Before things had reached this point, I had gained an explanation of the
mysterious alarm. I alone knew it, along with the individual who had
caused it.
On hearing the shots, I had run forward under the front awning, and
stood looking over the guards. I was looking down upon the
boiler-deck--for it appeared to me that the loud words that preceded the
reports had issued thence, though I also thought that the shots had been
fired at some point nearer.
Most of the people had gone out by the side entrances, and were standing
over the gangways, so that I was alone in the darkness, or nearly so.
I had not been many seconds in this situation, when some one glided
alongside of me, and touched me on the arm. I turned and inquired who
it was, and what was wanted. A voice answered me in French--
"A friend, Monsieur, who wishes to do you a service."
"Ha, that voice! It was you, then, who called out--"
"It was."
"And--"
"I who fired the shots--precisely."
"There is no one killed, then?"
"Not that I know of. My pistol was pointed to the sky--besides it was
loaded blank."
"I'm glad of that, Monsieur; but for what purpose, may I ask, have
you--"
"Simply to do _you_ a service, as I have said."
"But how do you contemplate serving me by firing off pistols, and
frightening the passengers of the boat out of their senses?"
"Oh! as to that, there's no harm done. They'll soon got over their
little alarm. I wanted to speak with you alone. I could think of no
other device to separate you from your new acquaintances. The firing of
my pistol was only a _ruse_ to effect that purpose. It has succeeded,
you perceive."
"Ha! Monsieur, it was you then who whispered the word in my ear as I
sat down to play?"
"Yes; have I not prophesied truly?"
"So far you have. It was you who stood opposite me in the corner of the
saloon?"
"It was I."
Let me explain these two last interrogatories. As I was about
consenting to the game of whist, some one plucked my sleeve, and
whispered in French--
"Don't play, Monsieur; you are certain to lose."
I turned in the direction of the speaker, and saw a young man just
leaving my side; but was not certain whether it was he who had given
this prudent counsel. As is known, I did not heed it.
Again, while engaged in the game, I noticed this same young man standing
in front of me, but in a distant and somewhat dark corner of the saloon.
Notwithstanding the darkness, I saw that his eyes were bent upon me, as
I played. This fact would have drawn my attention of itself, but there
was also an expression in the face that at once fixed my interest; and,
each time, while the cards were being dealt, I took the opportunity to
turn my eyes upon this strange individual.
He was a slender youth, under the medium height, and apparently scarce
twenty years of age, but a melancholy tone that pervaded his countenance
made him look a little older. His features were small, but finely
chiselled--the nose and lips resembling more those of a woman. His
cheek was almost colourless, and dark silky hair fell in profuse curls
over his neck and shoulders; for such at that time was the Creole
fashion. I felt certain the youth was a Creole, partly from his French
cast of countenance, partly from the fashion and material of his dress,
and partly because he spoke French--for I was under the impression it
was he who had spoken to me. His costume was altogether of Creole
fashion. He wore a blouse of brown linen--not after the mode of that
famous garment as known in France--but as the Creole "hunting-shirt,"
with plaited body and gracefully-gathered skirt. Its material,
moreover,--the fine unbleached linen,--showed that the style was one of
choice, not a mere necessary covering. His pantaloons were of the
finest sky-blue _cottonade_--the produce of the looms of Opelousas.
They were plaited very full below the waist, and open at the bottoms
with rows of buttons to close them around the ankles when occasion
required. There was no vest. Its place was supplied by ample frills of
cambric lace, that puffed out over the breast. The _chaussure_
consisted of gaiter-bootees of drab lasting-cloth, tipped with patent
leather, and fastened over the front with a silk lace. A broad-brimmed
Panama hat completed the dress, and gave the finishing touch to this
truly Southern costume.
There was nothing _outre_ about either the shirt, the pantaloons, the
head-dress, or foot-gear. All were in keeping--all were in a style that
at that period was the _mode_ upon the lower Mississippi. It was not,
therefore, the dress of this youth that had arrested my attention. I
had been in the habit of seeing such, every day. It could not be that.
No--the dress had nothing to do with the interest which he had excited.
Perhaps my regarding him as the author of the brief counsel that had
been uttered in my ear had a little to do with it--but not all.
Independent of that, there was something in the face itself that
forcibly attracted my regard--so forcibly that I began to ponder whether
I had ever seen it before. If there had been a better light, I might
have resolved the doubt, but he stood in shadow, and I could not get a
fair view of him.
It was just about this time that I missed him from his station in the
corner of the saloon, and a minute or two later were heard the shouts
and shots from without.
"And now, Monsieur, may I inquire why you wish to speak to me, and what
you have to say?"
I was beginning to feel annoyed at the interference of this young
fellow. A man does not relish being suddenly pulled up from a game of
whist; and not a bit the more that he has been losing at it.
"Why I wish to speak to you is, because I feel an interest in you. What
I have to say you shall hear."
"An interest in me! And pray, Sir, to what am I indebted for this
interest?"
"Is it not enough that you are a stranger likely to be plundered of your
purse?--a _green-horn_--"
"How, Monsieur?"
"Nay, do not be angry with me. That is the phrase which I have heard
applied to you to-night by more than one of your new acquaintances. If
you return to play with them, I think you will merit the title."
"Come, Monsieur, this is too bad: you interfere in a matter that does
not concern you."
"True, it does not; but it concerns _you_, and yet--ah!"
I was about to leave this meddling youth, and hurry back to the game,
when the strange melancholy tone of his voice caused me to hesitate, and
remain by him a little longer.
"Well," I said, "you have not yet told me what you wished to say."
"Indeed, I have said already. I have told you not to play--that you
would lose if you did. I repeat that counsel."
"True, I have lost a little, but it does not follow that fortune will be
always on one side. It is rather my partner's fault, who seems a bad
player."
"Your partner, if I mistake not, is one of the best players on the
river. I think I have seen that gentleman before."
"Ha! you know him them?"
"Something of him--not much, but that much I know. Do _you_ know him?"
"Never saw him before to-night."
"Nor any of the others?"
"They are all equally strangers to me."
"You are not aware, then, that you are playing with _sportsmen_?"
"No, but I am very glad to hear it. I am something of a sportsman
myself--as fond of dogs, horses, and guns, as any of the three, I
warrant."
"Ha! Monsieur, you misapprehend. A sportsman in your country, and a
sportsman in a Mississippi steamboat, are two very distinct things.
Foxes, hares, and partridges, are the game of your sportsman.
Greenhorns and their purses are the game of gentry like these."
"The men with whom I am playing, then, are--"
"Professional gamblers--steamboat sharpers."
"Are you sure of this, Monsieur?"
"Quite sure of it. Oh! I often travel up and down to New Orleans. I
have seen them all before."
"But one of them has the look of a farmer or a merchant, as I thought--a
pork-merchant from Cincinnati--his talk ran that way."
"Farmer--merchant, ha! ha! ha! a farmer without acres--a merchant
without trade! Monsieur, that simply-dressed old fellow is said to be
the `smartest'--that is the Yankee word--the smartest sportsman in the
Mississippi valley, and such are not scarce, I trow."
"After all, they are strangers to each other, and one of them is my
partner--I do not see how they can--"
"Strangers to each other!" interrupted my new friend. "Since when have
they become acquainted? I myself have seen the three in company, and at
the same business, almost every time I have journeyed on the river.
True, they talk to each other as if they had accidentally met. That is
part of their arrangement for cheating such as you."
"So you believe they have actually been cheating me?"
"Since the stakes have been raised to ten dollars they have."
"But how?"
"Oh, it is very simple. Sometimes your partner designedly played the
wrong card--"
"Ha! I see now; I believe it."
"It did not need that though. Even had you had an honest partner, it
would have been all the same in the end. Your opponents have a system
of signals by which they can communicate to each other many facts--the
sort of cards they hold,--the colour of the cards, their value, and so
forth. You did not observe how they placed their fingers upon the edge
of the table. _I_ did. One finger laid horizontally denoted one
trump--two fingers placed in a similar manner, two trumps--three for
three, and so on. A slight curving of the fingers told: how many of the
trumps were honours; a certain movement of the thumbs bespoke an ace;
and in this way each of your adversaries knew almost to a card what his
partner had got. It needed not the third to bring about the desired
result. As it was, there were seven knaves about the table--four in the
cards, and three among the players."
"This is infamous!"
"True, I would have admonished you of it sooner; but, of course, I could
not find an opportunity. It would have been no slight danger for me to
have told you openly, and exposed the rascals. Hence, the _ruse_ I have
been compelled to adopt. These are no common swindlers. Any of the
three would resent the slightest imputation upon their honour. Two of
them are noted duellists. Most likely I should have been called out
to-morrow and shot, and you would scarce have thanked me for my
`interference.'"
"My dear sir, I am exceedingly grateful to you. I am convinced that
what you say is true. How would you have me act?"
"Simply give up the game--let your losses go--you cannot recover them."
"But I am not disposed to be thus outraged and plundered with impunity.
I shall try another game, watch them, and--"
"No, you would be foolish to do so. I tell you, Monsieur, these men are
noted duellists as well as black-legs, and possess courage. One of
them, your partner, has given proof of it by having travelled over three
hundred miles to fight with a gentleman who had slandered him, or rather
had spoken the truth about him! He succeeded, moreover, in killing his
man. I tell you, Monsieur, you can gain nothing by quarrelling with
such men, except a fair chance of having a bullet through you. I know
you are a stranger in our country. Be advised, then, and act as I have
said. Leave them to their gains. It is late: Retire to your
state-room, and think no more on what you have lost."
Whether it was the late excitement consequent upon the false alarm, or
whether it was the strange development I had just listened to, aided by
the cool river breeze, I know not; but the intoxication passed away, and
my brain became clear. I doubted not for a moment that the young Creole
had told me the truth. His manner as well as words, connected with the
circumstances that had just transpired, produced full conviction.
I felt impressed with a deep sense of gratitude to him for the service
he had rendered, and at such risk to himself--for even the _ruse_ he had
adopted might have had an awkward ending for him, had any one seen him
fire off his pistols.
Why had he acted thus? Why this interest in my affairs? Had he
assigned the true reason? Was it a feeling of pure chivalry that had
prompted him? I had heard of just such instances of noble nature among
the Creole-French of Louisiana. Was this another illustration of that
character?
I say I was impressed with a deep sense of gratitude, and resolved to
follow his advice.
"I shall do as you say," I replied, "on one condition."
"Name it, Monsieur."
"That you will give me your address, so that when we arrive in New
Orleans, I may have the opportunity of renewing your acquaintance, and
proving to you my gratitude."
"Alas, Monsieur! I have no address."
I felt embarrassed. The melancholy tone in which these words were
uttered was not to be mistaken; some grief pressed heavily on that young
and generous heart.
It was not for me to inquire into its cause, least of all at that time;
but my own secret sorrow enabled me to sympathise the more deeply with
others, and I felt I stood beside one whose sky was far from serene. I
felt embarrassed by his answer. It left me in a delicate position to
make reply. I said at length--
"Perhaps you will do me the favour to call upon me? I live at the Hotel
Saint Luis."
"I shall do so with pleasure."
"To-morrow?"
"To-morrow night."
"I shall stay at home for you. _Bon soir_, Monsieur."
We parted, each taking the way to his state-room.
In ten minutes after I lay in my shelf-like bed, asleep; and in ten
hours after I was drinking my _cafe_ in the Hotel Saint Luis.