Coachmen of New Orleans possess their full share of _intelligence_; and
the ring of a piece of silver, extra of their fare, is a music well
understood by them. They are the witnesses of many a romantic
adventure--the necessary confidants of many a love-secret. A hundred
yards in front rolled the carriage that had taken Aurore; now turning
round corners, now passing among drays laden with huge cotton-bales or
hogsheads of sugar--but my driver had fixed his knowing eye upon it, and
I had no need to be uneasy.
It passed up the Rue Chartres but a short distance, and then turned into
one of the short streets that ran from this at right angles towards the
Levee. I fancied for a moment, it was making for the steamboat wharves;
but on reaching the corner, I saw that it had stopped about half way
down the street. My driver, according to the instructions I had given
him, pulled up at the corner, and awaited my further orders. The
carriage I had followed was now standing in front of a house; and just
as I rounded the corner, I caught a glimpse of several figures crossing
the banquette and entering the door. No doubt, all that had ridden in
the carriage--Aurore with the rest--had gone inside the house.
Presently a man came out, and handing his fare to the hackney-coachman,
turned and went back into the house. The latter, gathering up his
reins, gave the whip to his horses, and, wheeling round, came back by
the Rue Chartres. As he passed me, I glanced through the open windows
of his vehicle. It was empty. She had gone into the house, then.
I had no longer any doubt as to where she had been taken. I read on the
corner, "Rue Bienville." The house where the carriage had stopped was
the town residence of Monsieur Dominique Gayarre.
I remained for some minutes in the cab, considering what I had best do.
Was this to be her future home? or was she only brought here
temporarily, to be afterwards taken up to the plantation?
Some thought, or instinct perhaps, whispered me that she was not to
remain in the Rue Bienville; but would be carried to the gloomy old
mansion at Bringiers. I cannot tell why I thought so. Perhaps it was
because I wished it so.
I saw the necessity of watching the house--so that she might not be
taken away without my knowing it. Wherever she went I was determined to
follow.
Fortunately I was prepared for any journey. The three thousand dollars
lent me by D'Hauteville remained intact. With that I could travel to
the ends of the earth.
I wished that the young Creole had been with me. I wanted his counsel--
his company. How should I find him? he had not said where we should
meet--only that he would join me when the sale should be over. I saw
nothing of him on leaving the Rotundo. Perhaps he meant to meet me
there or at my hotel; but how was I to get back to either of these
places without leaving my post?
I was perplexed as to how I should communicate with D'Hauteville. It
occurred to me that the hackney-coachman--I had not yet dismissed him--
might remain and watch the house, while I went in search of the Creole.
I had only to pay the Jehu; he would obey me, of course, and right
willingly.
I was about arranging with the man, and had already given him some
instructions, when I heard wheels rumbling along the street; and a
somewhat old-fashioned coach, drawn by a pair of mules, turned into the
Rue Bienville. A negro driver was upon the box.
There was nothing odd in all this. Such a carriage and such a coachman
were to be seen every hour in New Orleans, and drawn by mules as often
as horses. But this pair of mules, and the negro who drove them, I
recognised.
Yes! I recognised the equipage. I had often met it upon the Levee Road
near Bringiers. It was the carriage of Monsieur Dominique!
I was further assured upon this point by seeing the vehicle draw up in
front of the avocat's house.
I at once gave up my design of going back for D'Hauteville. Climbing
back into the hack, I ensconced myself in such a position, that I could
command a view of what passed in the Rue Bienville.
Some one was evidently about to become the occupant of the carriage.
The door of the house stood open, and a servant was speaking to the
coachman. I could tell by the actions of the latter, that he expected
soon to drive off.
The servant now appeared outside with several parcels, which he placed
upon the coach; then a man came out--the negro-trader--who mounted the
box. Another man shot across the banquette, but in such a hurried gait
that I could not recognise him. I guessed, however, who _he_ was. Two
others now came from the house--a mulatto woman and a young girl. In
spite of the cloak in which she was enveloped I recognised Aurore. The
mulatto woman conducted the girl to the carriage, and then stepped in
after. At this moment a man on horseback appeared in the street, and
riding up, halted by the carriage. After speaking to some one inside,
he again put his horse in motion and rode off. This horseman was Larkin
the overseer.
The clash of the closing door was immediately followed by the crack of
the coachman's whip; and the mules, trotting off down the street, turned
to the right, and headed up the Levee.
My driver, who had already been instructed, gave the whip to his hack,
and followed, keeping a short distance in the rear.
It was not till we had traversed the long street of Tehoupitoulas,
through the Faubourg Marigny, and were some distance upon the road to
the suburban village of Lafayette, that I thought of where I was going.
My sole idea had been to keep in sight the carriage of Gayarre.
I now bethought me for what purpose I was driving after him. Did I
intend to follow him to his house, some thirty miles distant, in a
hackney-coach?
Even had I been so determined, it was questionable whether the driver of
the vehicle could have been tempted to humour my caprice, or whether his
wretched hack could have accomplished such a feat.
For what purpose, then, was I galloping after? To overtake these men
upon the road, and deliver Aurore from their keeping? No, there were
three of them--well armed, no doubt--and I alone.
But it was not until I had gone several miles that I began to reflect on
the absurdity of my conduct. I then ordered my coachman to pull up.
I remained seated; and from the window of the hack gazed after the
carriage, until it was hidden by a turn in the road.
"After all," I muttered to myself, "I have done right in following. I
am now sure of their destination. Back to the Hotel Saint Luis!"
The last phrase was a command to my coachman, who turning his horse
drove back.
As I had promised to pay for speed, it was not long before the wheels of
my hackney rattled over the pave of the Rue Saint Luis.
Having dismissed the carriage, I entered the hotel. To my joy I found
D'Hauteville awaiting my return, and in a few minutes I had communicated
to him my determination to carry off Aurore.
Bare friendship his! he approved of my resolve. Rare devotion! he
proposed to take part in my enterprise, I warned him of its perils--to
no purpose. With an enthusiasm I could not account for, and that
greatly astonished me at the time, he still insisted upon sharing them.
Perhaps I might more earnestly have admonished him against such a
purpose, but I felt how much I stood in need of him.
I could not explain the strange feeling of confidence, with which the
presence of this gentle but heroic youth had inspired me. The
reluctance with which I accepted his offer was only apparent--it was not
felt. My heart was struggling against my will. I was but too glad when
he stated his determination to accompany me.
There was no boat going up that night; but we were not without the means
to travel. A pair of horses were hired--the best that money could
procure--and before sun-down we had cleared the suburbs of the city, and
were riding along the road that conducts to the village of Bringiers.