Beadle's Half Dime Library (no. 87) (1879 03 25)
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2 The Land Pirates; The League of Devil’s Island. A TALE OF THE MISSISSIPPI. BY CAPT. MAYNE REID, AUTHOR OF ‘“‘ BLUE DICK,” ETC., ETC. CHAPTER I. A PAYING PRISON, Many long years have elapsed since I first set foot in the valley of the Mississippi. I had strayed thith- er a young and enthusiastic traveler, with scarce wd other aim than adventure. soon discovered that I had got into the very ground where such a taste could be gratified. Amid scenes of softness or sublimity, or tranquil solitude or stirring life—amid varied types of nationality, and gen contrasts of character—scarce a day passed without its incident, nor week wanting in some episode worthy of remembrance. Many of them have, at least, proved worthy of mine; and I now look back upon them with that romantic inter- est by which the past often reflects itself in the mir- ror 0 pet That I am about to record is of a mixed character —a drama in which there are scenes of pain as well as pleasure—both of real occurrence, hether interesting or no, they may be deemed improbable; though not by those who have studied the social characteristics of the Mississippi valley at the period to which they refer—before the “Far West” had commenced receding from the great river, and its settlements had refused to give shelter to those outcasts of society, who own no law but that of the /ex talionis, and no lawyer but Lynch. Unlike most travelers through Mississippian terri- tory, Lentered it from the south—by the mouth of its main river—making my first station in the city of New Orleans. It was late in the spring when I arrived there. And soon after the red cross boy wearer d to show it- self on the doors of the humbler wellings that lay ‘‘swampward,” warned me of the presence of that terrible epidemic, which there annually decimated the ranks of such strangers as were compelled to make their summer sojourn in the place. Taking the hint, I e a temporary adieu to New Orleans, intending to return to it after the first frost in the “fall.” Straying northward, here and there halting as chance or caprice directed, I was at length carried into the Ohio and up the Cumberland river to the capital of Tennessee. this time the forest foli had become tinged with red and the leaf was beginning to fall. y stay, therefore, in the “City of Rocks,”"’ thoug Jeasant, was not prolonged; and I made meepere: ons for leaving it: not by a steamboat, as I had come, but on horseback—a mode of traveling I much preferred, as, in fact, the only one by which such a country can be seen. With a stout roadster between my thighs, and a valise buckled to the croup behind me, | took the Franklin “ pike,” leading southward from the city. I contemplated a long ride—so long, that were I state the distance, it might test the credulity of my readers; as it did that of a traveler, who shortly af- ter overtook me. I had made some three miles along the dusty a and was nearly opposite a large pile of building, standing to the right of the road, when the traveler in question came gliding alongside. 3 was upon a “pacer,” and could soon have passed me; but instead of doing so, he checked his steed into a walk, and rode by my side. Glancing toward him, I saw that he was a young man, dress- ed in white linen coat and trowsers, with well-fitting boots upon his feet, and a Panama hat upon his head. “és ry lanter,”” was my reflection, ‘‘or the son of one;”’ for he did not appear to be over twenty years of 278. « The Penitent 1’ he said, seeing that my eyes xvere fixed upon the building. “You've been in there, I sup’ » abe Tne question sounded so odd, that my first im- ulse was to answer it with a laugh, which I did; ee no idea that it had been put through urtes inte Stor, perceiving the droll interpreta- tion his ee joined me in the laugh. “* Pardon ‘me!’’ he anid, Spoe=ng- “Of course know what I mean. I take you to be a stranger these apg and supposed you might like to know something of this State fortress of ours.” “A thousand thanks!’ I rejoined. “You are right. I am a traveler, and as such not without curiosity. The State Fenitensery you say it is. I shall feel very much indebted you for any in- — you may think proper to give me about “Suppose you go with me inside? I know the qrovernor, and can get admittance. It will be worth your while, if only to see Murrell.” mi Murrell—who is he?” “Oh! that of itself would tell you to be a stranger to Tennessee; else you would have heard of him. ‘Murrell is the great pirate and robber of the Missis- a ee notorious upon the roads and rivers C) committed scoresof murders, it is said; and neg against him. For all ae several have been nm years, and has already serv the is in for only Beadle’s Half-Dime Library gx of them. Would you like to have a look at m 7 ** By all means.” ** Come along, then!” With this my new acquaintance wheeled his horse into the avenue leading up to the gate of the State Fame whither, without another word, I followed We were admitted, and courteously conducted through what appeared far more'like a vast manu- factu establishment than a place of penal im- prisopment; a manufactory, too, comprising almost every trade known to the necessities of ci tion. I there saw hatters, tailors, shoemakers and car- penters; spinners and weavers, bakers and black- smiths; all busy at their epess employments, Among the last-mentioned saw the murderer Murrell—and through the coal-grime on his face, I could see the countenance of a man that by no means belied his terrible reputation. His history was given me on the spot. a agg a oan , @ blacksmith—the calling to which, like Vulcan, he was now condemned—he had forsaken it for the more profitable profession of p —not upon the high seas, as the term might seem to imply, but upon the rivers of the Mississippi valley—espe- cially the great stream itself—his prey, instead of ships, being the “ keeis "’ and flat-boats descending, cargo iden, to _— eee or a Ts eee ng alon eup-river roads, and carry e cas. obtained | for their commodities, sa Murrell had been hard to catch, and harder still to convict. His confederates could be counted by the score—among them merchants, planters, justices of the peace, and even clergymen! The result was that he was sentenced to fen years in the Peniten- tiary, boa at least ten times the number of high- way robberies, and perhaps twice the count in hor- rid assassinations! I shall never forget the disgust with which I con- templated this fiend in human sha Not for long. Iwas only too glad to get out of the blacksmiths’ shop, and lay my leg once more over the saddle. But in that visit to the Tennessee State Prison, I became acquainted with some facts that in part compensated for its unpleasantness, I there learned that crime may become its own cure ; that the industry proceeding lied as to remove its cause, or at all events to release he State from taxation | This fact, first discovered in the Tennessee Peni- tentiary, did not so much strike me at the time. I was then but a careless student in the science of political economy. : Only in latter years did I fully understand a statis- tic so ee ype Would that the em oo | ao of other and older States could comprehend its im- portance. CHAPTER II. A COURTEOUS INVITATION, ‘““WuerreE are you riding to?” was the question asked by my new acquaintance, as we once more entered upon the pike. “To New Orleans.” ** Not on horseback?” ‘* On horseback.” ‘““ Why, it is a thousand miles. It will take you at panied a month, You could get there by boat in a week,’ ‘“*T know it.” “Oh! you have some object then in going by the road? Perhaps commercial?” My fellow-traveler’s eye rested for a moment on my valise, but evidently unsatisfied. It did not look much like the pack of a peddler. “No,” I said, in answer to his interrogatory. ‘Unfortunately for me, I am not able to offer such a substantial excuse for my journey.” “ Well,” he rejoined, ‘‘ I know it’s common puonpt to travel on horseback across to erp when the water is low in the Cumberland, and there may not be a boat; but to ride all the way to New Orleans— “ different affair. Do you really mean it?” 0. ‘Excuse me for appearing inquisitive. It’s a pines we Western ple assume to ourselves. only asked, because it seems 50 gdd for any one to undertake such a tedious eg A “You are perfectly welcome know my reason for undertaking it. I have made the up-journe from New Orleans to Nashville by boat, and for I have learnt by it,I might as well have been stop- ping at the ‘St. Charles Hotel,’ at one end, or the Nashville Inn’ at the other. My object is to see something of the interior of your country; and this lished on board a noisy steam- is not to be accomp: “Ah! NowlI perceive. No doubt you are right. As a stranger to our country—” “How can you tell that?” I asked, abruptly inter- rere him, : Oh! that is easily told,” was the prompt reply. “ For instance, the odd article strapped on the crup- r of your saddle.” Pa Ah’ the valise.” “Valise you call it? Here we only use the saddle- “T know it. I prefer the valise, as you see. I acknowledge your saddle-bags may be more con- venient; but they are also more hea to the horse, and for that reason I incline to stick to my Vv. ” “Ha! [perceive you are a true traveler; and since you say you are journeying only to see the country, you can not be much pressed for time. I have made you acquainted with the inside of a Tennessee prison. I hope you will permit me to introduce you to some- thing not quite so gloomy—a Tennessee cotton plan- tation. Perhaps you have not yet visited one?”’ rom it may be so ap-, _ “It is very kind of you,” I replied, more than ever impressed with the courtesy of my new acquaint- ance, ‘In truth, I have never seen a cotton planta- 6 ee life.”’ oes saa “Wel you will place yourself under m d- ance, I shall be most happy to show you el my father’s, I should rather call it. Itis not one of the largest, nor do we have cotton plantations in such perfection as you will see them further south— in bama and Mississippi. We are here on the northern of the cotton-growing climate, and the plants sometimes suffer from the frosts. Ours, how- ever, will enable you to form some idea of one of the chief sources of Tennessee wealth; and I shall have much pleasure in ne you over it.” I accepted the invitation. It was, indeed, furnish- ing me with an opportunity I had intended seeking ; for although, further south, I had made some ac- quaintance with sugar and tobacco plantations, I was yet oe of the mode by which the great com- mercial staple of the Southern States is produced and eh gear for the market. I could not help repeating my tlanks for such kindness shown to a stranger—as I expressed it. Well, sir,” was the reply, accompanied by a sig- nificant smile, “T have been, perhaps, taking an un- fair advantage of you. You are not altogether such a stranger to me, though I only know you through another.” “ Another! Who?” “If I am not mistaken, you made the up-river voy- age, a a month ago, in the steamer Sultana?” “ i .* ‘Do you remember one of your fellow-passengers: —a young er, by name Miss Woodley?” It is not likely I should have forgotten Miss Wood- ley, nor would any one who had ever seen her—to say nothing of having voyaged nearly a thousand miles in the same boat with her. She had come on board at a landing below Vicksburg on the Missis- a brother having brought her to the landing. Thence she had traveled alone to Nashville—chang- ing boats, as I had myself, at the mouth of the Cumberland river. Butif alone, she was not neglect- ed. Both on the Sultana and the smaller steamer, she had been the cynosure of many an eye, and the theme of many a sigh. Half a score of her fellow- a. thought the journey too short; and I ecline to say that I was not one of the number. I had been honored with an introduction given me by the captain of the Sultana; but the beautiful Cor- nelia Naar Rta so surrounded by admirers that I found but ht opportunity of cultivating her ac- saddle, and regard him with renewed interest. ‘Certainly,’ I said, ‘‘ I traveled on the same boat with Miss oodley.” “T thought so,” was the prompt rejoinder. ‘I could tell it was you from the description she gave me. Isaw you as you rode out of town, and made haste to follow.” This kind of talk required explanation. In what relationship did my new acquaintance stand to my fair fellow-voyager? Was the young planter only a neighbor, whose intimacy had procured him the in- formation detailed? I did not relish the conjecture of his being her lover. He was too good-looking to make the thought palatable. I preferred the fanc that he might a brother. fore I could ask, had the answer indirectly. “T’m so glad you're going our way. I’m sure my sister will be most happy to see you.” ie Oh! You are the brother of Miss Woodley, en 9? “One of them, There are two of us, I am the qounsess of the lot. Henry, who is the oldest, don’t ve with us here. He has a plantation in Mississippi, below Vicksburg. That’s where my sister has been. She spends her winters with him, and only comes to Tennessee for the summer months,” I felt secretly glad that the summer months had not yet quite away. ‘e rode on; from this time calling each other b name, and conversing as if we had been old acquain ances. More than ever did I long to become initiated into the economy of a cotton plantation. CHAPTER I. NAT BRADLEY. I nap been for some time expecting to see m de strike into one of those side gates, sparsely ee ing along the pike, and which I knew, by the preten- tious piers of hewn post-oak, to be the entrances to some dw or plantation. ‘‘ How far is it to your father’s place?” I asked, in a careless way, 80 as to conceal my impatience. “Oh! a long way yet,” was the uraging re- miles. We can not reach it ly. “At least fort, ng ‘ht. We must sleep in Columbia.” es peg Columbia it is?” ‘*4 long way beyond. There’s no cotton Jand on this side wo cultivating. It lies too far north, and the frost, as I’ve told you, often the young oe. Father's plantation is a ways from @ road, on one of the creeks that run into Duck river. It’s capital soil for cotton, only that we have a long bin to haul it to a steamboat landing. This year we intend sending the crop to New Orleans on a flat. Father’s got an idea it will pay, and the boat’s being built. You see, the creek runs right through our plantation, and it’s wide enough to get
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ihe Land Pirates. a flat through to the Duck. Once there, it’s only to float down to the Tennessee and into the Ohio—then on to the Missisetpee We never did it before, but some of our neighbors have tried it, and they say it pays. Of course you know, after the crop’s gather- ed the niggers haven’t much to do, and half a dozen of them, with one or two of the regular river boat- men, can navigate a flat without much expense, By steamboat there’s heavy freight charges just now; besides the hauling before you can get it aboard. There’s no landing nearer our plantation than twenty miles, and with bad roads at that. We make a hundred and fifty bales every year, and as a team can only take four at a time, you can tell what a tedious affair itis. With a flat we can load right on our own land, close to the cotton-press. I had become so interested in these details of cotton-planting that I had almost ceased to think of oat = "say gene which I expected to find upon e plantation. it was something so original, so American-like, a crop raised in the very heart of a continent—amid forest-clad slopes apparently inaccessible—to be thus transported from the spot on which it was grown to a market more than a thousand miles distant, not by ship or steam, or the intervention of any kind of carrier to share the profits of t rtation, but transported by the agriculturist who had grown it —going, as it were, direct from the producer to the consumer! Absorbed in the contemplation of this curious prob- lem in political economy—important as curious—I had for the time forgotten the traveling companion who had suggested it, I was aroused from my reverie by hearing him ex- change a salutation with some one who had met us on the road. On pritewn Sy: I saw it was a horseman going in the opposi rection. He, too, had the appearance of a traveler, his horse dimmed with dust and dry sweat, with a pair of swollen saddle- — protruding behind his thighs, @ was a young man—apparently twenty-five— though with a countenance whose expression told of an experience far beyond his circumstance by no means rare in the on of the South-west. By his dress he would have been taken for a janter; although it was unlike that worn by young Woodley. Like him, he had a Panama hat; but instead of white linen, hiscoat was a blouse of sky- blue cottonade, plaited and close-buttoned over the breast, while his trowsers were of the same stuff and color. It was, in fact, the dress of the Louisianian creole, adopted by many Americans who have mi- grated to lands on the lower Mississippi. ‘Well, Walt! Been to Nashville?’ was the speech he had addressed to my companion, as they reined up their horses in the middle of the road, “ Nat Bradley!” exclaimed the young planter, evi- dently under some surprise, which might be caused by an un ted encounter, ‘* Yes, Nat Bradley it is.’ ‘“Who'd have looked for you here? Where have you been?” — ‘* Oniy out vo take asquint at the old place. Mighty glad I got shet of it. You're all a set of fools for staying in Tennessee. Talk of growin’ cotton up here! Mississippi’s]the place for that. Why, the meanest nigger on my plant can make two bales to our one.”’ “Tve heard you have been having great success. My brother has written to say so.” ‘Has he, indeed? Well, it’s a wonder he don't ive up his corn-growing and cf the cotton too. ‘or my part I go fn for the weed that fetches the ready cash—twenty cents to the pound. You’ve a good crop this arth haven’t you? “*T believe it is.” ret “How many bales are you countin’ on? “Father thinks there will be nearly two hundred.” *Deuced handsome whey if you can only get it safe to market. I’ve heard out on Duck you intend flatting it.” * “Yes; we are building a boat for that purpose. * Best a in the world. My: the . Wy Be: nse, no hauling, no freight charges 0 esides, the steamers are eternally getting blown up. There's half a score of them bu’st their boilers last season. Recommend me to the good old-fash- ioned flat. I always send my truck to Orleans that way, and would do so even if I could tumble the bales into a steamboat right off the plantation press. Last flat I sent down fetched me as lumber enough to all the mses of takin’ it there. Come rs: t from Nashville?” ‘ es. ” ei Know if there's any boat about starting for be- “T haven't heard.” ‘Hope there is. I want to get down to Mississippi. I only run up for a little business I had in Nash, and thought when so near, I might as well run out and have a look at the old diggin’s on the Duck. Cor- neel’s out there, ain’t shey “Yes. My sister is with us.” “Of pet 3 hag = see her, as your old man and I % uare pata’s 3 hot, aint id since that—you The last remark appeared to be by way of chang- ing the subject, which I could see Wan not at ail agreeable to my young Companion, “Very hot,” was the ene | reply. “The sooner we get out of it the better, You're hogna straight for home, I suppose?” ‘ traight.”’ The emphasis on the “you're,” with a look cast toward me, was evidently meant to draw out a dif- ferent answer; while in the glance, quick and fur- tive as it wee, < uke Lay 9 in Nat Bradley’s mind a sentiment hostile to mysell. “ Well!’ he exclaimed, turning to conceal his dis- satisfaction, ‘I’m off, Woodley. Hope to see you some day in Mississippi, Good-by!’’ And with another sullen side-look at me, which I did not fail to return, Nat Bradley struck the spur into his sweating horse, and went clattering off along the turnpike toward Nashville. CHAPTER IV. A QUEER CHARACTER. Tue impression produced bse me by this encoun- ter was far from agreeable. It was, in truth, of the very opposite character. There was something in the style of the man we had met—both in his — and demeanor—that provoked a feeling of indigna- tion, as almost necessary to self-respect; and I had felt this from the moment of meeting him. Though neither word nor nod had passed between us, there was that in his regard which told me of an instinct- ive antagonism in our natures, and that he also felt itas1, Icould see that he was what, in the South- ern States, is termed a Cho 0 Its broad arrow was upon him—unmistakably impressed on _ his countenance, as well as in the way in which he car- ried himself. There was a swagger that seemed in- tended to conceal the coward. For all that, there was something in the rounded stoop of his shoulders, and the short, thick neck, that bespoke a courage suf- ficient for crime, and it did not uire the butt of a a protruding from his breas cket, nor the It of a bowie-knif , Shining among his shirt-ruffles, to tell that he was ready to use either weapon upon alight provocation, or perhaps without any at all. t was the sight of these ugly insignia, carried so ostentatiously, that had produced my first feeling of aversion—soon strengthened, however, by the ban- tering tone in which he talked to my young compan- ion, who appeared to treat him with more civility than he deserved. More than all, the free, familiar way in which he spoke of the young planter’s sister—which the lat- ter did not Sead to relish—this and the glances given to myself, had prepared me for a very surly conversation, had one been commenced between us. Indeed, had the interview lasted much longer, with the interchange of a few more such looks, the bad blood between us would have found expression in speech. As it was, we parted in mutual dislike, on both sides as clearly understood as though it had been spoken. ‘Who is your swearing friend?” I asked, knowing that the question so put was not likely to give offense. ** Not much friend of mine.” “Nor of your father’s, I should say?’ fey’ can’t — the gers of a as ~ “An old acquaintance, I suppose € appears be familiar with your affairs.” Iwas thinking more of the mode in which he had spoken of Miss Woodley than of any thing else. The remark made about not having seen her, had jarred upon my ear, Why should he have said this at all? And why had the brother appeared to dislike it? “Oh, yes. He is an old acquaintance,’’ replied the young planter; ‘‘and ought to know a g deal of our affairs—at least untillately. I may say we were brought up together. His plantation adjoined ours —what once was his. That's what he meant by say- ing he was out to have a look at the old place.’ It is no ponger his, you say?” ‘* No, the land now belongs tous,” ‘*Oh, indeed!” “ Yes. Nat has been what in Tennessee we call a ‘wild blood,’ if not something worse. He never would keep straight, nor stay among his own sort, He was always given to queer company—among the poor white trash, and what between spending money at their cock-fights, ‘quarter-races’ and ‘ candy- ar oe al he soon went hrough what was left of his ather’s plantation. It wasn’t much, as his father before him was a good deal given the same way. The place came tothe hammer; and, as it sMoin ours, my father bought it, along with some of the niggers. They tell queer stories about Nat, these same dark- ies. If only half be true, the less one knows of him the better. I only wonder that my brother gives him the encouragement he does.” “Your brother?” “ Yes; his in Mississippi is not far from that you've heard Bradley speak of, where he can w such crops of cotton. e appears to be get- rich again. My brother says so in his letters. Nearly a hundred niggers, and always a pocket full of money. How he wo the start nobody can tell; but I one might find out if they were to fre- uent the bling-houses of New Orleans. Bro- ther sa @ goes down there every winter, stays only a short time, and comes back to his plantation loaded down with dollars. Last year, he bought no less than fifty field-hands for his plantation. You've been to Orleans, you say?” “T have.” “A terrible place for gambling, ain’t it?” “You are es right.” “No doubt that lains how Mr. Nat Bradley started his new plantation. If it’s ‘poker’ the play, there’s not many will stand a chance wit . _He had the name here when a boy, of beating even his father’s own niggers at it.” “What! was he accustomed to Me Ae them?” ‘With any one who had a ‘bit’ to bet upon the game. That was before he went away. He was poor enough then, for he hung about here long after he had lost the plantation—cock-fighting, drinking, quarreling—some say, worse, So, stran- ger, after what I’ve told you, you won't wonder at my being a little cool with Nat Bradley, though he has been my school-fellow.” “On the contrary, I think you act very properly in keeping him at a distance.” ‘I wish brother Henry would do the same.” 3 ‘* What reason have you for thinking he does not?” “Oh! plenty of reason. Henry receives him at his house, and he has even the impudence to talk to ‘Corneel,’ as you have heard him call my sister, Down in Mississippi State they have queer ways, As you may know, most of the Choctaw lands there, were settled by ban eperagang nny © and they're not very particular as to what a man is, so long as he makes money. Brother's an easy sort of fellow, ana don't much mind what kind he goes with, if he can only get his fill of hunting. It was nothing else he moved to the Mississippi for; though he don’t like to own to it. We see only a stray bear upon Duck, and deer are getting scarce, while both are still plenty in the canebrakes of the Mississippi bottom, But come, sir, you'll no doubt think me an inhospitable traveling companion; and our horses will Fave a sorry opinion of both of us. Here's old Spicer’s tav- ern, where we stand some chance of getting a din- ner, and in the cool of the evening we can ride on to Columbia.” We dismounted under the ewingsien of the “ La- fayette Hotel;” and, after a little “sweetening,” revailed — Major Spicer—a Tennessee tavern- eper would not of inferior grade—to consent that one of his darkies should take care of our horses, and ‘that we ourselves might partake of the hospitality of the Lafayette Hotel—consisting of sweet potatoes and “ pone” bread—fried pork, and apple “ sass,” with a stirrup cup of peach-brandy, to strengthen us for continuing our journey. CHAPTER V. PLANTATION LIFE. THERE are not many chapters in my life’s experi- ence that I can look back upon with more satisfac- tion than that which records my stay upon a Ten- nessee cotton-plantation. With me it has ever been a pleasure to study the ways and sources of produc- tion, more oy, those relating to the great sta- ples, that not only interest, but influence the con- ct of mankind. And perhaps none to a greater extent than that which, when fabricated, forms one of the most important items of our resin arm ng plant Gossypium, lately relied upon to control a great national revolution. I was shown its glaucous wool-covered seeds, the mode of ae it, the way by which its young shoots were kept clear of weeds—the plant as it ap- peared in its snow-white flower, and afterward, when the bursting capsule dis lays the equall white staple, giving still greater delight to the plant- er’s eye—then the gathering, the “picking” of those seeds, so tenacious as to require the machin- ery of the “gin; and, lastly, the packing and ‘pressing " of the bales, which makes them ready for the y, the flat, the steamboat, or the ship— ready for transport to the remotest parts of the earth, All this I learned from Walter Woodley, his fair sister supervising the lesson. I remember it well, though it would be more a wonder if I had forgotten it. Far was I from thinking it tedious. I could have undergone it twice over; stayed to study its details for a second season, and another crop; but, chance guest that I was, I could no longer intrude even ~ on Tennesseean hospitality, and I prepared to take eS ; departure. had spent ten days on the plantation; and, al- though in the retrospect I see only sunshine, I can remember that at the time there was just the suspi- cion of a shadow. In the happy house of &quire Woodley, no stran- ger would have looked for a “skeleton; and yet I suspected that there was one. It was only a suspi- cion, but strong enough to give me pain. I had not forgotten Nat Bradley, nor the free and easy fashion in which he had talked of the affairs of the family. I had not forgotten the confident tone in which he had alluded to “ Corneel.” Several times during my stay, the name of this gentleman had come up in conversation. With re- gerd to the hostility which his father entertained or him, Walter had spoken the truth. There could be no mistaking that, to judge from the terms the old gentleman employe when speaking of the “scoundrel,” as he plainly called Bradley; ard it was clear to me that the squire knew something to Nat Bradley's discredit—more than he thought pru- —, to communicate to the younger members of his amily. Neither of these took any pains to defend their old school-fellow; for in childhood’s days, accord- ing to backwoods custom, he bad been the school companion of both. Neither ever attempted to fpe a word in his favor. Walter even indorsed the sentiments of his father, while Miss Wocdloy was silent; but once or twice I fancied I could per- ceive in that silence some trace of embarrassment, and a desire on her to escape from discussing the question. Could it be that there was scme un- told and secret history between this beautiful girl and that bold blackguard, Bradley? The thought pained me as a stranger—it pained me stil) more as my acquaintance with Miss Woodley assumed the familiarity of friendship. True, it was only my own imagining; but this was strengthened by an incident that occurred previous to my leaving the plantation, and which in my mind had a sinister signification. I had been several times down to the creek where the flat-boat was being built—that craft that was to carry the cotton-crop more than a thousand miles to market. I could not help taking an interest in this native men of naval architecture—a sort of Noah's ark of the Western waters. It was being constructed under the superintendence of a white man, @ flat-boat builder by profession.
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’ Black ‘and his com ‘This person—whose name I had ascertained to be Bill Black—was assisted by a second individual, a white man like himself, who was a regular ‘‘ Missis- sippi boatman.” ‘he other ‘‘ builders’’ were all black, the carpen- ters and common hands of the plantation, some of whom were afterward to act as ‘‘ hands,’’ in the navi- gation of the craft. I had taken considerable interest in this ark’s con- struction, though the Tennessee Noah, Mr. Bill Black, seemed anything but inclined to initiate me into the mysteries of his ship-yard. Several times that I hax visited it alone, he had treated me with scant civility; and I had set him down as a morose brute, is acolyte, Stinger, was equally uncivil. The demeanor of these men would have given me a very low opinion of what are called the ‘‘ white trash’’ of Tennessee, but I learnt incidently that neither belonged to the place. . They were, in fact ‘ boatmen,’”? whose home was here to-day, there to-morrow—wherever a chance of employment might turn up. , One evening Walter Woodley was absent when wanted by his sister for some purpose that required his presence upon the premises. veral messengers had been sent forth to find him. Hency ing. he might be down at the creek, where the flat-builders were employed, and having nothing better to do, I sauntered in that direction to sum- .mon*him. The place was half a mile fromthe house, and_on the land formerly possessed by the Bradleys. On reaching it, I found no one in the ‘* ship-yard.”’ t was after sunset, and the workmen, both white and black, wero gone’ away for the night. I could see their tools stored in the shed. AsI had come on the wrong track to find the —— man, there was no reason for my hurrying ome, . ‘*He has got there by this time,’ was my reflec- tion; and lighting a cigar, I strolled slowly back to- ward the house. Thad not gone far before discovering that speed would have been impossible had I wished making it. The path for the most part ran through a tract of webdiands—faize trees thickly set—the heavy bot- tom timber of the creek. The twilight I had left behind me in the cleared space about the boat-yard, was no longer visible. Under the trees it was dark as the inside of a cave, only a little illuminated by the phosphorescent coruscation of the “re-files, or ‘‘ligbtning-bugs,” as the Tennesseeans term them, - Instead of. guiding me, these animated torches, with their fitful, unsteady sparkle, only rendered the track more deceptive, and I was compelled to pro- ceed with circumspection, now groping my way among the tree-trunks, and now stooping to make sure of the-path, by the glow of my cigar. CHAPTER VI. TWO STRANGE TALKERS. I wan got about half-way to the plantation-house, and nearly clear of the timber, when I heard. voices, as of two men engaged in conversation, ‘This it turned out to be—two men upon the same path I myself trod, but coming from the opposite direc- tion. By the time I had made this observation, they were close up to me, They appeared to be making way faster than I— no doubt from being more familar with the track. Though within less than ascore of yards, I could not distinguish their figures, nor they mine, so deep was the obscurity of the place, Iwas about to. call out, so that we might not run foul of one another, when I recognized one of their voices. Itwas that of the uncivil boat-builder, Black. The other should be his assistant, Stinger? Not caring for an encounter with these men—even so much as to saluting them—I stepped aside, in- tending to let them pass. without making my pre- sence known. It was easily done in the darkness, by gliding behind a tree. : * You chink there'll be two hundred bales, Bill?” *Darned close on it. The old ’un’s had an all- fired fine crop.” *So much the better. See you make the boat big “ene sh to carry it. Don’t let a bale be left be- “Yer kin trust me for that. She'll take every bale of it.” “@Good. If neatly managed, it'll be one of tlie finest hauls—_ Don’t you sinell tobacco?” * Darned if I don’t!” “‘Somebody’s been smoking here! A cigar, too. Like enough that strange fellow, or Walt Woodle himself. They've been this way—not a great while ©, neither.”’ ‘or a short time there was silence, and I could tell : that the two men had stopped in their track, and _ Were listening. Now, less than eyer, did I care to accost Mr, Bill nion, who was not Stinger, though who I could not guess. And yet the voice did not seem altogether unfamiliar. I fancied I I stood still as the tree-trunks around me, and equally motionless. I had already taken the cigar from my teeth, and held it with the coal between my fingers. was in ho of hea something more said, for there was just a taint of mystery in the nature of the dialogue to which I had commenced listening. Who could the man be that took such an interest in the bulk of the flat-boat, and the shipment of Squire Woodley’s cotton? Perhaps the overseer of the plantation? This was: a man I bad only spoken to once or ’ had heard it before. twice, but with whose voice I was not enough famil- ei account for the fancy of my having heard it ore. I was forced to be satisfied with the conjecture, for the two men no longer conversed aloud, but in a tone so low, I could not make out what they said. After standing a few seconds to satisfy themselves that they were alone on the path, they moved on again, and were soon entirely out of my hearing. As I continued toward the house, I could not help dwelling upon the incident, trifling as it might ap- ear. The voice of the second speaker still kept vi- prating in my ear, although it otherwise defiled iden- tification. I did not feel convinced of its being that of the overseer. On reaching the plantation-house Ihad evidence to the contrary. The man was there himself, standing by the gate! He could not have got to the ground before me, Ifound Walter Woodley at home, and related to him the scraps of conversation I had overheard. “Some of our neighbors,” he said, with a careless laugh, ‘‘ who take this interest in our affairs, though I cannot tell which of them I am to thank for being such a well-wisher. Ah! I fancy I can explain it, We propose to allow a percentage on every bale that reaches New Orleans without getting wet or other- wise damaged. Likely enough, it’ssome friend of Black, the boatman, who’s been congratulating him on his chance of making a good thing of it,” “By the way,” continued the young planter, changing the subject, ‘‘I’ve been down by Neal’s ferry since dinner, and who do you suppose I should see crossing there?” ‘*How should I know, being a perfect stranger to everybody around you?” “Ah! true. But you've seen him, and heard us talk of him—Nat Bradley.” ‘‘Nat Bradley! He here? I thought he said he was going down the river.” “*He did; but for all that, he’s here again.” **Yor what purpose?’ I asked, inspired by an un- pleasant thought. ‘‘Heaven only knows, pleased at seeing me. THe didn’t seem too well I suppose he fancied I might Mississippi. He explained by saying there was no boat at Nashville ready to start. Now ‘hat I know not to be true; for I’ve heard elsewhere that there was one went down about ten days ago—just in time for.him to have gone by her. lie's a queer fellow; and it’s hard to say ‘what he’s dodging about here for. He told me he was on the way to anigger trader’s near the Tennessee shoals, who’d got some hands to sell, and, as he’d heard they could be had cheap, he was going to buy some of them. From there he intended riding across to Memphis, and | taking boat for below... He must be making money, somehow, as he talked of buying no less than twen- ty of the trader’s lot.’ While listening to this long explanation, I imag- | ined I had obtained a cue as to the voice I had heard in conversation with Bill Black, the boatman. It was the same that had jarred so disazreeably on my ear while pronouncing the name ‘ Corneel,”’ Istated my suspicion to the young planter. “Like enough,” was his reply, though I didn’t know he was acquainted with Black, nor can I see what difference it should make to him about our having a large crop, or how we get.it to market!” Neither could I; and it was just this that continued to mystify me, long after we had ceased to converse on the subject. Strange enough, no one of the neighborhood had either seen or heard of Nat Bradley’s reappearance on the place. During the three days that intervened before my departure from the plantation, I had not failed to make inquiries—of course in an indirect manner—- but no one knew of a second visit of Nat Bradley. His first I, had frequently heard spoken of. There was nothing strange in it. On the contrary, it was but natural that a man of broken fortune, once more rebuilt, should return to his native place, to receive the congratulations of his friends, as well as to tri- umph over his enemies, His second visit made in such secrecy—and witha falsehood for its excuse—must have had some object of a less honest kind, I could not help thinking so; and more than once the thought returned to distress me. CHAPTER VII. A HUNTING PLANTER, NoTWITHSTANDING my reluctance to leave the Ten- nesseean pana the event could no longer be delayed. could bear the thought with greater equanimity that I had hope soon again to see my fair instructress in the statistics of cotton-planting. “On my journey through the Mississippi State, I must call on her brother oy. His plantation was not much out of my way. eé could give me such sport, hunting bears and deer and panther, shooting She herself would be go- swans, egrets and eagles. ing. down soon—perhaps Walter, too, Would I not stay till they came?” o would have declined such an invitation? Not I. My difficulty was to conceal an eagerness in its acceptance. I promised to pay this visit to the hunt- ing brother; and provided with the proper creden- tials of introduction, I bade adieu to my Tennesseean 0 amma and once more set my face for the outh. } T had long since left behind me the region of turn- pikes, and my route lay over roads where the hoof struck only on the softly-turfed surface of the earth. Now and then it coincided with the old ‘‘ Natchez trace ’’—that once much-traveled highway, on which Murrell had committed many of his murders, In due time—and with only those slight mischances _Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. | which form rather the charms of travel—I reached the ern plantation, and presented my letters of introduction to the proprietor. I was received with all the warmth of Western hospitality. Indeed by my new host, Henry Woodley, credentials woul scarce have been called for. Sufficient for him to know that I was fond of hunting, to have insured me a warm reception. With the petites of such intro- duction as I carried, it was only made the warmer; and I was received with as much zeal as if, instead of that pretty epistle from his sister, I had brought one from the old squire containing a check for a Roysand pailere. gic ahs ta was not long upon the p tion of Mr, Hen Weodleg, ap I could Co that Svalass would not have en unwelcome, ere everything was differen from the old homestead in Tennessee, a Instead of a handsome ‘frame house,”’ well filled with furniture that aparcecned the fashionable, I was introduced to a dwelling of a less pretentious kind. It was a large log-cabin, comfortable enough but with no claim to architectural style. It stood inside of an inclosure of rude rail-fence, overshadow- ed by trees and surrounded by a shrubbery of mag- nolias, osage, orange, and other fair forms of vege- tation, gue as the forest had furnished them. At the back were the cooking quarters, standing apart; beyond them the — and to one side a group of negro-cabins, at some distance from the dwelling. Despite the primitive rudeness of the place, there was that picturesqueness that is pleasing to the eye. There were, withal, sufficient 8 to insure com- fort, and a kennel close by, containing a score of stag-hounds—some of them pe paly scars that could only have been made by the claws of bear or panther —promised something more—that sport of which iets proprietor was so passionately fond—the grand chase It was for this, in truth, that Henry Woodley had selected his new home; for this consented, year after year, to endure the summer heats, and breathe the miasma of the Mississippi swamps—not to make a fortune in the culture of cotton and tobacco, His corn-growing was intended only to feed the horses ( | in his stable, as well as the hogs required for the sus- think it strange, after his telling us he was off for | } tenance of the negro-quarters and the kennel, Henry Woodley was not the only man I had met who, under the pretense of being a planter, passco three-fourths of his time in the chase—his ‘arming being. only a pleasant fiction—a pretext, to escape from the charge—even the self-accusation— of having nothing to do! Hundreds of such charac- ters there are in the Mississippi valley. » Inside, as without, you had evidence of the house | being a true hunter’s home, Inthe vastopen porch, with its adjoining gallery, you were surrounded b trophies of the case toma, skins and claws, id pended alongside a miscellaneous assortment of guns and riding-gear, nets, traps, and fishing-tackle. _ Soon after my arrival, my host commenced initiat- ing me into the ways of a Southern sportsman’s life; and ere long I was introduced to the different kinds of chase practiced upon the Mississippi. In less than a month I had collected, on my own account, most of those trophies that fall to the lot of a Mississippi hunter. Among, them were skins of the black bear, the red puma or ‘‘painter”’ of the back- woodsmen, the spotted lynx—better known by the name of ‘ wild-cat ’’—wolves, black and gray, with raccoons, Opossums, skunks, swamp-rabbits, and other four-footed “ varmints.”’ In my collection were the antlers of the Virginia stag, the scaly skin of the alligator, as also the singular gar-fish, or sharlc of the South-western waters. ; Birds, too, figured among my trophies, including a fine specimen of the wild turkey, whose weight, when shot, was thirty pounds in the scale, I had obtained also the tall American crane, the trumpeter swan, the curious snake-bird, the blue heron, the white egret, the scarlet ibis, and many other beauti- ful birds, obtainable on the banks and bayous of the lower ay The king of ali, however—the white-headed eagle —was still wanted to complete my museum. Sev- eral times I had seen this splendid bird soaring aloft, | or winging his way across the river, But, like most of the falcon tribe, the white-headed eagle is shy of the approach of man; and I had never succeeded in getting a shot at one. All the more did I desire to add the eagle to my collection. My host, eager to gratify me, caused inquiries to be made. __ It ended in our hearing of a “roost” upon one of the islands, some twenty miles down the river, where a nest bad been observed in the spring, and afterward the brood of bi a single brace, along bi — parents. n the neighborhood of a nest where they have succeeded in bringing forth their young the eagles can more easily SS apegenet here they have been so long permitted to go undisturbed, their con- fidence becomes established. Knowing this, I deter- mined on making an excursion to the island. On this oceasion I was to go without my host, ac- companied only by one of his negroes, named “Jake.” Ihad made several excursions so attend- ed when the young planter was otherwise occupied —Jake and the s' being always placed at my dis- posal. The darkey knew the island in question, fhough he had never landed upon it; and what I thought strange, did not seem to relish the idea of guiding me to the place! At other times he had shown the reatest eagerness to be my hunting companion, as tafforded him a pleasanter time than any other employment upon the Jantation. It would be a two hours’ pull down-stream, and iment an us oe that ae to return—the Sy A ere running a ra current, especi proximity to the island. F vs EH
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* The Land Pirates. Perhaps it was the prospect of so much toil under a hot sun that was rendering Jake so reluctant; and with this explanation to Aer at I followed my un- willing conductor to the skiff. CHAPTER VUL THE WHITE-HEAD EAGLE. We started a little after daylight; and as my skiffman had forewarned me, found the current ex- ceedingly sharp, and not alittle dangerous especially as we approached the island. What with snags, whirls and “ sawyers,”’ we had some difficulty in making land, and might not have succeeded, but for a large tree that had fallen over the bank and formed a sort ry to which we were able to make fast the skiff. e tree was a gigantic cottonwood, whose weight had hindered the current from carrying it off. Scrambling along the trunk, I at length succeeded in planting my foot upon terra firma. he neat supposed could not be far off, and by the directions given me, I could easily find it. The darkyj did not seem inclined to go ashore, or otherwise assist me in the search, He made some excuse about taking care of the skiff, and in the skiff I left him. Tagain thought his behavior strange, but made no objection to hisremaining. In finding the eagles, the old negyo could be of no particular service to me. The island did not appear to be of any great superficial extent. I could soon traverse it in every direction. If the birds were upon it, I should see or hear them, and in stalking them I would be bet- ter alone—my sable companion not being much of a sportsman. Getting over the und did not prove such an easy task. It was thickly studded with heavy tim- ber—cottonwood, tulip-tree, and cypress; and be- tween the trunks there was an undergrowth of pal- mettoes, in places almost impenetrable. Although the sun was shining brightly—I had left it so outside the island—under the trees it resembled twilight. In addition to their own thick foliage, they were festooned with Spanish moss, that shut out the sk like ac Y scar despaired of seeing anything of the eagles. Looking overhead, I could not see the sky—much less any object depending upon its brightness for be- ing made ble. E began to think of going back to the river-bank; and had already pope in my tracks, when I per- ceived a slender list of light stealing through the timber beyond. It might be that I had arrived near the other side of the island. In any case, it was tlie ‘agg going on tosee; and I proceeded toward e t. It proved only an opening among the trees, where a gigantic deadwood, divested of its leaves, permitted the sunlight to descend upon the earth. The tree, an enormous liriodendron, had been struck by lightning, and long since dead. The para- sites, that would otherwise have been sustained by its sap, had perished along with it, and, dropped from its branches, lay strewed upon the ground be- low. Its huge limbs, blanched and twigless, were stretched like skeleton arms toward the sky. Its main eam had how 9 j wg La hey = summit; et still overto: 6 surrounding forest. in the fork Pynare the fracture had occurred, I could seé a huge ae abs that did not seem part of the tree. It was a collection of dead sticks and branches, rudely wattled together, evidently the nest for which I was pouring As I stood regarding it with upturned eyes, a strange sound came into my ears, almost filling them with its harsh intonations, I can compare it to nothing so near to what it seemed as the filing of a huge frame-saw, or the laugh of a maniac escaped from his keeper. , As I sto uapening, it seemed to repeat itself in echoes, as if the whole island had suddenly been converted into a pandemonium. I was not dismayed. The sound was not unknown to me. | knew it to be the scream of the white- headed eagle. I had just time to get my rifle ready for fring, when four of these grand birds—the parents an brood of which I had heard spoken—came rear | overhead. Their broad-spreading wings shadowe: the patch of open ground as they soared majestical- ly above the blighted tree. I was in hopes that one or other of them would alight, and give me a chance of obtaining something like a fair shot. But in this I was disappointed. Even over their own nest they were shy. It had been long forsaken, and the first that uttered the Pe yom sprung up from it, alarmed by my presence I waited for some time, but perceiving that they did not intend to alight, I determined to risk the chance of a flying shot. What would I not have given at that moment for a smooth-bore, loaded with “buck”! Unfortunately I carried a rifle, with only a single bullet. The four eagles continued to circle around the forsaken nest. I observed that only two out of the four had the white head and tail. The other two were of a uni- form dusky brown. The former I knew to be the old birds with plumage matured, Choosing the larger of these, I took aim and fired. The e fell at my feet, crippled by a shot h the shoulder. ; I had not yet secured my prize, and on through the palmettoes I rushed after the wounded bird, that went screaming and fluttering before me. More than a hundred yards were made in this way, when a blow from the butt of my rifle at length put an end to the scrambling chase, and the eagle was mine. It was the female—a fine bird, in perfect oes By this the other three had gone clear off from the island, as I could tell by their screams heard dy- ing away in the far distance. CHAPTER IX. THE ‘ DEVIL'S ISLAND.”’ Provup of my achievement I shouldered the prize, and started to return to the skiff. I had not gone three steps when I again enned, - simply ask myself the way. I saw that I had lost The chase after the wounded eagle, both tortuous and ace pp had carried me out of sight of the deadwood, as well as the light let down through its leafless branches. I was once more in the midst of a continuous twilight. I looked for my tracks. Taking time and ns, I might have discovered and retraced them. But the spread-fans of the palmettoes quite covered the ground, and I had not the patience to put them aside for such exploration. supposed the island to be of only some forty or fifty acres in extent; and, by keeping straight on in any direction, I must soon come to its edge. Following this, would in time bring me to the skiff. Taking a straight shoot through the underwood, I walked briskly on, and, as I expected, soon saw the sunlight gleaming before me. There was an opening with water; but,as I drew near to it, I could see that it was not the river, but a sort of lagoon or pool of stagnant water. I kept for a short distance along its edge, and dis- covered that it communicated with a ‘‘ bayou ” that pag pees? to lead out into the river, fancied that it would take me the wrong way, and was turning to make a traverse in the opposite direction, when something down under the bank caught my eye. I first took it for a floating log; but, on closer scrutiny, it proved to be an old canoe of the kind known as a ‘‘ dug-out,”’ It was moored to the root of one of the great cy- resses that overshadowed the water. It was par- jially concealed by the outstretched fronds of the palmettoes that grew around the root of the cy- press. On seeing the dug-out, I supposed there was some other party upon the island; but, stepping down and examining it, I saw that its rude hawser of twisted grape-vine must have been holding it there for months. Some worthless, worn-out craft, aban- doned, perhaps forgotten. While making this reflection, my eye wandered to the opposite side of the pool. There I observed other signs of human presence, though not recent. There was a little wee of cleared ground, above a high bank that looked as if it had been used for a landing. Fragments of coarse canvas, such as is used for cotton ‘** bagging,’ were strewn over it, and there were the ashes of an old fire. I thought it strange to see such relics in that soli- tary place, and walked away, wondering what could have taken them there. actin ome however, were soon interrupted ae e necessity of finding my way back to the skiff, ich proved more difficult than I had expected. Not till I had wandered about for a full half-hour, and scratched my skin among the sharp spikes of the pert did I succeed in reaching my place of ebarkation, and then only by shouting myself hoarse, and getting a responsive shout from the skiffman. “T's glad, massa, you got safe board ’gen,”’ said he, as I stepped into the boat. “Why?” Lasked, wondering at the remark as well as the alacrity with which the darky pulled away from the cottonwood. ‘* Kase I t’ink dat ‘ere island a dangersome place.”’ “Dangerous place! In what way?” ‘Doan’ no, massa, doan’ no. But folks do say de debbil hab been see’d an’ heerd dar ob nights. One ob Mass’ Bradley’s black people tole meso, Mass’ Bradley’s plantation not far off on toder side, but none o’ dem niggas ebba goeson dat island. Nob’dy else ebba go dar. Sartin shoo de place am ha’nted.”’ Icould now comprehend why my companion had shown such aversion to accompany me in my ex- cursion, I could not help smiling at his superstition, though I was not a little chagrined at his not having sooner confided it to me, so that I might have made a more careful exploration of the interesting locality. When I thought of the gloomy obscurity of its shadows, the deep, dark lagoon, that slept stagnant under its trees, the weird drapery of Spanish moss, that thickly festooned their branches, I did not much wonder at the superstitious awe with which my sable- skinned com anion had been led to regard it. It was just the kind of a spot to be ‘‘ haunted;” but no doubt the abandoned dug-out, and the other reliquia I had observed, had J taken time to examine them would have given a clew to the “ debbil,” supposed by Jake and his colored acquaintance of the Bradley plantation, to have made it his abiding-place. CHAPTER X. THE ISLAND PLANTATION. On the subject of the Bradley plantation—suggest- ed, no doubt, by its proximity—my skiffman became communicative; and during the long pull up-stream, made me acquainted with some facts relating to the place and its proprietor, that were, to say the least, a little curious. t Mr. Bradley's clearing was upon a large island, formed by a “shute” of the river on one side, and by an old channel, which the stream had long since abandoned, There was nothing singular about this. I had become already aware that there are several f 5 plantations so situated on the South-western rivers —where the house can only be reached by a ferry- boat, kept to communicate with the mainland. For hundreds of miles, on both banks of the river —more especially on the right—the bottom-lands are scarred and seamed by a labyrinthine network of creeks, bayous, and lagoons, all old channels of the river, which the current in its caprice has long since forsaken, leaving them in deep, dark stagnation, or ay moving sluggishly to and fro, during the season of floods. On one of the tracts of land so insulated Mr. Brad- ley had “located,” and there was nothing strange in it. What did seem strange to my informant was that ‘Mass’ Bradley had come dar wif only two or t’ree darky at fuss; an’ now he had amoss as many niggas as de old Squire Woodley in Tennessee; an’ all dat in less’n no time. He was always a-buyin’ new hands from de nigga dealers dat fetch ’em from up de country, tho’ he nebba bo’t any jess about dar. e bo’t de wuss kind o’ cusses, 's nobody else ked manage. He manage ‘em, he do, dat same bossy Bradley. He nebba ‘lowed one 0” ’em to go off dat ere plantashun, cep'in’ he hab bizness; an’ if dey ‘teal off to any odder house, which dey sometime do by swimmin’ crosst de bayou in de night, den dey cotch it. Not offen dey try; dar’s no odder place nearer dan Mass’ Woodley’s, an’ dat’s ten mile by de ribba, an’ most twenty through de bottom! If de ebba come dar, don’t he fotch dem back, an’ don’t he larrup ‘em! Gollys! he do make de ony. squirm ! He got an obaseeah who flog wuss dan de bery deb- bil hisself. Whugh!” From what I had myself seen, I could believe all this of Nathaniel Bradley; and some other things equally to his discredit, of which the black skiffman forthwith informed me. But I wanted to know of something that interested me much more—the relations that existed between this insulated cotton-planter and Jake's own master. I had learnt enough to know that they were intimate. I wished also to know why. I knew enough of pg ge ng society to know that character had little to do with social standing. The ‘chivalry ” that had settled down on the late Choctaw lands was far from being with- out reproach, With it, riches, and a ready use of the revolver, were often the chief titles to respect > and Nat Bradley, bully as he was, would be just the man to “shine” in the society of Vicksburg and its environs—a town which only a few years before had actually been taken possession of by a score of ruffian ‘‘ sportsmen.”’ They had for weeks held car- nival in its streets, insulting every citizen who dared to gainsay them. It is true these ‘‘ sportsmen ”’ were in the end pun- ished; but the old leaven still stayed; and at the time t write of, was almost rife as ever. What I had heard of Bradley, both in Tennessee and since, made him by no means an exceptional character— only a type of the pty de of that time. It was the character of Henry Woodley that caused me to feel surprise at the association; for the latter so far from being of the bully class was altogether the opposite. Though living a life that might be al- most termed rough, and associating In the class with rough men, he was of a refined and sensitive nature—I might almost say timid, Keen hunter as he was, it may seem a contradiction; but such was in reality the fact. Why should such a man find congeniality in the company of Nat Bradley? To talk of my host and his affairs was a delicate subject, especially with his own slave. I should have avoided it, but for the interest I had begun to feel in one nearly related to him. Thinking of her, I could not restrain myself from on a questioning that might give me satis- action. “This Mr. Bradley don’t appear to be much of a favorite of yours, Jake?” “Nor nob’dy ess’s, massa. All our darky hate um like de pisen-snake.”’ They don’t hate “Your white folks, though? him?” ‘Doan’ know, massa, Not so shoo "bout dat.” “For instance, your own master. He's a great friend of Mr. Bradley—is he not?” “ Ah, young Mass’ Henry. He fr’en's wif sat body. He no kill a ’skeeter, ef it bite um on de nose; though he do like kill de b’ar, an’ de painter, an’ dem odder big varmint. Dat’s diff’rent, Den he ’cited by de chase an’ barkin’ ob de dogs. Whugh! Don’t he 4 changed when he hear de wl o’ de hown’s? He ar'n’t like de same indiwiddle.” “IT know he’s very fond of hunting, and hunters too; but Mr. Bradley never hunts, and your master appears very fond of him ?” “Maybe he am—maybe he ain't. After making this ambiguous rejoinder, Jake leant ays te piated to his oars, and for some time remain- ed silent. . Feeling perfectly satisfied that no son of Africa could terminate a dialogue, with such an unsatis- factory conclusion, I waited for him to resume speech, I had not long to wait. the oar. ‘“‘ Dar may be a reason, sar, why Mass’ Henry show fr’en’ship you "peak "bout. Dar &m many kewrious thing down hyar in de Massissippy State; an’ maybe dat ‘ere am one ob dem.” ‘* Ah! you think the friendship is not real? There is something—”’ * Behin’ de bush. nigger know it.” ‘Some influence, perhaps?” “Yes, mass’ ’tranger. Bar am inflooence.” * Of what kind?” My heart beat quickly as I asked the question— Scarce a dozen strokes of Dat dere is fo’ sartin; an’ dis
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Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. “Wal, sar, it war ge dis: one day dey war out ar war Henry hisself, an’ Mass’ iy oe aha t war de only day I ebba know him go huntin’—an dar war seb- gas hed ponent in de wag’n. Den dey got to piey. , y fuss gene dem. You know Mass’ Henry neb- ber play, on de cards—dat am, he nebber y fo’ money. But dey’d all been a-drinkin’—de hunters an’ de planters—an’ dar war mint-julep, an’ claret sangaree, an’ dat ’ere stuff like ginga-beer ig EO sham-pain. - So dey all set-to to de card-playin’, Mass’ Henry ’mong de ress. Dey played poker, an’ de payee a French game dey caa Pip: an’ staked, fo y! dey staked as high as ahun dollar apiece! b coas’ Mass’ Henry knowin’ jess nex’ to nuffin’ ‘bout de game—he war boun’ to lose. Whugh! he did lose. Two thousan’ dollars—ebbery red cent! an’ bt qiye s’pose he lose ’em to?” “ oO 7 “Why, dat same Bossy Bradley. Ob coas’ Mass’ He hadn’t no money on de groun’, ifor who's a- e to be a-toatin’ two thousan’ dollars "bout ‘im? Sohe guv de planter Bradley his writin’ fo’ de amount—which dem ¢alla pur note. Wal, dat ’ere note ar’n’t been pai oreti an’ it’s de no-pay- ment ob it dat make Mass’ Henry ’pear sech fr’en's wi’ mass’ Rane Bradley. Now, sar, ye got de ex- plication ob de whole sarcumstance.”’ “T hope it is the true one.”’ 2. What, massa! Why for you hope dat? Yousay pe Mass’ Henry fr’en housan’ dollars debt to Bossy Bradley?” It was not strange the negro should express sur- prise at my speech. I had answered mechanicall and without thought of the interpretation he mig pe upon it—thinking only of myself, and the relief is explanation had caused me. It was now my turn to explain. I could not leave Jake in the belief that I was gratified to hear of his master’s indebtedness, “No, no!’’ I responded, endeavoring to explain away what I had said. ‘‘I merely meant that I hoped it was no worse, Two thousand dollars is not much—for a rich planter to gt ‘Lor’, massa! It am a big heap, two thousan’ dollar! Great big heap fo’ ig Mass’ Henry! He nebba pay dat hisself till de old squire die, an’ leab um some ob dat ’ere plantashun in Tennessee. He no make money hyar like Bossy Bradley. Ah! Mass’ Henry ’pend more’n he make. Dat dis chile am sure ob. Cuss dem cards, anyhow! Dey’s de ruin ob ebberybody dat teches um, ’ceptin de , vel melin’ rtsmen demselves. T’ank de Lor’! I hear Mass’ Henry sw’a’ he nebba tech dem no more. Dat’s one bit o’ sattafacshun, it is.” Notwithstanding that I feared being thought too inquisitive, the intelligence ba ed by my sable com on tempted me to inquire further. ‘Does Mr. Bradley often visit your master?” ‘Well, sar, dat depend—” “On what?” , On de seezun ob de y’ar.”’ “ “On the season of the year! You mean he comes at one time more than another?” “Yes, sar; jess so.” Jake had ceased to be communicative, and re- quired drawing. “I suppose there are times when business re- cuires him to be at your master’s plantation?”’ ‘““Wal, ye see, dar’s de summer seezun, he doan’ come much den, I b’lieve him been only twice dis fummer, an’ de once you see um you’se’f, sar. An’ dar’s de winter seezun. Den Mass’ Bradley go ood cal down to de grand city—Orleans. So de folks fay. Nmnat would leave him no time to visit your mas- ter’s plantation.” ‘* Ah! he find time fo’ dat.” “But when?” * Wal, sar, I tell you when: when mass’r’s sister —Miss Corneel—come down to *tay on de planta- shun, Dat am de troof.” More than half prepared for the communication it did not come with such a surprise. To conceal my thoughts from him who had made it, I said, with an air of carelessness—which cost me an ef- fort: ’ “Perhaps he is Miss Woodley’s sweetheart?” ** Maybe 60, sar; maybe so. Though Jake’s answer was not conclusive, I for- bore to question him further. Ihads a sub- ject that was causing me pain; and further disclo- sures could only increase it. After what was Miss Woodley to me? The in- terest I felt in her—was it more than friendship? Why should I interfere in an affair that did not con- cern me? Cornelia Woodley was no child; but an accomplished lady of several seasons’ Grpemeege: T? she chose to throw herself away upon this worth- less man, why should I care? And if I did, what could I do to prevent it? Both she and her brother were strangers tome. I had no right to give coun- sel; nor would they be likely to accept it. My best way would be to avoid even the desire for interference; and to do this, I must forsake the soci- ety nto which chance had accidentally thrown me. Tt w..s only to take horse, and continue my travels. ? Sure you no wish ‘im two It would be a complete change of programme; but the circumstances required it. The prospect of see- ing Miss Woodley again, so pleasant on leaving Ten- nessee, I could now only contemplate with pain. The promise I had made could be easily broken. She would scarce care for my keeping it. From these gloomy reflections, I was startled by the voice of the skiffman. “Talk ob de debbil,”’ suid he, “an’ dat genlum shoo to be clost by. Dis time, howeber, we wa’ ob de angel.” “An angel! hat do you mean, Jake?” ‘Look yonda, sar! at you see yonda?” ‘*T see a steamboat.”’ ‘“Ya—jess so. An’ in dat ’teamboat dar am a an- gel! Sartin shoo dar am.” ‘“*T don’t understand you.” Golly mass’r! Doan’ ye see dat de boat go stop at Mass Woodley landin’?” “ Yes; I see that.” ‘Wal, what she go dar for but put some’dy ‘shore? She take no freight from dar, kase we hab none to gub her. e € no. cotton, nor no corn to spare rom de plantashun. Shoo, den, she land some pas- r; an’ sartin shoo dat F ecnon am de young missa come down from ole Tennessee. Tole ye so, sar. Look! de boat shove off _ an’ you see ’t am de Cherokee, one ob dem Cumberian’ boats dat run up to Nashville.” About the boat he was right. In ten minutes af- ter she came booming past, almost swamping our eggshell of a skiff. I read upon her side the letter- ing “Cherokee.” could not help looking with interest upon that splendid craft, in whose gilded saloon had lately sat the woman then occupying my thoughts. But it was an interest clouded with apprehension. On reaching Henry Woodley’s house, I learned that his sister had arrived by the Cherokee, and Nat Bradley along with her ! CHAPTER XI. HOSTILE GUESTS. Yes, Nat Bradley had landed from the boat along with her, and was there at the house, apparently a welcome guest! It was with difficulty I could conceal my chagrin, despite the silliness of my showing it. I succeeded, however, determined next day to take leave of a hospitality that had hitherto given me pleasure, but henceforth could only cause n. Bradley did not stay for the night. He come ashore there, because there was no landing-place on his own plantation. He had been up to Vicksburg on business, and had availed himself of the steam- boat to return. These particulars I gathered from his conversation with my host. I regarded them as plausible excuses. No doubt he had been up to Vicksburg; but not u on business. He had gone there to meet Cornelia Woodley, and accompany her back in the boat. Nothing could be clearer. He took his leave, borrowing a horse from my host, and promising to bring him back on the mor- row. Before that time I, too, determined upon being gone, It was easier to talk of such a determination than to sorte 3 out. It is not often that the singed moth suc in ert reed from the candle, nor the bird from the serpent that alluresit. And with either of these might my case be compared. My proposal of departure was met by surprise on tbe part of my planter host. So abrupt! unex- pected! He would not hear of it. It would be such a disappointment to him. He had been organizing agrand hunt—-the grandest we had yet had—a bear battue in the canebrakes of the Arkansas side, and all for my especial entertainment. Surely I would not disappoint him? “You will not?” said his sister, as we were left for a moment alone. I scarce knew what to say. ‘ ‘Why do you leave us in such haste? Still less could Imake answer to this question, ‘It is very unkind of you,” she continued to urge; ‘and not very gallant,’’ added she, with a provo ut. ‘* You appear to have been contented here ilIcame. Is think you are running away to avoid me.”’ There was truth in this, though not in the sense ae sntaenee : 2 f was on the eve of making reply—o: gy my determination to depart—of telling her why had ag it—perhaps of speaking some silly re- roach, - I was prevented from cameron this fool of myself by a generosity I little deserved. “Do stay!’ she said, coming near, and almost en- treating me. ‘My brother will be so vexed by your leaving us; and I, too. It you go I shall always t itjwas my presence that had driven you away.” t,could be the meaning of that speech? It made me feel that I was either a favored or a flatter- ed man. If the first, she who made it was an angel; if the second, a cruel coguette. In which category should I place Cornelia Woodley? To discover this was the object of my next remark, the rudeness of which can only be excused by the torture my suspicions were cau me. ‘“* Not your presence, Miss Woodley,” I said, ‘‘ but that of one whose absence would, no doubt, cause you far greater regret than mine.” The surprise that leaped up into her great gazelle es was not unpleasing to me. There was some- thing in it that spoke of innocence. At least, it was not coquetry. ‘Of whom do you speak, sir?” I hesitated to give the name. I may have been wronging ber. In any case I had no right to inter- fere with her predilections. My speech had placed me in a dilemma, from which I would have been too happy to escape without further controversy. Fortu- nately there was a chance; by her brother at that moment reap g, to renew his solicitations, This time they were successful. The short con- versation with his sister had caused a change in my sentiments. It had a me with fresh hope; under the Hi wp of which I was easily persuad- ed to stay for the grand bear-hunt, Next day, according to promise, Bradley brought back the horse—one of his negroes riding eeachor: I felt certain it was only an excuse, as the man could as well have returned the horse without him. His own was unsaddled and stabled, which told of his intention to make a stay. Thus brought together, we were necessarily intro- duced, and for the first time I exchanged speech with a man for whom I had felt an instinctive aver- on. Neither our salutes nor after-communications were cordial; but the presence of our host and his sister relieved us from the necessity of any direct conversation. I saw that there was a black cloud upon his brow, whenever Miss Woodley appeared to take an interest in anything I said. Once I had caught his eye turned upon me with a scowl so sullen and malignant, as almost to tempt me to take notice of it. And yet it rather gratified me to think that he might be jealous. e situation Mf ipa to be irksome to all the rty. Our host did not seem age ha, two such -assorted geoete, and his sister also showed signs of constraint. ig po age there came a relief. y late skiffman, Jake, who had been scouting through the woods, brought in the report that “de pigeons war in clouds after de mas’, up on de ridge among de beeches.” ~ I was the only one present who did not clearly comprehend the announcement. It was soon explained to me., The well-known mi- Sheed birds of America—the emi fp pte on arrived among some beechw w upon a ridge in the rear of the plantation. there making pause in their irregular flight, they were filling their crops with the scattered mast. Small as was the game, and tame the sport of pigeon-shooting, it is one that cannot be obtained every day, like the chase of the uirrel. The birds stay but a short time in any particular place—ex- cepting in those grand roosts that are few and far between. Every one can not enjoy the sport of de- fae hg 3 them wholesale at their roosting-places; but in the autumn of the year, those wko live in the neighborhood of beechen woods may have a chance to shoot them. In a region where they but rarely show them- selves, even the grand bear-hunter not disdain to spend a day or two in popping away at pig- eons. Such a district was that in which lay the planta- tion of our host. At the word “ pigeons” Henry Woodley sprung to his gun, calling << us to imitate his example. e could not do otherwise than respond to the call, and all three started forth—our host, Bradley, and myself. Miss Woodley was, for the time, left alone. CHAPTER XII. THE PERILS OF PIGEON-SHOOTING, T po not propose to gue a description of pigeon- shooting, as practiced in the backwoods of the West, es e sport has its peculiarities, some of which may be worth mentioning. It is not such a slaugh- ter ashas been represented, and the vast flocks—or “clouds,” as the tg had called them—would lead one to conclude. s is true enough of the breed- ing-roosts, where the birds, ares by the passion of love, or acting under the instincts of generation, tig to lose all sense of fear or self-preserva- tion. Elsewhere, and at other times, they become suffi- ciently shy; and though the gunner may always get within range of a single bird, or two or three, sea upon a branch, it requires both cover and careful to obtain one of those wholesale shots pour- ed into the thick of the flock and counting its score of victims. Almost invariably, when he are just upon the edge cf shot-range, some old bird, wary from the last year’s experience, gives the cue to the flock, that with a loud clapping of wings flies off to some other resting-place. a hundred yards further on geen a the woods. - d e whole ** ,”’ however, does not obey this signal of safety. Solitary birds here and there, in twos, threes, or half-a-dozen, remain irresolute upon the branches; and if you are contented to take aim at these, you may keep loading and firing al- most continuously. ers were provided with the rifle. Among those pro- vided with the latter was Nat eth who, as is As in all covershooting, there is some danger in
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this sport, especially when the party is a large one; and at a season before the leaves have fallen from the trees. Each sportsman pursues his ov7n course, without thinking of others; and, as the birds may be either upon the ground, the wing, or perched upon the lowermost branches, guns are notalways point- ed to thes With shot flying about, and now and then the bullet of a rifle, one might be excused for feeling a little nervous, ‘The sport was new to me, and I did not think of this danger, until the Bros ” of a bullet passing close to my ear, admonished me that pigeon-shoot- ing might amexe any thing but a safe pastime. 0 close the thing come, that I felt the cur- rent of air sweeping across my cheek, and turning suddenly to the tree behind me, saw the fresh score where the ball had buried itself in the bark. At the same instant I heard the ‘‘spang”’ of the piece that had discharged it. My first impulse was to proceed toward the in- cautious sportsman, and reproach him for his care- lessness. I could not tell who it was. Some low pawpaws lay between, upon one of which I spe the pigeon . perched, which had tempted the in- cautious 5 The bullet seemed to have brought down its bird, for I had turned suddenly and saw that nothing flew away. AllI could see was a blue puff of smoke, soaring up over the pawpaws. In no very amiable humor, I proceeded toward the spot, but on reac it I found no one upon whom to discharge my spleen. Guns were cracking in other parts of the wood, and I could see men moving about at the ends of long vistas, but not the man who had come so near shooting me, It was altogether an odd circumstance, and I stop- ped to reflect upon it. Was it carelessness on the part of one of my fel- low-sportsmen; who, seeing what he had done, and ashamed of it, peetesrer ons away? I might have thought so; but then, where was the pigeon? I had turned so quickly, that I must have seen it fall, or fly away. I saw neither! I now reached the pawpaw thicket. I could find no ‘.'rd, either dead or wounded; but, while travers- ing ehout, I picked up the ‘ patching "’ of the bul- let. It was a piece of dressed doeskin. There was nothing in this to guide me to the sportsman who had used it. I now felt a wing desire to identify him; for the longer I reflected, the more I became convinced that the shot had not been accidental. “The bullet!” thought I; ‘that may serve my purpose,” lreturned to the tree in which it had buried it- sells. Std with my knife, carefully scooped it out of 6 bar It was of an unusual size for a hunting-rifle, about twenty to the pound. would no doubt guide me to om which it had been disch h Though the sportsmen were scattered through the woods, I took occasion to place myself in contact first with one, then the other, until I had glance at the caliber of their res ive guns, were five of them exclusive of Mr. Bradley. Of these only two had rifles, both small bores, not larger than fifty to the pound. ot a ere rom Bradley’s rifle then had issued the bullet I had extracted from the tree; and I now felt con- vinced that my own person was the “ pigeon” at which it had been é Without making known the circumstance, or stat- ing my suspicions to any one, I reflected what would be best for me to do, To ef the man with an attempt at murdering me, would seem so absurd. What*motive could he have for such an atrocious act? We were perfect strangers to one another, with no quarrel between us, no circumstance to have given color to so serious an accusation. ‘Supposing it proved to be Bradley's bullet, he would simply have to say that he it at a pigeon, and had not seen me, He might be re- proached with negligence, but not accused of a crime, sO monstrous as to a improbable. On the whole I thought it more prudent to keep my suspicions to myself, or communicate them only to my host on returning home. Meanwhile I determined to make myself better ac- quainted with the bore of Mr, Bradley's rifle, and watch the direction in which it should be aimed. To for this it would be necessary to keep my eye up- on fi I now discovered that he was missing from amon the sportsmen, nor was his gun any longer heard cra through the woods. Some one remarked this, and some one else added that it was not strange, as Nat Bradley cared noth- ing about shooting, and had likely gone home. CHAPTER XII. REJECTED. Ir is difficult to describe the thoughts at that mo- ment through my mind, about Mr. Nat Brad- ley and his mysterious movements. I can well re- member them as and bitter. More than ever Was the man, who, failing to be- come m n, appeared to bo successful as my rival. Tcould no longer conceal from myself the deep interest I felt in opnelia Woodley. The disappearance radley was ex- lained. Tala not need to hear that he ted done ack to the house. It was but the echo of my own instinct, the moment he was missed from the sport- ing party. Miss Woodley would be alone. It was no woes S he scold peek snot at op’ meat ce oNO wonder er, pigeon- arr ould no longer seem sport to me, and that I should determine On fe- tiring from it. em The Land Pirates. Without communicating my intention to any one, 7 career from the ridge, and toward the plantation- ouse, I went with irresolution, now hesitating whether I should interrupt a scene, the very thought of which maddened me, and where I would, no doubt, be deemed a most unwelcome intruder. But the madness itself stimulated me to proceed; and on I went, like one who despairingly offers him- self upon the altar of destruction, Close to the house of Henry Woodley there was a clump of low timber, that might have been likened to an orchard. It was not this, however, only the ve of indigenous trees already mentioned, that, eing of an ornamental] kind, had ames left standin for show andshade. A fence had been thrown aroun them, and some slight attempts made to give them the character of a cultivated shrubbery. Walks had been traced out, and a rustic seat or two placed at intervals among these natural arbors. The pe leading from the beechwood ridge ran thro the inclosure, and upon this I was return- ing. ere was a set of “ bars’’ separatiug it from the woods behind; most of these were down, as we had left them on going out. I had stepped silently over, and was proceeding on toward the house, when voices, heard in conversation, caused me to come to astop. There were two of them, both easily recog- nized. The first I heard was that of Nat Bradley, loud enough for me to make out the words, as also to tell to whom they were addressed. I was too much interested in what was being said to feel either shame or reluctance at playing eaves- bars an “You've made up your mind to that?” I was not in time to catch the beginning of the speech, which appeared to be in the form of an in- terrogation, The answer proved it to have been one. “Tl have,’’ was the reply, in a female voice—like Os Miss Weoodls + 7h ren “ ‘I suppose you think I’m not rich enough; you in- tend to marry some grand fellow with a fervnhe who can show you off? That’s why you refuse me.’ ‘Permit me to tell you, Mr. Nat Bradley, it has nothing to do with my refusing you.” “Come, Corneel; speak the truth; if it be only that, I can promise you that I too—”’ “You need not make promises; I have spoken the truth, and once for all I tell you, that it is no use your asking me again. 1 have said it ounce before, I now say it again; Nat Bradley, I can never be your wife.” here was an emphasis on the words that particu- larly pleased me. A pause followed, and with a heart strangely pal- pitating, I listened for the rejoinder. It came in an accent half-agonized, pelt Angry “You won't, Corneel? You won’t! Be it so. Then, by heaven! you'll never be the wife of another man —or if you are, it will only be to become his widow. I swear by the Eternal, that if it costs me my life, I'll kill the man that marries you. Yes, the very day he makes you his bride. So now you may choose for darselt; either be my wife or some fool’s widow. I thought it was this fledgeless PUPpy that’s stay- ing with you, I wouldn't let it go that far. No, by—! z, put an end to him before that sun should ‘set, Gam" “Nat Bradley!’ broke in the voice of the indig- nant girl. ‘Do you think I will listen to such a speech as you are addressing to me? yourself, sir; or you cree me. Let me hear no more of it, or my brother shall be told of the liberty you are pleased to takein his absence.” To this speech I could hear no rejoinder, but in- stead, a rustling of female dress, and the sound of ht footsteps passing away. I could tell that Miss oodley had put an end to the interview by retiring toward the house, For myself I felt contented enough to have gone back to the woods, and enjoyed geen shoeing for the rest of the day. But the word * puppy ” rung in my ears, and alongside them were my cheeks, still tingling with that queer sensation I had experienced from the passage of the bullet. Icould not restrain myself from stepping round the tree that had hithe concealed the speakers from my sight, and confronting the only one that remained upon the ground, Mr. Nat Bradley. Had I been my own ghost—which he supposed I was—he could not have shown more surprise. I think now, as I thought then, that he was under the belief that he had killed me—and this may account | for his consternation at seeing me. Atall events, the braggadocio to which he had been giving vent, seem- ed suddenly scared out of him; and he received me in a manner almost submissive. “ Mr, predier, I said, “will you have the good- ness to let me look at your gun?” “My gun!" he replied, with an air of assumed sur- S ‘Oh! certainly; but why do you wish to see You forget tr’ “ Because I have a bullet here, that passed within less than an inch of my skull. I’m curious to know who came 80 near shooting me—by accident,” ae, God! IT hope it wasn’t me.” “ Well,” I replied, after placing the bullet to the muzzle of his rifle, and sa myself it had come from no other, “I can only say that it was you who fired the shot, and let me caution you, the next time you go p Saarinen peor = Seis to the feathered ame, an a eless pu > for yo Sark’ I hope you understand me? arr nite bogey waiting for 6 answer, I turned upon the th, and once more stepping over the bars went fark toward the hesch-waote bi I rejoined the | Pigeon-shooti for the sport I had not hitherto fe party with a zeal No one was made the wiser of what had happened; nor did I care to communicate to my host how near | 7 he had been to having the expense of providing a coffin for his stranger guest! On our return to the house, we found Miss Wood- ley alone. ere 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 qucer things sometimes. I was not surprised at his unexplained departure. After that interview with the mistress of the man- sion, 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 over- ir os 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 him- self 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 chal- lenge, or what was more likely in that land of pseu- do-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 n discharged at my own person. He ap- pea to be unprovided with pistols—these weap- ons, perhaps, not being deemed appropriate for making a a ng of marriage. narmed, and taken by surp: 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 that 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 ee bear ‘* battue'’ came off, and I partici- ated in the sport. I enjoyed ft all the more that at Bradley was not one of the hunters. Had ho been so, I might have been mistaken for a bear, and got a bullet through my body. But he was not upon > ground, and I was saved from such apprehen- ons, For a time I saw nothing more of him, as he did not come near the house, There were letters, more- over, received by my host, which I fancied were from him, I thought so from caught sight of the messenger who carried them. He wasthe 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 co ndence, Nodoubt it related to the ancy a debt of which the creditor was now spiteful- ly claiming payment, I was happy in thinking it was no worse. For myself, I was no longer unhappy, ex- cept in the thought of part from that ant onship to which chance had introduced me, compani A oe 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 sug- gested itself. I became se with the fancy to make a voyage upon a flat-boat! In this way {could glide down to New Orleans, leaving my horse to be sent by steamer. In truth I Aad 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 strategy that had sug- ested itself. I knew that the cotton-boat was com- 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, More- over it was to take thence some packages of skins— the spoils of bucks, bears and panthers, which the hunting *, mained was in the habit of sending annually to New Orleans. A week or two meet cle se before the flat could be e ted, and if I 8 on carrying out my ca- price, 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 lan oF 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 Mer bata Bidding an adieu to Miss Woodley, which was not Contes to be the last, I walked toward the landing, my host going along with me. n reaching the river-bank, we found the crew of the flat engaged in getting the peltries aboard. 1 was a little surp , and more than a little chagrined, to discover that the captain of the craft was no other than Mr. Black, her builder, whose uncivil be- havior in Tennessee had caused me an unpleasant reminiscence. Stinger, too, was there acting as his
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| | | | Mr. ieee. pe ’ appeared desirous of sh mate, the hands, four in number, being negroes from uire Woodley’s plantation. he discovery caused me to repent of my design— a voyage of three hundred miles in such company did not promise much pleasure, and I regret my rashness in having proposed it. It was too late, however, to recede, though I was not ing in discovering that the captain of the craft would have been delighted nw, doing so. rig’ tag, & had been got aboard, the packages of skins, with the large case containing the souvenirs of my hunting achievements; but my personal lug- gage and provision-hamper still rested on the shore. presided over by the plantation darky who h 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 rought you a passenger, I pepe you'll contrive to make him comfortable on the voyage.’ ‘A passenger!” exclaimed the man, age at 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 0’ caboose we hev air arredy crowded. Thar’s me and Mr. Stinger in it, and thar’s hardl room among the bales for the niggers to Stretoh 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 ad- mirably.”’ This proposal placed the captain of the flat in a dilemma, It was evident he did not wish me to pro- ceed in his company, while at the same time he was at a loss for some reasonable objection that he might urge against my going. hat was causing his reluctance? I could not guess. Neither could the planter, who, at first sur- prised, 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 upob your making the arrangement I propose, and taking him. Set your men to work pad 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. “Tll be answerable for that,”’ was the response of the young planter. Since I had been his guest I had not [seen Henry Woodley in sucha temper. He seemed to think that hsi character as a host was at stake, and felt the in- dignity of Black’s behavior. his blood was up, I could see it would be of no use, my wcpowns to stay behind, Nor, indeed, had I any intention of do so, Uninviting as was the srospect of making a three hundred miles’ voyage fh such surly Si lina a I was row all the more determined upon it. I had originally committed my- self to it as a subterfuge for prolonging my stay at the plantation, and although here was now an addi- tional excuse, T could not creditably make use of it. To trudge back with my traps, and tell Miss Wood- ley the reason why, would bea humiliation I was not abd phe to undergo. Sooner than do that, I would ave consented to sleep sud 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 Jonger, he would have heard a little bit of my mind. As it was, he reluctantly yielded to the remon- strances already made to him, and consented to re- ceive me as @ passenger. It was now discovered that there would be sleep- ing 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 Be «he hearty hand-shake between us, and I was afloat upon the “Father of Waters,” pas- senger in a ‘* flat.’ CHAPTER XV. UNSOCIABLE COMPANIONS. Sow as was our progress, it was made slower by the eccentric action of our steersman—who, for the first six ag Sage the second officer of the boat— tead of keeping in the current, he it, now hugging one ore, now shooting across and holding fora time to the other. ; About five miles below the plantation we had left, he brought to against the bank, Black leaping ashore and the hawser fast around atree. There was no ap nee of a landing, nor settlement of any kind—nothing but the wild woods. a whispered communication with his steers- man, but without a word to me, the captain of the craft disappeared among the palmettoes, leaving his crow to the tender mercies of the musketoes. He was absent about two hours. When he re- turned, and the flat was once more set free, the steersman resumed his old style of seesawin trom side to side, and keeping carefully out of the cur- rent. ———— ee Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. 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 in- quiry, either as to that, or why Mr. Black had so long absented himself. I addressed myself to one of the n remembered ha seen upon the Tennessee plan- tation, But the darky seemed to know no more than myself. He replied, with a puzzled expression: ** Doan’ no why ass’ 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 saw- yers.”’ My own explanation was different, though, as afterward Rie not any nearer the truth. I fancied that Mr. Black had made up his mind to pun- ish 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 atchez, 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 goneg alee at Natchez, I could put an end to it, and e Woodleys need be none the wiser. All through the afternoon the zigzagging con- tinued, and I think we must have crossed and re- crossed 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 gin recognized it. During the daylight I had contrived to kill time with my gun. aterfowl 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 lige ® soaring above the stream; now a white egret or a blue heron Periee upon the point of some sand-bar or sailing along upon a drift- og. Snce 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 re- trieve 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 de- stroying the 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 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 beery 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 ges There was sufficient breeze to make this precaution necessary. Then teeing 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 bark- ing 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 coul disti h the trumpet-like note of the wild swan the “ honk ” of the gander, and the plaintive call of the bull-batt. For along time I stood listening to these mingled voices—the eeu 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 as silent as aris I could see them standing together by the shaft of the long steering oar, which, resting upon its pivot traversed the boat longitudinally, reaching most from stem to stern. a a red to converse, but in a tone so lowI could not hear what they were ,» whom I saying. ti 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 coukl tell this by their attitudes. Was it about me ? Despite the obscurity that surrounded them, I could see that their faces were turned toward ine. I knew that they were chafed at my having come aboard against their will, though for what reason I was still unable to | Svea Beyond the incivility which they had already shown in every possible way, I expected nothing more. It seemed too ridiculous to apprehend dan- ger. 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 bag- ge 6 was not big enough ; and they had no reason to eve I carried money upon my person, in a sum sufficient to tempt them to such a crime. Besides, there were the negroes, Squire Wooley’s own slaves; such an attempt could not be made without their knowng of it. The thought was pre- posterous; and I dism d it from my mind as soon as conceived. And still I could not make out why the two men were talking so earnestly. Their gestures, too, which I could just discern through the dim light, admon- ished me that some strange circumstance was being discussed between them. It could not be the guiding of the boat. Ever since uae they had cease “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. Tt could not be that. By this time my Si had nearly burnt out. aes ing for another, I discovered I had left my case in the cabin. In going to get it, I Meg 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 re- mains of agood Havana, with a red coal at the end of it. Iwas 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 i ge distorted by some assion of a criminal kind; and, could I have imag- ned 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 ht a stretched out and sno . They had worked hard at the steering-oar while making these eccentric traverses, which even they did not under- stand. Poor wretches! had they known what was in store for them, they would not have Roue to sleep. Even fatigue could not have overcome them. The dip was.burning dimly, and by its 54 I had some culty in fin my cigar-case. I laid od hands upon it at length, and drawing forth a fres weed, kindled it at the cumulus of smoking wick. For amoment 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 cook- ing-utensils, combined with that emanating from the aitea of four sweating Africans, was too powerful to be put down by Pedra tes of the best Havana, and I preferred returning to the roof. As 1 ascended the steps, I heard a anager above me, as if the two men were struggling wit the steering-oar. I could cll Spgs what it meant, and was all the more surprised at seeing them—as soon as the dark- ness permitted—exactly in the same spot where I had left them. Black was still a ing the handle of the oar, Stingér standing at his elbow. I was about passing on to the stem, and had got between them and the beam, when I heard the for- mer exclaim: ‘“* H—l-fire! we'll be ona 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 iece of timber struck me in the ribs; and but that I 1ad caught hold of it, I should have been precipitat- ed into the water. My hold did not avail me, nor was it the intention of that ruffian steersman that it should. “Let gol’ he cried. ‘Let go, d—n ye, or ye’ll have usjon 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 leaming of steel: At the same time T felt a sting- ing sensation in my shoulder, the arm seemed to be- come suddenly paralyzed, my grasp became relax- ed, 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 ing 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. I 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 push- ed from it; and then, how I had st led 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 torise. On attempting to swim, I found that my right arm was of no use to me, : | :
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The Land Pirates. 9 “‘ I looked around for the flat, though without any design to recover footing upon it. It was no longer near me, nor in sight. rried 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 t be as much danger to me as in the water; perhaps more. And I pre- ferred 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 yous to keep my head above water. In this way, I glided on with the current. I could not have yr long afloat. I felt I was each moment growing eebler; and with the utmost difficulty could save myself from sinking. The s current carried me along, but not to- ward the 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. Quick- er than the changes of a kaleidoscope, the scenes of my past life came before me. ather, mother, sisters, and brothers, were all at that moment re- membered, and she whom I had late left, Oh! it eo bag? to think I should never see her in Vv e giving way to this despairing none something struck me from behind. I felt some h substance pressing against my thigh. It caused a thrill through my flesh, for it was a contact unex- lained and unnatural. I could think only of one hing—the snout of an alligator! I knew that I was now in that part of the Mississippi where this hide- ous saurian held his midnight revels. Instinctively I increased ? speed, but to no pur- pose; the bony proboscis still rubbed against my thigh. In another moment I should feel the huge sous harshly closing upon and crushing it like a r ! With an effort I turned round, to meet the mon- ster face to face. In this way I preferred perish- ing. 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 yaa) the flood, but with a buoyancy far surpassing mine The log proved light enough to sustain not only it- self, but faint, sinking me; and straddling it longi- tudinally, I gave myself ee the current with a eaie e 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 ~~ but syncope. I had fainted through exhaus- on. the cloak, still wpon my shoulders, slipping off. beteons without kn it. My_ syncope was of rt duration, though how long I could not tell. I could guess at the time af- terward from knowing the tance 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 ope that this was not the case. Although the og bobbed about, as I stirred upon it, I vn -_ ~ it was close to ld as i a hawser. ‘ po Ne dark all around at 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 inreconnoitering the situation. Their false, fitful light only misled me. . After a time I discove the cause of my having come to; and even reco d the spot. It was the same where I had made landing from the skiff, while eagle-shooting on the island. here was the huge fallen cypress with its roots upon the bank and trunk slanting down into, the theor. 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 ef- fort. 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. I started suddenly up, or made any incautious move- ment, I ht have detached the chance fastenin and gone adrift again, to be carried God knows whi- ther. Perceiving this danger, I took my measures accordingly. Gently hauling upon the hawser of soaked broad- cloth, 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 bani, and then pues off, I stag- ot gered a step or two through the palmettoes, and f 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 most of the mois- ture 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, pe 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 arecumbent 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 a, cloak, by pressing it with a feet against the trunk of a tree, and then spreading it over me, Ilay swathed in dampness. The night was not cold. It had been chilly 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 at- mosphere 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 sleep- — me waking. nce 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 ery 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 a 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 nn | ee to believe that I had not actually h em. 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. L 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. a awake by the stinging pain of my wound, I continued to reflect. I remembered the strange be- havior of the skiffman Jake, and the statement he had made about strange sounds heard upon the isl- and—‘‘ de debbil’s island,” as he called it. There ap- peared 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 XVII. ILL-OMENED SOUNDS. Wir the sun fairly up, my strength had to some oyne 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 difficul- ty in drinking of it. It was only accessible by means of the sloping tree-trunk. I succeeded in crawlin down this, and satisfying the appetite that distress me. Returning to the bank, I bethought me of the next move to be made; which, of course, was how Ishould get off the island. I did not spend much time in oe about this. My eagle-shooting excur- sion 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,” 1 thought, ‘there is such a chance of .gcathnty 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 reflectio yeh a ve up my cloak, now nearly dry, slung it -like over my shoulder, and with a staggering step set forth in the direction of the dug-out. a course was far from being direct; I had but a slight reeollection 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 aperpens, circled in the air above. I could not help thinking they re- cognized me, and that their screams were in retalia- = to mock my misfortune. I hastened on, looking or the mn, 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 bi caused by the ce a 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 murmur- ing, as of men engaged in earnest conversation, The speakers were evidently by the edge of the lagoon, to which I was bam ip “ How fortunate,” thought I, ‘to find people upon the island. Some hunters, rhaps?” 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 con atulating 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 boat- man, Black. ’ bef 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. Thesounds ar nN me direct from the lagoon, The boat might n it. Listening, I again heard the voices, peo with the tread of heavy boots, as of men hurry 0 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 suggest- ed the thought. It never occurred to me that they had brought to on my account. I could not suppose this. was certain as I lived they intended g 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 the knife, and the flerce exclamation that accompanied it left no uncertainty as to his intention. And now, recalling this, my first feeling of sur- sare here way to one of alarm, Whatever cause of ostility these rufflans had against me would still exist. Moreover, their design of t my life would now be strengthened by an instinct for their own preservation. Seeing that I still lived, the would know that their attempt at assassination could not go altogether unpunished, despite the lawless- ness of the land in which they lived. In that remote and solitary place, unseen by hu- man eyes save their own, they might renew it, with every chance of success, considering my crippled condition. True, there would be negroes, whose presence in the da oa might restrain them. But I was not sure of this. They might find some means of getti 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 nny 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 ad- vance, 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 cy- press stood near me, whose huge buttresses, sur- rounded by ‘‘knees”’ about my own hight, offered an excellent place for concealment; andi gliding si- lently into one of its dark niches, I took stand, cow- ering like a fugitive, who feels that the ruthless pur- suer is upon his track and close to his hiding-place. For some time I remained a prey to ho d appre- hensions. After my experience of the previous night, I was justified in having them. hey were keen enough to keep me quiet. I made no more noise than was caused by my quick breath- ng. ° 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 re- treating. The whole surface of the island was cov- ered with palmettoes, whose stiff, fan-like fronds made a loud rustling when touched. T could not bass through them Without risk of being heard. y I had not been discovered while making my approach was probably because the boatmen were busy about some matter that engrossed their atten- tion. They were very near me—not thirty yards off, and but for the underwood I should have n cer- tainly seen. If caught retreating, I should have giv- en 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 mé thither, the drift-log, and once more trusted myself to the cur- rent. 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 passin boat, hail her to bring to and take me off. But 1 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
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Se Ee was not so safe, and both steamers and flats RE ED SPO ee eS to the other. I knew nothing of how the land a. and : appear, dared not hail with my yoice, ~P 7° tl clenal should ae would scarce be regarded. My thoughts once more reverted to the dug-out, It was not ficely the old craft would be disturbed by the a of the cotton-boat, who had their skiff for a tender, Concealed as the canoe was, under the fronds of pared pnt gt it eo even escape their notice. I d wait till the ok their departure, and then avail myself of it, to get off from theisland. 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 trampling and huffling 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; bet the man was of a taciturn ha it, and I only heard it at long intervals, The third was unknown to me. Nor was any of them the voice of a ne 0. This I LS pe ht strange. Actively engaged as they appear- a to ha, if there were darkies employed at the work fete silence was inexplicaLle. I heard neither their chattering nor jocund cachinations. 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, Brad- le iuteban more attentively than ever, straining my ears to their utmost. I could hear nothing but sound—the low humming of human voices, deaden- ed in its ad oid rong the thick shrubbery, and at intervals drowned by the cvigece. Berg the grass- hoppers. 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 doin there. I could only answer by conjecture. At firs it seemed very stran 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! conjecture was natural enone? ene sn peo - ‘other circumstances, might have sa’ did not, and I continued to seek for some teen — lanation. If I could only see aight of the speakers Enis might be o a could not without danger of exposing myself to their view. I might hear what the ar wee saying by making a nearer ap- proach, but this would be equally perilous. All at once it occurred to igh hat I might accom- ong my pignes AY pw climbing up into the cypress. e sounds w a upward, and the tree-top I srisht understand the k going on in the _ oon. I saw that the ascent would be easy. One the buttresses offered a slanting ridge, no “much nome difficult to scale than the rounds of a ladder; and by this I clambered 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 con- cealed an elephant. By Paveee vio Be quiet there would be no danger of a, dagen ooh ge ne Fh age still as a man may oe epoca to who believes his life depends tap so hey t a thing as the swishing of ome or the snapping of a twig. I had not ¢ been Lr minutes on my perch before je eng convinced t my life hung upon just such a This conviction came not of a doen thing I heard; for still, as below, I could on e out the mur- mur of ‘the men’s voices; but I was now able to get ht of themselves. ne of the aig te limbs of the cypress extended toward the lagoon, beyond which was an open list communicating with that over the water. By creep- ing along this branch I believed I should have a view, not only of the bayou, but of the boat, With only one hand to h help me, it seemed a diffi- rea task, but under the stimulus of something more curiosity I attemptedit. I su ie bayou, the boat, the crew, came. under my ONot the crew as. I had noted it when taking my de- yews from Henry Woodley’s plantation. oo. the ur negroes were not seen. I saw only white men. There were three of them. Two were Black and his ig ale oer The nwo a cn unknown to me, but whose physiognomy and general appear- — rendered him a fit associate for the two already At Gace eipghetied an busy as bees, though not oc- cupied in the same manner. I first saw S r, who was en on that end of the flat where the ste led down into the caboose. roof-boards and apparently, also, the sli brush in hand and a bucket standing beside Crawling a little further along the taemets = other two came in ht. There was.a staging the flat to the shore. It sloped He was onbbian , with rl im. down to the bottous of a sort of doorway in the side of the boat. Icould see that a half-score cotton-bales had been rolled across it, and lay upon the land. Among these Wi chine po Sah eet Half-Dime Library. — Black, in his shirt sleeves, and the strange man, were bus The flat, after all, had met with an accident. and they were unloading to prevent 4 from sinkin was my first POPORESD, and I began to th there had been a snag, and in some vey or other I had been mistaken about the whole business. I no longer wondered at the boat having been bro} i up the ee, Sm I only wondered at not see- ing the negroes. There was not one of them visible. They mache 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 discover- bo that Black and his assistant were engaged in an ration that quite mystified me. As have said, ey were busy among the cotton-bales. With in- wine eyes I ine: eee proceedings. I saw the two take hold o bale, unloose the ropes that bound it, rip off “the “hag, ng” from one of its sides, and then stitch in its place ances piece, after which the bindi ng cones were For some time t was puzzled by his 7. cond ceeding, and it only after a prolonge we that I could conjecture what it meant. At gid however, I arrived at the elucidation, strange and im- probable as it ap I observed that the pieces of canvas removed were from the sides that carried the plantation-mark and the name of the owner. I coul: e out the word ““Woodley.”” On those that replaced nes which sppceued in other respects precisely similar, I saw t there was a different mark, and a different name. In the large black lettering I could read: “N. BRADLEY.” Up to this amacmnentel) had been conjecture. It was so ~ lo: The scheme became revealed to me, as poi of sudden sinister light. From my in the c crrmeeneee tree I was looking upon a scene Pe piracy su had heard was far from being rare upon the Mississippi river. The transaction was clear. The planter-pirates had taken ession of the cotton-boat, and were mading their plunder prcnensee for safe sale. That Bradley was at the back of it I had nodoubt. His name goin Spon the bales proved his peuscipation and some ore—the chief of the pan was not there self, but I felt certain t ce been but a few minutes before. I could Pt ea sworn to h ‘his voice, and that, too, giving di- negwoness the others. But_how had the capture been effected? My thoughts now reverted to the negroes, who had com- posed the crew. With increased interest, I n ooked to see if they were upon the boat. If so ey must be hidden somewhere and holding themselves unusually silent. My eyes wandered to the hatchway e the little cabin, in which I had seen them asleep. Were they asleep, still or in the slumber of death ? lood 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 washin 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 eee pee the “suds” chased to and fro ore his brush. I saw that i were of a crimson color, blood! saw this with astonishment, with trem- | bling. I remembered what I had h 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 commit- Seat i ane was Stinger engaged in eliminating its The blacks were no longer upon the boat. Where were they ? Was it their blood I =¢ W 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 becoming a conviction, kept me quiet in e 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 “ necessary for their own sateay: and I knew that if discovered I = ht expect but a short shrift of it. It needed more to secure my silence. 7 did not design remaining there forever, only un- til night. Then I should descend, make my way to the dug-out, which I hoped to find in its rm ey 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 sum- — all my patience to await it. And all of it was ed into play. Never in my life do I remember Hed ew hat appeared allege day. Ithought it would have no en Demat t the sun was never to set. It was still early when I arrived at the foot of the nen for I had started by the first light to go to- ward 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 still tried to catch their conversation, though it was no longer needed to = lide the transa vo in which a were en- & - this I was unsuccessful as ever. Tho ugh at times talking with apparent comiesinees, they kept to a low key, as if themselves fearful of being over- heard.. No wonder they should, considering the work in which es were wotchie became w them, and soon after lost sight of them “alice 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 hoursI saw no more yen h how th could guess, however, how they were engage The bringing ashore onl the odd. bales had bees t> make room for o ions inside, where I had no ey =e the who e. cargo was receiving the Brad- ran é quickness with which they appeared to ex- ecute 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 can- vas strewed about the place and which I had noticed on my former visit to island, were now recalled to ay, recollection. In that solitary spot more than ore : ipment of cotton had changed its plantation- my Teculd now understand what had appeared to puz- zle his acquaintances—how Mr. Nat Bradley hall 0 rapidly prospered on his new plantation. His boast of peng 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 fimb,of a tree, hungry, athirst, smarting under the pulsations of a fevered wound, a prey to apprehen- sions that by some sinister chance might be dis- covered = = place of concealment, I thought that the | id never come to an end. And even when t shane end, wheé certainty had I of being able to make good m ? The dug-out on which I was placing my enend ence might be no longer there, or if it was, I might not succeed in starting it fromits moorings ? I might be detected in attempt- ing to pass the flat, which lay between the canoe and the narrow creek that communicated with the river. Besides these, there were other probable contin- gensieg nqoeee of sion, a Fay and keep me n constant apprehension, an t Satins the Seunindenil he di oy, : Just as the: Fao ngiaom was darken over Saw something to c me. I saw i ae woh come — -_ of the ot ernous opening in the side of the ark. carrying an armful of spoiled canvas, which tr recognized as the cast sides of the cotton bales. I saw them make these up into a hu uge 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 batch-door shut to, and the pe ark, yielding toa Lae} of oars, passed slowly silently from my piece As soon as sure that they were gone for I de- scended from the ses and waiting till the d ess had come down, I groped my way toward the place where I Aa le A paving seen the dug-out. I was not eieegpcinded found the old craft still resting n ported upon the water, either not os or not cared aed the pirates, who had passed a aw Gettin, aul aboard, and armin the paddle, I unloosed the fastening o om | vines and pushed on toward the river, which I reached without hearing or seeing any one. Fortunately, the mens was a dark one, like that which p: it. Iwas Surtees 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 muon the pad- dle with all the strength I could command. I took good care to dip the blade lightly, sO as to make no Salen in the water. The flat might still be within earshot. It might have been brought to for some purpose, ap oy oe that island plantation which ¢ now knew to be the property of a anton and by the border of which I was now slowly Mi way. The chill fog seemed to have quieted the chemient chanters of the forest, and a slight sound coul heard far off. The stroke of thes le might reach the ears of the pirates and prompt them to follow me in epee skiff that served as a tender to the cotton- boa a ice that they could easily overtake me, in which case I might count upon certain death. They ped eng eengrm 6 the dug-out and know whence I had For the first mile or so I made but a snail's prog- ress. With only one hand to work with, and it the wrong one, I great difficulty in keeping the canoe stern on tothe 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 on. AsI 2 tg feel more confident that there was no pursuit so became more adroit in the man- agement okt er roratt. Further up, tag too, the current was not so er and I had less fear about dipping my oar-blade into the water. Still I was not free from a: ension, and [I moved on as silently as ever, at intervals suspen be Sm stroke and listening to catch any sound from Once I fancied I heard the po the of oars close be- hind me, and in fear I gazed into the = gi oe think- ing I should see the pursuing exit istened i in tently for the plash of an oar-blade or the murm' of human voices, a.
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} The Land Pirates. = 3. T 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 im- proved as I got further away from that place of hor- ror—the Devil’s Island, But I was not easy in my mind until by the earliest break of day Isaw before me an open spot on the bank, which I recognized as the landing of Henry Woodley’s plantation. There was no house near if, no erection of any kind. Only some cords of firewood upon the bank, intended for the supply of such pass 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 expert to see any one at the landing. Iho not, as I did not myself wish to be seen. n to reflect on the future, more than the past, on the punishment of these mur- dering pirates, and the mode of bringing it ‘about. T knew that in such a lawless land justice might not be so obtained, and that despite the proofs T had, stratagem would still have to be resorted to, At all events, it would be as well that none of the lantation negroes should know of my return until f had first placed myself in communication with their master. With the view of making my approach unob- served, I clung close along the bank, and came to at some distance elow 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 in- tend 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 errr fl through the underwood in the direction of the landing. There was no one there, nothing but the paral- igogipedons of cottonwood piled up in readiness for e 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 ap- roach the dwelling without being observed—much ess 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 was true that all this could be concealed under my cloak, but the cloak itself, and the trowsers underneath, were embrowned by the muddy water. Inshort, my whole person presented such an appearance as to have puz- zled ancintimate friend in identifying me. While reflectingon what to do. eard footsteps coming from thé direction of the house. They were made known to me by the phawtse | of the dry leaves with which the wood-road was thickly covered. The footfall was flat and heavy, evidently that of & negro. cr after I saw the negro himself. It was Jake. With joy I reco; him—the very man I want- ed to see. I could take the old skiffman into my confidence, and by him send a message to his mas- ter, 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 be 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 isl- and, from which I had t come. In by 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 suspec my presence, He did not go down to the skiff, but out to a pro- jecting point, upon which the steamboats usually rested their s -plank. There he stopped, and looked up the river, as if ex ing a boat to come down, is back was toward me, as I stepped from my place of concealment. “ Jake!” TI said, ‘look this way!” He turned suddenly, and I now saw that my pre- caution had not been an idle one. But for having him in a sort of peninsula, myself occupying the isthmus, he would ce have made good his es- cape. As it was. he seemed half determined on rush- ing past me, and reac the house. He even cast his eyes toward the tosee if there was any chance of retreating in that direction. * Jake!” Isaid, in a reassuring voice. ‘‘ What's the matter with you? Don’t ou Lhow me?” “ Goramity, mass’r!” he gasped out, at length re- cognizing the man he had so often guided through the swamps. Wha—wha—wha’'s comed oba you? Lor’ a-mercy! You's all kivered 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. { want to see your master.” “Gome on den. He ar’n’t up yet; but he soon rou for you.” oy Nandy want to see him down here,” “Down hya!” echoed the darky, with a look of increased aatonishment. “A’n’t you comin’ up to de big house, to get um_ washed, bruss’d, an’ eat ya b ass? an'hab ya close ““No—not just yet, not till I’ve seen your master. And look here, Jake! Idon’t want any one to know that Iam 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. t this in your pocket, and let me see that you carry oe ee discreetly.’’ In the attempt to murder me I had not been rob- bed; and I was able to sharpen the zeal, also the in- telligence, of my intended messenger by the douceur ofadollar. 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 un- derwood, I awaited the coming of He Woodley. I little expected that before seeing him, I should sbake hands with his brother Walter. Yet such was the reality! While sitting upon the log reflecting how much of m pep should be told to my late host, and how much for the time kept back, I heard the deep, so- norous bark that announces the “high pressure ” steamboat. Looking un ee 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 evi- dently 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 pommger a ashore, carrying a carpet-bag along with him. I recognized the young Tennessee- an cotton-planter, Walter Woodley. He did not so easily recognize me, and when he at length discovered who was the mud-bedaubed indi- vidual 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. a Tange 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 a respectful dis- tance behind him. The Mississipian was less surprised at seeing his brother thanme He had heard the stoppage signal of the steamer. Walter had been e ted to come that day. It was for this the old skiffman had saun- tered down to the landing—to see if there were any signs of the boat, Only Jake himself was in attendance upon Hess. The negro had shown intelligence in the accomplish- mens of his mission. ™ Wadd mi y my appearance, Henry Woodley was still more astonished then his brother had been. He had more lately seen me in a different guise. But mingling with his astonishment, he the suspicions of a sinister cause, arising from antecedents he could re- member. Though he could see that something seri- ous 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. had ey reasons, which I promised to explain after- ward. Both the brothers still wondering, Walter suggest- eda way. Achange 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 Missis- sippi. Gur 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 stran- er, ae had come ashore along with their master’s rother. The plan was feasible enough; but even had it been less so, I should have been disposed to adopt it. Iwas faint, and feeble; my wound paining me from the want of a proper dressing. I was, more- over, 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 omg at assassinating me. Iwas 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 ae pe ed; and closely enveloped in Walter’s Woodley’s cloak, with trowsers, backwoods fashion, thrust in- side my boots, I entered the plantation-house, with- out exciting any suspicion. Twenty minutes spent at the toilet, my host as- sisting, rendered me presentable in the drawing- room, where I was received by his sister with that sort of surprise that caused me a secret gratifica- tion. I was gratified by the look given me, in which pleasure at a4 appearance seemed suddenly to be- come pain at the sight of my disabled arm. By the quick paling of her cheek, accompanied b an re Woe : arm, T felt that Cornelia Wood- e 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 boat- man, Black, ending in = defeat; my being flung overboard, and compelled to save myself by swim- ming—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 sory in all its details. It is not ne- cessary to say that both listened to the tale with as- tonishment. 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 Brad- ley. Both knew the man to be of a bad, brutal na- ture. 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 usual- ly 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 pos- sessed 1 en property. These assumed no definite shape. It was only hinted ina general way that he must be engaged in some speculation besides the planting of cotton— something not quite so legitimate. We are talking of atime 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 combi- nations of crime almost incredible. Which of these might be the specialty of the Mis- sissippi planter no one appeared definitely to know. y experience of the two preceding days had furnished the clew. I had no longer a doubt that, ee with the ostensible pursuit 0 ipa ge in Mr. Bradley secretly combined the calling of a pirate —for by this name is the river robber fam ly known in the region of the erage neg hon My opinion was adopted by my listeners, as I con- tinued to tell them what I had seen, The facts spoke for themselves. Besides, both had heard of circum- stances corroborative of what could be no longer called suspicion, For some years past there had been reports of flat-boats missing upon the Missis- Sipe, everal 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 fiat, freighted with cotton, from a plantation somewhere up the Arkansas river, Its owner had dispatched it in charge of a crew of vy i his own slaves, but had never heard more of either 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 up- on 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 innocent] 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. Aswe continued to discuss what had occurred, and examine it in allits bearings, the whole scheme be- came clear. I now learnt, for the first time, that Black and his associate, pen al were complete strangers to the Woodley family. They had pre- sen themselves on the Tennessee plantation as professed flat-builders and boatmen; and in this ouble capacity had they been employed. T recalled the gm of conversation I overheard be- tween Black and Bradley on the wood-path of the plantation. It had puzzled me at the time. Its sig- nification was now clear, and I could understand the interest which Bradley had shown in the cotton cro about to be embarked. No doubt it was by his al. rections that Black and Stinger had shown them- selves in that quarter, and undertaken the building of the boat. They were bya 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 grees It was a frightful reflection to think of the sad fate of these unfortunate creatures—for we could scarce havea 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 tobe 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 seni cotton-broker in collusion with the gang. eir 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 pe or sheep. The huge parallelopipedon covered with coarse canvas zing,’’ and confined in its cording of hemp, is a thing not to be sworn to. Re- move 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
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12 reclaim them, that is, without other evidence to sub- stantiate 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 like- ly he would follow it in one of the steamboats from atchez or some near port. He may have taken the very one that brought Walter Woodley to his broth- er’s plantation. He could hail it from some landing below. What would be our best course to parent Henry’s counsel was that we should all three pro- ceed 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 pene ackets from that place to the great city below. By this means we might anticipate the sale of the cotton, and so re- cover 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 es- cape, 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 up- on 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 con- nivance. 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 aaa 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 downto New Orleans piace ourselves in communication with a re- spectable 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 looki 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 ant Crees the piratical rufflan whose punishment we had been planning. CHAPTER XXIII. WAITING FOR A BOAT. Visit unexpected and ill-timed—what could be its inet This was the thought of all three. _ , for one, must not be seen by him. The sight of me would frustrate all our plans—even the knowl- Beadle’s Half-Dime Librar edge that I still lived. Neither should the Tennesseean. change in the programme we had sketched out for the pirate. , Our host alone must recelve 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, Uninv 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 godownto Orleans, The Yazoo City was to have left Vicksburg yesterday evening and I thought I might catch her at your landing. t suppose I’m too late, as I heard a boat pass while I was comin through the woods, She was going down, and I reckon it must have been the pet There wasan interval of silence, during which we awaited Hedry’s response. He made none, The presence of such a guest—under such circum- stances—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 oy 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 land- ing to look for her. You don’t mind sending one of your niggers to fetch my horse back to the house here? ere is one of mine coming after to take him home.” “Certainly not,”’ said Henry evidently pleased at | His presence | would require explanation, and perhaps cause a | the prospect of his visitor making such ashort stay. ‘*One of them shall go down with you at once.”* ** And look be Henry Woodley!” continued Brad- ley, 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 leome back from Orleans, which will be in about a fort- night. If you can’t ey then, why I must get judg- ment on the bill, and takesome of your niggers. I’m sorry to be sharp with you; but I must have the at ‘When you come back—a fortnight you say—per- haps 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 pe ena himself of something that was passing out- side. There was an interval of profound stillness, and through a side-window in the wpe Mb in which the casement stood open, we could distinguish eet and far off the hollow sound of the ‘ ’scape- pipe.’ R By Jove, it’s the boat! be in time to catch her. horse!” As he issued this impudent command, the unwel- come visitor hurried on through the gate, leaped into the saddle and went off ata 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 dis- covering of our presence bs 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 bores, raven 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, Waite thanking the Yazoo pity for having so op- ortunely disembarrassed us of the presence of Nat radley, we felt that he must be followed as speedily as possible. If the flat had been taken on direct after leavin Devil’s Island—and in all likelihood it had—it shoul 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 pro- vided. The Yazoo City would be there before them, but oat by which we ourselves should Ten chances to one if ’ll Send after me for the how about the have to make the journey? There was no certainty when another steamboat might come along. It ig. a be in an hour, but it might also be two or three days. A delay of the lat- ter kind would be fatal to our scheme. Once alongside the flat-boat-wharf on the New Or- leans levee, it would not take much time to dis- charge the cargo, and remove it to some safe place of wrasse: and, as for the flat itself, it could_be dis- posed of in a single night. We might reach New Or- eans 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 with- out 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 Wal- ter Woodley could not do the same. Indeed, the young Tennessean was not so sure of being able to ident y the flat. He had taken but lit- tle 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 re- quired than the testimony I was he 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 t. 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, how- Vy: ever, 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 friend- ship. 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 con- tracted. “Tt 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—mur- dered. Itis fearful!” “Tt is, indeed,” said the elder, and less sentimen- tal brother. “But in any case you will not lose by that, I mean in money: There are plenty of likely hands on Nat Bra ey’s plantation, though I’ve never known much of either it or them. Of course is can recover the full value of what you have ost; and, if it all prove true, you will have to pro- ceed 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 et one before to-morrow nigh 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. e’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 o down along with me. ’ Without him we would be elpless. 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 account- ed for by his hope of getting rid of an incubus hitherto eres | him. “Now, Walt!’ he continued, “get ready to ride at top speed for Natchez. V'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, M'ss Woodley wondering about the uke treme “Never mind, Corneel!”’ said her brother, in an- swer to her request for an explanation. ‘ Walter is called to New Orleans on pressing business, and Tam 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 willthat content you?” Miss Woodley made no response. She smiled and seemed satisfied, The bantering tone in which her brother Hse) implied that there could not be much amiss. I too felt content at the prospect of havin her for a fellow-passenger, On board of a Mississipp steamboat. I could not help remembering that it wasin a simi- lar 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, awaken- ing the echoes of the woods. It came from the up- river direction. . “Quick, Walt!” cried his brother. “Ride down to the landing, and —. hertostop. A white hand- kerchief will do it. Have you got one?” “Here,” said the fair ‘* Corneel,” gliding like a sylph towerd 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 2 oi eags like a thunderbolt, while his bro- ther and sister commenced packing their portman- teaus, I had none to pack, and remained standing in the porch, listening for the stopping of the ap- proaching steamer. I could soon tell that the signal had been Success- ful. “The “bark” of the boat, heard at short in- tervals, became changed to a hiss—a sure sign that’ the play of the engine was suspended. Short y 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 wy nee to be one worth consideration. ere were few captains on the river that would not have laid to fora 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 hum- ble ‘‘ stern-wheel ” that had thus condescended; but the noble ‘‘Sultana,” in whose luxuriant saloon 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 puffine asthmatically behind us. pon her _paddle-boxes | we could read the lettering, * Yazoo City.”’
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; : The Land Pirates.” 13 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 sus- icion of our being aboard the Sultana, might have efeated our plans, We gave him no chance for either one or the other. He was standing alone—abaft the pilot-house—ap- conan wrapt in contemplation. He may have en 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 commit- ted? 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. Y ed not to speculate onthe past. I felt con- fident that between Nat Bradley and Cornelia Wood- ley 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 disappear- ed from mysight. ape Oe In less than twenty hours after, we were ing Re 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 Wood- ley, 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 we must shun it. We should not be twenty-four hours under its roof be- fore finding for a fellow-guest the man we have no wish to encounter.”’ ‘Ah! I understand you,”’ answered the Tennes- seean, “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 loud- txt of its bullies.” “Tn 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 toseal the fate of these scoundrels, whose exposure will per- haps 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 jocu- larity,” you will be able to clear the ‘character of the hurricane.” By this time the Sultana had commenced sound- ing her pilot-bells—those mysterious signals by which the steersman communicates his wishes to a Vulcan-like individual who stands by the engine Clow, The effect was soon apparent by the boat round- ing to in the .stream, and bringing up alongside the evee. With our light luggage, we were soon inside a two- horse we ay ear rat ting over the oyster-shells to- ward the 8t. Louis Hotel. CHAPTER XXV. A LOUISIANA LAWYER, Once installed in our hotel, we proceeded upon the pusiness that brought us to New Orleans, e law- -er was looked up, and the circumstances laid before im. Charley Sawyer appeared far less surprised by the story then might ners been expected. Though still but a young man, he had been long enough in the Crescent City to become acquain 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 historical] distinguished. As to our plan of. proceeding, t po ae corresponded with what we had already con- ceived, ‘ “ Although everything seems straight for bringing the scoundrels to justice,” said he, ‘we must pro- ceed with caution. The law here is rather & rough institution as yet; and where men’s liberty is con- cerned—to say nothing of their lives—the testimony must be clear and positive. If they have actually ed 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 the cotton. That will be needed to connect him wall ‘e he theft, robbery, or whatever we may have to “But yopose he have no opportunity?’ suggested | Walter Woodley, * one to purchase it all ae eis ee may not be any ‘No fear of that.’ I shall myself find him a pur- chaser. 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 ver we can get @ warrant by deposition, and lodge essrs. Bradley, Black & Co.in the calaboose. At- ter 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 ot in. Would any of you know the boat? You, Sir Walter poke ought to be able to identify our own pro ys ae: rat * really don't think I ee 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 sf enough to distinguish them, That would never re) ” ‘“*T fancy I can manage that part of it,” I suggest- ed. ‘Black can be but slightly acquainted with my face, though I shall never forget his. By sacrificing my mustache, and borrowing a 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 ut upon you. That, with a broad-brimmed palmet- to hat, and a pair of cottonade trowsers, will turn ou into a creole complete. As for you, Henry Woodley, and your brother, your best plan will be for both of you to if 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 my Se ape It was not altogether pleasant to part with my pet mustaches; but I con- soled m 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 a life stand in the felon’s dock. he garments necessary for my disguise were bend 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 abun- dantly provided. In less than an hour I was ready to play the part of a detective. With Mr. Sawyer acing as oe we sallied forth, and took our way toward the flat-boat wharf. Those not acquainted with the New Orleans ‘‘le- vee’ 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, mapper 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 ap- glory so that each kind of craft—ships, steam- oats, flats, and rayts—has a stretch of shore appro- priated to itself. 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 *‘ keeds’’ and “‘flat- boats.”’ Of these there is usually a large “ fleet’ cing 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 entre- pot 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 ying 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 partic- ularly interested in any of them, Mr. Sawyer and I sey cory to make a reconnoissance. Most of them ad their stagings out and were delivering their car- goes on shore—hogsheads of sugar and tobacco, bar- rels of pork, and bags of Indian corn. Some ap- peared 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 oy 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 are decks. Else ht have more easily identi- ed it. For some time my companion and I sauntered back and forward a ong the levee, keeping an eye on this particular flat. I had already communicated to him md suspicion that it was the one we were in search of. We watched the hatch-door of the ca- boose; 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 en- gaged in getting out its cargo, and by using this, we could step to the roof of the craft suspected, Sawyer led the ow A slight apology to the owner of the discharging flat was sufficient to frank us, and we on over its roof, and stepped across the chasm dividing the two. I had just time to see that Stinger, with his scrub- bing-brush, had not altogether effaced that hideous stain, when a head popped up through the hatch, and a rough voice demanded “‘what we were doin there?’ The demand was prefaced by an oath. had seen enough to satisfy me before perceiving that the speaker was Mr. Black; and without stayin to hear the reply, which I left the lawyer to make, averted my ace, and returned, apparently uncon- cerned, 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. : Pe From your behavior,” said he, as soon as we had ot to a safe distance, “‘I took it that our polite riend is one of the pirates. Is it so?” pu There are the shipping wharves—@ “The man who gave me this,’ I replied, flirting » apome of the camlet cloak, and showing my ung limb. “So far good! We've tried 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 guage. It was soon made known, on his returning to me, accompanied by a man of that peculiar cast of coun- tenance 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 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 ap’ g in- ireaaes something supposed to be on 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 RO 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 ose. 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 pal- aces.”’ At least two-score of them lay opposite the land- ing; some coming in, others golng out; some taking oe’, aboard and others scharging it on the wharf, It was a crowded and busy scene; but unlike as among the flats, we anticipated no difficulty in iden- tifying the particular boat with which we had busi- ness. We were in search of the *‘ Yazoo City,” A single stroll along the line, and we saw she was not there. Scaree 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 ex- pected 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 cannot be long now, unless indeed she has stopped some- where along the coast to take in cargo, e 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 cannot do this busi- ness by deputy, as it wants some one who knows our man by gh . For myself, I never saw Mr, Nat Kony ! though I’ve heard some strange stories about him, almost as strange as that you've told me. Confound <hat cloak! Those fellows appear to take notice of it. Stay! Ihaveit. I think fo. 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 direc- tion 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 : pe conters I will be with you by the time they are mixed.” I did as directed, passing inside the restaurant eed my way up-stairs, and ordering the ice rinks. The lawyer came in along with them. Icould see that he had a telescope in his hand, fresh purchased from a “ store.” “The very place for our purpose,” he said, walk- ing to one of the windows and glancing at the steam- boats. ‘The Yazoo City can’t come in without our seeing her from here, and with the help of this mag- nifler we may bring Mr.Bradley near enough to recog- nization. t!’ he continued, placing the telescope to his eye, and looking along the levee ; ‘have we a view of the flat as well ? a my word we have, I ean see the pork-boat—the flat itself, and Riggs, on ost where we left him, as plain as the dome of St. harles. 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 Lafa-
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14 rote and, looking up the river, we beheld a small t 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 an to draw toward the wharf, ‘‘it’s your turn with the telescope. Get Mr. Bradley in your field of vision, and om him there till he comes near enough for the na eye. What a divine conception my thinki of the spy- glass—quite a new idea in detection. e’re not on saved exposure to the hot sun, but = man never the presence of aspy. 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 onl slight attention to what he wassaying. 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 seach of our pirate nger. I soon discovered the object of we 3 search. He was upon the guards, near the top of the stairs lead- ing down to the boiler-deck. I could make outa 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 hiz 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.” “T 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 tele- scope, as if to familiarize himself with the person of the pirate planter, the little boat struggled into her ase shoved out her staging, and gave the impa- jent pamengers a chance of stepping ashore. Now that I had recognized him quired the no longer re- radley ng. “Good!” whispered Sawyer. ‘“ Just as lexpected. 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 —a if he intends it. We can see what he does through this. When he comes ashore then it will be time enough to track him to his otel. 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 o: promenaders, and was lost to my sight. - !” muttered my com on, ‘He's going aboard the boat. . . . . No! one of the crew coming ashore to meet him. It’s the same who 80 bese f received us. . Now they are to- gether on the levee, and e in conversation. JT wish we could only hear it. No doubt it would help them; askant, like a 6 listening to thun Come! we must quit this, or he may escape us. he’s not (vig eee he won't stay long on the levee. We et down there about the time he has fin- ished that bit of private conversation. Come!” off what remained of the “ cobblers,” intervention of the straw, we d the wens, poe out into the street, and turned toward boat la ; nding. The lawyer had Sep the time truly. As wead- e 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 our testimony a bit. Riggs has got his eyes = er. As companion, As we dogged him up Poydras street, across Tchou- toulas Camp, and into the t domed hos- of St. Charles, he little dreamt that the spies of justice were 80 Close upon his heels. CHAPTER XXVIZ. 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 5 7 to qoeculate upon it. “* Now,” he said, off once more in the di- rection of the levee, ‘I want a man willing to buy two hundred bales of cotton, without lo any time or making cavil as to price.” “You will not find such a man, I should think.” “*T will! andin 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 Tack letters: appeared, painted in large b ‘“* CHEETHAM, Corron-Broxker.”’ I had just deciphered this lettering as Mr, Sawyer came out, bringing the cotton-broker along with Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. 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 ey: 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 inthe explanation. Of course the cotton-broker was told the whole story, and the scheme by which the pirates were to be ss ew 3 I was far more astonished at the matter-of-fact man- ner 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 But I knew it was only caused by the common- ness of such crimes, in a d 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 move- ments?” “They’re rolling the cotton ashore.” “Good; we must go and buy it.” “You'll have to be quick, then. They’ve ongaged alot of drays. Ireckon they’re about ng it toa 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 ne 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 t out a warrant against the fellows upon the flat, lest they give us the slip as soon as their ark is empty. oPleRs, 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 ne- groes. 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 bot- tom of the lagoon. It’s terrible to think of it. Take a cigar, and let’s talk about something else.” Idid as desired, and lighting our cigars, we con- versed upon lighter ve rn 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 ob- tained a warrant for Black, Stinger, and the third individual whose name was unknown. We regretted not be able to include the name of Nathaniel Bradley, but we ho 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. “T’ve bought it—every bale.” “From whom?” cae a Mississippi planter, by name Nathaniel le og by Cheap?” jokingly inquired the lawyer. ‘* So cheap that I wish it wasa bona fide purchase. I found Mr. megs 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 Em- ire Press subject to my orders on its being paid for. F suppose you have no objection to that, Mr. Wood- le , tion. % Not the slightest,” replied the Tennessee plant- er; ‘‘any press, so long as I can recover it.” “ Now, omgroay 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. Fivesuch for- midable 5 ado in the streets together might look as if we intended storming the municipality. Cheet- ham, you know the place; take Mr. Henry Wood- ley. ‘ou, sir,’ continued the lawyer, address- d ing 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 meat the foun- tain of justice.” We started from the lawyer's office, going as di- — rected, 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 over- seer on the aforesaid Bradley’s plantation, found lodgings in the common calaboose of the Crescent y. CHAPTER XXVIII. CONVICTION. I SHALL not weary the aye sy 3 of my reader with the details of the trial that followed. Enough for him to know that we succeeded in securing a convic- tion against all four of the accused. They were con- victed not only of piracy, but murder, of which we found the proofs, alas too clear! Ind ng the lagoon to strengthen our testimo- ny with the scraps of cotton-bagging I had seen the pirate sinking below the surface, an Capea object was brought up on the prongs of the drag—the body of an that been kept at anchor below by @ << of iron tied around the neck. is face was dis d 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 he fired when half- asleep, followed by that death-shriek that so long ro in my ears. e searched for the other three drageing 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 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 Pa | be the bundles of cast b g 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 rot- tenness and rags; on the other could still be deci- phered a name and mark that led to its identifica- an It pes govern the somen co ed a boat on e nsas r, of whic e a a heard, R } of How many of these horrid tragedies had been en- acted 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, inspir- ing terror among the black-skinned creatures who had occasion to go near it. To many of them, its loomy lagoon, or the swift current sweeping around t, had proved more destructive than the fancied de- mon 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 pe camp aad life! There was no proof of their ving murdered a white man! Bradley did not submit long to his confinement. Tn less than a year afterward I heard that he had put an end to his life. As to Black, Stinger and Croucher, for what * know to the contrary, all three may be still inside the strong walls of the Louisiana State prison, werk- ing 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. The Sunnyside Library. 1 Larus Rooxn, By Thomas Moore.......... 10c. 2 Don Juan. By Lord Byron... .......... Paihy 3 8 Parapise Lost. By John Milton........ pte 4 Tue Lapy or THE Lake. Sir Walter Scott.. 10¢c. 5 Lucie. By Owen Meredith... .... .....- 10¢. 6 Unprxg, oR THE WareER-Spreir. From the German of Friederich De La Motte Fouque... 10c For sale by all newsdealers, or sent, postage paid, on receipt of twelve cents for single numbers, double numbers twenty-four cents. : ADAMS, VICTOR & CO., Publishers, 98 William street, N. Y. -
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a Beadle & Adams’ Standard Dime Publications. Speakers. Brapie AND ADAMs have now on their lists the fol- lowing highly desirable and attractive text-books, prepared exp: for schools, families, etc. Each volume contains 100 large es, printed from clear, open , comprising the t collection of Dia- logues as and itations, (burlesque, comic and otherwise.) The Dime Speakers for the season of :1879—as far as now issued—embraee twenty-one volumes, viz.: 1, American Speaker. _{ 12. Exhibition Speaker. 2. National Speaker. 13. School Speaker. 3. Patriotie Speaker. 14. Ludicrous Speaker, 4, Comic Speaker. 15, Komikal Speaker. 5, Elocutionist. 7” aoe y er 6. H us Speaker. : uen er. 7 Standard Speaker. 18. Hail Columbia Speak- 8, Stump Speaker. er, : 9, Juvenile er. 19. Serio-Comic Speaker. 10, Spread-Eagle Speaker | 20. Select Speaker. 8 =m 5 21. Funn Boeken: : y s ete with choice pieces for the School-room, the bition, for Homes, etc. They are drawn from FRESH sources, and contain some of the choicest oratory of the times. 75 to 100 Declama- tions and Recitations in each book. Dialogues. . Thirteen. Dialogues No, Fourteen. Dialogues No. Fifteen, Dialogues No. Sixteen. Dialogues No, Seventeen, Dialogues No, Seven. Dialogues No, Nineteen, Dialogues No, Eight. Dialogues No. Twenty. Dialogues No, Nine. Dialogues No. Twenty-one, Dialogues No. Ten. } Dial . Twenty-two. Dialoroes No. Eleven. Dialogues No, Twenty-threo Dialogues No. Twelve. Just published, 15 to % Dialogues and Dramas in each book. These volumes have Set red with especial erence to their avail ty in ali school-rooms. wy are adapted to schools with or without the fur- niture of a stage, and introduce a range of charac- ters suited to scholars of every grace, th male and female. It is fair to assume that no volumes et offered to schools, at any price, contain so many avaiable and useful dialogues and dramas, serious and comic, A NEW BOOK OF POPULAR Dramas and Readings. 164 12mo Pages. 2 Cents. For Schools, Parlors, Entertainments and the Am- ateur 4 e, comprisi Original | Minor Dramas, meday, Farce, Dress Pieces, Humorous ogue and Burlesque, by noted writers; and Recitations and fing BS and standard, of the greatest celebrity interest. Edited by Prof, A. M. Russell. DIME HAND-BOOKS. Young People’s Series. gegen peg eS adh ane mae rang subjects, and are espec adeno to their aig They constitute at tons ‘the cheapest and most useful works yet put into the market for popular circulation. Ladies’ Letter-Writer. Book of Games. Gents’ Letter-Writer. Fortune-Teller. Book of Etiquette, Lovers’ Casket. Book of Verses. Ball-room Companion, Book of Dreams. Book of Beauty. Hand-Books of Games. 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Incomparable in Merit. Unapproachable In Price. 2" Be ve careful not to confound these books with those of other publishers, sold at the same rice. The vast success of the Dime Novels called nto existence ‘‘ Ten Cent Novels,’’ which the public is sometimes deceived in buying as Dime Novels. The only Dime Novels are those published by BEADLE AND ADAMS, Whose copyright trade-mark and signet the word ‘‘ Dime’’ Novel is. Ask always for BrapLz’s Dime Novels, and you will then get what you wish, The following comprises a complete list as far as published. Numbers omitted are out of print. 2. The Privateer’sCruise | 219. The Scioto Scouts. 8. Myra. 221. The Blue pps 9. The Slave Sculptor. | 224. The Mohave Captive. 10. The Backwoods Bride | 227. The Forest Princess, 11. Prisoner La Vintresse | 228. The Mute Chief. 14. Emerald Necklace. 233. The Prairie Queen. 16. Uncle Ezekiel. 234. The Forest Specter. 17. Madge Wilde. 237, The Plymouth Scout. 22, The dof Esopus, | 239. Old Zip. 23. Winifred Winthrop. | 240. Swiftwing. %. The Trail Hunters. 241, Mink Coat. 25. The Peon Prince. 42. Graybeard. 80. Put. Pomfret’s Ward. | 243. The Black Princess. 81. Double Hero. 244. Keetsea, 82. Trona. 246. The White Apache, 83, Maum Guinea, 20c. | 250. The Border Renegade 34. Ruth Margerie. 256. Antelope Abe. 85. East and West. 258. The te Brave. 36. The Riflemen of the | 263. The Bordcr Huntress Miami. 264, Mountain Kate, 38, The Wrong Man. . 268, The Specter Kiders, 89. The Land Claim. 281. The Black Spy. 40. Union’s Daughter.20c | 282. Ruby Roland. 42. The King’s i 288. The Lone Chief, 44, ne alkland. 284. The Young Spy. 46. Wreck of the Albion, | 289. The Balloon uts, 47. Tim Bumble’s 292. Black John. 51, The Two Guards 293. The Tonkawa Spy. 53. Hates and Loves, 204. The Rival Rovers, 54, 5 | Hos 296. ‘The Hussar Captain. 56. Ahmo’s Plot. 299. Mossfoot, the Brave, 60. Jo Daviess’ Client, 301, ak " 61. Laughing Eyes. 302, Cuban Conspirators, 62, The Unknown. 306. Caribou Zip. 63, The Indian Princess, | 308. Glass Eye. 64. Rangers of Mohawk. | 310. Foghorn Phil. 65. The Wrecker’s Prize, | 312, Dick Darling. 68. The Brigantine, 313, The Red Brotherhood 69, Black Hollow. 814. Riva) Lieutenants, 70. The Indian Queen, $16. Hurricane Bill. 72. The Moose Hunter. 817, Tippy, the Texan, 73, The Silver Bugle. 319. The Pear] Pirates, 74. Cruiserof Chesapeake | 320. The Child Spy. 77. daro. 822, Old ao 81. The Two Hunters, 823. The Dashing Dra- 84. The Seminole Chief, oons, 85. The Fugitives, 324, -o’-the- Wisp 86. Red Plume. 825. Dashing Dick, 87. On the Dee 826. Old Crossfire. 88. Captain Molly. 327, Ben Bramble. 90, Cast Away. 828. The Brigand Captain 91. The Lost Cache. 829. Old Strategy. 93. The Creole Sisters, | 830, Gray Hair, the Chief. 95. Eph Peters. 331. The Prairie Tigers, 96. Little Moccasin. 832, The Rival Hunters. 97, The Doomed Hunter. | 833. The Texan Scout. 98. Ruth Harland. 334, Zebra Zack. 100, Karaibo. 635. The Masked Messen- 101. Maid of Wyoming. ger. 102, Hearts Forever. 886. Morgan, the Pirate, 104, Guilty or Not Guilty, | 887, The Boy Spy 106, Simple Phil. 338. Tahle, the Trailer, 107. The Peddler Spy. 339. The Buy Chief, 109. Ki oem 840, Tim, the Trailer, 110, The den Home, | 341. Red Ax. 113. Rattlepate. 842. Stella, the Spy. 114. Ned S nap | 843. The White Avenger, 115. The Sons of Liberty, | 344. The Indian King, 116. Port at t. 345, The Long Trail. 117. The Mohegan Maiden | 346, Kirk, the Guide, 118. The Water Waif. | 347. The Phantom Trail. 119. The Five a | 848. The Apache Guide, 199. Bardon: the ances, | 0; Bova Meo toa 5 rden, the er. . Keen Eyo, the r 123. The ecg A Bride, 351. Blue Belt, Guide. 1%. Sumter’s Scouts. 852, On the Trail. 125. The Hunted Life, 353. The Specter Spy. 127. le. 854. Old Bald Head. 128. The Gulch Miners, 855. Red Kaife, Chief. 129. Blackeyes, 356, Sib Cone, Trapper. 132, Old ig eG 857. The Bear Hunter. 183. Yankee Eph. 858. Bashful Bill, Spy 135. The Cherokee Chief. | 359. The White Chief. 137, The Traitor Spy 860. Cortina, Scourge. 139. The Border Foes. 361. The Squaw Spy. 142, The - Sagamore of = poo 76. : 3 nish Jack, 147. The Maid of the | 364, ked Spy. Mountain. 365. Kirke, Renegade. 154. Rob Ruskin. 366. Dingle, the Outlaw. 159. Snowbird. 867. The Green r. 165, The Unseen Hand. | 868. Montbars, Scourge. 169, The White Canoe. 369, Metamora. 176, The Trader Spy. 870. Thornpath, Trailer. 180. Giant Pete, Patriot. | 371, Foul-weather Jack. 203. Masked Guide, 872. The Black Rider, 205, The Grey Scalp. 8738. The Helpless Hand. 207. The Buffalo Trapper. | 374, The e ers. 212. Silver Spur. 875. Alone on the 213, oe Dick. 376. tom Horseman. 214. The Forest Monster. | 877. Winona. 215. The White Hermit. ‘ 878. Silent Shot, Slayer. = So = BEEBE: B SSSSRPSSESEZRERLEREES The Phantom Ship. The Red Rider. The Hunch k. The Black Wizard. The Mad Horseman aan Seniewe Bride 1e Jaguar Queen. Shadow Jack, Eagle Plume. The Ocean Outlaw. Red Slayer. The Phantom Foe, The Blue Anchor, Red-Skin’s Pledge. The Quadroon Spy. The Black Rover. Red-Belt, the Tusca- rora. The Two Trails. The Ice Fiend, The Red Prince. The First Trail. Sheet-Anchor Tom. Old Avoirdupois. White Gladiator. . Blue Clipper. Red Dan. . The Fire-Kater, : ae obs . The Lost Ship, . Black Arrow. . White & nt. . The Lost r . The Twin Trailers. . Death’s-head Ran: r. Captain of Captains, Warrior Princess. ptain. Little Thunderbolt, . The Falcon Rover, . Honest Hand, Guide, . The Stone Chief, THE ILLUMINATED DIME POCKET NOVELS. Comprising the best works only of the most ular Med writers in the field nd American rome h issue a complete novel, mance, rivaling in effect the popular chromo. 1. Hawkeye Harry. | 65. Wolf-Cap. 2. Dead Shot. 66. Rattling Dick 4. Blue Dick. 67. Sh ye. 5. Nat Wolfe. @8. Tron-Hand, 6. The White Tracker, 69. The Yellow Hunter, 7. The Outlaw’s Wife, 70, The Phantom Rider, 8. The Tall Trapper. 71, Delaware Tom. 9, Lightning Jo, 72. Silver Rifle. 10. The Island Pirate. 78. The Skeleton Scout, 11, The Boy Ranger. 74, Little Rifle. 12. Bess, the Trapper. 75. The Wood Witch. 13, The nch Spy. 76, Old Ruff, the prappet. 14. Long Shot. 77, The Scarlet Shoulders 15, Gunmaker of Border. | 78. The Border Rifleman, 16. Hand. 79. Outlaw Jack. 17. Ben, the Trapper. 80. Tiger Tail, the Sem+ 18. Wild Raven, er, nole, 19. The Specter Chie: 81. Death Dealer, the 20. The B’ar-Killer Shawnee Scourge. 21. Wild Nat. 82. Kenton, the r. 22. Indian Jo, the Guide. | 83, The Specter Horse 28. Old Kent, the Ranger. man, 4, The One-Eyed Trap- | 84. The Three crsppers. per. 85. Kaleolah, the Witch 25. Godbold, the Spy. Queen, 26, The Black Ship. 86, The Hunter Hercules, 27. Single 5 ha 87. Phil Hunter, the “Boy 28. Indian Jim, ve. 29. The Scout. 88. The Indian Scout 30, Eagle Eye. 89. The Girl Avenger, 81, The Mystic Canoe. 90, The Red Hermitess. 32. The Golden Harpoon, | 91, Star-Face, the Slayer, 33. The Scalp King. 92, The Antelope Boy, 34, Old Lute. 98, 'The Phantom Hunter 35. Rainbolt, the Ranger. | 94. Tom Pintle, the Pilot 36. The Boy Pioneer. 95, The Red Wizard. 87. Carson, the Guide, 96. The Rival Trappers, 38. The Heart-Eater. 97. The Squaw Spy. 39. Wetzel, the Scout. 98, Dusky Dick. 40, The Huge Hunter. | 99. Colonel Crockett. 41. Wild Nat, the Trapper | 100, Old Bear Paw 42. eg . 101, law. 43, The White Outlaw, 102. Wild Rube. 44, The Dog Trailer, 108, The Indian Hunters, 45. The Elk ing: 104. Scarred e. 46. Adrian, the Pilot, 105. Nick Doyle. 47. The Man-hunter, | 106. The indian Spy. 48, The Phantom Tracke™ | 107. Job Dean. 49. Moccasin Bill. 108. The Wood x 50. The Wolf Queen. 100. The Scalped Hunter 51, Tom Hawk, the Trail- | 110, Nick, the Scout er, 111. The Texas er. - The Mad Chief. 112. The ves, . The Black Wolf, 113. Tiger Heart, Tracleer 54. Arkansas Jack. 114, The Masked Avenger 55. Blackbeard. 115, The Pear! Pirates, 56. The River Rifles, 116. Black Panther. 57. Hunter Ham, 117, ng eye Avengeh 58, Cloudwood. 118 Cato, the Cree, 59. The Texas Hawks. 119. Two-Handed Mat 60. Merciless Mat. 120, Mad Trail Hunter. 61. Mad Antheny’s Scouts | 191. Black Nick. 62. The Luckless Trapper | 122. Kit Bird, ‘ 63. The Florida Scout. 123. The Specter Riders, 64, The Island Trapper. thers in Press the onl popne collection of found in th SONG BOOKS. BEADLE’s Dime Sona Books, Nos, 1 to 88, containing e market, copyright songs to be MISCELLANEOUS DIME BOOKS. Robinson Crusoe. Pocket Joke Book, Jim Crow Joke Book. Paddy Whack Jeke
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Deadwood Dick, THE PRINCE oF THE Roap. By Edward L. Wheeler. 4 Yellowstone Jack; or, THE TRAPPER OF THE ENCHANTED Grounp. By J, E. Badger,.Jr. 3 Kansas King; or, Taz Rep Ricut Hanp. By Buffalo Bill (Hon. Wm. F, Cody). The Wild-Horse Hunters. By Capt. Mayne Reid and Capt. Frederick Whittaker. 5 Vagabond Joe; THe Younc WanpDER- ina Jew. By Oll Coomes, 6 Bill Biddon, Trapper: or, Lirn in THE Nortuwrst. By Edward §. Ellis. 7 The Fl Yankee; or, Tom Ocean y Col. Prentiss Ingraham. OvTCAST. ht Seth Jones; or, THE CAPTIVES OF THE Frontier, By Edward S. Ellis, 9 The Adventures of Baron Mun- chausen. 10 Nat Todd; or, THe Fare or THE Sroux Captive. By Edward 8. Ellis, 11 The Two Detectives; or, THE Fortunes oF A Bowery Girt. By Albert W. Aiken, author of ‘‘ The Spbtter Detective,” ete. 1 Gulliver’s Travels. A Voyage to Lilliput, anda Voyage to Brobdiugnag. 1 The Dumb Spy. By Oll Coomes, author of “* Vagabond Joe,” ete. 1 4. Aladdin; or, THe WonpDERFUL LAMP. 1 The Sea-Cat; or, THe Wircn or Darren. By Capt. Frederick Whittaker. 16 Robinson Crusoe. His Life and Surprising Adventures, (27 illustrations.) i Pes Ralph Roy, The Boy Bucca- neer. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 18 Sindbad the Sailor. His seven voy- ages. From the Arabian Nights. 19 The Phantom Spy; or, Tue Piotr oF THE Prarriz. By Buffalo Bill. 20 The Double Daggers; or, Dreap- woop Diox’s Dertance. By Edward L, Wheeler, author of ‘‘ Deadwood Dick.” Qi Frontier Angel. A Romance of Kentucky Rangers’ Life. By Edward S. Ellis, author of ‘*Seth Jones,” etc. 22 The Sea Serpent: or, Tur Boy Roprson Crusor. By Col, Juan Lewis. 23 Nick o’ the Night: or, Tue Bor Spy or 76. By T. C. Harbaugh, 24. Diamond Dirk: or, THe MysTERy or THE YELLOWSTONE. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham, author of “* The Flying Yankee,” ete, 2 5 The Boy Captain: or, Toe Piratr’s DaveautTrer. By Roger Starbuck. 26 Cloven Hoof, the Demon. By Edward L, Wheeler 27 Antelope Abe, the Boy Guide. By Oll Coomes, 28 Buffalo Ben, the Prince of the Pistol: or, Deapwoop DIcK IN Disauisz. By Edward L. Wheeler. 29 The Dumb Page; or, THE DoGE’s Daveuter. By Capt. F. Whittaker. aring Ralph Rockwood, THE 30 eee mapa By Marry St. George. 3 Keen-Knife, Tur PRINCE OF THE Prarrirs, By Oll Coomes. 32 Bob Woolf, the Border Ruffian: or, THe Girt Deap-SHor. By Edward L. Wheeler, author of ‘* Deadwood Dick,” etc., ete. 33 The Ocean Bloodhound; or, THE Rep Prrates oF THE CaRIsBEEs, By Samuel W. Pierce, author of ‘‘The Boy Detective,” etc., etc. 34 Oregon Sol; or, Nick WuHrrries’ Boy Spy. By Capt. J. F. C. Adams. 3 Wild Ivan, Tur Boy CLaupE DuvaL; or, Tae BrorHerHoop or Dats. Dead- wood Dick Romance No. 4. By Edward L. Wheeler. 36 The Boy Clown; or, THE QUEEN oF THE ARENA, By Frank 8, Finn. 3 va The Hidden Lodge; or, Tux Litrie HunTeR OF THE ADIRONDACKS, By T. C. Harbaugh, author of ‘‘ Nick o’ the Night,” etc. 3 Ned tad bce Tue Boy Scout. By ack. Texas Every one of them “ Live” Stories by *‘ Live® Authors, a Complete Novel, at the extraordinary price of a HALF-DIME, 39 Death-Face, the Detective; or, Lire AND Love In New York. By Ed- ward L. Wheeler. 4 Roving Ben. A story of a Young American who wanted to see the world. By John J. Marshall. Al Lasso Jack, THE Youna MustTanc- ER. By Oll Coomes. 4 The Phantom Miner: or, DEap- woop Dicx’s Bonanza. By Ed. L. Wheeler. Dick Darling, the Pony Express 43 Rider. By Capt. F. Winttaker. 44. Rattling Rube: or, THE Nicut- HAWKES OF cKY. By Harry St. George. 4 5 Old Avalanche, the Great An- nihilator: or, THE Giru BRIGAND. By Edward L. Wheeler. 46 Glass Eye, the Great Shot ofthe West. By Capt. J. F. C. Adams. A” Mightingsle Nat: on, Tur Forest ApTains. By T. C. Harbaugh. 4.& Black John, the Road-Agent, or, Tae OvuTLAWw’s Rerreat. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. 49 Omaha Oll, the Masked Terror, or, DEapwoop Dick IN DanareR. By Ha- ward L. Wheeler. td. ah BUFFALO BEN.—NO. 28. 50 Burt Bunker, THe Trapper. A Tale of the North-west Hunting-Grounds, By Charles E. Lasalle, 51 The Boy Rifles, or, THm UNDER- GRounp Camp. By Archie C. Iron. 52 The White Buffalo. A Tale of Strange Adventure in the Northwest. By Charles E. Lasalle. 5 Jim Bludsoe, Jr., THs Boy Puentx; or, THRouGcH To THE DuaTH. By Edward L. Wheeler. 54 Wed Hazel, Tue Boy Trapper; or, THE PHanToM Princess, By Capt. J. F.C. Adams, 5 5 Deadly-Eye, Tus Unknown Scout; or, THE BRANDED BrotuerHoop. By Buf- falo Bill. 56 Nick Whiffles’ Pet, or, IN THE Vatitey or Deatu. By Capt. J. F.C. Adams, 57 Deadwood Dick’s Eagles; or, Tae Parps of FLoop Bar. By Edward L. Wheeler. 58 The Border King; or, THE Szcret For. By Oll Coomes. 59 dus ickory, or, Panpy ELLIs’s By Harry St. George. Each number 6 The White Indian; or, Tax Scour OF THE YELLOWSTONE. ~ By Capt. J. F. C. Adams. 61 Buckhorn Bill, or, Taz Rep RIFLE Team. By Edward L. Wheeler, 62 The Shadow Ship, or, Taz Rrvau Lixvrenants. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 63 The Red Brotherhood, or, Tx: TwrLve AvENGERS. By W. J. Hamilton. 64 Dandy Jack, or, THE OUTLAW oF THE OrnEGON Tram. By T. C. Harbaugh. 6 5 Hurricane Bill, or, Mustana Sam AND Hs ‘‘Parp.”’ By Jos. E. Badger, Jr 66 Single Hand, or, A Lire ror Lire. By W. J. Hamilton, 67 Patent-Leather Joe: or, OLD Rart- TLESNAKE, THE CHARMER. By Philip 8. Warne, author of “A Hard Crowd,” “ Tiger Dick,” “ Always on Hand,” ete, 68 The Border Robin Hood; or, THE PratrrE Rover. By Buffalo Bill. 69 Gold Rifle, THz Youne Snarp- SHOOTER; Or, THE Boy DETECTIVE oF THE Biack Rancw. By Edward L. Wheeler. 10 Old Zip’s Cabin; or, THE GREEN- HORN IN THE Woops. By Captain J. F.C. Adams. : yr | 1 Delaware Dick; Tar Youne Ran4- ER Spy; or, Broruyr AGAINST BROTHER. By Oll Coomes. 72 Mad Tom Western, THE Texan Raneaer, By W. J. Hanr‘lton. sf Deadwood Dick on Neck; cr, CaLAMIty JANE, THE HbRoINE OF THE Wuoop-up, By Edward L. Wheeler. § Hawk-eye Harry, THE Youna 4 4. TRAPPER RANGER. By oll Coors, y 8 5 She Boy Duelist; or, TR*® Crutsr oF THE SeA Wo.ur.. By..Col. Prentiss In- graham. 46 Abe Colt, the Crow-Killer, or, Tae Great FicgutTmnae Man OF THE VAST. By Albert W, Aiken, es Corduroy Charlie, Tnz Boy Bravo; ov, Tae Last Act or Drapwoop Dick, By Edward L. Wheeler. a & Blue Dick; or, THE YELLOW CutzEr’s VencEAncEr. By Captain Mayne Reid. i 9g Sol Ginger, THz GIANT TRAPPER; or, THE FLowres oF THE. BLAck ce Eee Albert W. Aiken. iad, mend 80 Rosebud Rob; or, Nuccer Neb, THE KNIGHT oF THE GuicH. By Edward L. Wheeler. & i Lightning Jo, THE TERROR OF THE eae A Tale of the Present Day. By Captain J. F, C, Adams. &2 Kit Harefoot, THE Wocp-Hawk; or, OLp PowDER-F'acg aNnD His Dewons. By T. CO. Harbaugh. bey Rollo, the Boy Ranger; or, THE Heiress OF THE GoLDEN Horn, By Ol! Coomes. & 4 Idyl, the Girl Miner; or, Rosrnup B ON Hanp. By Edward L. Wheeler, us, Buck Buckram: or, BEss, THE Fr. MALE Trapper, By Capt. J. F.C. Adams 6 Pandy Rock, THE-MAN-FROM-TEx- as. By G, Waldo Browne. $7 The Land Pirates: OR, THE Lracur or Drvi’s IsLanp. By Capt. Mayne Reid. fa fa Photograph Phil: or, Rosesvp Boe rayPEARANCE. By Ed. L. Wheeler. Ready April ist. 9 Island Jim ¢ OR, THE PET OF re Famiry. By Bracebridge Hem , auther of “ Jack Harkaway,” etc. Ready gril 8th, 90 The Dread Rider: or, THE TEXAN Duetist. By George W. Browne. Ready April 15th, A new resue every week. The Half-Dime @ibrary is for sale by all Newsdealers, five cents per copy, or sent by mail on LE & ADAMS, receipt of six cents each. y Publishers, 98 William Street, New York.