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The Lady and the Pirate, a novel by Emerson Hough |
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Chapter 27. In Which We Reach The Spanish Main |
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_ CHAPTER XXVII. IN WHICH WE REACH THE SPANISH MAIN It was as Peterson had said--nothing on the river could touch the Belle Helene. And it also was as I had not said but had thought--the water left no trail. By daylight we were far below the old battle-field, far below the old forts, far below La Hache, and among the channels of the great estuary whose marshes spread for scores of miles on either hand impenetrably. Quarantine lay yonder, the Southwest Passage opened here; and on beyond, a stone's throw now for a vessel logging our smooth speed, rolled the open sea. And still there rose behind us the smoke of no pursuing craft, nor did any seek to bar our way. So far as I knew, the country had not been warned by any wire down-stream from the city. We saw to it that no calling points were passed in daylight. As for the chance market shooter paddling his log pirogue to his shooting ground in the dawn, or the occasional sportsman of some ducking club likewise engaged, they saluted us gaily enough, but without suspicion. Even had they known, I doubt whether they would have informed on us, for all the world loves a lover, and these Southerners themselves now traveled waters long known to adventure and romance. So at last, as the sun rose, we saw the last low marshy points widen, flatten and recede, and beyond the outlying towers of the lights caught sight of lazy liners crawling in, and felt the long throb of the great Gulf's pulse, and sniffed the salt of the open sea. I had not slept, nor had Peterson, nor had Williams, my engineer. My men never demurred when hard duty was asked of them, but put manly pride above union hours, I fancy, resolved to show me they could endure as long as I. And I asked none to endure more. Moreover, even my pirate crew was seized of some new zest. I question whether either Jean Lafitte or Henri L'Olonnois slept, save in his day clothing, that night of our run from New Orleans; for now, just as we swept free of the last point, so that we might call that gulf which but now had been river, I heard a sound at my elbow as I bent over a chart, and turned to see both my associates, the collars of their sweaters turned up against the damp chill of the morning. "Where are we now, Black Bart?" asked Jean Lafitte. I could see on his face the mystic emotion of youth, could see his face glorified in the uplifting thrill of this mystery of the sea and the dawn and the unknown which now enveloped us. "Where are we now?" he asked; but it was as though he feared he slept and dreamed, and that this wondrous dream of the dawn might rudely be broken by some command summoning him back to life's routine. "Surely your soul should tell you, Jean Lafitte," said I, "for yonder, as I may say, now rolls the Spanish Main. Its lift is now beneath our feel. You are home again, Jean Lafitte. Yonder are the bays and bayous and channels in the marshes, where your boats used to hide. And there, L'Olonnois, my hearty, with you, I was used to ride the open sea, toward the Isles of Spain, waiting for the galleons to come." "I know, I know!" said my blue-eyed pirate softly and reverently; and so true was all his note to that inner struggling soul that lay both in his bosom and my own, that I ceased to lament for my sin in so allowing modern youth to be misled, and turned to him with open hand, myself also young with the undying youth of the world. "Many a time, Black Bart," said L'Olonnois solemnly, "have we crowded on full sail when the lookout gave the word of a prize a-comin', while we laid to in some hidden channel over yonder." "Aye, aye, many a time, many a time, my hearty." "--An' loosed the bow-chaser an' shot away her foremast." "--At almost the first shot, L'Olonnois." "--So that her top hamper came down in a run an' swung her broadside to our batteries." "--And we poured in a hail of chain-shot and set her hull afire." "--And then launched the boats for the boardin' parties," broke in Jean Lafitte, standing on one leg in his excitement; "--an' so made her a prize. An' then we made 'em walk the plank amid scenes of wassail--all but the fair captives." I fell silent. But L'Olonnois' blue eyes were glowing. "An' them we surrounded with every rude luxury," said he, "finally retiring to the fortresses of the hidden channels of the coast, where we defied all pursuit. This looks like one of them places, though I may be mistook," he added judiciously. I shuddered to see how Jimmy's grammar had deteriorated under my care. "Yes," said I, "we are now near to several of those places, scenes of our bold deeds. The south coast of Louisiana lies on our right, cut by a thousand bays and channels deep enough for hiding a pinnace or even a stout schooner. Yonder, Jean, is Barataria Bay, your old home. Here, under my finger, is Cote Blanche. Here comes the Chafalay, through its new channel--all this floating hyacinth, all this red water, comes from Texas soil, from the Red River, now discharging in new mouths. Yonder, west of the main boat channels that make toward the railways far inland, lie the salt reefs and the live-oak islands. Here is the long key they now call Marsh Island. It was not an island until you, stout Jean Lafitte, ordered the Yankee Morrison to take a hundred black slaves with spades and cut a channel across the neck, so that you could get through more quickly from the Spanish Main to the hidden bayous where your boats lay concealed--until the wagons from Iberia could come and traffic at the causeway for your wares. Do you not remember it well?" "Aye, that I do, Black Bart!" said he; and I was sure he did. "And yonder channel, once just wide enough for a yawl, is to-day washed out wide enough for a fleet to pass through--though not deep enough. In that fact now lies our safety." "How do you mean, Black Bart?" demanded he. "Why, that all this water over yonder west of us is so shallow that it takes a wise oyster boat to get through to Morgan City. The shrimpers who reap these waters, even the market shooting schooners who carry canvasbacks out of these feeding beds in the marshes, have to know the tides and the winds as well, and if one be wrong the boat goes aground on these wide shoals. Less than a fathom here and here and here on the chart soundings--less than that if an offshore wind blows." "You mean we'll go aground?" "No, I mean that any pursuer very likely would. The glass is falling now. Soon the wind will rise. If it comes offshore for five hours--and it will wait for five hours before it does come offshore--we shall be safe, inside, at one of your old haunts, Jean Lafitte; and back of us will lie fifty miles of barrier--yon varlet may well have a care." "Yon varlet don't know where we have went," commented L'Olonnois in his alarming grammar. "No, that is true. The water leaves no trail. Most Northerners go to Florida for the winter, and not to these marshes. Methinks they will have a long chase." "An' here," said Jean Lafitte, with much enthusiasm, "we kin lie concealed an' dart out on passin' craft that strike our fancy as prizes." "We could," said I, "but we will not." "Why not?" He seemed chilled by my reply. "Oh, we shall not need to," I hastened to explain. "We have everything we need for a long stay here. We can live chiefly by hunting and fishing for a month or so, until----" "Until the fair captive has gave her consent," broke in L'Olonnois, also with enthusiasm. "Yes," said I, endeavoring a like enthusiasm. "Or, at least, until we find it needful to go inland to one of the live-oak islands. There are houses there. I know some of the planters over yonder." "Let's make them places scenes of rapeen!" suggested Jean Lafitte anxiously. "They must have gold and jewels. Besides, I bear it well in mind, many a time have I and my stout crew buried chests of treasure on them islands. We c'd dig 'em up. Maybe them folks has a'ready dug 'em up. Then why not search their strongholds with a stout party of our own hardy bullies, Black Bart?" "No," said I mildly; "for several reasons I think it best for my hardy bullies to go and eat some breakfast and then go to sleep. If we go into the live-oak heights above Cote Blanche, I think we'll only ask for salt. I am almost sure, for instance, that my friend Edouard Manning, of Bon Secours plantation, would give me salt if I asked it. He has done so before. Beshrew me, it should go hard with him if he refused." "There's a barrel an' eight boxes o' sacks o' salt aboard," said the practical Jean Lafitte. "What'd you want so much salt for?" "'Twas yon varlet's idea," said I, "when he laid in the ship's stores. But I had a mind that, to my taste, no salt is better than that made by the Manning plantation mines. But now," I added, "to your breakfast, after you have bathed." "Peterson," said I, after they had left me, and pointing to the chart, "lay her west by south. I want to run inside the Timbalier Shoals." "Very shallow there, Mr. Harry--just look at the soundings, sir." "That's why I want to go. Hold on till you get the light at this channel here, southeast of the Cote Blanche. You'll get a lot of floating hyacinth, but do what you can. I'll take my trick, as soon as I get a bite to eat. By night we'll be over our hurry and we can all arrange for better sleep." "And then--I--ahem! Mr. Harry, what are your plans?" He was just a trifle troubled over all this. "My plans, Peterson," said I, "are to anchor off Timbalier to-night, to anchor in this channel of Cote Blanche to-morrow--and to eat breakfast now." Saying which I left him gloomily shaking his head, but laying her now west by south as I had made the course. "The glass is falling mighty fast, Mr. Harry," he called over his shoulder to me by way of encouragement. _ |
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