An American Story of Real Life CHAPTER 17.
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It was about three years from the time that Henry Ware, exiled by crime from his home and friends, left Philadelphia--that two men sat conversing in a private room of an obscuretavern in what was called "Natchez-Under-the-Hill." Both were evidently young, or, at least, in the earliest prime and freshness of manhood--yet strong lines had already deepened on their foreheads, and every lineament of their countenances bore vividly, the marks of evil and selfish passions long indulged. A skin deeply bronzed, and large black whiskers, meeting under their chins, gave effect to the singularly bold and ferocious aspect of their faces. They sat opposite to each other, at a small square table, upon which were glasses and a decanter, containing nearly a quart of brandy. Each was resting his elbows on the table, and his chin upon his hands, and each was looking the other intently in the face, while they conversed.
"What then, in the devil's name, is to be done?" one of them asked, in a quick, excited tone, after listening to something which the other had said.
"We must leave here, of course."
"Of course. But can we get away safely? That's the question."
"I think so."
"How?"
"We must assume a disguise."
"Of what kind?"
To this, the companion replied by taking from his pocket a small package, which he carefully opened, and exhibited two pairs of green spectacles.
"We must shave off our whiskers, and mount a pair of spectacles," said he with a grin that fell sadly short of a smile, for which it was intended.
"And, in that disguise, return to New Orleans."
"Yes."
"But, will we be safe there--if this fellow should take it into his head to die? His connections are rich, and will make great efforts to have us arrested."
"Let me get once into New Orleans, and I'll defy them," replied the companion.
Just at this moment, the door was opened by a coarse, ill-dressed fellow, who entered familiarly, and walking up to the table where the two men sat, each regarding him with a frown, said,
"There are a couple of chaps downstairs, asking for Mr. Johnson and Mr. Smith."
"They are not in, Mike," one of the men replied.
"Okay. But I'm pretty sure, from their looks, that they will not take my word for it."
"Indeed!" And the face of the individual thus speaking, turned somewhat pale.
"My name is Hartly. Will you remember that, Mike?" said Johnson, or Henry Ware, which was truly his name.
"O yes, sir."
"And mine is Haines. Don't forget that, Mike," added Smith, or Tom Handy, Ware's inseparable companion in evil, who had been, really, as much implicated as himself in the forgeries for which both were now self-banished from home and friends.
"I won't forget," replied Mike. "But names are nothing, you know, to these men, who are not going to leave the house until they know who are in it, or I'm mistaken."
"Keep' em on the wrong scent for some ten or fifteen minutes, will you, Mike?"
"O, yes. Trust me for that." And the barkeeper, and doer-of-all-things-in-general about the establishment, made his bow, and departed.
As soon as he had withdrawn, the door was locked after him, and the two young men proceeded, hurriedly, first to shave off their whiskers, and then to change their external garments for others that had not been worn by them during their brief professional visit to Natchez. Green spectacles and caps gave the finishing touch to their metamorphoses.
"Well, Hartly, do you think you would know me, if we were to meet in the street?" asked Handy, or Haines, as he had newly styled himself turning, to ward his friend.
"I would certainly never suspect that it was you. But how do I look?"
"Like Mr. Hartly, and no one else. Can I say more?"
"And you, like Mr. Haines. Well, I think we may venture to pass the gentlemen who are so kindly waiting for us below."
"I think so. There, do you hear that bell again?"
"Yes. It is the Gulnare's. She has been ringing for the last five hours, and I suppose will get off now in the course of an hour more. Shall we get on board of her?"
"Most certainly! The quicker we can get away from here, the better!"
Everything being carefully packed away in their trunks, the two companions descended, with a careless, indifferent air, to the bar-room, where Mike was busily attending to his customers. As they entered, they were eyed searchingly from head to foot, by two men, whose appearance told plainly enough their business. This scrutiny continued until Mikesaid--
"Good morning, Mr. Hartly! What will you have? Good morning, Mr. Haines!"
"A little brandy and water," was the reply.
Neither the appearance nor names of the two men corresponding, in any degree, with the descriptions of the individuals, which the officers--for such they were--had been directed to arrest for an assault, with intent to kill the son of a wealthy citizen of Natchez, who had come into collision with them at a gambling table--these personages withdrew, in a few moments, their attention from the real objects of their search.
As Handy bent over the counter to pay for the brandy they had taken, he pronounced, in a low tone, to Mike, the word, "Gulnare."
"O, yes," responded Mike, perfectly comprehending his meaning. And the two walked deliberately away, and repaired to the boat upon which they designed taking passage for New Orleans. In the course of half an hour, Mike appeared with their baggage, and for the very important assistance he had rendered Ware and Handy, received a ten dollar bill, which he pocketed with a grateful smile, and bowing, hurriedly departed.
With fear and trembling did the young men wait for nearly three hours, for the boat to move off, the bell ringing about every quarter of an hour, giving all the town, and the officers of police in particular, notice--so it seemed to them--that they were on board. Six times, during that period, did they have to endure the excruciating anxiety consequent upon as many visits from the officers who had put them in such bodily fear at the tavern. And for the last half hour, they were compelled tremblingly to endure their constant presence.
Finally, as everything must have an end, their suspense ended. The last prolonged vibrations from the bell echoed along the hills, and died away into silence, as the boat was loosed from her moorings, and fell gently down the stream. Not however, until the engine commenced its vigorous revolutions, and the boat, yielding to its power, shot away from the landing, and the city began to look dim in the distance--did our young men feel at ease. Then they began to breathe more freely.
Truly did they find that, "The way of transgressors is hard." Both were of wealthy families, and had their habits been correct and their pursuits honorable, they might have occupied good positions in society, with the possession of the most ample means for supplying all their desires. And still more, have had quiet consciences, and lived in the enjoyment of the most enlarged social pleasures. But they chose to transgress both moral and civil laws--and the penalty was visited upon them in perpetual pain of mind. Their evil pursuits, though accompanied with a kind of insane delight, were ever followed by a fear of consequences; or reluctant, and, at times, involuntary self-upbraidings.
The excitement of escape, for so they both esteemed it, being over, neither Ware nor Handy felt much inclined to enter into conversation, but sat silent and thoughtful, musing over past disappointments, or busy with plans for future operations. The reader need scarcely be told that they were gamblers by profession.
Toward evening. Ware took up a newspaper and read until dark. Then he went out upon the decks, and commenced pacing backward and forward with a quick step, which evinced more than ordinary excitement of mind. Handy joined him. But few words had passed between them, when the latter said--
"Is it not very strange that your mother does not write to you now, Harry?"
"I have thought so. But the mystery is solved."
"In what way?"
"I see, by a Philadelphia newspaper, which I was looking over in the cabin, that the old man has gone by the board."
"How? Not dead, I hope?"
"No, not quite that. But he might as well be, for he has become a bankrupt."
"That's bad, really."
"Yes, bad for us, for while there was anything to be had, I could drain a little out of his purse; but that is over now. "There is no getting blood out of a turnip, you know."
"It has been some time since you heard from Bell."
"Yes. And when I did get a letter from her, there was not much in it. Only a paltry hundred dollar-bill."
"Her father suspects the use she makes of the money she gets from him."
"So she flints. But I suppose she hasn't managed it carefully enough. These women never know how to do anything rightly," was her husband's unfeeling remark.
"We are beginning to be pretty hard run. Luck seems all going against us," rejoined Handy, after a pause. "Something must be done to raise the wind, or we shall be driven to the wall at last."
"I'm afraid it will come to the last resort I have before mentioned," Ware replied.
"What is that?"
"Sending for Bell."
"Will that do any good? Won't she, in fact, prove a useless encumbrance?"
"She will be encumbrance enough, no doubt. But we must take the evil with the good. That old rascal, her father, loves her too well to let her be anywhere without a liberal supply of all the means necessary to her external comfort. If we get her out here, money must, and will follow her."
"Are you sure of that?"
"Most certain. I know old Martin too well to doubt it."
"Will she leave her children, and come to you?"
"Yes, with half an invitation. Almost every letter I receive from her is filled with hints or open requests for me to as her to come"
"We can but try the experiment. But suppose it fails. What will you do with Bell?"
"What would you do with her?"
"She is your wife."
"I know. But suppose she were your wife?"
"I would put her in the way of getting back again to her children in double quick time."
"But suppose she wouldn't go?"
"Then I would leave her to stay or go, as she liked, while I journeyed elsewhere."
"My own views, precisely," was the heartless response of Ware.
That evening, and a portion of the next day, were passed by the two young men in the business of studying the characters, and ascertaining, as far as possible, the length of the purses of the different passengers on board the Gulnare. These settled to their satisfaction, as far as it was possible for them to settle such matters--the next thing was to introducecards in a way that would create no suspicion as to their real design. This was done on the second evening, and several hours spent in play, during which the loss and gain were but trifling.
On the next morning, after breakfast, cards were again resumed, and rather more skill displayed than on the evening previous. Still, our young men found themselves well matched, and the tide of success, if at all in their favor, scarcely perceptible.
Among the passengers was a young man entrusted with a large sum of money, which was to be paid over to a mercantile house at New Orleans on his arrival there. Being a good player, he prided himself on his skill at cards, much flattered at his success while engaged with Ware, who, finding himself losing steadily at almost every game, was roused to more energetic efforts. Nearly the whole of the third day had been spent in playing, and as night drew on, both Ware and Handy found themselves, instead of winners, almost entirely stripped of their slender stock of money.
After supper, they held a long conference together out upon the decks, and then went to the bar and drank pretty freely. As they entered the cabin again, the young man who had been so successful during that and the preceding day, met them at the door, and said to Ware--
"Well, stranger, what do you say to another match?"
"Ready," was the brief reply, and then the two sat down, while Handy threw himself into a careless position near the young man, so that he could, if he chose, read his hand at a glance, without much danger of detection.
The first stake was ten dollars. As the cards fell one after the other upon the table, the game showed evidently in favor of the gambler, and terminated on his side.
"Double the stake!" was the brief remark of the young man, as he threw down a twenty dollar bill.
The gambler matched it in silence. This game like the first, resulted in favor of Ware.
"Double again!" said the loser, laying down forty dollars.
"Double it is!" responded Ware, mechanically, suiting the action to the words.
The stranger played now with care and deliberation. But his skill was in vain. The stakes were soon appropriated by his opponent.
"Double!," fell from his lips in a firm tone, as this result followed his more earnest effort to win.
"Double, of course," was answered with an air of confidence.
Many of the passengers, who had looked on at first carelessly, now began to note the contest with a livelier interest, gathering around the table and watching each card that was played, and calculating the result of every game, which regularly terminated as the first had done. Each time the stakes were doubled, until, finally, they rose to twenty thousand dollars on each side! A breathless interest pervaded the little group of spectators eagerly watching the result of the game that was to assign to one party or the other, the large sum so madly risked by the infatuated young man. As before, the cards came up in favor of Ware.
"Double," was the hoarse response to this, and again the contest was renewed. Forty thousand dollars on each side, now gave to both a strong incentive to note well each card before it left the hand. Among the spectators of this exciting scene, none seemed so little concerned as the companion of Ware, who stood obliquely opposite, and occasionally cast toward him a look of indifference.
A few minutes of breathless interest passed, and the game terminated as before. The face of the loser grew pale, but he rallied himself instantly, drew forth a package of money, and throwing it upon the table, said in a firm voice--
"Double!"
Half whispered expressions of surprise passed through the little group at this, and one of them moved off quietly and left the cabin. In about a minute he returned with the Captain, who took his place among the spectators, and silently awaited the result of the game. It was played on both sides with great care and deliberation, but there were odds against the young man, with which it was folly to contend. When the last card was thrown upon the table, it showed the game to have terminated as the rest!
Following this, was an instantaneous gesture of despair, and a motion to leave the table by the loser, when his eye caught a most unexpected movement in the Captain of the steamboat, who had sprung forward, and grasped in both hands, the heavy stakes, amounting to about one hundred and sixty thousand dollars. As he did this. Handy jumped across the table, and, uttering a most bitter curse, seized the Captain by the throat. A general scene of confusion followed, which ended in the passengers all taking sides with the Captain against Ware and Handy, who made attempts to use both knives and pistols, but were prevented.
Several of the deck hands were then called in, and the two men secured. Following this, came a jury of passengers, called by the captain, to inquire into the whole proceeding that had ended so disastrously to the foolish young man, who had been induced to risk money which was not his own. Two individuals testified, positively, that they had observedHandy, or Haines, as he had booked himself, make signs of various kinds to his companion, during the progress of every game--and that his position was not only such as to give him a sight of the young man's hand, but that he had, after every deal, been seen stealthily glancing towards his cards.
Fully satisfied as to their guilt, the Captain restored to the young man the heavy sum he had lost, with a word of advice as to future operations. He then went out, and remained about five minutes. When he came in, he was followed by four stout men--deck hands.
"There they are," he said, pointing to Ware and Handy, who were seated in the cabin with their arms pinioned behind them. "Let them be put on shore at once."
"Not at night, Captain?" one of the passengers said.
"Yes, sir; at night. I never allow a gambling swindler to remain on board the Gulnare more than ten minutes, after I have found him out, day or night. The boat is now running as near to the shore as possible. Come, move quick, my gentlemen!"
Two stout fellows, at each side, left little room for resistance. In a few minutes, the companions in evil were hurried over the side of the boat, and rowed quickly to the shore. There they were left, with their baggage. It was nearly the hour of midnight--the sky heavily overcast with clouds, and they perfectly unacquainted with the country around them, or its relation to known places. As the boat, which had conveyed them to the shore, shot back to the steamer, and she moved off and became soon lost to view, they shrunk closer together--while a sudden fear passed over them with an icy shudder.
They had stood irresolute for nearly five minutes, when a low growl, and a slight movement in the underbrush, caused the hair of each to rise! Two bright eye-balls were next seen glistening within a few feet of them. Handy's presence of mind prompted him to draw a pistol and fire. A loud howl of pain followed the report, answered by a dozen responses in various directions near and more remote, which told the fearful tale that they were surrounded by wolves!
"We must kindle a fire as quickly as possible!" whispered Handy, in a hoarse voice, and following the word by the action, poured a little powder into his pistol and pressed in loosely some paper. Then he drew a whole newspaper from his pocket and fired the pistol into it. In a moment or two, it was in a blaze. Leaves, small twigs, and pieces of dry wood were added to this, and soon a bright fire was lighting up the dark and gloomy forest, but rendering darker and denser ,the black obscurity beyond the small circle of their vision. By feeding this fire all night, they kept themselves safe from prowling wild beasts. Morning at last broke, and soon after they were taken off by another steamboat, and conveyed to the place for which they had at first set out. During the remainder of the voyage, they felt little inclined to look at a card, much less to handle one.
On arriving at New Orleans, they found an account in the newspapers, of the affray hinted at as having occurred at Natchez, with themselves described as the principal actors in it, and a reward for their apprehension. The young man, who had been stabbed by Handy, had since died. Their assumed disguise, it was now rendered necessary to retain, and they also felt it prudent to forsake old haunts, and seek new ones. The unexpected termination of affairs on board the Gulnare had chagrined and disappointed them severely--more especially, as it left them almost penniless.
On the second day of their return, Ware received a letter from his wife. It ran thus:
"My Dear Husband--Do not think that I am to blame, because this letter contains no money. Father not only suspects the fact of my having been in the habit of sending you supplies of cash, but has made himself so certain of it, in some way, that he no longer entrusts me with any--telling me, when I ask for money, to go and purchase what I want, and have the bills sent to him. I have delayed writing for some time, in the hope that I might be able to get something for you, but I have delayed in vain. But you say that your business begins to prosper, and that you are much encouraged in looking ahead. How glad I am of this--and for two reasons. One is, because you will not need, and therefore not feel, in a very short time, the withdrawal of the little assistance I have been able to render you; and the other is, because I see reason to promise myself a speedy restoration to your arms.
"O, Henry, you do not know how earnestly I desire to see your face. You fill all my waking thoughts, and my dreams at night. Why do you not say, 'come'? How quickly, if that word were uttered, would I leave all, and fly to you! Leave all!--Alas! how can I leave my dear little ones? My heart grows faint when I think of it. But why should I hesitate? I shall leave them surrounded by every circumstance that can minister to their happiness; and they will soon forget their mother. The greater pain will be mine, not theirs. My desire to linger with them, is a selfish one. Duty calls me to my husband's side. Deeply do I feel this. Let me come, then, Henry! Do write to me, and say 'come!' Ever yours, Bell."
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