Madam."
"The more bitter because they are true. You will release me then
at Cairo, below?"
"I can not promise, Madam. You would be back in Washington by the
first boats and trains."
"So, the plot runs yet further? Perhaps you do not stop this side
the outer ways of the Mississippi? Say, St. Louis, New Orleans?"
"Perhaps even beyond those points," he rejoined grimly. "I make no
promises, since you yourself make none."
"What are your plans, out there, beyond?"
"You ask it frankly, and with equal frankness I say I do not know.
Indeed, I am not fully advised in all this matter. It was
imperative to get you out of Washington, and if so, it is equally
imperative to keep you out of Washington. At least for a time I am
obliged to construe my carte blanche in that way, my dear lady.
And as I say, my conscience is my strictest officer."
"Yes," she said, studying his face calmly with her steady dark eyes.
It was a face sensitive, although bony and lined; stern, though its
owner still was young. She noticed the reddish hair and beard, the
florid skin, the blue eye set deep--a fighting eye, yet that of a
visionary.
"You are a fanatic," she said.
"That is true. You, yourself, are of my own kind. You would kill
me without tremor, if you had orders, and I--"
"You would do as much!"
"You are of my kind, Madam. Yes; we both take orders from our own
souls. And that we think alike in many ways I am already sure."
"None the less--"
"None the less, I can not agree to set you down at Cairo, or at any
intermediate point. I will only give my promise in return for your
own parole. That, I would take as quickly as though it were the
word of any officer; but you do not give it."
"No, I do not. I am my own mistress. I am going to escape as soon
as I can."
He touched his cap in salute. "Very well, then. I flattered
myself we had done well together thus far--you have made it easy.
But now--no, no, I will not say it. I would rather see you defiant
than to have you weaken. I love courage, and you have it. That
will carry you through. It will keep you clean and safe as well."
Her face clouded for the first time.
"I have not dared to think of that," she said. "So long as we came
in the special train, with none to molest or make me afraid--afraid
with that fear which a woman must always have--we did well enough,
as I have said; but now, here in the open, in public, before the
eyes of all, who am I, and who are you to me? I am not your
mother?"
"Scarcely, at twenty three or four." He pursed a judicial lip.
"Nor your sister?"
"No."
[Illustration: The _Mount Vernon_]
"Nor your wife?"
"No." He flushed here, although he answered simply.
"Nor your assistant in any way?"
His face lighted suddenly.
"Why not?" said he. "Can't you be my amanuensis,--that sort of
thing, you see? Come, we must think of this. This is where my
conscience hurts me--I can't bear to have _my_ duty hurt _you_.
That, my dear Countess, cuts me to the quick. You will believe
that, won't you?"
"Yes, I believe that. Jeanne," she motioned to her maid who stood
apart all this time, "my wrap, please. I find the air cool. When
the body is weak or worn, my dear sir, the mind is not at its best;
and I shall need all my wits."
"But you do not regard me as your enemy?"
"I am forced to do so. Personally, I thank you; professionally, I
must fight you. Socially, I must be--what did you say,--your
amanuensis? So! We are engaged in a great work, a treatise on our
river fortifications, perhaps? But since when did army officers
afford the luxury of amanuenses in this simple republic? Does your
Vehmgerichte pay such extraordinary expenses? Does your carte
blanche run so far as that also?"
"You must not use such terms regarding the government of this
country," he protested. "Our administration does not suit me, but
it has pleased a majority of our people, else it would not be in
power, and it is no Vehmgerichte, The law of self preservation
obtains in this country as with all nations, even in Europe. But
we have planned no confiscation of your property, nor threatened
any forfeiture of your life."
"No, you have only taken away that which is dearer than anything
else, that which your government guarantees to every human being in
this country--liberty!"
"And even that unconstitutional point shall remain such no longer
than I can help, Madam. Do not make our journey longer by leaving
it more difficult. God knows, I am beset enough even as it is now.
But be sure our Vehmgerichte, as you are pleased to call it, shall
never, at least while I am its agent, condemn you to any situation
unsuited to a gentlewoman. A very high compliment has been paid
you in holding you dangerous because of your personal charm. It is
true, Madam, that is why you were put out of Washington--because
you were dangerous. They thought you could get the ear of any
man--make him divulge secrets which he ought to keep--if you just
asked him to do it--for the sake of Josephine St. Auban!" He
jerked out his sentences, as though habitual reticence and lack of
acquaintance with women left it difficult for him to speak, even
thus boldly.
"Oh, thank you, thank you!" She clapped her hands together,
mockingly.
"Before now, women less beautiful than you have robbed men of their
reason, have led them to do things fatal as open treason to their
country. These men were older than you or I. Perhaps, as you
will agree, they were better able to weigh the consequences. You
are younger than they, younger than I, myself; but you are
charming--and you are young. Call it cruel of me, if you like, to
take you by the hand and lead you gently away from that sort of
danger for just a few days. Call me jailer, if you like. None the
less it is my duty, and I shall call it in part a kindness to you
to take you away from scenes which might on both sides be
dangerous. Some of the oldest and best minds of this country have
felt--"
"At least those minds were shrewd in choosing their agent," she
rejoined. "Yes; you are fanatic, that is plain. You will obey
orders. And you have not been much used to women. That makes it
harder for me. Or easier!" She smiled at him again, very blithe
for a prisoner.
"It ought to have been held down to that," he began disconsolately,
"I should have been all along professional only. It began well
when you gave me your parole, so that I need not sit nodding and
blinking, over against you also nodding and blinking all night
long. Had you been silly, as many women would have been, you could
not this morning be so fresh and brilliant--even though you tell me
you have not slept, which seems to me incredible. I myself slept
like a boy, confident in your word. Now, you have banished sleep!
Nodding and blinking, I must henceforth watch you, nodding--and
blinking, unhappy, uncomfortable; whereas, were it in my power, I
would never have you know the first atom of discomfort."
"There, there! I am but an amanuensis, my dear Captain Carlisle."
He colored almost painfully, but showed his own courage. "I only
admire the wisdom of the Vehmgerichte. They knew you were
dangerous, and I know it. I have no hope, should I become too much
oppressed by lack of sleep, except to follow instructions, and cast
you overboard somewhere below Kentucky!"
"You ask me not to attempt any escape?"
"Yes."
"Why, I would agree to as much as that. It is, as you say, a
matter of indifference to me whether I leave the boat at Cairo or
at some point farther westward. Of course I would return to
Washington as soon as I escaped from bondage."
"Excellent, Madam! Now, please add that you will not attempt to
communicate with any person on the boat or on shore."
"No; that I will not agree to as a condition."
"Then still you leave it very hard for me."
She only smiled at him again, her slow, deliberate smile; yet there
was in it no trace of hardness or sarcasm. Keen as her mind
assuredly was, as she smiled she seemed even younger, perhaps four
or five and twenty at most. With those little dimples now rippling
frankly into view at the corners of her mouth, she was almost
girlish in her expression, although the dark eyes above,
long-lashed, eloquent, able to speak a thousand tongues into shame,
showed better than the small curving lips the well-poised woman of
the world.
Captain Edward Carlisle, soldier as he was, martinet as he was,
felt a curious sensation of helplessness seize upon him as he met
her, steady gaze, her alluring smile; he could not tell what this
prisoner might do. He cursed the fate which had assigned such a
duty, cursed especially that fate which forced a gallant soldier to
meet so superb a woman as this under handicap so hard. For almost
the first time since they had met they were upon the point of
awkwardness. Light speech failed them for the moment, the gravity
of the situation began to come home to both of them. Indeed, who
were they? What were they to the public under whose notice they
might fall--indeed, must fall? There was no concealing face and
figure of a woman such as this; no, not in any corner of the world,
though she were shrouded in oriental veil. Nay, were she indeed
tied in a sack and flung into the sea, yet would she arise to make
trouble for mankind until her allotted task should be complete!
How could they two answer any question which might arise regarding
their errand, or regarding their relations as they stood, here at
the gateway of the remoter country into which they were departing?
How far must their journey together continue? What would be said
regarding them?
Carlisle found it impossible to answer such questions. She herself
only made the situation the more difficult with her high-headed
defiance of him.
Hesitating, the young officer turned his gaze over the wide dock,
now covered with hurrying figures, with massed traffic, with the
confusion preceding the departure of a river boat. Teams
thundered, carts trundled here and there, shoutings of many minor
captains arose. Those who were to take passage on the packet
hurried forward, to the gangway, so occupied in their own affairs
as to have small time to examine their neighbors. The very
confusion for the time seemed to afford safety. Carlisle was upon
the point of drawing a long breath of relief; but even as he turned
to ask his companion to accompany him aboard the boat he caught
sight of an approaching figure which he seemed to recognize. He
would have turned away, but the keen-witted woman at his side
followed his gaze and paused. There approached these two now, hat
in hand, a gentleman who evidently intended to claim acquaintance.
This new-comer was a man who in any company would have seemed
striking. In complexion fair, and with blue or gray eyes, he was
tall as any Viking, as broad in the shoulder. He was smooth-faced,
and his fresh skin and well-developed figure bespoke the man in
good physical condition through active exercise, yet well content
with the world's apportionment. His limbs were long, his hands
bony and strong. His air, of self-confident assurance, seemed that
of a man well used to having his own way. His forehead was high
and somewhat rugged. Indeed, all his features were in large mold,
like the man himself, as though he had come from a day when skin
garments made the proper garb of men. As though to keep up this
air of an older age, his long fair hair was cut almost square, low
down on the neck, as though he were some Frank fresh from the
ancient forests. Over the forehead also this square cut was
affected, so that, as he stood, large and confident, not quite
_outre_, scarce eccentric, certainly distinguished in appearance,
he had a half-savage look, as though ignorant or scornful of the
tenderer ways of civilization. A leader this man might be, a poor
follower always.
Yet the first words he uttered showed the voice and diction of a
gentleman. "My dear Captain," he began, extending his hand as he
approached, "I am indeed charmed! What a delight to see you again
in our part of the world! I must claim the pleasure of having met
you once--two years ago, in St. Louis. Are you again on your way
to the frontiers?"
The tone of inquiry in his voice was just short of curious, indeed
might have been called expectant. His gaze, admiring yet polite,
had not wholly lost opportunity to list the attractions of this
lady, whose name had not yet been given him.
The gentleman accosted declined to be thus definite; adding only,
after the usual felicitations, "Yes, we are going down the river a
little way on the Vernon here."
"For some distance?"
"For quite a distance."
"At least, this is not your first journey down our river?"
"I wish it might be the last. The railway is opening up a new
world to us. The stage-coach is a thing of the past."
"I wish it might be, for me!" rejoined the stranger.
"Unfortunately, I am obliged to go West from here over the National
Road, to look at some lands I own out in Indiana. I very much
regret--"
There was by this time yet more expectancy in his voice. He still
bowed, with respectful glances bent upon the lady. No presentation
came, although in the easy habit of the place and time, such
courtesy might perhaps have been expected. Why this stiffness
among fellow travelers on a little river packet?
[Illustration: He still bowed, with respectful glances.]
The tall man was not without a certain grave audacity. A look of
amusement came to his face as he gazed at the features of the
other, now obviously agitated, and not a little flushed.
"I had not known that your sister--" he began. His hand thus
forced, the other was obliged to reply: "No, the daughter of an old
friend of mine, you see--we are _en voyage_ together for the
western country. It has simply been my fortune to travel in
company with the lady. I present you, my dear sir, to Miss Barren.
My dear Miss Barren, this is State Senator Warville Dunwody, of
Missouri. We are of opposite camps in politics."
The tall man bowed still more deeply. Meantime, Josephine St.
Auban in her own way had taken inventory of the new-comer. Her
companion hastily sought to hold matters as they were.
"My dear Senator Dunwody," he said, "we were just passing down to
the boat to see that the luggage is aboard. With you, I regret
very much that your journey takes you from us."
The sudden consternation which sat upon Dunwody's face was almost
amusing. He was very willing to prolong this conversation. Into
his soul there had flashed the swift conviction that never in his
life had he seen a woman so beautiful as this. Yet all he could do
was to smile and bow adieu.
"A fine man, that Dunwody, yonder," commented the young captain, as
they parted, and as he turned to his prisoner. "We'll see him on
in Washington some day. He is strengthening his forces now against
Mr. Benton out there. A strong man--a strong one; and a heedless."
"Of what party is he?" she inquired, as though casually.
"What a man's party is in these days," was his answer, "is
something hard to say. A man like Dunwody is pretty much his own
party, although the Bentonites call him a 'soft Democrat.' Hardly
soft he seems, when he gets in action at the state capital of
Missouri yonder. Certainly Dunwody is for war and tumult. None of
this late weak-kneed compromise for him! To have his own way--that
is Dunwody's creed of life. I thank God he is not going with us
now. He might want his own way with you, from the fashion of his
glances. Did you see? My word!" Young Carlisle fumed a shade
more than might have seemed necessary for military reasons.
Josephine St. Auban turned upon him with her slow smile, composedly
looking at him from between her long, dark lashes.
"Why do you say that?" she inquired.
"Because it is the truth. I don't want him about."
"Then you will be disappointed."
"Why do you say that? Did you not hear him say that he was going
West by coach from here?"
"You did not give him time. He is not going West by coach."
"What do you mean?"
"He will be with us on the boat!"