The Lady and the Pirate - Emerson Hough (lightweight ebook reader .txt) 📗

used always to be so sober, but now, sometimes, I wonder if I understand you. Honestly, you were an awful stick, and no girl likes a stick about her. What do girls care which dynasty it was that built the pyramids?—it’s Biskra they want to see. And we don’t care when or why Baron Haussmann built the Boulevard Haussmann in Paris—it’s the boulevard itself interests us.”

“It is the fate of genius to be cast aside,” said I. “No doubt even I shall be forgotten—even after my book on the culicidæ shall have been completed.”

“—So that,” she went on, not noticing me, “there is that one point in your favor.”

“Then there is a chance?”

“Oh, yes, for me to study you as you once did me—as one of the culicidæ, I presume. But if you would listen to reason, and end this foolishness, and set us all ashore, why, I would be almost willing to forgive you, and we might be friends again,—only friends, Harry, as we once were. Why not, Harry?”

“You wheedle well,” said I, “but you forget that what you ask is impossible. I am Black Bart the Avenger, and the hand of every man is against me. I am too deep in this adventure to end it here. Why? I did not even dare go down-town for fear I might be arrested. Nothing remains but further flight, and when you ask me to fly and leave you here, you ask what is impossible.”

She stood for a time silent, a trifle paler, her flowers fallen from her hand, clearly unhappy, but clearly not yet beaten. “Come,” said she coldly, “we must not be brutal to Aunt Lucinda also. Let us go back.”

“Yes,” said I, “now you have back your parole.”

“I think I should like an artichoke for luncheon,” said she. “Vinaigrette, you know.” And she passed aft, her head hidden by her white parasol, but I knew with chin as high as though she were Marie Antoinette herself. Nor did I feel much happier than had I been her executioner.

CHAPTER XXIII IN WHICH IS A PRETTY KETTLE OF FISH

MISS Helena Emory had her artichoke for luncheon, and judging from my own, my boy John never had prepared a better, good as he was with artichokes; but we ate apart, the ladies not coming to our table. It was late afternoon before I saw Helena again, once more come on deck. She was sitting in a steamer chair with her face leaning against her hand, and looking out across the water at the passing shipping. She sat motionless a long time, the whole droop of her figure, the poise of her tender curved chin, wistful and unhappy, although she said no word. For myself, I did not accost her. I, too, looked up and down the great river, not knowing at what moment some discerning eye might spy us out, and I longed for nothing so much as that night or Peterson would come.

He did come at last, late in the afternoon, on an outbound train, and he hurried aboard as rapidly as he might. The first thing he did was to hand me a copy of an afternoon paper. I opened it eagerly enough, already well assured of what news it might carry.

On the front page, under a large, black head, was a despatch from Baton Rouge relaying other despatches received at that point, from many points between Plaquimine and Bayou Sara. These, in short, told the story of the most high-handed attempt at river piracy known in recent years. The private yacht of Calvin Davidson, a wealthy northern business man, on his way South for the winter, had been seized by a band of masked ruffians, who boarded her while the yacht’s owner was temporarily absent on important business in the city of Natchez. These ruffians, abandoning their own boat, had at once gone on down-stream. They had been hailed by officers of Baton Rouge, acting under advice by wire from Mr. Davidson, on his way down from Natchez. The robber band had paid no attention to the officers of the law, but had continued their course. In some way the stolen craft had mysteriously disappeared that afternoon and night, nor had any word of her yet been received from points as far south as Plaquimine. A bottle thrown overboard by one of the prisoners taken on the yacht contained a message to Mr. Davidson, with the request that he should meet the sender at New Orleans; but there was no signature to the note.

Many mysterious circumstances surrounded this sensational piece of piracy, according to the journalistic view-point. On board the Belle Helène were two ladies, the beautiful young heiress, Miss Helena Emory, well known in northern social circles, and her aunt, Mrs. Lucinda Daniver, widow of the late Commodore Daniver, United States Navy. Mr. Davidson himself was unable to assign any reason for this bold act of this abduction, although he feared the worst for the comfort or even the safety of the two ladies, whose fate at this writing remained unknown. The greatest mystery surrounded the identity of the leader of this bold deed, whose name Mr. Davidson could not imagine. He was reported to suspect that these same river pirates, earlier in the day, attacked and perhaps made away with a friend of his whose name is not yet given. A cigarette case was found in the abandoned boat, which Mr. Davidson thought looked somewhat familiar to him, although he could not say as to its ownership. He could and did aver positively, however, that a photograph in a leather case on the abandoned boat was a portrait of none other than Miss Helena Emory, one of the captives made away with by the river ruffians. Mr. Davidson could assign no explanation of these circumstances.

Later despatches received at Baton Rouge, so the New Orleans journal said, might or might not clear up the mystery of the stolen yacht’s disappearance, although the senders seemed much excited. One story from a down-river point, brought in by an excited negro, told of a dozen bottles found floating in the bayou. The negro, however, had broken them all open, and declared they had contained nothing but bits of paper, which he had thrown away. He also told a wild story that the plantation store at Hamlin’s Landing, on Bayou Henry, had been looted in broad daylight, by a young man and a boy, apparently members of the pirate crew. The younger of the two ruffians was masked, and on being asked for pay for gasoline, refused it at the point of his weapons, declaring that pirates never paid.

While no attention should be paid to rumors such as the latter, the despatches went on to say, it was obvious that a most high-handed outrage had been perpetrated. It was supposed that the swift yacht had been hurried forward, and had passed New Orleans in the night. Once out of the river, and among the shallow bays of the Gulf Coast, the ruffians might, perhaps, for some time evade pursuit, just as did the craft of Jean Lafitte, himself, a century ago. Meantime, only the greatest anxiety could pervade the hearts of the friends of these ladies thus placed in the power of ruthless bandits. Such an outrage upon civilization could, of course, occur only under the administration of the Republican party. The journal therefore hoped:—and so forth, and so forth.

“Peterson,” said I, after digesting this interesting information, “you’ve read this. What have you to say?”

Peterson was more despondent even than was his wont. “It looks mighty bad, Mr. Harry,” said he, “and I don’t profess to understand it.”

“Did you order the supplies?”

“Oh, yes, but they may forget to send them after all.”

“It is your intention to stick by me, Peterson?”

“Well, there must be some mistake,” he said, “but I don’t see what else I can do.”

“There is a mistake, Peterson,” said I. “This is more newspaper sensation. Mr. Davidson is excited over something he doesn’t understand. If I had him here now I could explain it all easily. But, before the matter can be explained in this way, we must wait until this excitement dies down. Why, at this gait, it would hardly be safe for either of us to be recognized here in town. We might be arrested and put to a lot of trouble. The best thing we can do is to run on down the river and wait until Davidson gets down and until we get this thing adjusted. That is why I wanted the supplies to-night.”

“But suppose we are discovered to-night?”

“We take that chance, but I fancy that I have certain legal rights, after all, and I own this boat. Fortune favors the bold. I shall make no attempt to hide, either now or then, Peterson. At the same time, while we will not run away from plain sight, there is no need to take unnecessary chances. Drop some white sail-cloth over the yacht’s name on her bows, and on the fantail. Have one or two of the boys go overboard in slings and seem to be painting her sides. That will give the look that we are safe to lie here some time—which is the last thing the Belle Helène really would do, or will do. They think we’ve run past the city already, and they’ll be watching at Quarantine, and along the Lake Borgne Canal. Most of the yachts go out that way, headed for Florida. We’ll go the other way. It’s an adventure, Peterson, and one which any viking, like yourself, ought to relish.”

“So I do, Mr. Harry,” said he, “but I hardly knew which course to lay.”

“Blood will tell, Peterson,” said I. “Your ancestors were Danish pirates; mine were English pirates.”

“For God’s sake, Mr. Harry, don’t talk that way. We mustn’t go against the law.”

“I’m not sure that we have as yet, Peterson, for the law says nothing about abduction of ladies in pairs, or for purposes truly honorable. Frankly, Peterson—and because you’ve been long in my employ—I’ll tell you something. I intend to marry that young lady if she’s not already married to Mr. Davidson.”

“Lord, Mr. Harry, she ain’t—at least not since she come aboard the boat.”

“In that case,” said I, drawing a long breath, “this is not such a bad world after all.”

“Not at all, Mr. Harry. I was going to say, as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb, but of course I don’t know about what she’ll say. She looks to me like one of these girls that’s been petted a good deal, and Mr. Harry, believe me, I always fight shy of a pet horse, or a pet boat, or a pet woman—they’re always hard to handle, and they raise the devil when they get a chance. I hope you’ll pardon me, sir.”

“On the contrary, Peterson, I am grateful to you. You are on double pay from the time I took command. Moreover, I promise you the best cruise we ever had together. Once among the shallow bays on the coast down there, we can take care of ourselves while this chase cools down. We’re faster than anything on the Gulf, and draw less water than most of them of anything like our speed. You take care of the boat and I’ll take care of the girl—or try to. I have attachment papers all made out, to file on the boat if need be—and I also have an attachment for the girl, when it comes to that.”

The old man shook his head. “I’ve got the easiest job,” said he.

CHAPTER XXIV IN WHICH WE HAVE A SENSATION

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