A CONFUSION IN CHATTELS
Their conversation was brought to an end by sounds of hurrying feet
upon the decks above them. The hoarse boom of the steamer's
whistle indicated an intended landing. A swift thought of possible
escape came to the mind of Josephine St. Auban. When Dunwody
turned in his troubled pacing up and down the narrow floor of the
cabin, he found himself alone.
"Jeanne!" cried she, running from the stair to the door of her
state-room. "Hurry! Quick, get your valises! We'll leave the boat
here, at once!" Escape, in some fashion, to some place, at once,
that was her sole thought in the panic which assailed her.
But when presently, as the boat drew in along the dock, she made
ready to go ashore and hurriedly sought a servant to take care of
the luggage, it was the captain of the _Mount Vernon_ himself who
came to meet her.
"I am sorry, Madam," he began, his cap in hand, "but your passage
was booked farther down the river than this point. You are
mistaken. This is not Cairo."
"What of that, sir? Is it not the privilege of a passenger to stop
at any intermediate point?"
"Not in this case, Madam."
"What do you mean?" she blazed out at him in anger on first
impulse. But even as she did so there came over her heart once
more the sick feeling of helplessness. Though innocent, she was
indeed a prisoner! As much as though this were the Middle Ages, as
though these were implacable armed enemies who stood about her, and
not commonplace, every-day individuals in a commonplace land, she
was a prisoner.
"You shall suffer for this!" she exclaimed. "There must be a law
somewhere in this country."
"That is true, Madam," said the captain, "and that is the trouble.
I'm told that my orders come from the _highest_ laws. Certainly I
have no option in the matter. I was told distinctly not to let you
off without his orders--not even to allow you to send any word
ashore."
"But the gentleman who accompanied me is no longer on the boat. He
left me word that our journey in common was ended. See, here is
his note."
"All I can say, Madam, is that this is not signed, and that he did
not tell me he was going to leave. I can not allow you to go
ashore at this point. In fact, I should consider you safer here on
the boat than anywhere else."
"Are there then no gentlemen in all the world? Are you not a man
yourself? Have you no pity for a woman in such plight as mine?"
"Your words cut me deeply, my dear lady. I want to give you such
protection as I can. Any man would do that. I am a man, but also
I am an officer. You are a woman, but apparently also some sort of
fugitive, I don't know just what. We learn not to meddle in these
matters. But I think no harm will come to you--I'm sure not, from
the care the gentlemen used regarding you. Please don't make it
hard for me."
The boat was now alongside the dock at the river settlement, and
there was some stir at the gangway as room was made for the
reception of additional passengers. As they looked over the rail
they discovered these to be made up of a somewhat singular group.
Two or three roughly dressed men were guarding as many prisoners.
Of the latter, two were coal black negroes. The third was a young
woman apparently of white blood, of comely features and of composed
bearing in spite of her situation. A second glance showed that all
these three were in irons. Obviously then the law, which at that
time under the newly formed Compromise Acts allowed an owner to
follow his fugitive slaves into any state, was here finding an
example, one offering indeed all the extremes of cruelty both to
body and to soul.
"For instance, young lady, look at that," went on the boat captain,
turning to Josephine, who was carried back by the incoming rush of
the new passengers. "It is something we see now and again on this
river. Sometimes my heart aches, but what can I do? That's the
law, too. I have learned not to meddle."
[Illustration: "That's the law, too"]
"My God! My God!" exclaimed Josephine St. Auban, her eyes dilating
with horror, forgetting her own plight as she looked at the
spectacle before her. "Can these things really be in America! You
submit to this, and you are men? Law? Is there _any_ law?"
She did not hear the step behind them, but presently a voice broke
in.
"If you please, Captain Rogers," said Warville Dunwody, "I think it
will not be necessary to restrain this lady in any way. By this
time she knows it will be better not to make any attempt to escape."
Jeanne, the maid, was first to see the distress in the face of her
mistress.
"_Infame_! _Infame_!" she cried, flying at them, her hands
clenched, her foot stamping. "Dogs of pigs, you are not men, you
are not gentlemen! See now! See now!"
Tears stood in the eyes of Jeanne herself. "Come," said she, and
put an arm about her mistress, leading her back toward the door of
the cabin.
"This is bad business, sir," said the older man, turning to
Dunwody. "I don't understand all this case, but I'm almost ready
to take that girl's part. Who is she? I can't endure much longer
seeing a woman like that handled in this way. You'll some of you
have to show me your papers before long."
"You ask me who she is," replied Dunwody slowly, "and on my honor I
can hardly tell you. She is temporary ward of the government, that
much is sure. You know very well the arm of the national
government is long. You know, too, that I'm a state senator and
also a United States marshal in Missouri."
"But where do you come into this case, Senator?"
"I came into it last night at a little after nine o'clock,"
rejoined Dunwody. "Her former guardian has turned her over to me.
She does not leave the boat till I do, at Cairo, where I change for
up-river; and when I go, she goes. Don't pay any attention to any
outcry she may make. She's my--property."
Captain Rogers pondered for a time, but at length his face broke
out into a sort of smile. "There may be trouble ahead for you," he
began. "It is like my old friend Bill Jones in there. He buys him
a young filly last spring. Goes over to bring the filly home, and
finds she isn't broke, and wild as a hawk. So he puts a halter on
her and starts off to lead her home. The filly rears up, falls
over and breaks her neck; so he's out his money and his pains.
Some sorts of women won't lead."
"They all do in time," rejoined Dunwody grimly. "This one must."
The old boat captain shook his head.
"Some of them break their necks first," said he. "This one's got
blood in her too, I tell you that."
Dunwody made no answer except to turn and walk down the deck. The
captain, pondering on matters entirely beyond his comprehension,
but forced to accept the assurances of men such as these who had
appeared as guardians of this mysterious young woman, now returned
to his own quarters. "I reckon it's none of my business," he
muttered. "Some high-class forger or confidence worker that's beat
the government somehow, maybe. But she don't look it--I'll be
damned if she looks it. I wonder--?"
Dunwody, left to himself, began moodily to walk up and down the
narrow deck, his hands behind his back. On his face was the red
fighting flush, but it was backed by no expression of definite
purpose, and his walk showed his mental uncertainty. All at once
he turned and with decision passed down the stairs to the lower
deck. He had heard voices which he recognized.
Judge Clayton had joined the party in charge of the fugitives, and
was now in conversation with the overseer, a short man clad in a
coarse blue jacket, with high boots and greasy leather trousers.
The latter was expatiating exultantly upon his own bravery and
shrewdness in effecting the recapture of his prisoners.
"Why, Jedge," said he, "fust off it di'n't look like we'd ever git
track of 'em at all. I cotched the trail at Portsmouth at last,
and follered 'em back into Ohio. They was shore on the
'underground' and bound for Canada, or leastways Chicago. I found
'em in a house 'way out in the country--midnight it was when we got
thar. I'd summonsed the sher'f and two constables to go 'long.
Farm-house was a underground railway station all right, and the
farmer showed fight. We was too much fer him, and we taken 'em out
at last, but one of the constables got shot--some one fired right
through the winder at us. This Lily gal was the wust of the lot,
and I don't put it a-past her to 'a' done some of the shootin'
herself. But we brung 'em all along.
"Now, Jedge," he continued, "of co'se, I think I can do something
for these two bucks Bill and Jim--this gal only persuaded 'em to
run away with her. But if I was you, I shore would sell that Lily
gal South, right away. She's bound fer to make trouble, and
nothin' but trouble, fer you as long as you keep her round the
place."
The speaker, coarse and ignorant, presented a contrast to the tall,
dignified and quiet gentleman whom he accosted, and who now stood,
with hands in pockets, looking on with genuine concern on his face.
"Lily," said he at length, "what makes you act this way? Haven't
you always been treated well down there at home?"
"Yas, sir, I reckon so," replied the girl sullenly; "well as
anybody's niggahs is!"
"Then why do you want to run off? This is the third time in the
last year. I've been kind to you--I say, Dunwody," he went on,
turning suddenly as he saw the latter approach--"haven't I always
treated my people right? Haven't I always given them everything in
the world they ought to have?"
"Yes, Judge, that's the truth, and any neighbor of yours will say
it," assented Dunwody as he joined the group. "What's wrong then?
This Lily girl run off again? Seems to me you told me about her."
"Yes," said Judge Clayton, rubbing a finger across his chin in
perturbation, "the poor thing doesn't know when she's well off.
But what am I to do with her, that's the question? I don't believe
in whipping; but in this case, Wilson, I'm going to turn over those
two boys to you. I won't have the girl whipped even yet. I'll see
you when we get down to Cairo," he added, turning away. "We'll
have to change there to the Sally Lee, for the Vernon doesn't stop
at our landing. She's going straight through to Memphis."
As Judge Clayton walked away, Dunwody turned to the overseer, whom
he had seen before on the Clayton plantations.
"So you had trouble this time?" he ventured.
"Heap of it, sir," replied the overseer, taking off his cap. "It
was that fine yaller lady there that made most of it. She's the
one that's a-fo_mint_in' trouble right along. She's a quiet
lookin' gal, but she ain't. It's all right what the jedge says to
me, but I'm goin' to have a little settle_ment_ with this fine lady
myself, this time."
The girl heard him plainly enough, but only turned moodily back
toward the coil of rope where sat the two blacks who had been her
companions. From these she kept her skirt as remote as though they
were not of her station. Dunwody approached the overseer, and put
a gold double-eagle in his hand.
"Listen here, Wilson," said he, "you seem to be able to handle such
people discreetly. Now I've got a prisoner along, up-stairs,
myself--never mind who she is or how she comes here. As you know,
I'm a United States marshal for this district, and this prisoner
has been turned over to me. I'm going on up home, beyond St.
Genevieve, and I've got to change down there at Cairo myself, to
take the up-river boat."
"Mulattress?" listlessly inquired Wilson, after grinning at the
coin. "They're the wust. I'd rather handle straight niggers my
own self."
"Well," said Dunwody, "now that you mention it, I don't know but
they would be easier to handle. This prisoner is about as tall as
that girl yonder, and she's a whole lot lighter, do you understand?
Of a dark night--say about the time we'd get down to Cairo,
midnight--well wrapped up, and the face of neither showing, it
might be hard to tell one of them from the other."
"How'll you trade?" grinned Wilson. "Anybody kin git a mighty good
trade for this yaller lady of ours here. If she was mine I'd trade
her for a sack of last year potatoes. I reckon Jedge Clayton'll be
sick enough of her, time he gets expenses of this last trip paid,
gittin' her back."
"I'm not trading," said Dunwody, frowning and flushing. "But now
I'll tell you what I want you to do, when we get into Cairo. I may
have trouble with my prisoner, and I don't know any better man than
yourself to have around in a case like that. Do you think, if I
left it all to you, you could handle it?"
"Shore I could--what's the use of your troublin' yourself about it,
Colonel Dunwody? This here's more in my line."
Dunwody turned away with a sudden feeling of revulsion, almost of
nausea at the thought now in his mind. It was a few moments later
that he again approached Wilson.
"There's a French girl along with this prisoner of mine," said he.
"Just take them both along together. I reckon the French girl
won't make any disturbance--it's the other--the lady--her mistress.
She's apt to--to 'fomint' trouble. Handle her gently as you can.
You'll have to have help. The captain will not interfere. You
just substitute my prisoner for yours yonder at Cairo--I'll show
you where she is when the time comes. Once you have her aboard my
boat for St. Genevieve, you can come back and take care of your own
prisoners here. There may be another eagle or so in it. I am not
asking questions and want none asked. Do your work, that's all."
"You don't need to be a-skeered but what I'll do the work,
Colonel," smiled Wilson grimly. "I've had a heap o' trouble the
last week, and I'm about tired. I'll not stand no foolishness."
Had any friend seen Warville Dunwody that night, he must have
pronounced him ten years older than when the Mount Vernon had begun
her voyage.