Front matter (continued 2)

Without waiting for an answer, I turned upon the path, and once more stepping over the bars, went back toward the beech-woods.

I rejoined the pigeon-shooting party with a zest for the sport I had not hitherto felt.

No one was made the wiser of what had happened; nor did I care to communicate to my host, how near he had been to having the expense of providing a coffin for his stranger guest!

On our return to the house we found Miss Woodley alone.

Where was Mr. Bradley? inquired her brother.

He had been there, but had taken his horse, and was gone.

Henry thought this nothing strange. He was an odd sort of fellow was Nat Bradley, and did queer things sometimes.

I was not surprised at his unexplained departure. After that interview with the mistress of the mansion, he would not be likely soon to show himself there again.

There was little said about it, and I could see that Miss Woodley had no suspicion of my having overheard what had passed between her and her rejected suitor.

For my part I intended to keep her secret. I was too contented at what I had heard to spoil my pleasure by divulging it, and unless Bradley himself should choose to demand explanations from me, I intended to leave the matter as it stood. Of course I could not help speculating upon what course he would take as regarded myself. Would he submit tamely to the treatment I had given him? Noted bully as he was, I might have expected a challenge, or what was more likely in that land of pseudo-chivalry, an "affair," that is, a rough fight with guns, knives, and pistols. Why it had not come off upon the spot, I could understand, or at all events I had conjectured. His rifle was empty, its last load having been discharged at my own person. He appeared to be unprovided with pistols—these weapons, perhaps, not being deemed appropriate for making a proposal of marriage. Unarmed, and taken by surprise by my sudden appearance, he had permitted me to depart without an encounter.

I supposed, however, it would come off sooner or later, and I waited for a communication.

But the next day passed, and there was none; and the next after, till a whole week had transpired without any word from Mr. Nat Bradley.

I made up my mind I should hear no more of him, and concluded that in this case the bully was also a coward.

CHAPTER XIV.

A SURLY SKIPPER.

The grand bear "battue" came off, and I participated in the sport. I enjoyed it all the more that Nat Bradley was not one of the hunters. Had he been so, I might have been mistaken for a bear, and got a bullet through my body. But he was not upon the ground, and I was saved from such apprehensions.

For a time I saw nothing more of him, as he did not come near the house. There were letters, moreover, received by my host, which I fancied were from him. I thought so from having caught sight of the messenger who carried them. He was the negro who had brought back the horse.

After reading them, my host appeared suddenly affected with low spirits. I could guess the nature of the correspondence. No doubt it related to the gambling debt of which the creditor was now spitefully claiming payment. I was happy in thinking it was no worse. For myself I was no longer unhappy, except in the thought of parting from that pleasant companionship to which chance had introduced me.

A change had come over my sentiments. So far from seeking an excuse for hurrying away, I was now thinking of one by which I might gracefully prolong my stay. A somewhat singular one suggested itself. I became seized with the fancy to make a voyage upon a flat-boat! In this way I could glide down to New Orleans, leaving my horse to be sent by steamer!

In truth I had such a fancy; though I confess I might not have gone so far as to attempt indulging it, but for the sake of the little stratagem that had suggested itself. I knew that the cotton-boat was coming down from Tennessee, and was to call at the plantation. It was to bring barrels of apples, sacks of walnuts, and other etceteras that do not thrive in the semi-tropical lowlands of the Mississippi. Moreover it was to take thence some packages of skins—the spoils of bucks, bears and panthers, which the hunting planter was in the habit of sending annually to New Orleans.

A week or two might elapse before the flat could be expected; and if I insisted on carrying out my caprice I could take passage upon that.

Such was my scheme.

It succeeded, and I found a plea for prolonging that intercourse, too pleasant to be easily interrupted.

Another week elapsed—it seemed only a day—and the Tennessee flat was reported at the landing. I could have wished it upon a snag, five hundred miles up-stream.

There was no help for it. The time had come for taking departure.

The peltries of the hunting planter were sent aboard, along with my own traps—these consisting of a spare suit of clothes, my chase trophies collected during my stay, and a stock of comestibles to serve me during a three-days' river voyage.

Bidding an adieu to Miss Woodley, which was not designed to be the last, I walked toward the landing, my host going along with me.

On reaching the river-bank, we found the crew of the flat engaged in getting the peltries aboard. I was a little surprised, and more than a little chagrined, to discover that the captain of the craft was no other than Mr. Black, her builder, whose uncivil behavior in Tennessee had caused mean unpleasant reminiscence. Stinger, too, was there acting as his mate, the hands, four in number, being negroes from Squire Woodley's plantation.

The discovery caused me to repent of my design—a voyage of three hundred miles in such company did not promise much pleasure, and I regretted my rashness in having proposed it.

It was too late, however, to recede, though I was not long in discovering that the captain of the craft would have been delighted by my doing so.

Every thing had been got aboard, the packages of skins, with the large case containing the souvenirs of my hunting achievements; but my personal luggage and the provision-hamper still rested on the shore, presided over by the plantation darky who had conveyed them to the landing.

The crew of the flat appeared to take no notice of these last, but were standing as if ready to draw in the plank.

"Mr. Black—I believe that is your name?" said my host, addressing himself to the ci-devant boat-builder—"I've brought you a passenger. I hope you'll contrive to make him comfortable on the voyage."

"A passenger!" exclaimed the man, pretending surprise, for the negroes must have told him I was coming. "There ar'n't room for a passenger, Mr. Woodley."

"Oh, nonsense! You must make room, somehow or other."

"The bit o' caboose we hev air arredy crowded. Thar's me and Mr. Stinger in't, and thar's hardly room among the bales for the niggers to streetch themselves."

"You can roll two or three of the bales out upon the roof. You haven't far to take them now. By spreading a bit of tarpaulin over them, they'll get no harm."

"We hain't got no tarpaulin—neery a rag."

"Have some of my skins then; they will do admirably."

This proposal placed the captain of the flat in a dilemma. It was evident he did not wish me to proceed in his company, while at the same time he was at a loss for some reasonable objection that he might urge against my going.

What was causing his reluctance? I could guess. Neither could the planter, who, at first surprised, soon became indignant.

"Come! Mr. Black," he said, "this boat is my father's property, and therefore in some sense mine. My friend has expressed a wish to go down upon it, and I have given him a promise he shall; I must therefore insist upon your making the arrangement I propose, and taking him. Set your men to work and roll two or three cotton-bales out upon the roof."

To this Mr. Black replied that the cotton would get spoiled, and that he'd be in trouble with the broker to whom it was consigned.

"I'll be answerable for that," was the response of the young planter.

Since I had been his guest, I had not seen Henry Woodley in such a temper. He seemed to think that his character as a host was at stake, and felt the indignity of Black's behavior.

As his blood was up, I could see it would be of no use, my proposing to stay behind. Nor, indeed, had I any intention of doing so. Uninviting as was the prospect of making a three hundred miles' voyage in such surly companionship, I was now all the more determined upon it. I had originally committed myself to it as a subterfuge for prolonging my stay at the plantation, and although here was now an additional excuse, I could not creditably make use of it. To trudge back with my traps, and tell Miss Woodley the reason why, would be a humiliation I was not prepared to undergo. Sooner than do that, I would have consented to sleep sub Jove on the roof of the flat, with only my cloak to couch and cover me.

I was quite as indignant at the interruption as my friend—perhaps more determined that it should not stay me; and had the captain of the flat-boat held out any longer, he would have heard a little bit of my mind.

As it was, he reluctantly yielded to the remonstrances already made to him, and consented to receive me as a passenger.

It was now discovered that there would be sleeping-room enough, without disturbing the cotton-bales; and my traps were taken aboard and carried into the "cabin."

An apology for what had happened on the part of the young planter—a promise on my part to revisit him in the spring—a hearty hand-shake between us, and I was afloat upon the "Father of Waters," passenger in a "flat."

CHAPTER XV.

UNSOCIABLE COMPANIONS.

Slow as was our progress, it was made slower by the eccentric action of our steersman—who, for the first six hours, was the second officer of the boat—Mr. Stinger. Instead of keeping in the current, he appeared desirous of shunning it, now hugging one shore, now shooting across and holding for a time to the other.

About five miles below the plantation we had left, he brought to against the bank, Black leaping ashore and making the hawser fast around a tree. There was no appearance of a landing, nor settlement of any kind—nothing but the wild woods.

After a whispered communication with his steersman, but without a word to me, the captain of the craft disappeared among the palmettoes, leaving his crew to the tender mercies of the musketoes.

He was absent about two hours. When he returned, and the flat was once more set free, the steersman resumed his old style of seesawing from side to side, and keeping carefully out of the current.

It might be from prudence at that particular part of the river; "snags," invisible to my inexperienced eye, might be the cause of this crooked navigation.

I could not think so; but, from the relations that existed between us, I was hindered from making inquiry, either as to that, or why Mr. Black had so long absented himself.

I addressed myself to one of the negroes, whom I remembered having seen upon the Tennessee plantation. But the darky seemed to know no more than myself. He replied, with a puzzled expression:

"Doan' no why Mass' Stinger am a-toatin' de ole boat 'bout so; I 'pose he hab some reezan. Maybe dar's danger 'bout hyar 'mong de snags an' de sawyers."

My own explanation was different, though, as afterward proved, not any nearer the truth. I fancied that Mr. Black had made up his mind to punish me for forcing my company upon him. He would do it by making these delays and detours, and so playing upon my patience, drive me ashore, at Natchez, Point Coupee, or some other stopping-place for steamboats.

Had this been his design, it would have succeeded. Long before night I had become sick both of my company and quarters, and intended to escape from them at the very first landing, where I might wait for some down-river steamboat.

Indeed, the thought had been in my mind at the moment of embarking. I did not declare it, as I knew it would humiliate my late host to think that the brute Black had beaten us. Now that I was alone, there was no reason why I should continue to endure the inconvenience of such a voyage. By going ashore at Natchez, I could put an end to it, and the Woodleys need be none the wiser.

All through the afternoon the zigzagging continued, and I think we must have crossed and recrossed about a score of times. It seemed a slow way of carrying Squire Woodley's cotton crop to its destination. At the rate we were progressing, it would be midwinter before our craft touched the levee of New Orleans.

When the sun set, we were not ten miles below the place of my embarkation. I conjectured this from not having seen the island where we had shot the eagle; though it was possible we might have passed without my recognizing it.

During the daylight I had contrived to kill time with my gun. Waterfowl were constantly flushing up before the boat, and land-birds flying across the river, and I amused myself by shooting them.

Now it was an osprey soaring above the stream; now a white egret or a blue heron perched upon the point of some sand-bar, or sailing along upon a drift-log.

Once I got a shot at the great Mississippi crane, and brought the bird down upon the water; but as the uncivil skipper would not allow his skiff to retrieve it, I had to lose my game.

The shooting, however, proved excellent sport. Indeed, it was partly in expectation of this I had first thought of making such a voyage.

When night came on I could not continue it; and I was forced to think of some other resource for destroying time.

There was no other. Conversation with such a crew was out of the question, and I was without books—even had it been possible to read them by the light of a dull tallow dip that burned in the hole called "caboose." I could not endure to stay in this noisome hole, in the company of four chattering negroes, who for some reason had been ordered to remain below. The two white men kept to the roof; and thither I repaired, intending to spend at least a portion of the night in the open air.

Though the day had been one of the hottest, it was now cool enough for heavy covering—the chill air of the swamp sweeping along the surface of the stream.

Unpacking my cloak I threw it over my shoulders and closed the clasp. There was sufficient breeze to make this precaution necessary. Then igniting a cigar, I commenced pacing to and fro over the rounded roof of the ark.

I soon discovered there was not much comfort in this. The night was dark, the planking uneven, and I was in danger of stumbling overboard.

I stopped, and taking stand near the edge, bent my eyes over the broad stream, watching the fire-flies as they flitted like sparks along the wooded shore, whose outlines I could barely trace through the darkness.

For a time I found distraction for my thoughts in listening to the many voices of Nature, sonorous around me. From the bank I could hear the barking of the wolf, and once or twice a catlike call which I supposed to be the cougar.

But the night-birds were more noisy, and rising above the constant "skirl" of the crickets, I could distinguish the trumpet-like note of the wild swan, the "honk" of the gander, and the plaintive call of the bull-bat.

For a long time I stood listening to these mingled voices—the psalmody of Nature. There were no human sounds to hinder me from hearing them. The four negroes were below, and the two white men upon the deck were silent as specters. I could see them standing together by the shaft of the long steering-oar, which, resting upon its pivot, traversed the boat longitudinally, reaching almost from stem to stern. They appeared to converse, but in a tone so low I could not hear what they were saying.

I had placed myself as far as possible from them, having no wish to court the companionship of such an unsocial couple.

Though carried on in whispers, I noticed that their conversation was of an earnest kind. I could tell this by their attitudes. Was it about me?

Despite the obscurity that surrounded them, I could see that their faces were turned toward me. I knew that they were chafed at my having come aboard against their will, though for what reason I was still unable to guess.

Beyond the incivility which they had already shown in every possible way, I expected nothing more. It seemed too ridiculous to apprehend danger.

And yet, at that moment, something of the kind stole into my thoughts. I had heard enough of these Mississippi boatmen to believe them capable of any thing—even of committing murder.

But why should these men murder me? My baggage was not big enough; and they had no reason to believe I carried money upon my person, in a sum sufficient to tempt them to such a crime.

Besides, there were the negroes, Squire Woodley's own slaves; such an attempt could not be made without their knowing of it. The thought was preposterous; and I dismissed it from my mind as soon as conceived.

And still I could not make out why the two were talking so earnestly. Their gestures, too, which I could just discern through the dim light, admonished me that some strange circumstance was being discussed between them. It could not be the guiding of the boat. Ever since nightfall they had ceased "quartering" the stream. The steering-oar was at rest, and the flat was gliding smoothly on, at the rate of four miles to the hour—the current at this place being unusually rapid. It could not be that.

By this time my cigar had nearly burnt out. Groping for another, I discovered I had left my case in the cabin. In going to get it, I passed close to where the two men were standing. Black had hold of the oar-handle, while Stinger was lounging at his elbow.

I had the cigar-stump still in my teeth—the remains of a good Havana, with a red coal at the end of it. I was curious to have a look at the fellows; and passing close to them, I increased the luminosity of the cigar by giving it a strong puff or two.

Never had such a faint light shone upon two more ill-favored faces. Both appeared distorted by some passion of a criminal kind; and, could I have imagined any motive for their murdering me, I might have believed at that moment, that such was their intention!

CHAPTER XVI.

A MAN OVERBOARD.

On descending into the "caboose," I found the four negroes stretched out and snoring. They had worked hard at the steering-oar while making these eccentric traverses, which even they did not understand. Poor wretches! had they known what was in store for them, they would not have gone to sleep. Even fatigue could not have overcome them.

The dip was burning dimly, and by its light I had some difficulty in finding my cigar-case. I laid my hands upon it at length, and drawing forth a fresh weed, kindled it at the cumulus of smoking wick.

For a moment I hesitated as to whether I should return to the roof, or take my seat upon a chest that formed part of the furniture of the cabin.

The stench decided me. The odor of greasy cooking-utensils, combined with that emanating from the shirts of four sweating Africans, was too powerful to be put down by the perfume of the best Havana, and I preferred returning to the roof.

As I ascended the steps, I heard a scrambling above me, as if the two men were struggling with the steering-oar.

I could not guess what it meant, and was all the more surprised at seeing them—as soon as the darkness permitted—exactly in the same spot where I had left them. Black was still grasping the handle of the oar, Stinger standing at his elbow.

I was about passing on to the stem, and had got between them and the beam, when I heard the former exclaim: "H—l fire! we'll be on a snag!"

At the same instant I saw him rush toward me, pressing the oar in front of him.

Before I had time to get out of the way, the huge piece of timber struck me in the ribs; and but that I had caught hold of it I should have been precipitated into the water.

My hold did not avail me, nor was it the intention of that ruffian steersman that it should.

"Let go!" he cried. "Let go, d—n ye, or ye'll have us on the snag!"

As he spoke, I saw his right hand raised from the oar, and then descending toward me. By the light of my cigar, still between my teeth, I saw the gleaming of steel. At the same time I felt a stinging sensation in my shoulder, the arm seemed to become suddenly paralyzed, my grasp became relaxed, and I fell back downward into the river!

For a second or two my cloak sustained me, but before I could turn upon my face and strike out to swim, the huge ark swept over me, sending me far below the surface. A loud drumming in my ears, a choking sensation in my throat—the sensation of drowning!

I came again to the surface, but without any clear idea of where I was, or what had happened me. It appeared like a horrible dream from which I was not yet awakened.

Soon my senses returned; I remembered having fallen from the flat; and then, that I had been pushed from it; and then, how I had struggled to save myself from going over; and then, why I had not succeeded.

During this process of thought, I was kept above water less by my own efforts, than by the cloak that covered my shoulders, and the rapid current that carried me along. But for these I might have gone back to the bottom, never more to rise. On attempting to swim, I found that my right arm was of no use to me.

I looked around for the flat, though without any design to recover footing upon it. It was no longer near me, nor in sight. Carried swiftly on by the current, it had disappeared in the darkness.

I did not shout to make known my situation. I had sufficiently recovered my senses to know that on board the boat there might be as much danger to me as in the water. Perhaps more; and I preferred trusting to the stream.

Working the cloak to the right side, so as to leave my left arm free, I struck out with it; not to swim, but simply to keep my head above water. In this way I glided on with the current.

I could not have kept long afloat. I felt I was each moment growing feebler; and with the utmost difficulty could save myself from sinking.

The surging current carried me along, but not toward the bank. I saw no bank; for that matter I might as well have been in the middle of the ocean.

Even had the shore been in sight, I could have done nothing to approach it. I could have made no effort beyond that I was making—just sufficient to sustain myself on the surface.

I should soon sink. I began to feel certain of it—to contemplate it with a sort of resignation. Quicker than the changes of a kaleidoscope, the scenes of my past life came before me. Father, mother, sisters, and brothers, were all at that moment remembered, and she whom I had late left. Oh! it was agony to think I should never see her again!

While giving way to this despairing thought, something struck me from behind. I felt some hard substance pressing against my thigh. It caused a thrill through my flesh, for it was a contact unexplained and unnatural. I could think only of one thing, the snout of an alligator! I knew that I was now in that part of the Mississippi where this hideous saurian held his midnight revels.

Instinctively I increased my speed, but to no purpose; the bony proboscis still rubbed against my thigh. In another moment I should feel the huge jaws harshly closing upon and crushing it like a reed!

With an effort I turned round, to meet the monster face to face. In this way I preferred perishing.

In another moment I lay with my left arm clasped around it, embracing it as I might my dearest friend, as if it had been—

What I had mistaken for an ugly alligator, was a floating tree-trunk; like myself rudely flung upon the flood, but with a buoyancy far surpassing mine.

The log proved light enough to sustain not only itself, but faint sinking me; and straddling it longitudinally, I gave myself up to the current with a gratitude to God, whose hand, I could not help thinking, had been stretched out to preserve me!

After that, I became unconscious.

CHAPTER XVII.

ADRIFT.

My unconsciousness resembled sleep. It was not that, but syncope. I had fainted through exhaustion.

Fortunately the cloak, still upon my shoulders, clung around the tree-trunk, and hindered me from slipping off. Otherwise I might have gone to the bottom without knowing it.

My syncope was of short duration, though how long I could not tell. I could guess at the time afterward from knowing the distance I must have drifted.

I awoke to find myself lying upon the log. It was afloat, as I could tell by its motion underneath me; and I supposed myself drifting down-stream.

As my senses became clearer I perceived that this was not the case. Although the log bobbed about, as I stirred upon it, I now saw that it was close to the bank, and held as if by a hawser.

It was dark all around me, darker than ever; but I could see that I was under the shadow of trees, whose moss-covered arms stretched out over the stream. The gleaming of fire-flies upon the bank above gave me no aid in reconnoitering the situation. Their false, fitful light only misled me.

After a time I discovered the cause of my having come to; and even recognized the spot. It was the same where I had made landing from the skiff, while eagle-shooting on the island.

There was the huge fallen cypress with its roots upon the bank and trunk slanting down into the river. Despite the darkness and the confusion of my ideas, I remembered it.

I was still lying along the log, having as yet made no attempt to leave it. I felt too weak for the effort. Fortunate that it was so; for soon after I discovered the singular manner in which I was moored. The skirt of my cloak, trailing upon the water, had caught in a snag of the cypress, and held fast. As the garment was also hooked to the log on which I lay, the latter had been arrested in its course, and turned round under the shelter of the tree, where the current ceased to act upon it. Had I started suddenly up, or made any incautious movement, I might have detached the chance fastening and gone adrift again, to be carried God knows whither. Perceiving this danger, I took my measures accordingly.

Gently hauling upon the hawser of soaked broadcloth, I succeeded in grasping one of the branches of the cypress, and drawing the log close to its trunk, I was enabled to crawl from one to the other.

I did not accomplish this without an effort; I had but one arm to work with, the left. My right hung useless by my side.

Scrambling along the slanting trunk, I got up to the level of the bank, and then dropping off, I staggered a step or two through the palmettoes, and fell prostrate to the earth.

For a time I felt utterly unable to recover my feet. I wondered at my weakness, and could not account for it. The mere fatigue could not have caused it. I knew that I was wounded. My helpless arm, and the pain in my shoulder, told me that I had received a stab; I had seen the knife that had given it; but in the darkness I did not know that much of the moisture bathing my body was my own blood. This it was that had so utterly enfeebled me.

I had just strength left to take off my coat, grope for the wound—though it was easily found—and bind it up in strips torn from my dripping shirt.

After that I fell back into a recumbent attitude. I could sustain myself in no other.

But for the discomfort caused by my wet clothes I could have gone to sleep, for I felt deathlike drowsy. Every thread was saturated, and, with only one arm, I could not wring them out. I succeeded, however, in expelling most of the water from my cloak, by pressing it with my feet against the trunk of a tree, and then spreading it over me, I lay swathed in dampness.

The night was not cold. It had been chill only in the breeze of the river. Under the shelter of the trees there was not a breath stirring; and with the heat of my body, I was soon surrounded by an atmosphere resembling a vapor-bath.

Soothed by its warmth, my drowsiness increased, and I gradually sunk into a slumber.

It was not sound nor natural, only the slumber of exhaustion. I awoke at intervals to a sort of half-consciousness, scarce knowing whether I was sleeping or waking.

Once I was aroused to a clearer comprehension. It was a sound that startled me. It appeared to be a shot, instantly followed by a shriek, like the cry of some one in extreme agony!

I thought there were voices afterward; and I lay for a long while listening, but I could hear only the constant "skirl" of the grasshoppers and tree-toads, with now and then the "glucking" of the great swamp-frog, and the hoot of the horned owl. The shot and the shriek may have been only a fancy—the dream of a disordered brain. I tried to think so, but could not. I had heard the first through my sleep; but the second rung in my awakened ear, as also the voices that succeeded it. I could not bring myself to believe that I had not actually heard them.

I did not think of connecting these sounds with what had occurred to me on the flat. By that time Mr. Black and his boat would be miles away—far out of my hearing. I knew that some hours had passed since I had been pushed overboard. The boat going in the center current would have forged far ahead of me, and my floating log. Besides I had now been some time on the island.

I lay reflecting on what had occurred.

Though unable to account for the conduct of the ruffian, I did not attribute it to any deep design. I had simply crossed him in some whim, and I knew that for even so slight a cause life is often sacrificed on the Mississippi.

What design could he have in killing me? I could not think of any; not even a motive.

Kept awake by the stinging pain of my wound, I continued to reflect. I remembered the strange behavior of the skiffman Jake, and the statement he had made about strange sounds heard upon the island—"de debbil's island," as he called it. There appeared to be some truth at the bottom of what I had ridiculed as a superstition!

I slept no more for the remainder of that night. I was filled with horrid fear; and with joy I hailed the first gray glimmer of the moon, as it came slowly stealing through the festoons of Spanish moss, that curtained my ungrateful couch.

CHAPTER XVIII.

ILL-OMENED SOUNDS.

With the sun fairly up, my strength had to some degree returned. I was still feeble as a child, but able to stand upon my feet.

My first care was to quench my thirst. It is always so with those severely wounded, especially where there has been much loss of blood.

Though near me there was water sufficient to have surfeited the whole human race, I had some difficulty in drinking of it. It was only accessible by means of the sloping tree-trunk. I succeeded in crawling down this, and satisfying the appetite that distressed me.

Returning to the bank, I bethought me of the next move to be made: which of course was, how I should get off the island. I did not spend much time in speculating about this. My eagle-shooting excursion was still fresh in my remembrance, and along with it the lagoon to which it had led me in the chase of the wounded bird, with the old dug-out I had seen under the cypress.

"How fortunate," I thought, "there is such a chance of getting off! Otherwise I might remain on this island heaven knows how long. It might be days before any boat would come past, near enough to be hailed, and with nothing to eat."

So ran my reflections as I gathered up my cloak, now nearly dry, slung it, scarf-like over my shoulder, and with a staggering step set forth in the direction of the dug-out.

My course was far from being direct; I had but a slight recollection of my former traces, which, of themselves, had been sufficiently eccentric. I was again going by guess, and now slowly, faint, and tottering in my steps.

More by chance, than by guidance, they conducted me to the deadwood where I had discovered the eagle's nest. As I came into the opening under it, I was saluted by the screams of the bereaved birds—all three of which, startled by my approach, circled in the air above. I could not help thinking they recognized me, and that their screams were in retaliation, to mock my misfortune. I hastened on, looking for the lagoon.

From the deadwood I could proceed directly. I had twice traversed the ground, and remembered the trace. Sure of my direction, I walked on more calmly, and soon came in sight of the sunflash that shot down through the break caused by the lagoon.

At the same moment I came suddenly to a stop—at the sound of human voices!

They were not loud, but heard only in low murmuring, as of men engaged in earnest conversation. The speakers were evidently by the edge of the lagoon to which I was tending.

"How fortunate," thought I, "to find people upon the island. Some hunters, perhaps?"

I should get off without the necessity of having to take the old dug-out, about the management of which, with my disabled arm, I had misgivings.

While thus congratulating myself, one of the voices was raised a little louder—just then giving vent to an exclamation. I recognized the voice. It was the same that had sworn at me the night before as I clung to the steering-oar. It had been ever since ringing in my ears. It was the voice of the boatman Black.

My first feeling was of extreme surprise. What could the flat-boat captain be doing on the island? And was his craft there too? It might be. The sounds reached me direct from the lagoon. The boat might be in it.

Listening, I again heard the voices, mingling with the tread of heavy boots, as of men hurrying to and fro over hollow planking. Beyond doubt the boat was in the bayou!

What was it doing there? Had it met with an accident, and been taken to the lagoon for safety and repair? I had heard that the river-current was at that point especially dangerous, and this suggested the thought.

It never occurred to me that they had brought to on my account. I could not suppose this. I was certain as I lived they intended taking my life, and were under the impression that they had succeeded. Had Black merely pushed me overboard, I might have had doubts; but the thrust of his knife, and the fierce exclamation that accompanied it, left no uncertainty as to his intention.

And now, recalling this, my first feeling of surprise gave way to one of alarm. Whatever cause of hostility these ruffians had against me would still exist. Moreover, their design of taking my life would now be strengthened by an instinct for their own preservation. Seeing that I still lived, they would know that their attempt at assassination could not go altogether unpunished, despite the lawlessness of the land in which they lived.

In that remote and solitary place, unseen by human eyes save their own, they might renew it, with every chance of success considering my crippled condition.

True, there would be the negroes, whose presence in the daylight might restrain them. But I was not sure of this. They might find some means of getting the black men out of the way; and I knew that, even if eye-witnesses of the most fearful crime, the testimony of the slave is often controlled by the fear of the torturing cowskin. They could order the four men below, as they had done before, and then do with me as they pleased, drag me to a distance among the trees, and murder me at their leisure. I felt too feeble to make the slightest resistance.

These conjectures passed through my mind in less time than I have taken to state them; and under a horrid apprehension, I not only hesitated to advance, but feared to retreat, lest the rustling of the leaves might betray my presence.

For some minutes I remained thus irresolute, when it occurred to me that some one might stray out among the trees and discover me. A giant cypress stood near, whose huge buttresses, surrounded by "knees" about my own hight, offered an excellent place for concealment; and gliding silently into one of its dark niches, I took stand, cowering like a fugitive, who feels that the ruthless pursuer is upon his track and close to his hiding-place!

For some time I remained a prey to horrid apprehensions. After my experience of the previous night, I was justified in having them.

They were keen enough to keep me quiet. I made no more noise than was caused by my quick breathing.

For nearly an hour I stood in my "stall," between the two broad buttresses of the cypress, considering what I should do. I was still irresolute about retreating. The whole surface of the island was beset with palmettoes, whose stiff, fan-like fronds made a loud rustling when touched. I could not pass through them without risk of being heard. Why I had not been discovered while making my approach was probably because the boatmen were busy about some matter that engrossed their attention. They were very near me—not thirty yards off, and but for the underwood I should have been certainly seen. If caught retreating, I should have given them the very opportunity they would desire—that is, if they meant to murder me.

Besides, I could think of no way by which I was to get off the island. I should gladly have gone back to the craft that had conveyed me thither, the drift-log, and once more trusted myself to the current. But I remembered that, on leaving it, it had become disentangled from the cypress and resumed its course down the river. Even this waif was no longer available.

My next thought was to steal back to the side from which I had come, watch for some passing boat, hail her to bring to and take me off. But I knew there would be but little hope in this. I had reason to believe that the boats did not pass on that side. Though there the channel was wider, it was not so safe, and both steamers and flats kept to the other. I knew nothing of how the land lay, and I was apprehensive that by proceeding to make an exploration, I should be seen by the assassins of the flat. Even should a steamboat appear, I dared not hail with my voice, and any signal I should make would scarce be regarded.

My thoughts once more reverted to the dug-out. It was not likely the old craft would be disturbed by the crew of the cotton-boat, who had their skiff for a tender.

Concealed as the canoe was, under the fronds of the palmettoes, it might even escape their notice. I could wait till they took their departure, and then avail myself of it, to get off from the island. This, at length, became my determination.

I only hoped I should not be long detained; though I could form no idea of what was causing the detention of the cotton-boat. It did not appear to be an accident.

There was no sound of saw, or hammers, or any thing like making repairs—only the hum of voices, with the tramping and shuffling of feet.

I listened to make out what was said, but could not. The conversation appeared to be carried on in a low tone, as if under restraint. There were three voices taking part in the talk, but Black's was the only one I could recognize. A second, I thought, was Stinger's; but the man was of a taciturn habit, and I only heard it at long intervals. The third was unknown to me.

Nor was any of them the voice of a negro. This I thought strange. Actively engaged as they appeared to be, if there were darkies employed at the work their silence was inexplicable. I heard neither their chattering nor jocund cachinnation.

After a time a fourth voice fell upon my ear, and in a tone that seemed to direct, or command. I was startled to think it was that of the planter, Bradley!

I listened more attentively than ever, straining my ears to their utmost. I could hear nothing but sound—the low humming of human voices, deadened in its passage through the thick shrubbery, and at intervals drowned by the shrieking of the grasshoppers. For all this I could tell that there were four voices, one of them I was almost certain being that of Bradley.

It was with something more than curiosity that I interrogated myself as to what he could be doing there. I could only answer by conjecture. At first it seemed very strange. But then I remembered that Bradley's plantation was not far off. Perhaps an accident had happened to the boat, he had been apprised of it, and come to render assistance?

This conjecture was natural enough, and but for other circumstances might have satisfied me. It did not, and I continued to seek for some other explanation. If I could only get sight of the speakers, this might be obtained. But I could not without danger of exposing myself to their view. I might hear what they were saying by making a nearer approach, but this would be equally perilous.

All at once it occurred to me that I might accomplish my object by climbing up into the cypress. The sounds would be carried upward, and in the tree-top I might be able to understand the talk going on in the lagoon. I saw that the ascent would be easy. One of the buttresses offered a slanting ridge, not much more difficult to scale than the rounds of a ladder; and by this I clambered up into the tree.

CHAPTER XIX.

A SINGULAR PROCEEDING.

Once among the branches, I felt myself safe from being seen. The streamers of Spanish moss formed a festoonery around me thick enough to have concealed an elephant. By keeping quiet there would be no danger of my being detected, and I kept as still as a man may be expected to who believes his life depends upon so slight a thing as the swishing of a leaf, or the snapping of a twig.

I had not been twenty minutes on my perch before becoming convinced that my life hung upon just such a thread.

This conviction came not from any thing I heard; for still, as below, I could only make out the murmur of the men's voices; but I was now able to get sight of themselves.

One of the largest limbs of the cypress extended toward the lagoon, beyond which there was an open list communicating with that over the water. By creeping along this branch I believed I should have a view, not only of the bayou, but of the boat.

With only one hand to help me, it seemed a difficult task, but under the stimulus of something more than curiosity I attempted it. I succeeded.

The bayou, the boat, the crew, came under my eyes.

Not the crew as I had noted it when taking my departure from Henry Woodley's plantation, for the four negroes were not seen. I saw only white men.

There were three of them. Two were Black and his confederate, Stinger. The other, a man unknown to me, but whose physiognomy and general appearance rendered him a fit associate for the two already named.

All these appeared busy as bees, though not occupied in the same manner. I first saw Stinger, who was engaged on that end of the flat where the steps led down into the caboose. He was scrubbing the roof-boards and apparently, also, the slips, with a brush in hand and a bucket standing beside him.

Crawling a little further along the branch, the other two came in sight. There was a staging from the flat to the shore. It sloped down to the bottom of a sort of doorway in the side of the boat. I could see that a half-score cotton-bales had been rolled across it, and lay upon the land. Among these Black, in his shirt-sleeves, and the strange man, were busy.

The flat, after all, had met with an accident, and they were unloading to prevent it from sinking. This was my first impression, and I began to think there had been a snag, and in some way or other I had been mistaken about the whole business.

I no longer wondered at the boat having been brought up the bayou. I only wondered at not seeing the negroes. There was not one of them visible. They might be inside the boat, assisting to get out the cotton. But then I should have heard their voices, or some noise they must necessarily have made, and there was none. Where could they be?

I had not been long looking on before I discovered that Black and his assistant were engaged in an operation that quite mystified me. As I have said, they were busy among the cotton-bales. With inquiring eyes I watched their proceedings. I saw the two take hold of a bale, unloose the ropes that bound it, rip off the "bagging" from one of its sides, and then stitch in its place another piece, after which the binding-cords were readjusted.

For some time I was puzzled by this singular proceeding, and it was only after a prolonged scrutiny that I could conjecture what it meant. At length, however, I arrived at the elucidation, strange and improbable as it appeared.

I observed that the pieces of canvas removed were from the sides that carried the plantation-mark and the name of the owner. I could make out the word "Woodley." On those that replaced them, which appeared in other respects precisely similar, I saw that there was a different mark, and a different name. In the large black lettering, I could read: "N. Bradley."

Up to this moment all had been conjecture. It was so no longer. The scheme became revealed to me, as by a flash of sudden sinister light. From my perch in the cypress tree I was looking upon a scene of piracy such as I had heard was far from being rare upon the Mississippi river.

The transaction was clear. The planter-pirates had taken possession of the cotton-boat, and were making their plunder presentable for a safe sale. That Bradley was at the back of it I had no doubt. His name going upon the bales proved his participation, and something more—the chief of the gang. He was not there himself, but I felt certain he had been but a few minutes before. I could almost have sworn to hearing his voice and that, too, giving directions to the others.

How had the capture been effected? My thoughts now reverted to the negroes, who had composed the crew. With increased interest, I again looked to see if they were upon the boat. If so they must be hidden somewhere and holding themselves unusually silent.

My eyes wandered to the hatchway of the little cabin, in which I had last seen them asleep. Were they asleep still, or in the slumber of death?

My blood ran cold at the horrid suspicion—colder as I thought of its probability.

There was no sign of any negro. Stinger was alone seen by the steps of the caboose, still occupied with his scrubbing-brush.

My attention now became particularly directed to this man. What could be his object in washing the rough planks forming the roof of a flat-boat? Of what was he cleansing them? And why with such care? for he was down upon his knees, devoting himself to the task with apparent earnestness.

In seeking an explanation, my eye rested upon the "suds" chased to and fro before his brush. I saw that they were of a crimson color, as if tinged with blood! I saw this with astonishment, with trembling. I remembered what I had heard in the night—that I had believed to be a dream—the shot, and the shriek that succeeded.

Had both been real? Had murder been committed? And was Stinger engaged in eliminating its traces?

The blacks were no longer upon the boat. Where were they? Was it their blood I saw, and were their bodies at the bottom of the lagoon?

Horrid as were these suspicions, I could not help having them; and the thought that they were true gradually becoming a conviction, kept me quiet in the tree.

CHAPTER XX.

A SPELL OF PADDLING.

I remained silent on the limb of the cypress. Even the irksomeness of my seat did not tempt me to descend.

I was now sensible of being in a position of real peril. The men were murderers—all four of them—and one more crime would be lightly added to their last. Taking my life would be a step necessary for their own safety, and I knew that if discovered I might expect but a short shrift of it. It needed nothing more to secure my silence.

I did not design remaining there forever, only until night. Then I should descend, make my way to the dug-out, which I hoped to find in its place, and, favored by this and the darkness, slip silently out of the lagoon into the open river. This was the plan traced out.

As nothing could be done before night, I summoned all my patience to await it. And all of it was called into play. Never in my life do I remember having spent what appeared a longer day. I thought it would have no end—that the sun was never to set. It was still early when I arrived at the foot of the cypress, for I had started by the first light to go toward the lagoon.

The time at first did not hang so heavily on my hands. I was furnished with a sort of melancholy entertainment in watching the movements of the three ruffians upon the flat. I still tried to catch their conversation, though it was no longer needed to elucidate the transaction in which they were engaged.

In this I was unsuccessful as ever. Though at times talking with apparent earnestness, they kept to a low key, as if themselves fearful of being overheard. No wonder they should, considering the work in which they were engaged.

I became wearied watching them, and soon after lost sight of them altogether.

After the bales that had been rolled out upon the bank were treated as described, all three—Stinger having completed his task of purification—entered inside the ark, and for several hours I saw no more of them.

I could guess, however, how they were engaged. The bringing ashore only the odd bales had been to make room for operations inside, where I had no doubt that the whole cargo was receiving the Bradley brand.

The quickness with which they appeared to execute their work of unroping, stitching and retying, told that it was not the first time of their having been similarly employed; and the pieces of old canvas strewed about the place, and which I had noticed on my former visit to the island, were now recalled to my recollection. In that solitary spot more than one shipment of cotton had changed its plantation-mark.

I could now understand what had appeared to puzzle his acquaintances—how Mr. Nat Bradley had so rapidly prospered on his new plantation. His boast of being able to make two bales in Mississippi for one in Tennessee I could no longer look upon as an idle vaunt. Under my eyes was the explanation.

It was a long, tedious, terrible vigil. Astride the limb of a tree, hungry, athirst, smarting under the pulsations of a fevered wound, a prey to apprehensions that by some sinister chance I might be discovered in my place of concealment, I thought that the day would never come to an end. And even when it should end, what certainty had I of being able to make good my escape? The dug-out on which I was placing my dependence might be no longer there, or if it was, I might not succeed in starting it from its moorings? I might be detected in attempting to pass the flat, which lay between the canoe and the narrow creek that communicated with the river.

Besides these, there were other probable contingencies—scores of them—to distress and keep me in constant apprehension, and in this state I passed the remainder of the day.

Just as the twilight gloom was beginning to darken over the island, I saw something to cheer me. I saw the three men come forth out of the cavernous opening in the side of the ark, each carrying an armful of spoiled canvas, which I recognized as the cast sides of the cotton-bales. I saw them make these up into a huge bundle, load it with heavy mud, tie a rope round the whole mass, and fling it into the lagoon, where, like a stone, it sunk to the bottom! After this the odd bales were rolled aboard, the staging drawn in, the hatch-door shut to, and the huge ark yielding to a pair of oars passed slowly and silently from my sight!

As soon as sure that they were gone for good, I descended from the tree, and waiting till the darkness had come down, I groped my way toward the place where I remembered having seen the dug-out.

I was not disappointed. I found the old craft, still resting neglected upon the water, either not seen, or not cared for, by the pirates, who had passed away.

Getting quietly aboard, and arming myself with the paddle, I unloosed the fastening of twisted vines, and pushed on toward the river, which I reached without hearing or seeing any one.

Fortunately the night was a dark one, like that which preceded it. I was further favored by a thick fog that had come on after sunset.

Once out in the river I had no difficulty about the direction. The current guided me, and setting the stern of the canoe straight against it, I plied the paddle with all the strength I could command.

I took good care to dip the blade lightly, so as to make no noise in the water. The flat might still be within ear-shot. It might have been brought to for some purpose, alongside that island plantation, which I now knew to be the property of a pirate, and by the border of which I was now slowly feeling my way. The chill fog seemed to have quieted the night-chanters of the forest, and a slight sound could be heard far off. The stroke of the paddle might reach the ears of the pirates, and prompt them to follow me in their skiff that served as a tender to the cotton-boat.

I knew that they could easily overtake me, in which case I might count upon certain death. They would recognize the dug-out and know whence I had taken it.

For the first mile or so, I made but a snail's progress. With only one hand to work with, and it the wrong one, I had great difficulty in keeping the canoe stern on to the stream. Several times it came round broadside to the current, causing me to lose way before I could again get it headed in the right direction.

As I began to feel more confident that there was no pursuit, I also became more adroit in the management of the craft. Further up, too, the current was not so rapid, and I had less fear about dipping my oar-blade into the water.

Still I was not free from apprehension, and I moved on as silently as ever, at intervals suspending my stroke and listening to catch any sound from below.

Once I fancied I heard the plunge of oars close behind me, and in fear I gazed into the thick fog, thinking I should see the pursuing skiff. I listened intently for the plash of an oar-blade, or the murmur of human voices.

I heard neither. I must have mistaken the sound that had reached me. It may have been caused by an alligator floundering through the flood, or some drift-tree turned suddenly over by the current.

Though still necessarily slow, my progress improved as I got further away from that place of horror—the Devil's Island. But I was not easy in my mind, until by the earliest break of day, I saw before me an open spot on the bank, which I recognized as the landing of Henry Woodley's plantation. There was no house near it, no erection of any kind. Only some cords of firewood upon the bank, intended for the supply of such passing steamboats as chose to put in for it. It was part of the industrial resources of the plantation.

The house stood a full half-mile from the river's edge, screened from view by the cottonwood forest.

At that early hour, I did not expect to see any one at the landing. I hoped not, as I did not myself wish to be seen. I had begun to reflect on the future, more than the past, on the punishment of these murdering pirates, and the mode of bringing it about.

I knew that in such a lawless land, justice might not be so easily obtained, and that despite the proofs I had, stratagem would still have to be resorted to. At all events, it would be as well that none of the plantation negroes should know of my return until I had first placed myself in communication with their master.

With the view of making my approach unobserved, I clung close along the bank, and came to at some distance below the landing-place.

Drawing the dug-out up under some branches that overhung the bank, I made it secure, at the same time that it was concealed from view. I did not intend that the old craft should drift down-stream, and perhaps tell a tale to the pirates below.

CHAPTER XXI.

A TERRIFIED DARKY.

Once safely ashore, I walked silently through the underwood in the direction of the landing.

There was no one there, nothing but the parallelopipedons of cordwood piled up in readiness for the firemen.

The question now arose how I was to get to the house—how to get inside it—without being seen by the negroes of the plantation. I knew that they were up, and stirring about the place. I could hear the murmur of their voices, with now and then the louder baying of a hound. Of course I could not approach the dwelling without being observed—much less get inside of it.

My plight too! My crippled arm which I carried slung in the silk scarf taken from my neck, with my coat hanging loose on my left shoulder. It is true that all this could be concealed under my cloak, but the cloak itself, and the trowsers underneath, were embrowned by the muddy water. In short, my whole person presented such an appearance as to have puzzled an intimate friend in identifying me.

While reflecting on what to do, I heard footsteps coming from the direction of the house. They were made known to me by the rustling of the dry leaves with which the wood-road was thickly covered.

The footfall was flat and heavy, evidently that of a negro.

Soon after I saw the negro himself. It was Jake.

With joy I recognized him—the very man I wanted to see. I could take the old skiffman into my confidence, and by him send a message to his master, to come out to me in the woods. This was the course to be pursued. Jake had not yet discovered me. I did not intend that he should, until I had taken steps to secure against his retreat. Were I to appear to him before he had got fairly upon the ground, he might mistake me for something else than I was, perhaps the spirit of that haunted island, from which I had truly come. In my enfeebled state, he could easily outrun me, and by reaching the house before me, spoil my plans of secrecy. Jake must be captured by stratagem.

Crouching behind one of the cords of firewood, I waited for him to advance. I could see that he was en route for the landing, perhaps to embark in the skiff, which was moored in its usual place.

He passed on without suspecting my presence.

He did not go down to the skiff, but out to a projecting point, upon which the steamboats usually rested their staging-plank.

There he stopped, and looked up the river, as if expecting a boat to come down.

His back was toward me, as I stepped from my place of concealment.

"Jake!" I said, "look this way!"

He turned suddenly, and I now saw that my precaution had not been an idle one. But for having him in a sort of peninsula, myself occupying the isthmus, he would certainly have made good his escape. As it was, he seemed half determined on rushing past me, and reaching the house. He even cast his eyes toward the skiff to see if there was any chance of retreating in that direction.

"Jake!" I said, in a reassuring voice. "What's the matter with you? Don't you know me?"

"Goramity, mass'r!" he gasped out, at length recognizing the man he had so often guided through the swamps. "Wha—wha—wha's comed oba you? Lor' a mercy! You's all kibbered oba wif mud, like a drown rat ob de ribba? 'Splain you'seff, mass'r. What de ole debbil hab been a-happen to ye?"

"Never mind, my good fellow. I have no time for explanations. I want to see your master."

"Come on den. He arn't up yet; but he soon rouse out for you."

"No—no. I want to see him down here."

"Down hya!" echoed the darky, with a look of increased astonishment. "A'n't you comin' up to de big house, to get um washed, an' hab ya close bruss'd, an' eat ya breakfass?"

"No—not just yet, not till I've seen your master. And look here, Jake! I don't want any one to know that I am here except your master. You must tell him to come down without delay, and without any one suspecting that you went back to the house on that errand. Put this in your pocket, and let me see that you carry my message discreetly."

In the attempt to murder me I had not been robbed; and I was able to sharpen the zeal, also the intelligence, of my intended messenger by the douceur of a dollar. I gave it less for this, than to impress him with the importance of the errand, and so secure greater caution in its accomplishment.

With some additional instructions I dismissed him; and taking seat upon a log under cover of some underwood, I awaited the coming of Henry Woodley.

I little expected that before seeing him, I should shake hands with his brother Walter. Yet such was the reality!

While sitting upon the log reflecting how much of my story should be told to my late host, and how much for the time kept back, I heard the deep sonorous bark that announces the "high pressure" steamboat. Looking up the river I saw the boat itself, rounding a sharp bend a little way above the landing.

When nearly opposite, her pilot-bell rung, her paddles ceased to move, and she lay to under hissing steam.

Presently a yawl with three men in it, shot out from her stern—two of them rowing, the third evidently a passenger.

I had scarce time to think who it might be, when the bow of the row-boat struck against the bank, and the passenger stepped ashore, carrying a carpet-bag along with him. I recognized the young Tennessean cotton-planter, Walter Woodley.

He did not so easily recognize me, and when he at length discovered who was the mud-bedaubed individual that saluted him, I need scarce say that his astonishment was extreme.

His story was easily told. He was on his way to New Orleans to look after the disposal of his cotton crop; and was merely making stop to see his sister and brother, intending to go on by the next boat.

My tale being more complicated was reserved for a later occasion—until the two brothers could have it at one hearing.

It was not long before we saw Henry, hurrying from the house; Jake following at respectful distance behind him.

The Mississippian was less surprised at seeing his brother than me. He had heard the stoppage signal of the steamer. Walter had been expected to come that day. It was for this the old skiffman had sauntered down to the landing—to see if there were any signs of the boat.

Only Jake himself was in attendance upon Henry. The negro had shown intelligence in the accomplishment of his mission.

By my appearance, Henry Woodley was still more astonished than his brother had been. He had more lately seen me in a different guise. But mingling with his astonishment, he had the suspicions of a sinister cause, arising from antecedents he could remember. Though he could see that something serious had occurred, he did not question me then. He waited till we should get to the house.

About this there was still the same difficulty. I assured him that the servants must not see me. I had my reasons, which I promised to explain afterward.

Both the brothers still wondering, Walter suggested a way. A change of clothes and hat; in short, a disguise. He had his own cloak over his arm, with other apparel in his portmanteau.

Mine to be rolled up, and carried as a parcel by Jake, who was in the secret. My pantaloons to be tucked inside the tops of my boots. A little mud was not remarkable upon the banks of the Mississippi.

Our host would precede us to the house; and on some pretense order the domestics out of the way, so that I might enter unobserved; or, if seen, no one would think otherwise than that I was some stranger, who had come ashore along with their master's brother.

The plan was feasible enough; but even had it been less so, I should have been disposed to adopt it. I was faint, and feeble; my wound paining me from the want of a proper dressing. I was, moreover, hungry, as a man may be who for two nights and a day has not tasted food; for I had not eaten a morsel since the supper that preceded the attempt at assassinating me. I was not loth to get under the hospitable roof of Henry Woodley, and partake of the ample breakfast that I knew would there be spread for me.

A short time served for making the change required; and closely enveloped in Walter Woodley's cloak, with trowsers, backwoods fashion, thrust inside my boots, I entered the plantation house, without exciting any suspicion.

Twenty minutes spent at the toilet, my host assisting, rendered me presentable in the drawing-room, where I was received by his sister with that sort of surprise that caused me a secret gratification. I was gratified by the look given me, in which pleasure at my appearance seemed suddenly to become pain at the sight of my disabled arm.

By the quick paling of her cheek, accompanied by an exclamation of alarm, I felt that Cornelia Woodley had an interest in my fate—something more than a wish for my welfare.

CHAPTER XXII.

AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR.

My story was told to the two brothers, their sister being spared the revelation. I deemed it too fearful to be imparted to a lady. A quarrel with the boatman Black, ending in my defeat; my being flung overboard, and compelled to save myself by swimming—this was sufficient to explain the condition in which I had presented myself. I preferred, for the time, submitting to a humiliation.

Wondering, Miss Woodley withdrew, leaving me to be more explicit with her brothers. To them I told the whole story in all its details. It is not necessary to say that both listened to the tale with astonishment. It seemed too horrid for belief, but there was no room for incredulity. My wound was a living witness to at least a portion of its truth, and for the rest, the circumstances were sufficient.

There was a confirmation in the character of Bradley. Both knew the man to be of a bad, brutal nature. Both had heard strange rumors concerning him; conjectures as to his mode of life, and the means by which he had so rapidly become rich, for at present he was so reputed. Gambling had usually been given as the cause, but of late there had been whisperings of a more sinister kind, in regard to the way in which Mr. Bradley had become possessed of so much property.

These had assumed no definite shape. It was only hinted in a general way that he must be engaged in some speculation besides the planting of cotton—something not quite so legitimate.

We are talking of a time when New Orleans and its adjacent neighborhood was not free from a taint of piracy on the high seas—to say nothing of the African slave-trade—with many other combinations of crime almost incredible.

Which of these might be the specialty of the Mississippi planter no one appeared definitely to know.

My experience of the two preceding days had furnished the clue. I had no longer a doubt that, along with the ostensible pursuit of cotton-planting, Mr. Bradley secretly combined the calling of a pirate—for by this name is the river robber familiarly known in the region of the Mississippi.

My opinion was adopted by my listeners as I continued to tell them what I had seen. The facts spoke for themselves. Besides, both had heard of circumstances corroborative of what could be no longer called suspicion. For some years past there had been reports of flat-boats missing upon the Mississippi. Several had been spoken of. Henry Woodley had himself heard of an especial case, which had occurred in the preceding year. It was that of a flat, freighted with cotton, from a plantation somewhere up the Arkansas river. Its owner had dispatched it in charge of a crew of negroes, his own slaves, but had never heard more either of cotton or crew.

Most people supposed these missing boats to have perished in squalls, or "hurricanes," as they are called—to have gone to the bottom with their crews along with them, an occurrence not uncommon upon the Western rivers. But there were others who did not attribute all these losses to the storm; people of a more suspicious way of thinking, in whose memories were still fresh the exploits of the pirate Murrell. This robber had somewhat innocently been assumed to be the last of his race. Though it might be on a smaller scale, it was evident he had a successor in the planter Bradley.

As we continued to discuss what had occurred, and examine it in all its bearings, the whole scheme became clear. I now learnt for the first time that Black and his associate Stinger were complete strangers to the Woodley family. They had presented themselves on the Tennessee plantation as professed flat-builders and boatmen; and in this double capacity had they been employed. I recalled the fragment of conversation I had overheard between Black and Bradley on the wood path of the plantation. It had puzzled me at the time. Its signification was now clear, and I could understand the interest which Bradley had shown in the cotton crop about to be embarked. No doubt it was by his directions Black and Stinger had shown themselves in that quarter, and undertaken the building of the boat. They were simply his confederates in a good scheme of piracy, of which we had evidence of only a single act—no doubt far from being the first.

And there must have been murder, too! Where were the four negroes? They could not be kept out of the way—with tongues silent in such a transaction. Even if "run off" to Texas and sold, they could still talk; their talking might not be worth much, but it would in time direct suspicion upon the pirates, and put an end to the grand game they were playing with such impunity.

It was a frightful reflection to think of the sad fate of these unfortunate creatures—for we could scarce have a doubt of their having been butchered in cold blood!

There was no time to dwell upon or talk of it. Time enough for that when we had taken steps to be assured of its reality, and, if real, to punish the perpetrators of such an atrocious crime.

And what was the primary step to be taken? That was the question that came before us.

The intentions of the planter pirate were clear enough. His three confederates would carry the boat on to New Orleans, where the cargo could easily be disposed of. No doubt they had a ready way of doing this through some respectable cotton-broker in collusion with the gang. Their object in taking so much trouble to alter the markings was of course to prevent identification. This would be effectual, since all cotton bales are alike—as much as eggs, peas, or sheep. The huge parallelopipedon covered with coarse canvas "bagging," and confined in its cording of hemp, is a thing not to be sworn to. Remove the mark, and it may belong to anybody. The two hundred bales sent down from Tennessee, worth over twelve thousand dollars, were for the time the property of Nat Bradley, as could be proved by his plantation-mark! Once sold by him, no man could reclaim them, that is without other evidence to substantiate the claim.

But for what I had witnessed upon the island, this would have been wanting. The boat that carried them would be easily put aside. Like all of its kind, it would be sold at the levee wharf, at once, to be broken up for firewood; or, what in this case was more likely, taken down the river, and sunk during the darkness of the night.

Would Bradley himself go down in the flat? We thought not. It would scarce comport with his character of rich planter and proprietor. Most likely he would follow it in one of the steamboats, from Natchez, or some near port. He may have taken the very one that brought Walter Woodley to his brother's plantation.

He could hail it from some landing below.

What would be our best course to pursue?

Henry's counsel was, that we should all three proceed to New Orleans, taking advantage of the first boat that came down the river, or what would be better still, riding post-haste to Natchez, and getting a boat there—one of the regular packets from that place to the great city below. By this means we might anticipate the sale of the cotton, and so recover it, at the same time bringing to justice the scoundrels that had stolen it.

This scheme might have answered well enough as regarded the three confederates. But, how about their chief? It would leave him a loophole of escape, and this could not be thought of. For my part, I was determined to punish the man who had twice made an attempt upon my life. I looked upon Black as but the representative of Bradley.

We had no proof to connect the latter with any of the crimes that had been committed. I could not swear to having seen him at the lagoon. My oath as to the identification of his voice would be too slight a testimony upon which to convict him, even of connivance. He would deny that he had been present; and as to placing his name upon the cotton-bales, any one might do that without either his knowledge or sanction.

Unless one of the three confederates should turn state's evidence, the chief pirate would escape the punishment he so justly deserved.

It would be a pity that any of the party should have such a chance, and there was no need for it. Let the thing take its course, let the cotton be sold and delivered, and then whether warehoused by a broker, or bought by a bona-fide purchaser, it would become known to whom the purchase-money was to be paid. Then we could discover who was chief of the pirates, and get the whole gang within the meshes of the law.

This was my advice, warmly seconded by Walter, and when fairly set before him, also appearing best to his brother.

It was agreed we should all three go down to New Orleans, place ourselves in communication with a respectable solicitor, and obtain the assistance of the law, in the accomplishment of our purpose.

At the close of our deliberations a surprise awaited us. Outside we heard the hoof-stroke of a horse. On looking through the window, we saw a man dismounting by the gate of the inclosure, and fastening his bridle to the post. As he faced toward the house, we recognized the piratical ruffian whose punishment we had been planning.

CHAPTER XXIII.

WAITING FOR A BOAT.

Visit unexpected and ill-timed—what could be its object? This was the thought of all three.

I for one must not be seen by him. The sight of me would frustrate all our plans—even the knowledge that I still lived.

Neither should the Tennessean. His presence would require explanation; and perhaps cause a change in the programme we had sketched out for the pirate.

Our host alone must receive him. There was just time for Henry to get out of the drawing-room, and close the door after him, when Mr. Bradley stepped into the porch.

Uninvited he could not gracefully go further.

Walter and I, silent inside, could hear every word that was said.

Bradley spoke first.

"Well, Hen," he said, after the usual exchange of salutations, "reckon I've got here too late."

"For what?" was the natural inquiry.

"Boat. I want to go down to Orleans. The Yazoo City was to have left Vicksburg yesterday evening, and I thought I might catch her at your landing. I suppose I'm too late, as I heard a boat pass, while I was coming through the woods. She was going down; and I reckon it must have been the City."

There was an interval of silence, during which we awaited Henry's response. He made none. The presence of such a guest—under such circumstances—had taken him by surprise; and he was no doubt hesitating as to what he should say.

As Bradley had put no direct interrogatory, he did not stay for an answer; but continued:

"She must have passed here very early—before you were out of your bed. Do you think any of your niggers saw her? They would know if it was the City. They could read the name I reckon?"

"Yes," replied Henry, at length, speaking with evasion. "Some of them did see a boat pass down. It was not the Yazoo City; but an up-river boat from the Ohio, I believe."

"Oh! in that case the City will be along yet. She ought to be near now. I'll go down to the landing to look out for her. You don't mind sending one of your niggers to fetch my horse back to the house here? There's one of mine coming after, to take him home."

"Certainly not," said Henry, evidently pleased at the prospect of his visitor making such a short stay. "One of them shall go down with you at once."

"And look ye, Henry Woodley!" continued Bradley, with a change of tone, "now that I'm here, I may as well tell you what I intend doing. I want that $2,000. I want it d—d bad; and I mean to have it. I've asked you for it half a score of times, till I'm sick of asking. And now I'll give you till I come back from Orleans, which will be in about a fortnight. If you can't pay then, why I must get judgment on the bill, and take some of your niggers. I'm sorry to be sharp with you; but I must have the money."

"When you come back—a fortnight you say—perhaps I may have—"

The debtor was thinking that before a fortnight's time he might be relieved of his liability in a way his creditor little expected.

"Oh! d—n your perhaps!" rudely interrupted the latter. "If you don't have it—Hilloa! what's that?"

As he uttered this exclamation, we could hear Bradley rushing further out upon the porch, as if to inform himself of something that was passing outside.

There was an interval of profound stillness, and through a side-window in the drawing-room, in which the casement stood open, we could distinguish faint and far off the hollow sound of the "scape-pipe."

"By Jove, it's the boat! Ten chances to one if I'll be in time to catch her. Send after me for the horse!"

As he issued this impudent command, the unwelcome visitor hurried on through the gate, leaped into the saddle and went off at a gallop along the road, toward the landing.

As promised, a negro was dispatched after to take charge of his horse, and for some time we all listened in great anxiety. If Bradley should miss the boat, he would be sure to come back to the house and perhaps remain there waiting for another. This would be a serious interference with our plans, and might end in altogether defeating them, by his discovering of our presence upon the plantation!

It was a pleasant sound, that continued hissing of steam, that came borne upon the breeze from the direction of the river.

It told us that the boat was laying to, to take on board a passenger, who could be no other than Nat Bradley.

This was soon after confirmed by the return of his horse, ridden by the darky with the saddle stripped of its bags.

The planter pirate had posted to New Orleans to dispose of his late capture, perfectly unsuspicious that the owner was so near, and at the same time taking measures for the recovery of the spoil.

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE WHITE KERCHIEF.

While thanking the Yazoo City for having so opportunely disembarrassed us of the presence of Nat Bradley, we felt that he must be followed as speedily as possible.

If the flat had been taken on direct after leaving Devil's Island—and in all likelihood it had—it should reach New Orleans in four days at the furthest. Its crew would convey it as fast as possible, knowing the danger of delay. They could assist the current with a pair of sweeps, with which the craft was provided.

The Yazoo City would be there before them, but how about the boat by which we ourselves should have to make the journey?

There was no certainty when another steamboat might come along. It might be in an hour, but it might also be two or three days. A delay of the latter kind would be fatal to our scheme.

Once alongside the flat-boat-wharf on the New Orleans levee, it would not take much time to discharge the cargo, and remove it to some safe place of storage; and, as for the flat itself, it could be disposed of in a single night. We might reach New Orleans to find no trace either of boat or cotton, and as for the worthies composing the crew, it would be ten chances to one of our ever setting eyes on any of them again.

The cotton itself might be discovered. That was probable enough. It could not go aboard ship without undergoing the process of the cotton-press. This would cause delay, and it could be found either in the shed, attached to one of the great presses, or in the storing-house of a broker.

But when found, what then? It bore Bradley's plantation-mark along with his name. He would be upon the spot himself ready to swear to it, and Walter Woodley could not do the same.

Indeed, the young Tennessean was not so sure of being able to identify the flat. He had taken but little notice of it, when being built and laden, leaving all that to Black and his assistant Stinger.

Among these boats there is as much similarity as between the bales of cotton.

My identification of either craft or cargo would be still more doubtful. I could only make it good by finding the crew aboard of it, to all three of whom I could swear distinctly. But to bring Bradley within the power of the law, something more would be required than the testimony I was yet able to give. It would be necessary to connect him with the other three, either as their confederate or chief.

This could be done by allowing him to deal with the cotton on its arrival in New Orleans, taking care to secure the others before they had parted from the flat.

To do this we must reach New Orleans as soon as they, or not many hours after. A single day behind that of their arrival, and we might be too late.

Walter was surprised to find that his brother owed Nat Bradley two thousand dollars. I could see, however, that he scarce regretted it. It explained that sinister attachment which existed between the two, and which it had grieved him to think was a friendship. Now he knew it to be of a different nature, and preferred the knowledge.

"Never mind about the debt, Walt," said Henry, in answer to the inquiry as to how it had been contracted. "It is not honestly due; and, if we succeed in bringing the scoundrel to justice, I suppose I shall be released from the liability."

"Ah! and if our suspicions prove true, I shall lose twice the amount, even if I recover my cotton."

"How?"

"Why, my negroes—four of the best hands we had. Poor fellows, I care not so much for the money, but to think that they have been made away with—murdered. It is fearful!"

"It is, indeed," said the elder, and less sentimental brother. "But in any case you will not lose by that, I mean in money. There are plenty of likely hands on Nat Bradley's plantation, though I've never known much of either it or them. Of course you can recover the full value of what you have lost; and, if it all prove true, you will have to proceed against Mr. Bradley's heirs instead of himself. There's not a moment to be lost. In my opinion, the best way would be for you, brother, to ride down to Natchez as fast as a horse can carry you, and see if you can get a boat there. There might be one of the Natchez and New Orleans packets starting at once; besides, you have still the chance of the up-river boat. If you get one before to-morrow night you will be in good time. Once in New Orleans, go direct to our old friend Charles Sawyer, who's practicing law among the creoles. He's sharp enough for what we want. You'll find his office in St. Charles street, near the Hotel. I can stay and watch our own landing, and follow by the first boat. Our friend here, I hope, will have no objection to go down along with me. Without him we would be helpless. You would lose your cotton, and I should have to pay a debt contracted with a swindler, which, but for foul play, I should never have been owing."

Henry Woodley seemed all at once to have changed his character, displaying an energy for which I had not given him credit. Perhaps it might be accounted for by his hope of getting rid of an incubus hitherto harassing him.

"Now, Walt!" he continued, "get ready to ride at top speed for Natchez. I'll order you the best horse in my stable." "Yao, Dick!" he cried, stepping out into the porch, and hailing one of the negroes seen outside the inclosure. "Put the saddle on the sorrel mare, and bring her round to the gate. Be quick about it."

In a few minutes the sorrel stood by the gate, Miss Woodley wondering about the preparations.

"Never mind, Corneel!" said her brother, in answer to her request for an explanation. "Walter is called to New Orleans on pressing business, and I am going to take boat for Natchez. I shall have to go down myself by the next snorter that comes along; and, as our young friend here promises to accompany me, we can't leave you alone. So you must make the trip too. On the way down I may let you into our secret. Now will that content you?"

Miss Woodley made no response. She smiled and seemed satisfied. The bantering tone in which her brother spoke, implied that there could not be much amiss. I too felt content at the prospect of having her for a fellow-passenger, on board a Mississippi steamboat.

I could not help remembering that it was in a similar situation I had first surrendered to her charms.

And after all, Walter went with us. There was no need for going that long gallop to Natchez.

Just as he was setting foot in the stirrup, the well-known "boom" of a steamboat was heard, awakening the echoes of the woods. It came from the up-river direction.

"Quick, Walt!" cried his brother. "Ride down to the landing, and signal her to stop. A white handkerchief will do it. Have you got one?"

"Here," said the fair "Corneel," gliding like a sylph toward the gate, and handing him her bit of embroidered "cambric." "I suppose this will do?"

"Ah!" thought I, giving way to a romantic fancy, "for the possession of such a trophy, the Spanish Armada might have come to an anchor."

Walter posted like a thunderbolt, while his brother and sister commenced packing their portmanteaus. I had none to pack, and remained standing in the porch, listening for the stopping of the approaching steamer.

I could soon tell that the signal had been successful. The "bark" of the boat, heard at short intervals, became changed to a hiss—a sure sign that the play of the engine was suspended.

Shortly after, the booming recommenced; but the frequent ringing of the pilot's bell told that the boat was being brought in to the landing.

This is only true of the inferior class of boats, or where the passenger expected is supposed to be one worth consideration. There were few captains on the river that would not have laid to for a Woodley, and fewer still could they have told that the white signal was the kerchief of the fair Cornelia.

On our arrival at the landing, we found the boat, with staging-plank out and ready. It was no humble "stern-wheel" that had thus condescended; but the noble "Sultana," in whose luxuriant saloons we steamed toward the "Crescent City."

Before arriving at our destination, we had the satisfaction to know that the planter pirate did not precede us. On passing Point Coupee, we also passed a little steamboat, and left her pulling asthmatically behind us. Upon her paddle-boxes we could read the lettering, "Yazoo City."

Still more to the purpose, we saw standing upon the hurricane-deck the man who was causing us to make the improvised voyage—the planter pirate.

We saw him through the green jalousies of a "state-room," taking care he should not see us. Even then, the sight of any of our party, or his suspicion of our being aboard the Sultana, might have defeated our plans. We gave him no chance for either one or the other.

He was standing alone—abaft the pilot-house—apparently wrapt in contemplation. He may have been thinking of the future—of the disposal of his plunder. Or was his mind dwelling upon the past—upon the dark deeds which he had no doubt committed? It might be that his thoughts were still more bitterly occupied, with that fair being who stood by my side, and who now regarded him only with disgust.

I cared not to speculate on the past. I felt confident that between Nat Bradley and Cornelia Woodley there had been no compromise. Whatever there had been, enough to know that it was now over.