THE LANDING AT YELLOW BANKS
Nevertheless, in spite of this resolve, and the fresh courage which had
been awakened within me by the faith that from now on I battled for the
love of Eloise Beaucaire, no immediate opportunity for service came.
All that the dark girl knew of her present whereabouts was that she had
been lifted on board, and, in all probability, taken below. Certainly
the girl had not been cabined on the upper deck; nor was I at present
in any position to seek openly the place of her confinement. I could
only wait patiently, and observe.
Supper was served me in front of the boilers, in company with the rest
of the crew. Later, I was assigned a sleeping space on the lower deck,
barely wide enough to lie in, and was permitted to sit among the
others, under the uptilt of the swinging gangway, listening to their
boisterousness, and rough play, or watching the dusk of evening descend
over the deserted waters, as the laboring steamer battled against the
current. It was a still, black night, and the _Adventurer_ made
extremely slow progress, a leadsman at the bow calling off the depth of
water, and a huge light, rather ingeniously arranged, casting a finger
of radiance along the ghostly shore line. With no marks of guidance on
either bank, the wheelsman felt his uncertain passage upward, advancing
so cautiously progress was scarcely noticeable, and I could frequently
distinguish the voice of the anxious captain from the upper deck, above
the hiss of the steam, as he called some hasty warning. In all
probability we should have eventually been compelled to tie up against
the bank, and await daylight, but for the disappearance of the heavy
masses of clouds overhead, and the welcome gleam of myriads of stars,
reflected along the smooth surface of the water.
Three times, at intervals, I made an effort to explore the second deck,
but each time met with failure to accomplish my object. The narrow
space extending between rail and cabin never seemed entirely deserted,
and my last attempt brought me face to face with Mapes, who very curtly
ordered me below, accompanying his command with a profane request to
remain there. To protest, and thus possibly arouse the mate's
suspicion as to the purpose of my presence on board, would have
resulted in greater damage to our cause than any probable peril of the
coming night. So I obeyed without a word, deeming it best to lie down
quietly in the space allotted, and endeavor to think out some feasible
plan for the morrow, rather than be caught again prowling around
blindly in the dark. To assist me in this decision Mapes hung about
the lower deck, until satisfied that I had actually turned in.
But I made no effort to sleep, and my mind remained busy. Even in the
course of those brief excursions I had acquired some little information
of value, and of a nature to leave me more at ease. I was now
convinced that Kirby, whatever might be his ultimate purpose regarding
the girl, had no present intention of doing her further injury. He
contemplated no immediate attempt at forcible possession, and would be
well satisfied if he could only continue to hold her in strict
seclusion. The thing he was guarding against now, and while they
remained on board, was escape from discovery.
I could easily understand the reason for this. He dare not expose her
to the view of others, or permit her the slightest opportunity to
appeal to them for rescue. Whether the man still believed her to be of
negro blood, or not, the girl's unusual appearance would be certain to
exercise more weight than his unsupported word--her refined, Caucasian
face, the purity of her language, her simple story, would assuredly win
an instant response from many of those on board. These waters were too
far to the northward to be a safe hiding place for slave-hunters, and
Kirby must be fully aware--knowing the characteristics of the river as
he did--that his only security lay in keeping this woman in seclusion,
carefully hidden away under lock and key, until he held her completely
in his power, in a land where slavery was king. Then he could play the
brute, but not here. I was convinced the man possessed brains and
caution enough to deliberately choose this course--to do otherwise
would mark him a fool, and that was not to be thought of. Even his
reckless bravado would never drive him into an utterly unnecessary
peril. All that he planned to accomplish later, could wait; but now
his only purpose was to protect her from observation; to encourage his
fellow-travelers to even forget that he had any slaves on board. There
was a game of cards going on in the salon, in which he was
participating, but Tim, not concerned in it, was wandering back and
forth, up and down the ladder, watchful of every movement about the two
decks, and making it extremely difficult for anyone to pass his guard.
Satisfied as to this, and being intensely weary from my night without
rest, and the hard work of the day, before I even realized the
possibility, I fell sound asleep.
It was about the middle of the following afternoon when the
_Adventurer_ poked her blunt nose around a point of land, and came into
full view of the squalid hamlet of Yellow Banks. A half-hour later we
lay snuggled up against the shore, holding position amid several other
boats made fast to stout trees, busily unloading, and their broad
gangplanks stretching from forward deck to bank. All about was a scene
of confusion and bustle, mud, and frontier desolation. Inspired by the
ceaseless profanity of both mates, the roustabouts began unloading
cargo at once, a steady stream of men, black and white, burdened with
whatever load they could snatch up, moving on an endless run across the
stiff plank, and up the low bank to the drier summit. It chanced to be
my good fortune to escape this labor, having been detailed by Mapes to
drag boxes, bales and barrels forward to where the hurrying bearers
could grasp them more readily. This brought me close to the forward
stairs, down which the departing passengers trooped, threading their
insecure way among the trotting laborers, in an effort to get ashore.
All this deck was sufficiently unobstructed so as to afford me glimpses
without, and for some distance along the bank; and it was not difficult
for one with military training quickly to sense the situation,
especially as I overheard much of the conversation between Mapes and
the young lieutenant quartermaster who immediately came aboard. A more
desolate, God-forsaken spot than Yellow Banks I never saw. It had been
raining hard, and the slushy clay stuck to everything it touched; the
men were bathed in it, their boots so clogged they could hardly walk,
while what few horses I saw were yellow to their eyes. The passengers
going ashore waded ankle deep the moment they stepped off the plank,
and rushes and dried grass had been thrown on the ground to protect the
cargo. Only three log houses were visible, miserable shacks, one of
them a saloon, evidently doing a thriving business. In most cases it
was impossible to distinguish the civilian inhabitants from their
soldier guests. Reynolds' troops, all militia, and the greater part of
them mounted, were an extremely sorry-looking lot--sturdy enough
physically, of the pioneer type, but bearing little soldierly
appearance, and utterly ignorant of discipline. They had been hastily
gathered together at Beardstown, and, without drill, marched across
country to this spot. Whatever of organization had been attempted was
worked out en route, the men being practically without uniforms, tents,
or even blankets, while the arms they bore represented every separate
species ever invented. I saw them straggle past with long squirrel
rifles, Hessian muskets, and even one fellow proudly bearing a
silver-mounted derringer. The men had chosen officers from out their
own ranks by popular election, and these exercised their authority very
largely through physical prowess.
We had an excellent illustration of this soon after tying up at the
landing. A tall, lank, ungainly officer, with a face so distinctively
homely as to instantly attract my attention, led his company of men up
the river bank, and ordered them to transport the pile of commissary
stores from where they had been promiscuously thrown to a drier spot
farther back. The officer was a captain, to judge from certain stripes
of red cloth, sewed on the shoulders of his brown jean blouse, but his
men were far from prompt in obeying his command, evidently having no
taste for the job. One among them, apparently their ringleader in
incipient mutiny, an upstanding bully with the jaw of a prize-fighter,
took it upon himself openly to defy the officer, exclaiming profanely
that he'd be damned if he ever enlisted to do nigger work. The others
laughed, and joined in the revolt, until the captain unceremoniously
flung off his blouse, thus divesting himself of every vestige of rank,
and proceeded to enforce his authority. It was a battle royal, the
soldiers crowding eagerly about, and yelling encouragement impartially
first to one combatant, and then another.
"Kick him in the ribs, Sam!"
"Now, Abe, yer've got him--crack the damn cuss's neck."
"By golly! that's the way we do it in ol' Salem."
"He's got yer now, Jenkins, he's got yer now--good boy, Abe."
Exactly what occurred I could not see, but when the circle of wildly
excited men finally broke apart, the big rebel was lying flat on his
back in the yellow mud, and the irate officer was indicating every
inclination to press him down out of sight.
"Hav' yer hed 'nough, Sam Jenkins?" he questioned, breathlessly.
"Then, blame ye, say so."
"All right, Abe--yer've bested me this time."
"Will yer tote them passels?"
The discomfited Jenkins, one of whose eyes was closed, and full of
clay, attempted a sickly grin.
"Hell! yes," he admitted, "I'd sure admire ter dew it."
The conqueror released his grip, and stood up, revealing his full
height, and reaching out for the discarded blouse, quietly slipped it
on. One of the _Adventurer's_ passengers, an officer in uniform, going
ashore, another tall, spare man, had halted on the gangplank to watch
the contest. Now he stepped forward to greet the victor, with smiling
eyes and outstretched hand.
"Not so badly done, Captain," he said cordially. "I am Lieutenant
Jefferson Davis, of General Atcheson's staff, and may have a good word
to say regarding your efficiency some time."
The other wiped his clay-bespattered fingers on his dingy Jean pants,
and gripped the offered hand, appearing homelier than ever because of a
smear of blood on one cheek.
"Thank ye, sir," he answered good humoredly. "I'm Abe Lincoln, of
Salem, Illinoy, an' I ain't got but just one job right now--that's ter
make them boys tote this stuff, an' I reckon they're goin' ter do it."
With the exchange of another word or two they parted, and not until
thirty years later did I realize what that chance meeting meant, there
in the clay mud of Yellow Banks, at the edge of the Indian wilderness,
when Abraham Lincoln, of Illinois, and Jefferson Davis, of Mississippi,
stood in comradeship with clasped hands.
I recognized the majority of those disembarking passengers who passed
by me within a few feet, but saw nothing of Kirby, the deputy sheriff,
or caught any glimpse of their prisoners. The only conclusion was that
they still remained on board. I was not at all surprised at this, as
their intention undoubtedly was to continue with the steamer, and
return south the moment the cargo of commissary and quartermaster's
stores had been discharged. Neither had any interest in the war, and
there was nothing ashore to attract them which could not be comfortably
viewed from the upper deck. It was safer far to keep close guard over
their charges, and see that they remained out of sight.
We had unloaded perhaps a quarter of our supplies, when an officer
suddenly appeared over the crest of the bank and hailed the captain.
There was a tone of authority in his voice which caused us to knock off
work and listen.
"Is Captain Corcoran there? Oh, you are Captain Corcoran. Well, I
bring orders from headquarters. You are to discontinue unloading,
Captain, retain the remainder of the provisions on board, and prepare
at once to take on men. What's your capacity?"
"Take on men? Soldiers, you mean?"
"Exactly; we've got to find quarters for about seven hundred. Two of
those boats up yonder will take horses. The troops will be along
within an hour."
"We are not to return south, then?"
"No; you're going in the other direction--up the Rock. You better get
busy."
He wheeled his horse and disappeared, leaving the angry captain venting
his displeasure on the vacant air. Kirby, evidently from some position
across the deck, broke in with a sharp question.
"What was that, Corcoran? Did the fellow say you were not going back
to St. Louis?"
"That's just what he said. Damn this being under military orders.
We've got to nose our way up Rock River, with a lot of those measly
soldiers aboard. It's simply hell. Here you, Mapes, stop that
unloading, and get steam up--we've got to put in a night of it."
"But," insisted Kirby in disgust, "I'm not going up there; aren't there
any boats going down?"
"How the hell should I know? Go ashore and find out--you haven't
anything else to do. According to what he said, this boat casts off in
half an hour and heads north."
The men below knocked off work willingly enough, and, taking advantage
of the confusion on board, I endeavored to creep up the stairs and gain
a view of the upper deck. But both Mapes and the second mate made this
attempt impossible, forcing me into the ranks of the others, and
compelling us to restow the cargo. The methods they adopted to induce
sluggards to take hold were not gentle ones, and we were soon jumping
at the snarl of their voices, as though each utterance was the crack of
a whip. By a little diplomacy, I managed, however, to remain within
general view of the gangway and the stairs descending from the deck
above, confident that no one could pass me unseen. This watch brought
no results, except to convince me that Kirby and his party still
remained aboard. So far as I could perceive, no attempt to depart was
made by anyone, excepting a big fellow with a red moustache, who swore
profanely as he struggled through the mud, dragging a huge valise.
The situation puzzled and confused me. What choice would Kirby and the
deputy make? If once up Rock River the _Adventurer_ might very likely
not return for weeks, and it did not seem to me possible that the
impatient gambler would consent to such a delay. Every advance
northward brought with it a new danger of exposure. These were
Illinois troops to be transported--not regulars, but militia, gathered
from a hundred hamlets--and many among them would be open enemies of
slavery. Let such men as these, rough with the pioneer sense of
justice, once suspect the situation of those two women, especially if
the rumor got abroad among them that Eloise was white, and the
slave-hunter would have a hard row to hoe. And I made up my mind such
a rumor should be sown broadcast; aye, more, that, if the necessity
arose, I would throw off my own disguise and front him openly with the
charge. Seemingly there remained nothing else to do, and I outlined
this course of action, growing more confident as the minutes sped, that
the two men had determined to take their chances and remain aboard with
the prisoners. No doubt they hesitated to leap from the frying pan
into the fire, for perilous as it might prove to continue as passengers
of the _Adventurer_, an even greater danger might confront them ashore,
in that undisciplined camp. Aboard the steamer they could keep their
victims safely locked in the cabins, unseen, their presence unknown;
while probably Captain Corcoran and his two mates, all southern men,
would protect their secret. It seemed to me that this, most likely,
had been the final decision reached, and I determined to stick also,
prepared to act at the earliest opportunity. I could do no more.
It was only an accident which gave me a clue to the real program.
Mapes sent me back into the vacant space just forward of the
paddle-wheel, seeking a lost cant-hook, and, as I turned about to
return the missing tool in my hand, I paused a moment to glance
curiously out through a slit in the boat's planking, attracted by the
sound of a loud voice uttering a command. I was facing the shore, and
a body of men, ununiformed, slouching along with small regard to order,
but each bearing a rifle across his shoulder, were just tipping the
ridge and plowing their way down through the slippery clay in the
direction of the forward gangway. They were noisy, garrulous, profane,
their mingled voices drowning the shouts of their officers, yet
advanced steadily--the troops destined for Rock River were filing
aboard. I saw the column clearly enough, all the soldier in me
revolting to such criminal lack of discipline, and the thought of
hurling such untrained men as these into Indian battle. Yet, although
I saw, not for an instant did my gaze linger on their disordered ranks.
The sight which held me motionless was rather that of a long, broad
plank, protected on either side by a rope rail, stretching from the
slope of the second deck across the narrow gulf of water, until it
rested its other end firmly against the bank.
The meaning of this was sufficiently apparent. For some reason of his
own, Kirby had evidently chosen this means of attaining the shore, and
through personal friendship, Corcoran had consented to aid his purpose.
The reason, plainly enough, was that by use of this stern gangway the
landing party would be enabled to attain the bank without the necessity
of pushing their way through the crowd of idle loungers forward. And
the passage had just been accomplished, for, as my eyes focussed the
scene, they recognized the spare figure of the deputy disappearing over
the crest--a vague glimpse, but sufficient. At the same instant hands
above began to draw in the plank.
There was but one thing for me to do, one action to take--follow them.
Dropping the cant-hook, I turned aft and crept forth through a small
opening onto the wooden frame which supported the motionless
paddlewheel, choosing for the scene of operations the river side, where
the boat effectively concealed my movements from any prying eyes
ashore. Everyone aboard would be clustered forward, curiously watchful
of that line of soldiers filing across the gangplank and seeking
quarters upon deck. The only danger of observation lay in some
straggler along the near-by bank. I lowered myself the full length of
my arms, dangling there an instant by clinging to the framework; then
loosened my grip and dropped silently into the rushing waters beneath.