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.