THE LOSS OF RENE
There was the echo of an oath, a harsh, cruel laugh, the crash of
planking, a strange, half-human cry of fright from the negro--that was
all. The sudden violence of the blow must have hurled me high into the
air, for I struck the water clear of both boats, and so far out in the
stream, that when I came again struggling to the surface, I was in the
full sweep of the current, against which I had to struggle desperately.
In the brief second that intervened between Sam's shout of warning, and
the crash of the two boats, I had seen almost nothing--only that black,
menacing hulk, looming up between us and the shore, more like a shadow
than a reality. Yet now, fighting to keep my head above water, and not
to be swept away, I was able to realize instantly what had occurred. I
had been mistaken; Kirby had not fled down the river; instead he had
craftily waited this chance to attack us at a disadvantage. Convinced
that we would decide to make use of the rowboat, which he had left
uninjured for that very purpose, and that we would venture forth just
so soon as the night became dark enough, he had hidden the stolen craft
in some covert along shore, to await our coming. Then he sprang on us,
as the tiger leaps on his prey. He had calculated well, for the blunt
prow of the speeding keel-boat had struck us squarely, crushing in the
sides of our frail craft, and flinging me headlong.
What had become the fate of the others I could not for the moment
determine. I could see little, with eyes scarcely above the surface,
and struggling hard to breast the sweep of the current. The darkness
shadowed everything, the bulk of the keel-boat alone appearing in the
distance, and that, shapelessly outlined. The craft bore no light, and
had it not been for a voice speaking, I doubt if I could have located
even that. The rowboat could not be distinguished--it must have
sunken, or else drifted away, a helpless wreck. The first sound my
ears caught, echoing across the water, was an oath, and a question, "By
God! a good job; do you see that fellow anywhere?"
"Naw," the response a mere growl. "He's a goner, I reckon; never
knowed whut hit him, jedgin' frum the way he upended it."
"Well, then he isn't likely to bother us any more. Suppose he was the
white man?"
"Sure he wus; it wus the nigger who was up ahead. We hit him, an' he
dropped in 'tween ther boats, an' went down like a stone. He never
yeeped but just onct, when I furst gripped ther girl. I don't reckon
as she wus hurt et all; leastwise I never aimed fer ter hurt her none."
"Has she said anything?"
"Not a damned twitter; maybe she's fainted. I dunno, but that's ther
way females do. What shall I do with the bird, Kirby?"
"Oh, hold on to her there awhile, long as she's quiet. I'm going to
try the steam again, and get outside into the big river. Hell, man,
but this hasn't been such a bad night's work. Now if we only make it
to St. Louis, we'll have the laugh on Donaldson."
"I reckon he won't laugh much," with a chuckle. "It's cost him a
valuable nigger."
"You mean Sam? Yes, that's so. But I'd like to know who that other
fellow was--the white one."
"Him! oh, sum abolitionist likely; maybe one o' ol' Shrunk's gang.
It's a damn good thing fer this kintry we got him, an' I ain't worryin'
none 'bount any nigger-stealer. The boat must 'er gone down, I reckon;
enyhow ther whol' side wus caved in. What's ther matter with yer
engine?"
"It's all right now--keep your eyes peeled ahead."
The steam began to sizz, settling swiftly into a rhythmatic chugging,
as the revolving wheel began to churn up the water astern. Confident
of being safely hidden by the darkness, I permitted the current to bear
me downward, my muscles aching painfully from the struggle, and with no
other thought in my mind except to keep well out of sight of the
occupants of the boat. To be perceived by them, and overtaken in the
water, meant certain death, while, if they continued to believe that I
had actually sunk beneath the surface, some future carelessness on
their part might yield me an unexpected opportunity to serve Rene. The
few words overheard had made sufficiently plain the situation. Poor
Sam had already found freedom in death, crushed between the two
colliding boats, but the girl had been grasped in time, and hauled
uninjured aboard the heavier craft. This had been the object of the
attack--to gain possession of her. Very evidently I had not been seen,
at least not closely enough to be recognized by Kirby. In a measure
this afforded me a decided advantage, provided we ever encountered each
other again--and I meant that we should. The account between us was
not closed by this incident; far from it. There in that black water,
struggling to keep afloat, while being swept resistlessly out into the
river, with no immediate object before me except to remain concealed by
the veil of darkness, I resolved solemnly to myself that this affair
should never end, until it was ended right. In that moment of decision
I cared not at all for Rene Beaucaire's drop of negro blood, nor for
the fact that she was a slave in her master's hands. Her appeal to me
ignored all this. To my mind she was but a woman, a sweet, lovable,
girlish woman, in the unrestrained power of a brute, and dependent
alone on me for rescue. That was enough; I cared for nothing more.
The intense blackness hid me completely, as I held my head barely above
the surface, no longer making any effort to stem the downward sweep of
the stream. Conscious of being thus borne rapidly to the mouth of the
river, my only endeavor was to keep afloat, and conserve my strength.
The ceaseless noise of the engine told me accurately the position of
the keel-boat, although, by this time, there was a stretch of rushing
water between us which prevented me even seeing the hulking shadow of
the craft. Judging from the sound, however, it was easy to determine
that the heavy boat was traveling much faster than I, and was steadily
passing me, close in against the dense shadow of the southern shore.
With silent strokes I waited patiently, until the steady chugging of
the engine grew faint in the distance, and then finally ceased entirely.
I was alone in the grasp of the waters, wrapped in the night silence,
both shores veiled beneath the dense shadows; every dim outline had
vanished, and I realized that the swift current had already swept me
into the broad Mississippi. Uncertain in that moment which way to
turn, and conscious of a strange lassitude, I made no struggle to reach
land, but permitted myself to be borne downward in the grip of the
water. Suddenly something drifted against my body, a black,
ill-defined object, tossing about on the swell of the waves, and
instinctively I grasped at it, recognizing instantly the shell of our
wrecked boat. It was all awash, a great hole stove in its side well
forward, and so filled with water the added weight of my body would
have sunk it instantly. Yet the thing remained buoyant enough to
float, and I clung to its stern, thankful even for this slight help.
There was no occasion for fear, although I became aware that the sweep
of the current was steadily bearing us further out toward the center of
the broad stream, and soon felt convinced that escape from my
predicament would be impossible until after daylight. I could perceive
absolutely nothing by which to shape a course, the sky above, and the
water beneath being equally black. Not a star glimmered overhead, and
no revealing spark of light appeared along either shore, or sparkled
across the river surface. The only sound to reach my ears was the soft
lapping of water against the side of the boat to which I clung. The
loneliness was complete; the intense blackness strained my eyes, and I
constantly felt as though some mysterious weight was dragging me down
into the depths. Yet the struggle to keep afloat was no longer
necessary, and my head sank in relief on the hands gripping at the
boat's stern, while we floated silently on through the black mystery.
I know not how long this lasted--it might have been for hours, as I
took no account of time. My mind seemed dazed, incapable of
consecutive thought although a thousand illogical conceptions flashed
through the brain, each in turn fading away into another, before I was
fully aware of its meaning. Occasionally some far-off noise aroused me
from lethargy, yet none of these could be identified, except once the
mournful cry of a wild animal far away to the right; while twice we
were tossed about in whirlpools, my grip nearly dislodged before the
mad water swept us again into the sturdy current. I think we must have
drifted close in toward the western shore, for once I imagined I could
vaguely distinguish the tops of trees outlined against the slightly
lighter sky. Yet this vision was so fleeting, I dare not loosen my
hold upon the boat to swim in that direction; and, even as I gazed in
uncertainty, the dim outline vanished as though it had been a dream,
and we were again being forced outward into the swirling waters.
Suddenly the wrecked boat's bow grated against something immovable;
then became fixed, the stern swinging slowly about, until it also
caught, and I could feel the full volume of down-pouring water pressing
against my body. It struck with such force I was barely able to work
my way forward along the side of the half-submerged craft in an effort
to ascertain what it was blocking our progress. Yet a moment later,
even in that darkness, and obliged to rely entirely upon the sense of
touch, the truth of my situation became clear. The blindly floating
boat had drifted upon a snag, seemingly the major portion of a tree,
now held by some spit of sand. I struggled vainly in an attempt to
release the grip which, held us, but the force of the current had
securely wedged the boat's bow beneath a limb, a bare, leafless
tentacle, making all my efforts useless. The ceaseless water rippled
about me, the only sound in the silent night, and despairing of any
escape, I found a submerged branch on which to stand, gripped the boat
desperately to prevent being swept away, and waited for the dawn.
It seemed a long while coming, and never did man gaze on a more dismal,
ghastly scene than was revealed to me by those first gray gleams dimly
showing in the far east. All about stretched utter desolation;
wherever my eyes turned, the vista was the same--a wide stretch of
restless, brown water surging and leaping past, bounded by low-lying
shores, forlorn and deserted. There was no smoke, no evidence of life
anywhere visible, no sign of habitation; all was wilderness. The snag
on which I rested was nearly in the center of the great river, an ugly
mass of dead wood, sodden with water, forking out of the stream, with
grotesque limbs thrust up into the air. The force of the current had
driven the nose of the boat so firmly beneath one branch as to sink it
below the surface, making it impossible to be freed. In the dull light
I struggled hopelessly to extricate the craft, my feet slipping on the
water-soaked log. Twice I fell into the stream, barely able to clamber
back again, but my best efforts were without results. The increase in
light gave me by this time a wider view of my surroundings, but brought
with it no increase of hope. I was utterly alone, and only by swimming
could I attain either bank.
How far I had aimlessly drifted down stream during the night was a mere
matter of conjecture. I possessed no knowledge of where I was. No
familiar object along shore afforded any clue as to my position, and I
could not even determine which bank offered me the greater chance of
assistance. Each appeared about equally bare and desolate, entirely
devoid of promise. However, I chose the west shore for my experiment,
as the current seemed less strong in that direction, and was about to
plunge in, determined to fight a way across, when my eyes suddenly
detected a faint wreath of smoke curling up into the pale sky above a
headland far to the southward. As I stared at this it became black and
distinct, tossed about in the wind. I watched intently, clinging to my
support, scarcely trusting my eyesight, while that first wisp deepened
into a cloud, advancing slowly toward me. There was no longer doubt of
what it was--unquestionably some steamer was pushing its course up
stream. Even before my ears could detect the far-off chug of the
engine, the boat itself rounded the sharp point of the headland, and
came forth into full view, heading out toward the middle of the river
in a search for deeper water.
It was an unusually large steamboat for those days, a lower river
packet I guessed, with two funnels painted yellow, and a high pilot
house, surmounted by a huge brazen eagle. At first, approaching me,
bow on, I could perceive but little of its dimensions, nor gain clear
view of the decks, but when it veered slightly these were revealed, and
I had a glimpse of a few figures grouped forward, the great wheel
astern splashing the water, and between a long row of windows
reflecting the glare of the early sun. Even as I gazed at this vision
a flag crept up the slender staff at the bow, and reaching the top
rippled out in the crisp breeze. A moment later I deciphered the
lettering across the white front of the pilot house, _Adventurer, of
Memphis_.
Indifferent at that moment as to where the approaching boat might be
bound, or my reception on board; desirous only of immediate escape from
my unfortunate predicament, I managed to remove my sodden coat, and
furiously wave it in the air as a signal. At first there was no
response, no evidence that I had even been seen; then slowly,
deliberately, the steamer changed its course, and came straight up the
river, struggling against the full strength of the current. I could
see a man step from out the pilot house onto the upper forward deck,
lean out over the rail, and speak to the others below, pointing toward
me across the water. A half-dozen grouped themselves at the bow, ready
for action, their figures growing more sharply defined as the
struggling craft approached. The man above stood shading his eyes with
one hand, and gesticulating with the other. Finally the sound of his
voice reached me.
"Hey! you out there! If you can swim, jump for it. I'm not going to
run into that snag."
I measured the distance between us with my eye, and leaped as far out
as possible, striking out with lusty strokes. The swift current swung
me about like a chip, and swept me downward in spite of every struggle.
I was squarely abreast of the boat, already caught in her suction, and
being drawn straight in toward her wheel, when the looped end of a
flying noose struck my shoulder.
"Keep your head, lad!" roared out a hoarse voice. "Hang on now, an'
we'll get yer."
It was such a rush, such a breathless, desperate struggle, I can
scarcely recall the details. All I really remember is that I gripped
the rope, and clung; was dragged under again and again; was flung
against the steamer's side, seemingly losing all consciousness, yet
dimly realizing that outstretched hands grasped me, and lifted me up by
main strength to the narrow footway, dropping me there in the pool of
water oozing from my clothes. Someone spoke, lifting my head on his
arm, in answer to a hail from above.
"Yes, he's all right, sir; just a bit groggy. What'll we do with him?"
"Bring him along up to Haines' cabin, and get him the old suit in my
room. You might warm him up with a drink first. You tend to it,
Mapes."
The liquor I drank out of a bottle burnt like fire, but brought me new
strength, so that, with Mapes' help, I got to my feet, and stared about
at the group of faces surrounding us. They were those of typical river
men, two negroes and three whites, ragged, dirty, and disreputable.
Mapes was so bushily bearded, that about all I could perceive of his
face was the eyes, yet these were intelligent, and I instantly picked
him out as being the mate.
"How long yer all bin roostin' on thet snag?" he questioned, evidently
somewhat amused. "Dem me, stranger, if I ever see thet sorter thing
done afore."
"I was caught there last night," I answered, unwilling to say more,
"Boat got snagged in the dark, and went down."
"Live round yere, I reckon?"
"No; just floating. Came down the Illinois. Where is this steamer
bound?"
"Hell alone knows," dryly. "Yeller Banks furst, enyhow; we're loaded
with supplies."
"Supplies! For Yellow Banks?" in surprise. "Why; what's going on
there? My friend, there aren't ten families within a hundred miles of
that place."
Mapes laughed, his mouth opening like a red gash, exhibiting a row of
yellow fangs.
"No, I reckon not; but thar's a hell ov a lot o' fellers thar whut
ain't families, but kin eat. Didn't yer know, pardner, thar's a right
smart war on? thet the Illinoy militia is called out, an' is a marchin'
now fer Yeller Banks? They're liable fer ter be thar too afore ever
this damn scow makes it, if we hav' ter stop an' pick eny mor' blame
fools outer the river. Come on, let's go up."
"Wait a minute. This is an Indian war? Black Hawk has broken loose?"
"Sure; raised perticular hell. We heerd down et Saint Louee he'd
killed 'bout a hundred whites, an' burned sum ov 'em--ther ol' devil."
"And where is he now?"
"Dunno; never wus up in yer afore. We bin runnin' 'tween Saint Louee
an' New Orleans, 'till the Gov'ment took us. Maybe the captain kin
tell yer--sumwhar up Rock River, I reckon, wharever that is."
We climbed the steep steps to the upper deck, and were met at the head
of the ladder by the captain, evidently desirous of looking me over.
He was a solidly-built individual, wearing white side-whiskers, and a
bulbous nose, and confronted me not altogether pleasantly.
"All right, are you? Water pretty cold yet, I reckon. Been sticking
on that snag for long?"
"Several hours; but my boat was wrecked before we lodged there."
The captain laughed, and winked aside at the mate.
"Seems to be a mighty populous river up this way, hey, Mapes?" he
remarked genially. "Castaways round every bend."
"What do you mean? Have you picked up others?"
"Certainly have. Hit a keel-boat twenty miles below."
"A keel-boat, operated by steam?"
"Couldn't say as to that. Was it, Mapes? The craft had gone down when
I got on deck. Had four aboard, but we got 'em all off, an' stowed 'em
back there in the texas. You better get along now, and shuck those wet
clothes."