Front matter (continued 3)

The big boat passed on, leaving the Yazoo City dancing like a waif in her wake. Behind the glass shed, that sheltered the pilot, Nat Bradley disappeared from my sight.

In less than twenty hours after, we were passing Lafayette; and the grand dome of the St. Charles Hotel came under our eyes, rising high above the roofs of the Crescent City.

"We must not go there," suggested Henry Woodley, pointing to the conspicuous object.

"And why?" asked Walter. "It is the best hotel in New Orleans, is it not?"

"True," answered the elder brother, wiser in the ways of the great Southern city. "By all titles the best. But just for that reason must we shun it. We should not be twenty-four hours under its roof before finding for a fellow-guest the man we have no wish to encounter."

"Ah! I understand you," answered the Tennesseean. "You think that he will go there?"

"Sure of it. I know the St. Charles to be his regular stopping-place. I've seen him there in its grand drinking-saloon, swaggering among the loudest of its bullies."

"In that case we had best go elsewhere."

"We must do so. We can stop somewhere in the French quarters—at the St. Louis, or even some more humble hostelry. It will never do for him to know that we are in New Orleans, and as for our young friend here, he must keep out of sight until the time when his testimony be required to seal the fate of these scoundrels, whose exposure will perhaps explain why so many flats have gone to the bottom of the Mississippi. No doubt, sir," continued the speaker, turning to me with an odd air of jocularity, "you will be able to clear the character of the hurricane."

By this time the Sultana had commenced sounding her pilot-bells—those mysterious signals by which the steersman communicates his wishes to the Vulcan-like individual who stands by the engine below.

The effect was soon apparent by the boat rounding to in the stream, and bringing up alongside the levee.

With our light luggage, we were soon inside a two-horse coach, and trotting over the oyster-shells toward the St. Louis Hotel.

CHAPTER XXV.

A LOUISIANA LAWYER.

Once installed in our hotel, we proceeded upon the business that brought us to New Orleans. The lawyer was looked up, and the circumstances laid before him.

Charley Sawyer appeared far less surprised by the story than might have been expected. Though still but a young man, he had been long enough in the Crescent City to become acquainted with the inner secrets of its social life. Engaged in practice at its criminal court, he had met with those strange types of crime for which New Orleans has been historically distinguished. As to our plan of proceeding, his advice corresponded with what we had already conceived.

"Although every thing seems straight for bringing the scoundrels to justice," said he, "we must proceed with caution. The law here is rather a rough institution as yet; and where men's liberty is concerned—to say nothing of their lives—the testimony must be clear and positive. If they have actually killed the poor negroes, there must be no loophole left for them to escape—not one of them, and least of all their chief. Bradley must be permitted to sell the cotton. That will be needed to connect him with the theft, robbery, or whatever we may have to call it."

"But suppose he have no opportunity?" suggested Walter Woodley. "There may not be anyone to purchase it all at once."

"No fear of that. I shall myself find him a purchaser. By good luck I chance to be acquainted with a cotton-broker who can be trusted in such a delicate negotiation. He can offer such a price as will secure a trade; and before the money be paid over we can get a warrant by deposition, and lodge Messrs. Bradley, Black & Co. in the calaboose. After that, the thing should be easy enough.

"And now," continued the lawyer, "we must act; and the first thing is, to find out whether the flat has got in. Would any of you know the boat? You, Mr. Walter Woodley, ought to be able to identify your own property."

"I really don't think I can," replied the young planter; "but I should know Black and Stinger, the men in charge. I could see them aboard."

"True. But they might also see you, if you went near enough to distinguish them. That would never do."

"I fancy I can manage that part of it," I suggested. "Black can be but slightly acquainted with my face, though I shall never forget his. By sacrificing my mustache, and borrowing a pair of whiskers from one of these creole costumers—that and a change of dress would do, would it not?"

"The very thing," said the astute Sawyer. "You can put on a light camlet cloak—they are worn here. It will conceal the mark Mr. Black has for the time put upon you. That, with a broad-brimmed palmetto hat, and a pair of cottonade trowsers, will turn you into a creole complete. As for you, Henry Woodley, and your brother, your best plan will be for both of you to go back to the hotel, stay within doors, and wait till I communicate with you. It will not do for either to be seen in the streets—at least till we get the birds safe inside the cage."

In obedience to Sawyer's instructions the two brothers returned to the hotel, while I remained in his office to make the transformation required.

In order to avoid suspicion, a razor was obtained, and I did the shaving myself. It was not altogether pleasant to part with my pet mustaches; but I consoled myself with two thoughts—one that they would grow again, and the other that before they did I should see the man who had twice attempted my life stand in the felon's dock.

The garments necessary for my disguise were readily got at one of the levee "clothing stores," and the whiskers from a costume shop with which New Orleans, noted for its masked balls, is abundantly provided.

In less than an hour I was ready to play the part of a detective.

With Mr. Sawyer acting as guide we sallied forth, and took our way toward the flat-boat wharf.

Those not acquainted with the New Orleans "levee" must be told that it is a landing full four miles in length; that only a portion of it is provided with wharves, strong wooden platforms, supported by piles, driven deep into the river-bank. Between, are spaces where the natural slope of the levee is left unfurnished with such structures, and where boats, both flats and steamers, at low water, can project their staging-planks into the mud.

But by certain municipality laws the levee is apportioned, so that each kind of craft—ships, steamboats, flats, and rafts—has a stretch of shore appropriated to itself. There are the shipping wharves—two sets of them—the steamboat wharves, and, last of all, that portion of the levee set apart for the odd-looking embarkations known as "keels" and "flat-boats."

Of these there is usually a large "fleet" lying along shore—especially at that time of the year when the up-country produce is floated down from a hundred head-waters to the great depot and entrepot of the Mississippi Valley.

It was just then the season; and on reaching the flat-boat wharf, we found some hundreds of these antediluvian-like structures lying against the wharf, and so closely packed together that a man might have stepped from the roof of one to the other, throughout the whole conglomeration.

Sauntering along, without appearing to be particularly interested in any of them, Mr. Sawyer and I proceeded to make our reconnoissance. Most of them had their stagings out and were delivering their cargoes on shore—hogsheads of sugar and tobacco, barrels of pork, and bags of Indian corn. Some appeared to have been already emptied, and to be watching for a purchaser who would break them up for firewood.

There were a few lying a little way off from the levee, as if crowded out of place, and waiting for a chance to come in.

One of these particularly drew my attention. I fancied I had seen it before. It was only a vague conjecture, but I could not help thinking that it was the same craft on board of which I had spent some very unpleasant hours, and from which I had been so unceremoniously ejected. No one appeared above decks. Else I might have more easily identified it.

For some time my companion and I sauntered back and forward along the levee, keeping an eye on this particular flat. I had already communicated to him my suspicion that it was the one we were in search of. We watched the hatch-door of the caboose; but, though standing open, no one came out or went in; and no face could be seen.

It at length occurred to me that if we could get aboard, I might find a trace to satisfy me. There was no plank communicating with the shore; but there was one to the adjacent boat, which was engaged in getting out its cargo, and by using this, we could step to the roof of the craft suspected.

Sawyer led the way. A slight apology to the owner of the discharging flat was sufficient to frank us; and we passed on over its roof, and stepped across the chasm dividing the two.

I had just time to see that Stinger, with his scrubbing-brush, had not altogether effaced that hideous stain, when a head popped up through the hatch, and a rough voice demanded "what we were doing there?" The demand was prefaced by an oath. I had seen enough to satisfy me, before perceiving that the speaker was Mr. Black; and without staying to hear the reply, which I left the lawyer to make, I averted my face, and returned, apparently unconcerned, to the shore.

I could hear Mr. Sawyer making some excuse—that we were only exploring out of idle curiosity; and then overtaking me, we sauntered from the spot.

"From your behavior," said he, as soon as we had got to a safe distance, "I took it that our polite friend is one of the pirates. Is it so?"

"The man who gave me this," I replied, flirting up the corner of the camlet cloak, and showing my slung limb.

"So far good! We've treed the jackals; now for the lion himself. But first let us make sure of the birds in hand, before going after that in the bush. You stay here till I return to you."

And without further speech the lawyer walked hurriedly away in the direction of the houses. I did not quite comprehend the meaning of his figurative language.

It was soon made known, on his returning to me accompanied by a man of that peculiar cast of countenance not easily mistaken. In his keen inquiring eye, I could recognize the detective.

"You see that flat," said Sawyer, at the same time casting his eyes in a different direction—across the river to "Algiers." "I mean the one next to that unloading the Cincinnati pork-barrels."

"Ay, ay!" responded the detective, just glancing at the object spoken of, and then also appearing interested in something supposed to be on the opposite shore.

"Very well," muttered the lawyer; "you will keep it under your eye, take note of who comes ashore—who goes on board; and don't lose sight of it, either by day or night, till it begins to get out its cargo, which is cotton. As soon as you see the first bale rolled upon the bank you come to my office as quick as your legs can carry you."

"All right," signified the man, rather by a nod of the head than any expressed speech; while Sawyer by a sign summoned me to follow him.

"Now," said he, as we walked off together, "the first chapter is complete, and we must proceed to the second. We've done, for the time, with the flat. Let us go in for higher game, to be found upon a steamboat."

Saying this, Mr. Sawyer directed his steps toward the steamboat wharves. I made no inquiry as to his purpose. It was plain to me; and I accompanied him without making remark.

CHAPTER XXVI.

THE SPY-GLASS.

Ten minutes' brisk walking brought us alongside that portion of the levee set apart for steamboats—those huge embarkations of the Mississippi, many of which are not inappropriately styled "floating palaces."

At least two score of them lay opposite the landing; some coming in, others going out; some taking cargo aboard, and others discharging it on the wharf.

It was a crowded and busy scene; but unlike as among the flats, we anticipated no difficulty in identifying the particular boat with which we had business. We were in search of the "Yazoo City."

A single stroll along the line, and we saw she was not there. Scarce expecting her, we were pleased to discover she had not yet come in. It was just what we wanted.

"And now," said Mr. Sawyer, "we must stay till she does come in, and follow on the track of the expected passenger. Where was it you passed her?"

"Near Point Coupee."

"Let me see," said the lawyer, taking out his watch, and calculating the time that had transpired since the arrival of the Sultana.

"The Yazoo boat should have been in; she can not be long now, unless indeed she has stopped somewhere along the coast to take in cargo. In that case we may have a protracted vigil of it. It's not very pleasant standing in this hot sun. Besides it looks rather queer you carrying your cloak about your shoulders. Unfortunately we can not do this business by deputy, as it wants some one who knows our man by sight. For myself, I never saw Mr. Nat Bradley, though I've heard some strange stories about him, almost as strange as that you've told me. Confound that cloak! Those fellows appear to take notice of it. Stay! I have it. I think I see a better place from which to make observation—at all events we shall escape it ourselves. This way."

Without knowing the intention of my chaperone, I followed him. He had turned short off from the steamboat-wharf, and was proceeding in the direction of the houses that fronted upon the levee some two hundred yards from the river's bank.

"You see that restaurant?" he said, pointing to a large establishment toward which we were wending.

I answered in the affirmative.

"There is a saloon on the second floor, with open windows. Go up there and call for a couple of 'sherry cobblers.' I will be with you by the time they are mixed."

I did as directed, passing inside the restaurant, making my way up-stairs, and ordering the iced drinks.

The lawyer came in along with them. I could see that he had a telescope in his hand, fresh purchased from a "store."

"The very place for our purpose," he said, walking to one of the windows and glancing at the steamboats. "The Yazoo City can't come in without our seeing her from here, and with the help of this magnifier we may bring Mr. Bradley near enough to recognization. What!" he continued, placing the telescope to his eye, and looking along the levee; "have we a view of the flat as well? By my word we have. I can see the pork-boat—the flat itself, and Riggs, on post where we left him, as plain as the dome of St. Charles. Good! We shall now know the movements both of Mr. Bradley and his confederates, without getting out of our chairs. So no more about them for the present. Let's see how we can kill time with our sherry cobblers."

We had not much time to kill. We had only just commenced sipping through our straws, when we heard a "chuck, chuck" in the direction of Lafayette; and, looking up the river, we beheld a small boat making down for the wharves.

Her straight sides told she was a "stern-wheeler," but as she forged round in the crescent-like bend from which New Orleans derives one of its well-known names, my companion, with the glass at his eye, pronounced her the Yazoo City.

"Here!" he said, as the boat began to draw toward the wharf, "it's your turn with the telescope. Get Mr. Bradley in your field of vision, and keep him there till he comes near enough for the naked eye. What a divine conception my thinking of the spy-glass—quite a new idea in detection. We're not only saved exposure to the hot sun, but my man will never suspect the presence of a spy. If he should see us looking out of the window, he'd be cunning to guess our object."

The lawyer continued to talk, but I paid only slight attention to what he was saying. I knew it was only to fill up the time. I had got the Yazoo City in the field-view of the telescope and was raking her fore and aft in search of our pirate passenger.

I soon discovered the object of my search. He was upon the guards, near the top of the stairs leading down to the boiler-deck. I could make out a pair of saddle-bags hanging over his arm. I knew it was the whole of his luggage, and that he was prepared to step ashore as soon as the staging was shot out.

I announced my discovery to my companion.

"Let me have a squint at him," he requested. "It may be as well for me to get acquainted with the phiz of the interesting gentleman, and see how it will figure in a court of justice. In a Panama hat and blue cottonades, you say?"

"Yes; on the saloon deck, close to the head of the stairway."

"I have got his precious picture in my eye. Dressed like a dandy, too! Patent boots, and grand ruffled shirt! What a flash swaggerer! Let me see—let me see. I think I've seen that fellow before."

While my companion still kept his eye to the telescope, as if to familiarize himself with the person of the pirate planter, the little boat struggled into her place, shoved out her staging, and gave the impatient passengers a chance of stepping ashore.

Now that I had recognized him I no longer required the glass, and I could see that Mr. Bradley was among the first to take advantage of it.

As soon as he had reached the crest of the levee, he turned along it in the direction of the flat-boat landing.

"Good!" whispered Sawyer. "Just as I expected. We shall not have long to wait before something turns up that will enable us to trap him."

"Should we not follow him?"

"Not yet. Better let him first go down to the flat—aboard if he intends it. We can see what he does through this. When he comes ashore again, then it will be time enough to track him to his hotel. Such a grand fellow as that, unless he have some secret haunt of his own, will be sure to put up at the St. Charles. Yes! he's making direct for the flat!"

I could see this myself; but after a time, though the distance was still near enough for the naked eye, the pirate became mixed among the levee crowd of promenaders, and was lost to my sight.

"Good again!" muttered my companion. "He's going aboard the boat.... No! one of the crew coming ashore to meet him. It's the same who so politely received us.... Now they are together on the levee, and engaged in conversation. I wish we could only hear it. No doubt it would help our testimony a bit. Riggs has got his eyes upon them; askant, like a drake listening to thunder. Come! we must quit this, or he may escape us. As he's not going aboard, he won't stay long on the levee. We shall get down there about the time he has finished that bit of private conversation. Come!"

Tossing off what remained of the "cobblers," without the intervention of the straw, we paid the score, passed out into the street, and turned toward the flat-boat landing.

The lawyer had guessed the time truly. As we advanced along the line of shop fronts, we came once more in sight of him in the ruffled shirt and sky-blue cottonades. He was just parting from Black, who, having received his instructions, hurried back to the cotton-boat.

Bradley himself came crossing toward the houses, on his way to a hotel, which proving to be the St. Charles, once more made good the conjecture of my companion.

As we dogged him up Poydras street, across Tchoupatoulas and Camp, and into the great domed hostelry of St. Charles, he little dreamt that the spies of justice were treading so close upon his heels.

CHAPTER XXVII.

THE DEPOSITIONS.

I was curious to know what would be the next step in the strategy of the New Orleans lawyer. I was not left long to speculate upon it.

"Now," he said, hurrying off once more in the direction of the levee, "I want a man willing to buy two hundred bales of cotton, without losing any time or making cavil as to price."

"You will not find such a man, I should think."

"I will! and in ten minutes' time, if I mistake not. Come and see!"

After passing two or three blocks in less than the time stipulated, my chaperone entered the door of a large warehouse-like building, on the front of which appeared, painted in large black letters, "CHEETHAM, Cotton-Broker."

I had just deciphered this lettering as Mr. Sawyer came out, bringing the cotton-broker along with him.

After hastily introducing me to Mr. Cheetham, the lawyer led off through the street in the direction of his office, my new acquaintance and myself close following.

The office was not far off, and we were soon inside it. Mr. Cheetham was told the reason why he had been dragged from his desk, and, for the third time making good the words of my singular companion, consented at once to make purchase of the cotton.

I was not so much surprised at this, having taken part in the explanation. Of course the cotton-broker was told the whole story, and the scheme by which the pirates were to be punished.

I was far more astonished at the matter-of-fact manner in which Mr. Cheetham listened to the details of the piracy, and the suspected assassination of the negroes, events which to me seemed tragical enough to startle the coldest imagination.

But I knew it was only caused by the commonness of such crimes, in a land then almost lawless, and not by any want of feeling on the part of Mr. Cheetham.

On the contrary, he entered warmly into the scheme for the conviction of the malefactors.

While we were still discussing it, a man entered the outer door, and soon after protruded his face inside that of the office. It was the vidette we had left on the levee.

"Well, Riggs," asked the lawyer, "what movements?"

"Thar rolling the cotton ashore."

"Good; we must go and buy it."

"You'll have to be quick, then. They've engaged a lot of drays. I reckon they're about taking it to a storage."

The lawyer seemed to reflect.

"After all, let them," he said; "we can follow it there. But no," he continued, after another spell of considering; "you must see it, Cheetham, as it comes out of the boat. If you go too soon to where they are storing it, it might cause suspicion. Your best way is to drop down to the wharf, ask for a sample of the cotton, say you are ready to buy, and then you will ascertain who has the selling of it. After that you can conclude the bargain anywhere—at the St. Charles Hotel, if Mr. Bradley prefer it. Meanwhile, I must be off to a magistrate to get out a warrant against the fellows upon the flat, lest they give us the slip as soon as their ark is empty.

"Riggs, you first show Mr. Cheetham the cotton, then take a coach to the St. Louis Hotel, ask for Mr. Henry Woodley, and tell him and his brother to come here at once. After that, coach it back to the wharf, and see where they are taking the stuff to. You can follow the drays at a distance, and don't be seen in company with Mr. Cheetham. Old birds, such as these appear to be, may scent the lime about you. Go, Cheetham; buy the cotton; pay what price you choose—on a credit. But don't pay cash for it, till you draw upon me!"

Smiling at these jocular instructions, the cotton-broker went off to obey them, Riggs going before him to point out the commodity he was to purchase.

"Now, sir," said the lawyer, turning to me, "we shall want your assistance—the most important of all. Without it our case might come to nothing. We must wait for the Woodleys. Walter can make a charge, as the owner of the cotton and the negroes. God help us! Henry's testimony won't be worth much, still it will strengthen the depositions you are able to make. Once we get the lot in limbo, we shall find plenty of evidence. We shall make a trip to the Devil's Island, and see what's at the bottom of the lagoon. It's terrible to think of it. Take a cigar, and let's talk about something else."

I did as desired, and lighting our cigars, we conversed upon lighter subjects.

In due time the Woodleys made their appearance; and we all went to the office of an alderman.

The depositions were formally made, and we obtained a warrant for Black, Stinger, and the third individual whose name was unknown. We regretted not being able to include the name of Nathaniel Bradley, but we hoped soon to return to the seat of justice, better provided with data for an affidavit.

The alderman was asked to keep our secret until the time came off for committal, which of course he promised to do, and we returned to the office of the attorney to await the action of Cheetham.

We had not been there many minutes when the cotton-broker came in. His countenance betokens success.

"Well?" inquired Sawyer.

"I've bought it—every bale."

"From whom?"

"From a Mississippi planter, by name Nathaniel Bradley."

"Cheap?" jokingly inquired the lawyer.

"So cheap that I wish it was a bona-fide purchase. I found Mr. Bradley by no means exacting as to price. He closed with my first bid. I'm to meet him at the St. Charles to-morrow, and pay down the cash. Meanwhile the cotton is being sent to the Empire Press subject to my orders, on its being paid for. I suppose you have no objection to that, Mr. Woodley?"

"Not the slightest," replied the Tennessee planter; "any press so long as I can recover it."

"Now, gentlemen," said Sawyer, "I want you all to go with me to the alderman's office; but let us scatter, and march two, two and one. Five such formidable people in the streets together might look as if we intended storming the municipality. Cheetham, you know the place; take Mr. Henry Woodley. And you, sir," continued the lawyer, addressing himself to me, "have not forgotten it. May I request you to become the guide of your friend Walter? As for myself you will find me at the fountain of justice."

We started from the lawyer's office, going as directed; and soon after returned to it armed with the authority we had sought.

That night, Nathaniel Bradley, William Black, James Stinger, and a man whose name we were able to insert into the warrant as Lemuel Croucher, and whose condition we discovered to be that of overseer on the aforesaid Bradley's plantation, found lodgings in the common calaboose of the Crescent City.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

CONVICTION.

I shall not wear the patience of my reader with the details of the trial that followed. Enough for him to know that we succeeded in securing a conviction, against all four of the accused. They were convicted not only of piracy, but murder, of which we found the proofs, alas too clear!

In dragging the lagoon to strengthen our testimony with the scraps of cotton-bagging I had seen the pirate sinking below the surface, an appalling object was brought up on the prongs of the drag—the body of a negro that had been kept at anchor below by a bag of iron tied around the neck.

His face was disfigured by the slashes of a knife; but not so much as to hinder Walter Woodley from identifying him as one of the four who had been sent to assist in the navigation of the flat.

There was a bullet-hole through his breast, no doubt from the shot I had heard fired when half asleep, followed by that death shriek that so long rung in my ears.

We searched for the other three, dragging the whole lagoon, as well as the strait that led into it. They could not be found. In all likelihood their bodies had been sunk in the deep channel of the river—a safer place of concealment.

Why one had been brought up the lagoon we could not tell, unless it was that he had been killed outside, and allowed to lie upon the flat, for the want of time, while turning out of the current, to dispose of his body by flinging it overboard.

We succeeded in fishing up the bundles of cast bagging, that carried the Woodley mark; and, along with them, two other lots of older date, and bearing a different brand. One set of these was gone to rottenness and rags; on the other could still be deciphered a name and mark that led to its identification. It had covered the cotton of that missing boat belonging to the Arkansas planter, of which Henry Woodley had heard.

How many of these horrid tragedies had been enacted on the Devil's Island it was impossible to say, but certainly one every year. No wonder at planter Bradley becoming rapidly rich! No wonder at the Devil's Island being deemed a haunted spot, inspiring terror among the black-skinned creatures who had occasion to go near it. To many of them, its gloomy lagoon, or the swift current sweeping around it, had proved more destructive than the fancied demon of their superstitious fears.

We had no difficulty in making out the case clear against the pirates; but, although we proved them guilty of the double crime—robbery and murder—to say nothing of the attempt at assassinating myself—the severest sentence that could be obtained was penitentiary for life! There was no proof of their having murdered a white man!

Bradley did not submit long to his confinement. In less than a year afterward, I heard that he had put an end to his life.

As to Black, Stinger, and Croucher, for what I know to the contrary, all three may be still inside the strong walls of the Louisiana State prison, working out their tedious term of compulsory penitence.

I might turn to other themes, and describe scenes of a more tranquil character. But no doubt, by this time the reader is tired of my narrative. He will not care to listen to the oft-told tale, the old, old story, as it was told to Cornelia Woodley. Suffice it to say, that she listened to, liked it, and said "Yes."

THE END.

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