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.

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.