THE ARBITRAMENT
It was twilight when the little cavalcade from Tallwoods arrived at
the old river town of St. Genevieve. The peaceful inhabitants,
most of them of the old French strain, looked out in amazement at
the jaded horses, the hard-faced men. By this time the original
half dozen riders had received reinforcements at different
plantations, so that a band of perhaps thirty armed men had
assembled. It had needed little more for the average listener than
a word telling the news.
Brief inquiry at St. Genevieve informed them that the little
steamer _Helen Bell_ had passed the town front that day soon after
noon. As she depended almost as much upon poles and lines for her
up-stream progress as upon her steam, it was thought likely she
would tie up for the night at some point not more than ten or
twelve miles up-stream. Dunwody therefore determined to ride
across the river bed at its shortest distance, in the attempt to
intercept the steamer, relying upon chance to secure small boats
near at hand should they be necessary. His men by this time were
glad enough to dismount and take some sort of refreshment before
this last stage of their journey.
It was dark when again they mounted, and the old river road, full
of wash-outs, stumps and roots, made going slow after the moon had
sunk. They had, however, no great distance to ride. At a point
ten miles up the river they came upon a small huddle of fishermen's
huts. At one of these Dunwody knocked, and the frightened tenant,
at first almost speechless at the sight of so many armed men,
stammeringly informed him that the steamer had passed late that
evening and was, in his belief, tied up at a little towhead island
not more than half a mile up-stream.
"What boats have you got here?" demanded Dunwody.
"No boat at all, Monsieur," rejoined the habitant.
"Maybe so four, five feesh boat, that's hall."
"Bring them out!" was the terse order.
They dismounted and, leaving their horses tied in the wood at the
roadside, they went to the water's edge and presently embarked, a
half dozen men in each of as many long river skiffs, of the type
used by the fishermen in carrying out their nets. Dunwody and
Clayton were in the foremost boat and each pulled an oar. The
little flotilla crawled up-stream slowly, hugging the bank and
keeping to the shadows. At last they were opposite a low,
willow-covered island, and within a narrow channel where the water,
confined between two banks, flowed with swifter current. At
length, at Dunwody's quiet signal, all the boats paused, the crews
holding fast to the overhanging branches of the trees on the main
shore of the river.
"She's out there, just across yonder island," he whispered. "I
think I can see her stack now. She must be tied up close. We can
slip in on this side, make a landing and get aboard her before she
can stop us, if we're careful. Keep perfectly quiet. Follow us,
boys. Come on, Clayton."
Silently they all cast loose and, each boat taking its own time,
crossed the narrow channel, heading upstream, so as to make the
landing as nearly opposite the steamer as possible. They crawled
out through the mud, and hauled up their boats to safe places along
shore. Then, each man looking to his own weapons, they came
together under the cover of the willows. Dunwody again addressed
them.
"We must slip across there, seventy or eighty yards or so, and get
under the side of her before they know we're here," he said in low
tones. "Let no one fire a shot until I order it. If there's going
to be any shooting, be sure and let them begin it. When we get
across and leave cover, you'd better spread out a little. Keep
down low, and don't shoot unless you have to. Remember that. Come
on, now."
Inside the first fringe of the tangled and heavy willows, the mud
lay deep in a long, half-drained pool of water which stood in the
middle of the willow-covered fiat. Into this, silently as they
could, they were obliged to plunge, wading across, sometimes waist
deep. In spite of the noise thus made there was no challenge, and
the little body of men, re-forming into an irregular line,
presently arrived at the outer edge of the willow flat. Here, in
the light which hung above the river's surface, they could see the
bulk of the steamer looming almost in their faces. She had her
landing planks out, and here and there along the narrow sand beach
a smouldering ember or so showed where little fires had been made.
As a matter of fact, more than half of the men of the boat had
preferred to sleep on shore. Their muffled bodies, covered in
their blankets, might even now be seen here and there.
Although the sound of splashing and struggling in the water and mud
had not raised any of these sleepers, now all at once, as though by
some intuition, the whole bivouac sprang into life. The presence
of so many men could not be concealed.
"Who goes there?" came a military call from the boat. "Halt!
Halt!" came from the line of sleepers suddenly awakened. In an
instant both parties were under arms.
It spoke well for the temper of the men with Dunwody, perhaps
better for his serious counsel of them, that none of them made any
answer. Silently, like so many shadows, they dropped down to the
ground.
"What was that, Kammerer?" cried a voice on the boat, calling down
to some one on the shore.
"There are men here," was the answer. "Somebody's out there."
The night was now astir. Men half clothed, but fully armed, now
lined up along the beach, along the gunwale of the boat.
Apparently there were some twenty or more of them in all.
"River pirates, likely," said the leader, who had now come down the
gang-plank. "Fall in, men! Fall in!" His voice rang sharp and
clear, like that of an officer.
"Line up along this beach, and get down low!" he commanded. "Hold
your fire! Hold!--What do you mean?--What are you doing?" His
voice rose into a scream.
Some one had fired a shot. At once the thicket was filled with
armed men. Some unknown member of the boat party, standing on the
deck behind the leader, had fired at a movement seen in the willows
twenty yards away. The aim was true. A groan was answer to the
shot, even before the exclamation of the leader was made. Young
Desha fell back, shot through the body. His friends at first did
not know that any one had been hurt, but to lie still under fire
ill suited their wild temper. With a common impulse, and without
order, they emptied their guns into the mass of dark figures ranged
along the beach. The air was filled with shouts and curses. The
attacking party advanced. The narrow beach of sand and mud was
covered with a struggling mass of fighting men, of which neither
party knew the nature of the other, and where the combatants could
scarce tell friend from foe.
"Get in, men!" cried Dunwody. "Go on! Take the boat!" He pressed
on slowly, Judge Clayton at his side, and they two passed on up the
gang-plank and into the boat itself. The leader of the boat
forces, who had retired again to the steamer deck, faced them here.
It was Dunwody himself who reached out, caught him in a fell grip
and took away from him his rifle.
"Call your men off!" he cried. "Do you all want to get killed?"
"You pirates!" exclaimed the boat leader as soon as he could get
his breath. "What do you mean by firing on us here? We're
peaceable men and on our own business."
Dunwody stood supporting himself on his rifle, the stock of it
under his arm. "You call this peace!" he said. "We didn't intend
to attack you. We're after a fugitive slave. I'm a United States
marshal. You've killed some of our men, and you fired, first.
You've no right--Who are you?" he cried, suddenly pushing closer to
his prisoner in the half light. "I thought I knew your voice!
You--Carlisle--What are you doing here?"
[Illustration: "Who are you?" he cried suddenly.]
"I'm about my business," rejoined that young officer curtly. "I've
been on your trail."
"Well, you've found me," said Dunwody grimly. "You may wish you
hadn't."
The Northerner was not in the least subdued, and remained fearless
as before. "That's fine talk!" he said. "Why haven't we a right
here? We're on a navigable stream of the United States, in free
waters and in a free country, and we're free to do as we propose.
We're under a free flag. What do you mean by firing into us?"
"You're not navigating the river at all," retorted Judge Clayton.
"You're tied up to Missouri soil. The real channel of the river is
away out yonder, and you know it. We're inside our right in
boarding you. We want to know who you are and what you are doing
here, an army officer, at the head of men armed in this way. We're
going to search this boat. You've got property of mine on board,
and we've the legal right to take it, and we're going to take it.
You've killed some of our posse."
"You're pirates!" reiterated the northern, leader. "You're border
ruffians, and you want to take this boat. You'll have to account
for this."
"We are ready to account for it," said Dunwody. "Throw down your
arms, or we will kill every man of you. At once!"
He swung heavily back on his support as he spoke. Clayton caught
him by the arm. "You're hit, Dunwody!" he said in a low voice.
"Yes, a little," answered the other. "Don't say anything." Slowly
he pushed on, directly up to Carlisle, who faced him fearless as
ever. "Tell your men to throw down their guns!" demanded Dunwody
once more.
"Attention, company!" called out the young Northerner. "Stack
arms!"
Silently, in the dark, even in the confusion, the beleaguered men
grouped together and leaned their rifles against this or that
support. Silently they ranged themselves, some on the deck, some
still upon the shore.
"Get lights now, at once!" commanded Dunwody. "We've got men hurt
here. We'll have to do something at once. Jamieson!" he cried
out. "Are you hurt?"
"I'm all right," answered Doctor Jamieson out of the darkness.
"Not a scratch. But there's a lot of our fellows down."
"Take care of them," said Dunwody. "We'll attend to the rest of
this business after that."