While search is still being made for the body of the murdered man, and
he suspected of the crime is threatened with a prison cell, she, the
innocent cause of it, is being borne far away from the scene of its
committal.
The steamboat, carrying Colonel Armstrong and his belongings, having
left port punctually at the hour advertised, has forsaken the "Father of
Waters," entered the Red River of Louisiana, and now, on the second day
after, is cleaving the current of this ochre-tinted stream, some fifty
miles from its mouth.
The boat is the "Belle of Natchez." Singular coincidence of name; since
one aboard bears also the distinctive sobriquet.
Oft have the young "bloods" of the "City of the Bluffs," while quaffing
their sherry cobblers, or champagne, toasted Helen Armstrong, with this
appellation added.
Taking quality into account, she has a better right to it than the boat.
For this, notwithstanding the proud title bestowed upon it, is but a
sorry craft; a little "stern-wheel" steamer, such as, in those early
days, were oft seen ploughing the bosom of the mighty Mississippi, more
often threading the intricate and shallower channels of its tributaries.
A single set of paddles, placed where the rudder acts in other vessels,
and looking very much like an old-fashioned mill-wheel, supplies the
impulsive power--at best giving but poor speed.
Nevertheless, a sort of craft with correct excuse, and fair _raison
d'etre_; as all know, who navigate narrow rivers, and their still
narrower reaches, with trees from each side outstretching, as is the
case with many of the streams of Louisiana.
Not that the noble Red River can be thus classified; nor in any sense
spoken of as a narrow stream. Broad, and deep enough, for the biggest
boats to navigate to Natchitoches--the butt of Colonel Armstrong's
journey by water.
Why the broken planter has taken passage on the little "stern-wheeler"
is due to two distinct causes. It suited him as to time, and also
expense.
On the Mississippi, and its tributaries, a passage in "crack" boats is
costly, in proportion to their character for "crackness." The "Belle of
Natchez," being without reputation of this kind, carries her passengers
at a reasonable rate.
But, indeed, something beyond ideas of opportune time, or economy,
influenced Colonel Armstrong in selecting her. The same thought which
hurried him away from his old home under the shadows of night, has taken
him aboard a third-rate river steamboat. Travelling thus obscurely, he
hopes to shun encounter with men of his own class; to escape not only
observation, but the sympathy he shrinks from.
In this hope he is disappointed, and on both horns of his fancied, not
to say ridiculous, dilemma. For it so chances, that the "bully" boat,
which was to leave Natchez for Natchitoches on the same day with the
"Belle," has burst one of her boilers. As a consequence, the smaller
steamer has started on her trip, loaded down to the water-line with
freight, her state-rooms and cabins crowded with passengers--many of
these the best, bluest blood of Mississippi and Louisiana.
Whatever of chagrin this _contretemps_ has caused Colonel Armstrong--
and, it may be, the older of his daughters--to the younger it gives
gladness. For among the supernumeraries forced to take passage in the
stern-wheel steamer, is a man she has met before. Not only met, but
danced with; and not only danced but been delighted with; so much, that
souvenirs of that night, with its saltative enjoyment, have since oft
occupied her thoughts, thrilling her with sweetest reminiscence.
He, who has produced this pleasant impression, is a young planter, by
name Luis Dupre. A Louisianian by birth, therefore a "Creole." And
without any taint of the African; else he would not be a Creole _pur
sang_.
The English reader seems to need undeceiving about this, constantly,
repeatedly. In the Creole, simply so-called, there is no admixture of
negro blood.
Not a drop of it in the veins of Luis Dupre; else Jessie Armstrong could
not have danced with him at a Natchez ball; nor would her father, fallen
as he is, permit her to keep company with him on a Red River steamboat.
In this case, there is no condescension on the part of the
ex-Mississippian planter. He of Louisiana is his equal in social rank,
and now his superior in point of wealth, by hundreds, thousands. For
Luis Dupre is one of the largest landowners along the line of Red River
plantations, while his slaves number several hundred field-hands, and
house domestics: the able-bodied of both, without enumerating the aged,
the imbecile, and piccaninnies, more costly than profitable.
If, in the presence of such a prosperous man, Colonel Armstrong reflects
painfully upon his own reduced state, it is different with his daughter
Jessie.
Into her ear Luis Dupre has whispered sweet words--a speech telling her,
that not only are his lands, houses, and slaves at her disposal, but
along with them his heart and hand.
It is but repeating what he said on the night of the Natchez ball; his
impulsive Creole nature having then influenced him to speak as he felt.
Now, on the gliding steamboat, he reiterates the proposal, more
earnestly pressing for an answer.
And he gets it in the affirmative. Before the "Belle of Natchez" has
reached fifty miles from the Red River's mouth, Luis Dupre and Jessie
Armstrong have mutually confessed affection, clasped hands, let lips
meet, and tongues swear, never more to live asunder. That journey
commenced upon the Mississippi is to continue throughout life.
In their case, there is no fear of aught arising to hinder the
consummation of their hopes; no stern parent to stand in the way of
their life's happiness. By the death of both father and mother, Luis
Dupre has long since been emancipated from parental authority, and is as
much his own master as he is of his many slaves.
On the other side, Jessie Armstrong is left free to her choice; because
she has chosen well. Her father has given ready consent; or at all
events said enough to ensure his doing so.
The huge "high-pressure" steam craft which ply upon the western rivers
of America bear but a very slight resemblance to the black, long, low--
hulled leviathans that plough the briny waste of ocean. The steamboat
of the Mississippi more resembles a house, two stories in height, and,
not unfrequently, something of a third--abode of mates and pilots.
Rounded off at stern, the structure, of oblong oval shape, is
universally painted chalk-white; the second, or cabin story, having on
each face a row of casement windows, with Venetian shutters, of emerald
green. These also serve as outside doors to the state-rooms--each
having its own. Inside ones, opposite them, give admission to the main
cabin, or "saloon;" which extends longitudinally nearly the whole length
of the vessel. Figured glass folding-doors cut it into three
compartments; the ladies' cabin aft, the dining saloon amidships, with a
third division forward, containing clerk's office and "bar," the last
devoted to male passengers for smoking, drinking, and, too often,
gambling. A gangway, some three feet in width, runs along the outside
facade, forming a balcony to the windows of the state-rooms. It is
furnished with a balustrade, called "guard-rail," to prevent careless
passengers from stepping overboard. A projection of the roof, yclept
"hurricane-deck," serves as an awning to this continuous terrace,
shading it from the sun.
Two immense twin chimneys--"funnels" as called--tower above all, pouring
forth a continuous volume of whitish wood-smoke; while a smaller
cylinder--the "scape-pipe"--intermittently vomits a vapour yet whiter,
the steam; at each emission with a hoarse belching bark, that can be
heard reverberating for leagues along the river.
Seen from the bank, as it passes, the Mississippi steamboat looks like a
large hotel, or mansion of many windows, set adrift and moving
majestically--"walking the water like a thing of life," as it has been
poetically described. Some of the larger ones, taking into account
their splendid interior decoration, and, along with it their sumptuous
table fare, may well merit the name oft bestowed upon them, of "floating
palaces."
Only in point of size, some inferiority in splendour, and having a
stern-wheel instead of side-paddles, does the "Belle of Natchez" differ
from other boats seen upon the same waters. As them, she has her large
central saloon, with ladies' cabin astern; the flanking rows of
state-rooms; the casements with green jalousies; the gangway and
guard-rail; the twin funnels, pouring forth their fleecy cloud, and the
scape-pipe, coughing in regular repetition.
In the evening hour, after the day has cooled down, the balcony outside
the state-room windows is a pleasant place to stand, saunter, or sit in.
More especially that portion of it contiguous to the stern, and
exclusively devoted to lady passengers--with only such of the male sex
admitted as can claim relationship, or liens of a like intimate order.
On this evening--the first after leaving port--the poop deck of the
little steamer is so occupied by several individuals; who stand gazing
at the scene that passes like a panorama before their eyes. The hot
southern sun has disappeared behind the dark belt of cypress forest,
which forms, far and near, the horizon line of Louisiana; while the soft
evening breeze, laden with the mixed perfumes of the _liquid ambar_, and
_magnolia grandiflora_, is wafted around them, like incense scattered
from a censer.
Notwithstanding its delights, and loveliness, Nature does not long
detain the saunterers outside. Within is a spell more powerful, and to
many of them more attractive. It is after dinner hour; the cabin tables
have been cleared, and its lamps lit. Under the sheen of brilliant
chandeliers the passengers are drawing together in groups, and coteries;
some to converse, others to play _ecarte_ or _vingt-un_; here and there
a solitary individual burying himself in a book; or a pair, almost as
unsocial, engaging in the selfish duality of chess.
Three alone linger outside; and of these only two appear to do so with
enjoyment. They are some paces apart from the third, who is now left to
herself: for it is a woman. Not that they are unacquainted with her, or
in any way wishing to be churlish. But, simply, because neither can
spare word or thought for any one, save their two sweet selves.
It scarce needs telling who is the couple thus mutually engrossed. An
easy guess gives Jessie Armstrong and Luis Dupre. The young Creole's
handsome features, black eyes, brunette complexion, and dark curly hair
have made havoc with the heart of Armstrong's youngest daughter; while,
_en revanche_, her contrasting colours of red, blue, and gold have held
their own in the amorous encounter. They are in love with one another
to their finger tips.
As they stand conversing in soft whispers, the eyes of the third
individual are turned towards them. This only at intervals, and with
nought of jealousy in the glance. For it is Jessie's own sister who
gives it. Whatever of that burn in Helen's breast, not these, nor by
them, has its torch been kindled. The love that late occupied her heart
has been plucked therefrom, leaving it lacerated, and lorn. It was the
one love of her life, and now crushed out, can never be rekindled. If
she have a thought about her sister's new-sprung happiness, it is only
to measure it against her own misery--to contrast its light of joy, with
the shadow surrounding herself.
But for a short moment, and with transient glance, does she regard them.
Aside from any sentiment of envy, their happy communion calls up a
reminiscence too painful to be dwelt upon. She remembers how she
herself stood talking in that same way, with one she cannot, must not,
know more. To escape recalling the painful souvenir, she turns her eyes
from the love episode, and lowers them to look upon the river.