VII
BY STARLIGHT
"Wait," murmured Greenleaf, as they halted to view the scene. From theirfar right came the vast, brimming river, turbid, swift, silent, itsbillows every now and then rising and looking back as if they fled fromimplacable pursuers; sweeping by long, slumbering ranks of ships andsteamboats; swinging in majestic breadth around the bend a mile or morebelow; and at the city's end, still beyond, gliding into mysticoblivion. Overhead swarmed the stars and across the flood came faintlythe breath of orange-groves, sea-marshes and prairies.
Greenleaf faced across the wide bend at his left. In that quarter, quitehidden in live-oaks and magnolias, as both well knew, were the low, redtowers of Jackson Barracks. But it was not for them the evicted youngsoldier claimed this last gaze. It was for a large dwelling hard bythem, a fine old plantation house with wide verandas, though it also wasshut from view, in its ancient grove.
"Fred," said Hilary, "didn't she tell you why?"
"No," replied the lover when they had turned away and were moving up theharbor front, "except that it isn't because I'm for the Union."
Hilary's eyes went wide: "That's wonderful, old man! But I don't believeshe likes a soldier of any sort. If I were a woman I'd be doggoned ifI'd ever marry a soldier!"
"Yet the man who gets her," said Greenleaf, "ought to be a soldier inevery drop of his blood. You don't know her yet; but you soon will, andI'm glad."
"Now, why so? I can't ever please her enough to be pleased with her. I'mtoo confounded frivolous! I love nonsense, doggon it, for its own sake!I love to get out under a sky like this and just reel and whoop in thepure joy of standing on a world that's whirling round!"
"But you do please her. She's told me so."
"Don't you believe her! I don't. I can't. I tell you, Fred, I couldnever trust a girl that forever looks so trustworthy! S'pose I shouldfall in love with her! Would you--begrudge her to me?"
"I bequeath her to you."
"Ah! you know I haven't the ghost of a chance! She's not for po' littleHil'ry. I never did like small women, anyhow!"
"My boy! If ever you like this one she'll no more seem small than theopen sea."
"I suppose," mused Hilary, "that's what makes it all the harder to letgo. If a girl has a soul so petty that she can sit and hear you throughto the last word your heart can bleed, you can turn away from her withsome comfort of resentment, as if you still had a remnant of your ownstature."
"Precisely!" said the lover. "But when she's too large-hearted to letyou speak, and yet answers your unspoken word, once for all, with acompassion so modest that it seems as if it were you having compassionon her, she's harder to give up than--"
"Doggon her, Fred, I wouldn't give her up!"
"Ah, this war, Hilary! I may never see her again. There's just one manin this world whom--"
"Oh, get out!"
"I mean what I say. To you I leave her."
"Ha, ha! No, you don't! It's only to her you leave me. Old boy, promiseme! If you ever come back and she's still in the ring, you'll go for heragain no matter who else is bidding, your humble servant not excepted."
"Why--yes--I--I promise that. Now, will you promise me?"
"What! let myself--?"
"Yes."
"Ho-o, not by a jug-full! If ever I feel her harpoon in me I'll fightlike a whale! But I promise you this, and warn you, too: That when itcomes to that, a whole platoon of Fred Greenleafs between her and mewon't make a pinch of difference."
To that Greenleaf agreed, and the subject was changed. With shippingever on their left and cotton-yards and warehouses for tobacco and forsalt on their right their horses' feet clinked leisurely over the cobblepavements, between thousands of cotton-bales headed upon the unshelteredwharves and only fewer thousands on the narrow sidewalks.
So passed the better part of an hour before they were made aware, byunmistakable odors, that they were nearing the Stock-Landing. There,while they were yet just a trifle too far away to catch its echoes, hadoccurred an incident--a fracas, in fact--some of whose results belongwith this narrative to its end. While they amble toward the spot let usreconnoitre it. Happily it has long been wiped out, this blot on thecity's scutcheon. Its half-dozen streets were unspeakable mud, its airwas stenches, its buildings were incredibly foul slaughter-houses andshedded pens of swine, sheep, beeves, cows, calves, and mustang ponies.The plank footways were enclosed by stout rails to guard against thechargings of long-horned cattle chased through the thoroughfares bylasso-whirling "bull-drivers" as wild as they. In the middle of theriver-front was a ferry, whence Louisiana Avenue, broad, treeless,grassy, and thinly lined with slaughter-houses, led across the plain.Down this untidy plaisance a grimy little street-car, every half-hour,jogged out to the Carrollton railway and returned. This street and thewater-front were lighted--twilighted--with lard-oil lamps; the rest ofthe place was dark. At each of the two corners facing the ferry was a"coffee-house"--dram-shop, that is to say.
Messrs. Sam Gibbs and Maxime Lafontaine were president andvice-president of that Patriots' League against whose machinations ourtwo young men had been warned by the detectives in St. Charles Street.They had just now arrived at the Stock-Landing. Naturally, on soimportant an occasion they were far from sober; yet on reaching the spotthey had lost no time in levying on a Gascon butcher for a bucket of tarand a pillow of feathers, on an Italian luggerman for a hurried supperof raw oysters, and on the keeper of one of the "coffee-houses" fordrinks for the four.
"Us four and no more!" sang the gleeful Gibbs; right number to manage adelicate case. The four glasses emptied, he had explained that allcharges must be collected, of course, from the alien gentleman for whomthe plumage and fixative were destined. Hence a loud war of words, whichthe barkeeper had almost smoothed out when the light-hearted Gibbssuddenly decreed that the four should sing, march, pat and "cut thepigeon-wing" to the new song (given nightly by Christy's Minstrels)entitled "Dixie's Land."
Hot threats recurring, Gascony had turned to go, Maxime had headed himoff, Italy's hand had started into his flannel shirt, and "bing! bang!pop!" rang Gibbs's repeater and one of Maxime's little derringers--shotoff from inside his sack-coat pocket. A whirlwind of epithets filled theplace. Out into the stinking dark leaped Naples and Gascony, and afterthem darted their whooping assailants. The shutters of both barroomsclapped to, over the way a pair of bull-drivers rushed to theirmustangs, there was a patter of hoofs there and of boots here and allinner lights vanished. A watchman's rattle buzzed remotely. Then silencereigned.
Now Sam and Maxime, deeming the incident closed, were walking up thelevee road beyond the stock-pens, in the new and more sympatheticcompany of the two mounted bull-drivers, to whose love of patrioticadventure they had appealed successfully. A few yards beyond a roadsidepool backed by willow bushes they set down tar-bucket and pillow, andunder a low, vast live-oak bough turned and waited. A gibbous moon hadset, and presently a fog rolled down the river, blotting out landscapeand stars and making even these willows dim and unreal. Idealconditions! Now if their guest of honor, with or without his friend,would but stop at this pool to wash the Stock-Landing muck from hishorse's shins--but even luck has its limits.
Nevertheless, that is what occurred. A hum of voices--a tread ofhoofs--and the very man hoped for--he and Hilary Kincaid--recognized bytheir voices--dismounted at the pool's margin. Sam and Maxime stoleforward.