THE COTTON. THIEF:
A Tale of the Red River Country.
FRANK STARR & Co., 21: PLATT \ STREE he
The American News Co., New York.
pease tan
Von. XVII] DECEMBER 28, 1876. [No. 211.
THE COTTON-THIEF:
.
as
A TALE OF THE RED RIVER COUNTRY.
————,
BY EDWARD WILLETT,
Author of the following Mammoth Star Novels:
152. Tuk ARKANSAS REGULATORS. 199. Crazy Dan.
198. Bos Brant, Parrior AND Spy. 201. OLD Brnu Woopwortu.
196. Taz BuswwHACKER’s DAUGHTER. 203. Traum Bue.
205. Tar Loyal SpPecrEer.
NEW YORK:
FRANE STARR &°0C0., PUBLISHERS,
41 Platt Street.
Eutered according to A¢t of Congress, in the
vear 186, by Srvciar Toussy, Publishers’ Agent, in the Clerk’s Office of the Distrk’ .
Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York.
> tel Orb GaN: Lah Be
CHAPTER I.
Cotton on the Brain.
A. First-cLass Mississippi steamboat has
always been, and always will be, I suppose,
unless there shall be radical changes in the
American character, an excellent place for
forming acquaintances. When I speak of
acquaintances, friendships need not neces-
sarily be. inferred, though such chance
acquaintances have often ripened into friend-
ships that were both valuable and durable.
The fact is that there is not, on the Western
rivers, that coolness, that disposition to as-
sociate in “ sets,” that disinclination to speak
to any one without a formal introduction,
that frigid manner of keeping strangers at
a distance, which strikes a Westerner or a
Southerner so unpleasantly, when he trayels
on Eastern waters. Ido not say that the
Eastern style is not the best, but may be
permitted to observe that I am better suited
with the Western.
The difference is caused by the character
of the people, of the boats, and of the
“trips” made by the boats. A Western
boat sailsthrough several degrees of latitude
or longitude, passing shores where the people
and the productions differ widely. Men
from Pennsylvania, from Minnesota, from
Kentucky, from Arkansas, from Louisiana,
step on board at the various landing places,
with all their local characteristics and pecu-
— liarities clinging to them, and they do not
throw them off, as they would ona trip. to
Saratoga or the White Mountains, They
sit or stroll on the wide or airy guards, lift
their feet above’ their heads in the Social
Hall, imbibe their liquids, strong or mild, at
the bar in the cabin, and play poker at the
tables set out forthem. It is wrong to drink
strong liquids or to play poker; yet, if such
things must be done, it has always seemed
to me better that they should be done
openly, where the presence of others, and
of even wives and children must act as a re-
straint, than in secret, out-of-the-way places,
as is the case on Eastern boats. Perhaps I
am prejudiced, and had better say no more
on that subject. I may say, however, that
Western navigation not only brings strange
people into contact; but brings them inte
familiar and pleasant contact, that tends te
lessen the length, by increasing the interest,
of their journey. When you see the in-
quisitive Yankee from Connecticut asking
innumerable questions of the rough and
good-humored backwoodsman from Ark-
ansas, the solid merchant from Cincinnati
discussing grave questions of business and
finance with the rich planter from Louisiana,
or the tall lumberman from Wisconsin ho’-
nobbing with the equally tall individual
from the interior of Tennessee, the convic-
tion must inevitably force ‘itsel? upon you
that the Mississippi river is one of the
strongest ties that bind, and always must
bind, this great® nation together, as one
indissoluble Union of States and pce-
ple.
Thus much for prelude. Perhaps it is
impertinent, and perhaps it may grate on
the prejudices of some (whose pardon I
beg, alleging my own prejudices as an ex-
cuse); but it is necessary to the story I am
about to relate. _
During the war for the Union, it must
be confessed, the sociability and freedom of
intercourse that had prevailed among the
people of different sections of the country,
and that has since prevailed (thongh not to
the same extent as previously), did not es-
pecially characterize Western navigation.
The fact is, that many of‘the steamboatmen
had entered the service of the rebels, inany
of the boats had been pressed into the
8
service of the Government, or were liable,
at any time to be so pressed, and the major-
ity of passengers on all of them were offi-
cers or soldiers of the army. Consequently,
tne few civilians who then travefod felt
themselves under a sort of espionage, and
were very careful what acquaintances they
formed, what they said, and even how they
looked. Thus a coolness and a constraint
were visible which had never characterized
the boats in their palmier days.
Such was the case on board the fine
steamer Belle Memphis, during a trip from
St. Louis to Memphis, in the latter part of
the winter of 1864.
Among the crowd of officers and soldiers,
who were rejoining their regiments, or tray-
eling on detached service, there was a civ-
ilian to be found, here and there, and there
were a few ladies, who generally kept them-
selves to themselves, within the sacred limits
of the after cabin; but the fair civilians
evidently considered themselves, to use a
homely expression, like cats in a strange
garret, among the array of shoulder-straps
and army blue, and conducted themselves
accordingly. Such a fellow feeling natur-
ally drew them together, and they formed
acquaintances, and. held social intercourse,
mostly with each other.
Among those who were thus drawn to-
gether, were a young gentleman and a young
lady, who had seemed to find the voyage a
Jonely one for them, and who had, in the
course of time, formed a speaking acquaint-
ance, which gradually led to closer inti-
macy, and it was not long before they found
themselves seated on the roomy guard of
the boat, conversing like old friends.
The gentleman, who had introduced him-
self as George Wamsley, from Cincinnati,
appeared to be somewhere under thirty
years of age, and there was nothing spe-
cially noticeable about him, except that,
whiie his face and form were undeniably
handsome, he had an unpleasant expression,
that might be called unsafe or unreliable.
A disciple of Lavater would have said, after
studying him closely: Here is a man who
may haye good principles, but.they are built
upon the sand, and a strong wind or a
rough rain might topple them over. He
was wal dressed, and had a habit of keep-
ing one hand in his pocket and jingling a
few coins that he carried there.
The ludy was not so old, by a few years,
but her.appearance was quite impressive,
for she was tall and full-formed, with dark
THE COTTON THIEF.
hair, and with black eyes that seemed ebie
to pierce, like a bayonet, through every one
who should dare to stand in her way. Her
beauty, which was somewhat hightened by
lier proud and imperious air, was lessened
by an expression of cautiousness, almost
amounting to extreme secretiveness, that she
always wore. The same disciple of Layater
who criticised her companion, would have
said: Here is a woman who is concealing
something, who has a purpose, and who is
determined to carry it out with all possible
secrecy. She was neatly dressed, in dark
colors, and had a habit of playing with a
heavy gold ring, with a large ruby, that was
attached to her watch chain.
“Tt has seemed to me, Mr. Wamsley,” she
said, in the course of conversation, “ that
you have no great love for the eee
party in the cabin.”
“Tf you will say that I am indifferent to
them,” answered Wamsley, “ you will about
hit the nail on the head. I care nothing for
them, except in the way of business. If
it will pay me to cultivate their acquaint-
ance, I am always ready to do so; but they
put on too many airs, to induce me to as-
sociate with them for nothing. The fact is,
that I am trying to be a neutral in this
war. The North is one party, the South
is another, andI am a third; the first and
second parties may kill each other as fast
as they please, but I consider it my duty to
look after the interests of the third party,
which is represented at present by George
Wamsley alone.”
The young man_ considered himself a
judge of character, and threw out these
statements with an air of frankness that did
not deceive the iady.
“T do not care to know any thing of your
polit’al opinions,” said she, “and I pre-
sume that you have no desire to be burden-
ed with mine. If we are to be friends, we
should let that subject drop, for incautious
words are dangerous in times like these. T
do not object to saying, however, that the
shoulder-strapped gentry in yonder cabin do
not suit me, and I have no desire to associate
with them. TI am a little ‘astonished that
such feelings should be shared by a gentle-
man from Cincinnati, Your city has done
a great deal to carry on the war.”
“Oh, yes, and she has made it pay splen-
didly. Ohio pork is worth money now (if
I may mention snch a commonplace article), _
It finds plenty of customers, in the South
as well as in the North.”
“Yn the South? You surprise me.”
“There is nothing wonderful about it;
but we may as well drop that subject, as
you have just said. In my opinion, if the
war lasts four or five years longer, Ohio
will be one of the richest States in the
sion.”
“Tf there is a Union,” quietly suggested
the lady.
“Of course; if there is a Union then;
I accept the amendment. In the mean
time, I shall comply with the dictates of
prudence, and take care of myseif.”
The black eyes glistened, and the white
fingers played nervously with the heavy
gold ring, as the lady said :
“Do you go further than Memphis, Mr.
Wamsley 2”
“JT do; but, the fact is, I hardly know
where I shall go. I suppose I may travel
about a great deal, as I have come down
here for the purpose of buying cotton on
speculation.” :
“You wish to make money, I suppose?”
“Of course, I do. I am here for that
purpose.” :
“And for no other, if I may suppose
again?”
“T believe I may venture to say, for no
other.”
“There are fortunes here,” said the
owner of the black eyes, with a sweep of
her splendid arm toward the country that
lay south of them; “and,” she added,
musingly, “there are various ways of mak-
ing money.”
“TIT know that,’ responded Wamsley,
eagerly catching at the phrase. “I know
it well, and I thiak the way that will pro-
duce the largest amount within the shortest
time is the best way. Do you happen to
know any thing of the ins and outs of the
cotton trade ?”
“Cotton is King,” she answered, firmly
and quietly, “as much as it ever was. It
may not rule the land, but it rules its thou-
sands, and among those thousands are some
of the highest. If you are such a man as
I believe you to be, there is a fortune
Waiting for you, and it needs only to be
picked up.” Rast
“Please tell me more!” eagerly exclaim-
ed Wamsley, “ for I assure you that I have
come to make money, and for no other pur-
pose. I am such a man—that is, I am
ready to---I mean, that I only want to be
put on the rght track, which is, of course,
the track cf he cotton. By the way, would
‘
A STEAMBOAT ACQUAINTANCE.
it be too presumptuous in me to ask to be
favored with your name ?”
“My name is Helen De Saussure, and I
reside at Caddo Bend, on Red River.”
“De Saussure,” muttered Wamsley,
placing his hand upon his forehead reflec-
tively. “That name seems, somehow,
familiar to me. I have surely heard it
before.”
“Very .ikely; my father has been one
of the wealthiest planters in that part of the
State. I haye been to St. Louis, on busi-
ness for kim, and am now returning to my
home.”
“To yourhome? Why, it is within the
—a—Confederate lines.”
“Certainly. You see that I go and come,
and you may conclude that there is reason
in what I say to you. Ifyou will visit us
at Caddo Bend—”
“How would that be possible? Could
I pass through the lines with you? TI have
some business to transact at Memphis, with
a quartermaster, Lieutenant Card, and
then—”
“That is enough,” quickly replied the
lady. ‘“ Your Lieutenant Card is a sure
card. Transact your business with him,
and then, if your way is clear, you shall
hear from me. Do you see this ring ?”
She held up her heavy geld ring, in
which the large ruby was set, and he said
that he saw it and would always remember it.
“You can not go through the lines with
me,” continued Helen De Saussure,’ but
you shal) hear from me, as I said. If you
receive this ring from me, while you are in
Memphis, you may know that you can pro-
ceed without fear, for it is well known
within the lines of the—a—Confederacy, as
you say, and would serve you as well as a
written pass, or better than that. You
will wear it, I hope, for my sake, and for
the sake of many bales of cotton.”
“TJ thank you most heartily, Miss De
Saussure ; but, let me ask—”
“Not now, sir. We will ask nothing
more at present, if you please. I must bid
you: good-evening, for we are approaching
Memphis, and I must prepare to land.”
“But let me say one word more. I only
wish to ask you—”
“Good-eventng, Mr. Wamsley. Don’t
forget to see your Lieutenant Card as soon
as possible, for he is a trump card.”
So saying, the black-eyed beauty swept
grandly away, and disappeared within the
ladies’ cabin.
10
“This is strange,”
“ Who the deuce can she be? De Saus-
sure—I think I have heard that name be-
fore. It is a Creole name, certainly. She
talks and acts, it seems to me, as if she
might be a spy, or something of that kind.
Well, it is none of my business, if she is.
T have not committed myself in any way.
If there is a chance to make money, I shall
take the chance; if not, I shall leave it
alone; that is all.”
The Cincinnatian, deeply meditating on
cotton and hlack eyes, resumed his seat in
his arm-chair, and gazed out at the muddy
water and the low banks of the Mississippi.
CHAPTER IL
Cotton in View.
As WamstEy sat, and watched the
shades*of night close in on the cottonwoods
and sycamores that thickly lined the shore,
and made mental calculations concerning
the immense fortune that he expected to
gain in the cotton trade, his reverie was
gently interrupted by a light touch on his
shoulder. He looked up quickly, and saw
a Federal officer standing by his side, who
bowed, and touched his cap.
The officer appeared to be about the
same age as Wamsley, though he might
have been a year or two older. He was a
fine-looking man, with a frank, open coun-
tenance, a pleasant smile, and a truthful,
honest look in his eyes.
“JT beg your pardon, sir,” said this gen-
tleman. “I did not wish to startle you.
If you will favor me with a few words,
I will be obliged to you.”
“Certainly ; with pleasure,”
Wamsley. \
“ The clerk informs me that your name
is George Wamsley, and you are from Cin-
cinnati, I believe.”
“ That is true, sir.”
“JT am Captain Morton Craddock, sir,
a staff officer, from Ohio. As you are from
Cincinnati, I presume that you are thorough-
Jy loyal, and that you will be willing to an-
swer a question or two that I wish to ask
you ?”
“ Of course.”
“That lady, sir, with whom you were
speaking just now—haye you the pleasure
.of her acquaintance 2?”
“JT have only a speaking acquaintance,”
answered
THE COTTON THIEF.
thought Wamsley. | answered Wamsley.
“T never saw her,
until I met her on this boat.”
“Might Lask you to favor me with an
introduction to her ?”
“T should not consider that I had a right
to do so, captain, as my own acquaintance
with her is so limited.”
“T suppose you are right ;
ask, without being offensive,
serve any thing peculiar about her?
“ Nothing, sir, except that she was —
handsome and agreeable: ef
“She seems averse to the company of
officers of the army ; did she appear inclin-
ed to favor the cause of the rebellion ?”
“T made no inquiries concerning her poli:
tical opinions, and should have considered
that I had no business to do so.”
but, if I may
did you ob-
o”
“You are right, undoubtedly; but, I
must ask you plainly—did you see any
thing to indicate that she might possibly be
acting as a spy ?”
“Nothing at all,” bluntly
Wamsley. “ Why do you ask?”
“T hope that my suspicions were unjust,”
frankly replied the captain; “but I feel
sure that I have seen her before.”
“TJ suppose you meet many ladies in the
course of your duty as a staff officer ?”
“Yes; but there is something peculiar
about this lady. I am sure that I have
seen her before, but, for the life of me, T
can not remember where or under what
circumstances.: If you learned her name,
will you have the kindness to tell it tome ?”
The whistle blew, and the bell rung, as
the boat rounded to, against the current, to
land at the Memphis levee.’ Wamsley
thought;it possible that he had been taken
in, “ on short acquaintance,” by that hand-
some and haughty lady with the black
eyes, and he also thought that there was
no reason why he should not tell the officer
her name, as the information could not
compromise himseif.
“Her name,” he said, with a reflective
air. “Tam sure I heard her mention it,
but what was it? It was a French or
Creole name,” he continued, as if that very
name, which he had been continually re-
peating to himself, had completely escaped
his memory. “TI think it was De Saus-
selles, or some thing like that. “Yes; it
was De Saussure—Helen De Saussure.”
“De Saussure!” exclaimed Captain
Craddock, starting back, with an expression
of intense excitement. “ Are you certain
that the name was De Saussure ?”
answered
«
“Yes, sir; and I must vonfess that it
struck me as a rather singular name. Do
you know it, captain ?”
“T think I do, though it may be merely
a coincidence. Will you further oblige me
by saying whether she informed you where
she resided ?”
“At Caddo Bend, on the Red River,”
promptly replied Wamsley.
“The name and the place,’ muttered
Craddock, as he passed his hand over his
eyes. “Canit be possible? Please pardon
me, Mr. Wamsley, if I have asked you any
questions that were unreasonable or im-
proper. I had a special reason, and a good
reason, believe me, for questioning you.
You will kindly excuse me, nowwas they
boat is landing; and I must see that lady,
,as she zces ashore.”
The officer hastened away, and Wams-
ley, taking from his state-room his baggage,
which consisted only of a valise, quickly
followed him.
“Tt is deuced strange,” thought the Cin-
cinnatian, as he took his station by the
gang-plank. “ What does it mean? I be-
lieve I will watch her, too. Confound that
eaptain! if he hadn’t been so excessively
polite, I should have thought him very im-
pudent. Whatever he may mean, he shall
net get ahead of me. I have not compro-
mised myself, Iam sure, and I have a prom-
ise from her, and all I have to do is to see
whether she performs it. Here is the fel-
low, watching for her, like a hawk for a.
chicken.”
Both watched, by the gang-plank, for that
tall and haughty lady with the dark hair
and black eyes. George Wamsley, the cot-
ton dealer from Cincinnati, watched for her
with a puzzled and suspicious air; Morton
Craddock, the handsome staff officer, watch-
ed for her eagerly and anxiously ; but nei-
ther of them saw her leave the boat. Crad-
dock waited until all the passengers had
gone ashore, and then learned, by close in-
quiry of the clerk and the chambermaid,
that she had really left. the boat, and he
also left, looking much disappointed, if not
discomfited. Wamsley did not wait so long,
or manifest so much interest in the search
for the mysterious lady, but took his valise,
and went to a hotel, where he soon slept
soundly, and dreamed of the fortunes that
were made in cotton speculations.
He was up early inthe morning, however,
with an eye to business, was down to breakfast
COTTON.
&8 soon as any one, and hastened out, as soon
ii
as he had dispatched that meal, to call on
Lieutenant Card, the quartermaster he had
mentioned, for whom he had a letter of in-
troduction. That officer received him very
graciously, read the letter, and invited him
into a private recom, which was well sup-
plied with liquors and cigars.
“ Tam glad to meet you,” saidhe. “TI had
already received a letter concerning you,
and was expecting you. You have come
supplied with funds, I suppose.”
“ Yes, sir, money and credit.”
“Very well; but let us understand each
other. You want to make money. You
don’t want to injure the cause of your
country, or to give aid or comfort to the
rebels, and all that sort of thing; but, you
want to make money, anyhow.”
“That is exactly how the case stands.”
“There is a splendid chance to make
money in the cotton trade, and there is no
time like the present. General has
made thirty thousand dollars this spring,
already. Of course you are not disposed
to be extra particular, and only want a
good chance.”
“ Precisely so.”
“The best place to operate now, is up
the Red River, where the Jobnny Rebs have
plenty of cotton, and where they are anx-
ious to get some more of our goods. Of
course, we must not give them any aid and
comfort, but the poor people ought to have
something to eat and to wear, and it is only
common humanity to send them some arms
and ammunition, to be used in case of an
insurrection of their niggers. Besides, the
loyal people of the North need the cotton,
and do not need the other articles. Do you
understand me, Mr. Wamsley ?” !
“Perfectly, sir... My humanity and my
self-interest tell me that you are right. I
only hope that the liberal policy you men-
tion is indorsed by the Treasury Depart-
ment.”
“ Well—not exaetly by the Department ;
Lat the special agents in this quarter have
no objection to turning an easy penny, nor
have I. But we understand each other, my
dear sir, and further words are unnecessary.
I have only to say, that you need only give
me one-fifth of the profits, for procuring the
trade permits and passes, and transacting
the other necessary business with the offi-
cials. I may be subject to some other out-
lays, for presents and the like, which we
can arrange on a separate account. I have
spoken plainly to you, because you have
-
13
been particularly recommended to me by
my friends. Does my offer stiit you?”
“Tam suited, and the sooner you can ar-
range the papers, the better, for I want to
make hay while the sun shines.”
“You shall not be delayed, Mr. Wamstly,
Lassure you, and I haye no doubt that we
ean both make enough, before the summer
is over, to keep us comfortable during the
rest of our lives. By the way, we have a
rebel officer here, whom we are to send
down the river, by the first boat, for special
exchange. I-will introduce you to him, and
you will be able to make all necessary ar-
rangements with him, for business to be
transacted within the—a—rebel lines. Do
you understand me ?”
“ Certainly,’ replied Wamsley. “He
will find me willing to do any thing to ac-
commodate him in the way of business.”
“That's right. I like the way you talk,
and perceive that you have no stupid scru-
ples. This officer, Major Dunevant by
ame, is toland at the mouth of Red River,
which will suit your purpose, as the Red
River country offers the best trading ground
at present.”
“Just what Miss De Saussure teld me,”
muttered Wamsley, speaking his thought
unconsciously.
“ What did you say?” exclaimed the lieu-
ténant. “Who? Ithought you mentioned
a name.”
“T did,” answered the young man. “It
was the name of a lady whose acquaintance
I made as I came down the river—a Miss
Helen De Saussure.”
Lieutenant Card, with a hearty laugh,
jumped up, and slapped his newrfriend on
the back.
“Bully for you!” he exclaimed. “ And
so you have made her acquaintance. I
thought you were the right kind of man,
and now I am sure of it. Go ahead, my
boy, for you are bound to succeed, since she
is interested in you, and we will both make
our fortunes !”
“But who is she?” interrupted Wamsley,
quite surprised. “ What is she? How
does she come and go—”
“ Never mind, old fellow! You will find
out soon enough, since she has condescend-
ed to form your acquaintance. You ‘may
depend upon it that you have suited her,
and that you will see her again before long.
Let us drink ber health, and then I must
bid you good-morning, as I am full of busi-
ness. Call here to-morrow morning, and I
THE COTTON THIEF.
think I will have your papers ready for
you.”
The toast was duly pledged to the health
of the mysterious beauty, and Wamsley re-
turned to his hotel, very well satisfied, but
considerably puzzled.
“There is something strange about this,”
he thought, “ but I will find it out before I
get through. Iam inciined to believe that
this cotton business is not exactly honest,
but it is plain that everybody is trying to
make money, and I think I have a right to
my share of the spoils. I will have no
stupid scruples, as Lieutenant Card said, but
will take what I can get, and will hold it.
Everybody is in the business, more or less,
from the Generals down.”
Except—he might have added—some
thonsands of private soldiers, who had none
of the rich pickings, and who were content
to die for their country.
CHAPTER Il.
A Mystery and a New Friend.
Berore night, George Wamsley waa
handed a small package, that had been left
for him at the office of the hotel. He carried
it up to his room, where he opened it, and it
proved to contain a heavy gold ring, set
with a large ruby, and a neat little note,
written in a delicate female hand, which
read as follows :
“Mr. WamsLEy— Your way is clear,
as I supposed it would be, and I send
you the ring, which I hope you will
wear for my sake. When you reach Caddo
Bend, you may return it. You can not
accompany me, as I have other busi-
ness to attend to, but I doubt not that
you will find friends, who will be slaves
of the jing, as Aladdin’s genii were
slaves of the lamp. I am glad that you
did not ‘compromise’ yourseif, in your
conversation with Captain Craddock, al-
though you seemed somewhat inclined to
‘compromise’ me. Jf possible, or conveni-
ent, I wish you would find out who your
friend Craddock is, what he is, and why he
takes such a special interest in me. I hope
he did not put himself much out of the way
by waiting to see me as I left the boat.
You will be able to proceed safely on your
way, to accomplish your desires, and it wil!
not be long before you meet
“HELEN.”
4
“She signs her name Helen,” was
Wamsley’s first thought, as he Jit a match
and burned the note, as a matter of proper
caution. . Deuced familiar on short ac-
quaintance; but, it is likely that she so
aigned it as a question of prudence; there-
fore, I need not think that she has any par-
ticular feeling toward me. She has kept
her word, and las sent the ring, and that is
a good proof that the ring and its owner
will prove useful to me. It is plain that
there is some sort of an understanding be-
tween her and Card, for she knew Card,
and he knew her. Well, it is ‘all a matter
of business—a question of cotton—and I
ean see no reason why it should not be
satisfactory to me. I believe that Iam in
luck, and I will wear the ring, to bind the
luck.”
“ Not a very pretty ring, though a costly
one,” he thought, as he placed the heavy
circlet on his finger. “I hope it will be
more useful than ornamental. I don’t
know what I can tell her about that Crad-
dock, except that he evidently suspected
her of being a spy, and it is very likely that
he was right. But why was he so excited
when he heard her name? There must be
scme mystery about that, and she wishes
me to unravel it. De Saussure—De Saus-
sure—it isan uncommon name, and I have
surely. heard it before, and I know that I
never met her, until I saw her on the boat.
If I can find that fellow Craddock, I will
pump him, for her sake, and to satisfy my
own curiosity.”
After supper, Wamsley sauntered®* out,
and happened to meet Captain Morton
Craddock, whom he greeted cordially, and
who seemed glad to see him.
“ By the way,” said the Cincinnatian,
after some preliminary conversation, “ did
you meet that lady as she came off the
~poat? I mean the lady about whom you
spoke to me, whom you suspected of being
a spy, or something of the kind. Her name
seems to have slipped my memory again.”
“Miss De Saussure,” eagerly answered
Craddock. ‘I saw nothing of her, and it
is strange how she could have disappeared.
I waited for her at the gang-plank, until all
the passengers had left the boat, and then
made inquiry fér her, and learned that she
had surely gone ashore.” ‘
“TJ waited for her, too, until I was tired,
and then went to a hotel; but my only
motive was ‘curiosity, and I did not, push
my investigat/on any further.”
A STRANGE: RECITAL.
18
“Have you seen her since?’ inquired
Craddock.
“J have seen nothing of her. It was
only a chance steamboat acquaintance, and
I suppose she would not recognize me on
shore. It puzzles me to guess why you
should have been so anxious to see her,
and why you should have been so greatly
excited when I mentioned her name. I
hope I am not intrusive in saying so.”
“Not at all, my dear sir, I think I owe
you a little confidence, by way of apology
for my unintentional rudeness, and, if you
care to hear it, will tell you why I was
troubled.” .
“T would thank you to do so, for I con-
fess my curiosity.”
“T was born in Louisiana,” said Crad-
dovk, with a sigh, “and I know that my
father was a wealthy planter on Red River,
and that his name was De Saussure, and
that there were two brothers and a sister
of us, his children. .Owing to some domes-
tic difficulties, my father sent the two boys
to the North, when they were quite young.
I was adopted by my mother’s brother,
Morton Craddock, who gave me his own
name, who brought me up, and who did
not tell me this old story, until I entered
the army. Then he said, in a laughing
way, that I must look after my father’s
plantation, if I happened to find it, and gave
me these few particulars, but nothing fur-
ther. I know nothing of what became of
my brother or my sister. I had given the
matter little thought, thinking it probable
that my uncle was merely joking, until
you mentioned the name of De Saussure.
I had seen that lady,’and had reason to
suspect her of acting as a spy, but, when I
heard her name, it suddenly struck me that
the story might be true, and that she might
be my sister. I hope you do not think
that I am talking wildly.”
“ Not at all,” answered Wamsley, though
his looks belied his words. “The story
seems rather unreasonable, and I am in-
clined to think that your uncle was joking.
Still, it is not impossible, and you were jus-
tified in looking into the matter, Did
your uncle happen to mention where the
plantation might be found ?” ;
“ At Caddo Bend, on Red River.”
Wamsley opened his eyes, and pursed
up-his lips as if he wanted to whistle.
“T think it will be some time before you
see that plantation, captain,’ said he. “ You
will have to drive the rebels oit of the
14
country, before you can reach it. If I hap-|
pen to meet. that lady before I leave the
city, I will endeavor to arrange a meeting
for you. At present I do not see that I
can be of any service to you, and bid you
good-evening.”
“Shouldn’t be surprised if there was
something in this,” thought Wamsley, as he
walked away. “Suppose my lady of the
ruby ring should happen to be that fellow’s
sister. It would be strange, but it is not
improbable. However it may be, I am
sure that I have no business to interfere. It
is not likely that thyre would be any affec-
tion between them, as they have not seen
each other since they were quite small, and
as they are now, it is likely, on opposite
sides of the war question. * Besides, if I
should bring them together, it might dam-
age my cotton prospects. As Lieutenant
Card would say, humanity and self-interest
require that they should be allowed to
solve their own problem. I believe I will
say nothing to Miss De Saussure about. this)
possible brother of hers. Cotton is the
question, and I am in the ring; at least, I
have a finger in it.”
Laughing at this attempt at a joke,
Wamsley went to his hotel, where, if his
sleep was not that of an honest man, it was
that of a sanguine speculator.
The next day, he received from Card the
papers that were necessary to the transac-
tion of his business, and concluded all re-
quisite arrangements with that official, after
which he went on board the steamer Em-
press, bound for New Orleans. Here he
was introduced to Major Dunevant, a rebel
officer who had the distinguished honor of
being forwarded to the mouth of Red River
as a specially exchanged prisoner. Wams-
ley could easily guess, after his interview
with Lieutenant Card, by what influences
the distinguished honor had been procured.
The major proved to be quite young-
locking for his rank, although his beard
and mustache were sufficiently heavy. He
had dark hair and eyes, and his appearance
was rather fascinating, although the expres-
sion of his countenance was usually quiet
and secretive. THe wore his uniform of
rebel gray, covered ‘with a long cloak. A
portion of the Union officers on the boat
were disposed to cultivate his acquaintance,
but he attached himself to Wamsley, with
whom he was soon engaged in close con-
versation. — i
“Tieutenant Card spoke to me about
THE COTTON THIEF.
you,” said the major, “and asked me to de
what Icould to assist you in the way of
business. As you are in the cotton trade,
I suppose you will want to enter our lines.”
“Can anybody hear us?’ suggested
Wamsley.
“No, sir; we may say what we choose
here, without fear of interruption.”
“Then I may tell you, major, that that
is precisely what I want to do, and I want
to go as fur up as Caddo Bend. Lieuten-
ant Card gave me to understand that you
could assist me in the matter.”
“T see that we understand each other,
through the kind intervention of our mutual
friend, the quartermaster. I can assist you,
and» will be glad to do so, on the condition
that the agreement shall be mutually benefi-
cial. That is to say, I have some friends
to whom you can be of service, and you
will find me useful in securing the cotton
and passing it through our lines. After we
reach the mouth of the river, which is only
guarded by Porter’s gunboats, we will find
the course clear. You want to make
money—honestly, I suppose?”
“YT want to make money,’ answered
Wamsley, “and that is enough, as J. sup-
pose.”
“Certainly. We have a sufficient un-
derstanding. By the way, you have a fine
ring on your finger. Do you always wear
it?”
.
“Not always. It was a present, or—
perhaps I should say—a loan, from a lady,
whom I met on a steamboat, between St.
Louis and Memphis.”
“Indeed! It must have been a case of
love at first sight.”
“T can not flatter myself so highly as
that, major. It Wasea case of cotton in
prospective. The lady seemed to enter
into my plans, and promised to aid them.
As an assurance of her good faith, und for
other purposes, possibly, she sent me_ this
ring.”
“You are sure that she did not fall in
love with you ?”
“J must confess that I did not think of
that, major, as we conversed only on busi-
ness. I am to meet her at Caddo Bend,
and to return the ring.”
“The lady, then, was Miss De Saussure.”
“That was the name, major, I see that
you know her.”
“ T know her,’ answered Major Dunevant,
“and can assure you that you may rely
upon her promise. I will do all’ that lies
ea es
Se iin at
i my power to enable you to meet her. I
am to be sent up the river on a Yankee
picket-boat, as far as Fort De Russey. You
shall accompany me to that point, and then
‘I edn easily pass you through, and we can
arrange the cotton scheme more fully when
we get inte the cotton country.”
CHAPTER IV.
Caddo Bend. \
Cappo, BEND was a very insignificant
twist in the Red River, not far from where
the old river joins the new river, that is to
say, not a great many miles above Alex-
andria. Passing up the river on a steam-
boat, you would notice nothing of any
houses, or any signs of improvement, except
a small patch of cleared land, so completely
did the thick foliage that lined the bank
conceal all that lay beyond it. If, how-
ever, you had gone up the road that leads
from Alexandria, passing near the river,
and had traveled a short distance beyond
the forks of that road, you would soon
have caught a glimpse, at your right, of a
fine old Louisiana mansion, the approach
to which led through a grove of splendid
shade trees, interspersed with graceful
shrubs and gay flowers. If you had enter-
ed the gate, not having before your eyes
the fear of twc or three tall hounds that
were loitering aout, you would have seen
a two-story house, covering a large space
of ground, with a broad and shady veranda,
that appeared to encompass the entire
building.
That veranda, on one side or the other,
as the shade happened to be, was generally
the sitting-room of the family that inhabit-
ed the mansion ; and, if you had been in-
vited there one pleasant evening, a short
time after George Wamsley had landed at
the mouth of Red River, you would have
seen Helen De Saussure seated on the
shady side, looking somewhat perplexed,
but very eager. She occupied a large arm-
chair, and there was a writing-case on her
lap, on which, with bowed head, she was
ecribbling rapidly; but anxiously.
Near her, reciining on a lounge, was an
old man, not very old in, years, but with
face and form worn out, as it seemed, by
disease or care. the sand-hill philosopher might have carried
his reflections, for he was interrapted by a
sharp and quick knocking at the door, which
had been locked. Alice Sibley ran to the
@oor and opened it, but quickly tried to
4
| close it again, while she spoke earnestly to
| some one outside.
“Go away !” she entreated.
frightened me so!
now !”
“But I must, Alice, for Iam in a hurry.
What is the matter with you? Don't
bother.”
“ Not now, Harry, not now.
tle while.”
“Nothing can be going on that I may
not sec. Don’t be a goose, Alice.” :
The door was pushed open, and a young
man in the uniform of a rebel private,
burst into the room.
“T have done it, mother !” he exclaimed ;
“T have deserted !”
Mr. Sibley turned pale, Alice shrieked,
and the mother fell, sobbing, into the arms
of her son. ‘
“Henry,” said the old man, “ how can
you be so thoughtless? Open your eyes,
aud look around.”
“A stranger !” ejaculated the young man.
“That, then, is what Alice meant. Whata
fool I have been!”
‘“‘ Look-a-here, young man,” said the sand-
hiller, as he rose from his chair; “ I won't
deny that you may be a durn fool; but if
you are*afeard of me, or afeard of my
knowin’ what the matter is, or what you’ve
done, or mean to do, you mought just as well
be ateard of your mother, or your purty
sister thar’. Ef you've desarted, you can
shake hands with me, fur here’s a feller from
the sand-hills of Georgy, who has done per-
cizely the same thing. Here’s my hand on
it, young man, the hand of a rough chap,
but an honest one.”
The deserter looked at the pleasant face
and @lear eyes of Jack Calliper, and held
out his hand.
“I believe you,” said be, “andTam glad
to meet you. I think that God himself led
me here to-night. Mother, I could not
stand it any longer, I could not wait. I
was resolved not to fight against my coun-
try, and, if I had remained two days long-
er, I should have had no chance to escape.
If I die, it won't be the death of a traitor.
I must leave the country, though, and have
come to bid you good-by.”
“Not yet, young man,” said the sand-
hiller.* “Don’t put your bird into the pit
afore the gaffsis on. As fur bein’ a durn
fool, as you said a bit ago, I think you was
right, though it happened that the stranger
‘in here was the right kind of a man. 1
“You have
You must 1i0t come in
Wait a lit-
A CHANCE MERTING. ‘ 93
a .
.
hope this may teach you to be more kurful of
your tongue, and of your goin’s out and your
comin’s in, as Scriptur’ says, and you'll be
so, if you'll take the advice of a chap from
the sand-hills of Georgy, who has run a
Bene: se resks in the desartin’ line of busi-
ness.’
“You may have noticed, Mr. Callfper—”
commenced the old man.
“Td rayther be,ealled Jack, sir, ef you
hain’t no objection.”
“You may have noticed, Jack, that ‘Twas
anxious to get some of that United States
money of yours. The reason is simply
this, that my son Henry, who was conscript-
ed, has been anxious to desert and go to
the Union lines, and I have been saving all
the greenbacks I could get, so that he could
have something to live on when he reach-
ed a place of safety.”
“Ah! T understand you now. The rea-
son is a good one, and fits into my idees.
As I said afore, thar’s no use fur the young
man to be in a urry. He can stay here
safe enough to-night, and p’r’aps we can hit
on suthin’ if the mornin’. Ef you'll let
me lie down and have»a snooze now, I’ll
take it kindly of you, bein’s I am mortal
tired.”
The sand-hiller was conducted to his
resting-place, nd the family, being left to
themselves, heid joyful and sorrowful con-
verse with the son who had returned to
them— returned alive, but in great danger.
CHAPTER . VII.
The Cotton Conspirators Meet.
ArrerR leaving Calliper, George Wams-
Jey rode on gayly, as has been said, pleas-
antly meditating’ the probable results of his
speculatio#s in cotton. He felt that his
e : . : :
good genius had guided him into a path
that was sure to lead to fortune, and he
‘fancied that he could already see the gold,
or its representative, falling into his lap in
showers. He imagined himself already
one of the merchant princes of Cincin-
nati, with a splendid city residence, and
with a powerful influence in. the Board of
Trade and the municipal administration.
If he thought of the wrong that might be
done his country by his operations, he also
thought (as so many appear to think) that
every other man would do the same thing
'f Le had the chance. Once rich, he
concluded, he could easily satisfy his con-
science by contributing liberally to sanitary
fairs and investing in government bonds.
But, as he sauntered along, wrapped in
thought, he began to be afraid that he had
lost his way, for he had gone some distance
beyond the forks of the road, and had seen
no splendid mansion or large plantation.
As he looked around, in some perplexity,
he saw «a diorseman approaching, and resoly-
ed to speak to him, for the purpose of in-
quiring the way.
The new-comer was a fine-looking
Creole, of an uncertain age, and was ele-
gantly dressed in the uniform of a rebel
officer. Wamsley bowed as politely as he
could, when he addressed him :
“Will you have the kindness to tell me
sir, if lam on the right road to the planta
tion of Mr. De Saussure ?”
“You must have passed it, sir, without
noticing it?’ answered the officer. “ The
house stands at some distance from the road,
and the entrance might easily be over-,
looked.”
“I must turn back, then. If you are
traveling in that digection, will you oblige
me by pointing out the house when we
reach it ?”
‘““With pleasure, but—pardon me, sir, if
I seem inquisitive are you expected
there?” é
“T believe Tam, though not on any par-
ticular day or hour.” ; ,
“May I ask, by whom ?”
“My invitation came through Miss De
Saussure,” answered Wamsley, who began
to consider this questioning rather imperti-
nent.
“Ah! I think it is well that you have
met me. That ring on your finger—may
T look at it? all right—your
name is George Wamsley.”
“Tt is,” answered the speculator, without
betraying his surprise.
“Tt is true that you are expected, Mr.
Wamsley, but it is not advisable for you to
go tothé house at present. The fact is,
my dear sir, that Miss De-Saussure’s father,
who js old, peevish, and, I may say, rather
disagreeable, besides being tinctured with~
Unionism, has contracted. a ‘prejudice
against you, and has given orders that you
should not be allowed to enter the house.
The same prohibition includes your humble
servant, as the particular friend and confi-
dant of Miss Helen, in her business affars.
The daughter rules the house, but it is just
|
|
2
24 THE COTTON THIEF.
us easy, and more pleasant, to pay some
1egard to the wishes of the father. There-
fere, if you will accept my hospitality, I
think it will be better for you to go home
with me for the present. I will try to
make you comfortable, and can petet
that you shall soon .see Miss De Saussure.”
“T thank you for your kindness, and
will be happy to accept your invitation, if
my business can be as well dransacted
there.” ®
“T believe I understands the business
question, Mr. Wamsley, and assure you
that it can be transacted fully as well, if
not better, at my house. By the way, I
must introduce myself. My name _ is
Creighton, Colonel Creighton, of the Con-
federate army.”
“ Happy to know you, sir. I have heard
your name mentioned before.”
“Tndeed! By whom ?”
“By a Major Dunevant, whom I met
below. He gave me’ to understand that
you were to be blessed with the hand of
Miss De Saussure.”
“The major is a sad gossip, and Fi am
sorry to say that he isnot always to be re-
lied upon. But come, Mr. Wamsley, it is
growing late; and you will need rest ‘and
refreshment.” id
The two gentlemen , turned their horses,
and rode about half a mile further, until
they reached a fine house, at which Colonel
Creighton stopped. Requesting his com-
panion to dismount, and calling a servant
to take charge of their horses, he led *the
way into an elegantly-furnished room,
where he opened a cabinet, and set glasses
and decanters before his guest, saying that
his brandy was as goodvas could be found
in Louisiana, and that a little, after a long
ride, would do him good. At the same
time, be called a negro boy, and sent him
off with a whispered message.
“And now, Mr. Wamsley,” said he, as
he filled his glass, “we will drink, if you
please, to better acquaintance and to the
Confederacy.”
“One at a time, colonel,’ dryly answer-
ed the speculator. $ nko toasts with good
liquor, is my maxim.’ “=
“To better acquaintance, then ; and now
*to the Confederacy.”
' “Tcan't say that I feel $ifich interest in
the Confederacy, colonel, as it is not in my
line of business. If you have no objection,
we will drink to cotton.”
“With all “my heart.
‘
Cotton is king,
ws
and can never be discrowued. ,
turn to propose, let us drink to provisions
and things—especially things.”
“Suppose we call it reciprocity,” slig-
gested Wamsley. “ That is a good com-
mercial term.”
“An excellent term, and I trust we may
have abundant opportunity to illustrate it.”
When justice had been done to the last
toast, a servant annouaced that-supper was
ready, and Wamsley, after having’ been
shown to his room, and having made his
toilet, was conducted by his new friend to
the dining room, where a splendid table
was set, crowded with luxuries such as the
Cincinnatian would not have thought it
possible to obtain under the blockade. At
the table, rustling in silks, with solemn eyes
that always seemed looking back into the
past, presided Colonel Creighton’s mother.
When Wamsley was presented to her, she
acknowledged his salutation with a calm
dignity, but remained silent dyring the en-
tire meal.
When supper was over, Creighton apolo-
gized for his mother’s coolness,
“She is always .so,” said he, “and has
been so ever since my father died, and my
brother Tom was killed at Vicksburg.
Tom was the eldest, and her favorite, and
she took his death very much to heart.”
As Mrs. Creighton was not concerned in
the cotton trade, it made no difference to
George Wamsley whether she was silent
or talkative.
The two gentlemen adjourned to the
veranda, where they discussed their cigars,
until a light step and a heavy one were
by a negro man,,came up the walk.
“That will do, Jerry,” said she. “You
may go pcaaes now, for I shall not need
you any more.’ a
Creighton sail her like an old and
famitiar acquaintance, and informed “her
that he had been so fortunate as to meet
their mutual friend, Mr.. Wamsley, and had
brought him to his house. ;
“I am very glad you have come, Mr.
Wamsley,” said Helen, as she gave the
speculator her hand. “I am also glad that
Colonel Creighton happened to meet you,
for there have been certain circumstances,
which have doubtless been explained to
you. »
“Tt is all satisfactory, Miss De Baussare
and I Ripe that it i not interfere with
pbusiness.”
As it is my
heard, and Helen De Saussure, convoyed
‘sé
" BUSINESS. Ps)
‘
“Not at all’ answeretl the lady, with
asmile. ‘The ‘business can be transacted
without any difficulty. I see that you have
retained my ring. Has it proved service-
able to you?”
“ Quite so; it has opened the way for
me, as if it) had been a fairy ring,” said
Wamsley, as he took the circlet from his
finger and handed it to her.
whom I met on the boat below Memphis,
recognized the ring, and aided me in mak-
ing my way to Caddo Bend. He said that
I should se¢ him here.”
“ You have met the major, then?” laugh-
ed Helen. “I suppose he warned you
against me ; did he not?”
“T can hardly say, exactly—
“Oh! never mind, Mr. Wamsley; never
mind. The major is a strange fellow, but
»you will certainly see him.”
“Very well; and now for business. In
matters of speculation, Miss De Saussure,
it is my rule to strike while the iron is hot,
to make hay while the sun shines. How
“goon can we get hold of some cotton,,
where, and on what terms ?”
“ On the De Saussure plantation, as soon
as we wish.) There is one lot of sixty-five
ebales, that will do for a commencement, as
‘a sort of pioneer.”
“But is) your father willing to sell?
Will not those circumstances, of which you
spoke, interfere with the arrangement ?”
“ Her father would not be willing to sell,”
interposed Creighton; “but that is no ob-
stacle. Miss De Saussure, as I told you,
has the control of the estate, the old gentle-
man, having grown too childish to manage
it. As for this lot of cotton, I shall obviate
any possiblé difficulty by impressing it in
the name of the Government. I will then
transfer it to'you, and you can make your
own terms with Miss De Saussure.”
“Tam sure that we will have no diffi-
culty in striking a bargain,” said the lady.
“ T will arrange about the transportation,”
continued Creighton, “and I suppose you
will have no: difficulty in getting it within
tle Yankee lines.”
“None at all, for I have ‘the requisite
documents, and I will guarantee that the
Qaicner returns shall be made immediately,
according to such a schedule as you choose
to prepare. «By the way, as a matter of
business, I would like to have a man of my
own choice to look after my interests, and I
have picked out such a fellow. I picked
him up, rather, on the road.”
7 4
“ An officer
“ Are you sure that you did well?” asked
Creighton. “It is dangerous to intrust
delicate affairs to strangers.”
“T am vain enough to believe, colonel,
that I know men. I was neyer yet mis-
taken ina man. This fellow seems rather
green, but is not so green as he seems. In
fact, he is a Georgia sand-hiller, but he is
shrewd and weil posted, and I can trust him.”
“You must be guided by your own judg-
ment, as your own interests are concerned,
and I do not doubt that you have madé a
good choice. Let us now try a glass of my
old sherry, and then I niust ask you to
smoke another cigar on the veranda, or
where you please, while I convey Miss De
Saussure to her home.”
“ By the way, Nellie,” said the colonel,
be
that Major Dunevant gave him to under-
stand that you and I were engaged. Is
it true, or was it only the major’s gos-
sip ?” *
“TJ hardly think that Mr. Wamsley feels
any interest in the subject,” said Helen,
with a slight blush; “but he may rest
assured that I am ent engaged to Colonel
Creighton.”
George Wamsley smoked his cigar on
the veranda, until Creighton returned,
when, after some more wine and some
more conversation, he was shown to his
room, where he dreamed of Cotton bales
with black hair and dark eyes.
CHAPTER ‘VIII.
A Matter of Trade.
JACK CALLIPER, the sand-hiller, rose
early in the morning, after a blissful dream,
which had been inspired by the bright eyes
of Alice Sibley. It is not probable that the
dreams of George Wamsley, the cotton
speculator, , were any more sweet or satis-
factory.
Going: down i sella he found himself
quite alone, as the family still slept, but he
was soon joined by Mr, Sibley, who thanked
him for the consideration he had shown
for his fugitive son, and for the unexpected
protection he had promised him.
“That don’t amount to nothin’, old
gen’leman—leastways, not yet,’ said the
sangthiller. “ We'll talks about that thar’
matter arter awhile. I jest want to ax you
a few questions relatin’ to a family livin’ in
~
as he filled the glasses, ‘‘ Mr. Wamsley says -
38 THE COTTON TINEr".
these parts. Do you know Mr. De Saus-
are ?
“T have known him since I was a boy.”
“Nice man, is he ?”
“A strange and impulsive man, but good
at heart, I believe.”
“Got a fine gal for a daughter,
he !” #
“Helen De Saussure is considered very
handsome and very intelligent,” evasively
replied Mr. Sibley. ’
“Goes about a good deal, does she ?”
“She travels a great part of the time.
She is here to-day, and gone to-morrow,
and is sometimes absent for weeks at a
time.”
“S’pose you don't know where she
goes ?”
“Y know nothing further, as I haye no
personal relations with the family at present.
I have heard it hinted that she is employed
in some capacity by the 2 a— Goyern-
ment.” . ‘
“ H-m-m—smart gal, I reckon.
old man got any more children ?”
“No more, or, if he has, he does not
even know where they are.”
“That thar’ is funny.”
“Tt is strange, but true. He married a
Northern lady, and she gave him two fine
boys. He was a very impulsive man, as I
haye said, and was also passionate. While
the boys were infants, he quarreled with
his wife, and, in a fit of passion, sent the
children to her relations at the North, say-
ing that he never wanted to see them or
hear of them again. He would not allow
his wife to accompany them, and’ she pined
away, until, shortly after Helen was born,
she died. I suppose he has never since
heard of his boys, nor tried to learn any
thing about them, for he wasa man to bear
malice, as he used to say, ‘ till the Dead Sea
freezes over.’ He was a wicked old sinner.”
“He was jest nothin’ shorter, to my way
of thinkin’. Does the old chap stand by
, the—a—Government ?”
' “J think the cares very little about the
matter, for he is now old and broken down.
He has not much time to repent in, if he
ever means to do it.” '
“ Better iate than never, though. Now,
old gen ‘leman, ’bout that son of yours. I
think you said you was a-savin’ up- of
greenbacks, so’s he might have suthin’ to
6° on, ef he should git inside the Make
iines.”
“T have been trying to do is but such
°
hain’t
Has the
|
money is scarce ‘in these parts and the
small amount that I have put’ away will
not be of much service to him.”
“Spectyso. Tell you what, stranger,
I want to stay about here a while, tradin’
and lookin’ around, and I’ve got a few of
those greenbacks stowed about’ me. Tl.
furnish your boy what he wants, ef you'll
agree.to let me board it out.” _
“Thank you, my dear sir! Thank
you!” exclaimed Mr. Sibley, Seizing the
sand-hillers hand. “You give me new
life, for you promise to. be the savior of
my dear boy. His mother and sister will
bless you.”
“'Thar’, then, old gen’leman ;- that'll do,
I reckon. ‘This here is a matter of trade,
und that’s all. Ef it’s a bargain, jest say
yes or no.”
“T say yes, most gratefully,
rough, Mr. Calliper—”
“ Jack’s my name.”
“You are rough, but I know that. you
are good and true, and A am sure that
heaven has sent you to us.” ;
“Reckon it’s a bargain, then. It’s my
idee that heaven ginerally senda folks whar’
they happen to ge. As fur the boy’s get-
tin’ away, ’m thinkin’ he’d better not be
in a hurry about it, ef you can keep him
hid fur a few days or thar’abouts, ’cause’ I
mought fix up suthin’ that would send him
through safer and better.”
“We can hide him for a while, I am
sure, and we will trust in you.”)
“It’s my idee that Jack -Calliper can be
trusted into, old gen’leman, fur, though he’s
a rough-lookin’ customer, and a sand-hiller
at that, he comes of proper good stock, and
is proud of it, too, ’Pears like breakfast
must We nigh ready, fur I’m mortal hungry
agin, and when a man’s boardin’ , he ort to
look out fur gittin’ his money’s worth. Ef
you'll look arter our grub, Pl go and see
*pout Jefferson.”
Mr. Sibley entered the house, and the
sand-hiller went to the, barn, where he
found the boy Jack busily engaged in rub-
bing down that angular steed, Jefferson,
who was occupied with a peck of corn,
while his rack was well filled with hay.
“ Mornin’, Jack,” said Calliper. » “ How
is that thar’ hoss a-gittin’ on ?”
“Mornin’, mars’r,’ answered the boy,
showing all his ivories at once. ‘“’Pears
like I nebber seesany thin’ stuff hisseff as
that animile does. He eats so hard and so
fast, that he’s wearin’ hisseff out.”
You are
i
.
@
¢
A NEEDLE
“Thar’ ain’t no wear out to him, Jack.
You jest keep feedin’ of him up, and I
reckon he can stand it; if he can’t, well
let him lie down to it. He pays his board,
and is bound to git his money’s worth.
Look here, Jack,’ continued the sand-
hiller; “do you see that ?”
“Deed I do, mars’r. _’Pears like you’re
made ob dem tings.”
“But [ ain't, Jack, and durned glad I
am of it, fur I shouldn’t like to be made of
sech flimsy stuff. I want to know, Jack,
whether you are: noquntaten with Mr. De
Saussure’s niggers.”
“Quainted wid ’em! Tell ye what,
mars’r, spect I knows dem niggers as well
as I knows—as I knows—angels !” exclaim-
ed the boy, wholly at a loss for a simile.
“Ya-as—or gold dollars, either. Ef
you don’t know ’em better’n that, I hain’t
got nothin’ more to say.”
“De fact is, mars’r, | knows dem nig-
gers fust rate.”
“ Hev’ they got any chickens as can fight?”
“They’s got three or four, what they
brags on a heap.”
“Have you got such a bird?”
“ Dar's one ole rooster ’bout de yard, dat
whips ebery chicken what comes around
here.”
“Take this money, Jack, and ketch that
thar’ chicken, and shut him up, and have
him ready when I call fur him. We'll see
_ef we can’t take the starch out of some of
those high-bred birds. Don’t forget old
Jefferson, Jack.” ‘
The sand-hiller walked to the house,
while the young Aftican looked after him
with wondering eyes, doubting whether the
stranger was quite sane.
“‘Spect he's been bewitched,’ was the
boy’s characteristic commentary.
Breakfast was ready, and all sat down
at the table. It was evident that Mr. Sib-
léy had told of the proposition made by
the sand-hiller, for his wife commenced a
speech expressive of gratitude, to which
Calliper put a stop in his own fashion.
“Madam,” said he, “as I onderstand it,
he business afore us jest now is breakfast.
ee afore, pleasure, and eatin’ afore
talkin’, are my motto. Ef you pléase, I'd
like to finish this job, afore goin’ into any
thin’ else.”
He was not again molested, and. ate his
hearty breakfast in’ silence, though the
pretty Alice put up a mouth at his rude
speech.
AND THREAD.
fr
When he had f rished, he leaned back
in his chair, took « knife from his pocket,
and ripped open a seam in the lining of his
coat, whence he produced a roll of green-
backs. He deliberately counted out one
hundred dollars, which he laid on the
table.
“Now, old gen’leman,” said he, “ we'll
come to business. A hundred dollars will
be enough fur the boy to start on, ’cause
hell find plenty of ways.open to him, on-
less I'm mistaken, which I ain’t apt to be.
Jest count it over, ef you please, and give
me a receipt fur that thar’ amount, to be
boarded out, by me and old Jefferson ; and
put Jefferson’s name in big letters, fur he’s
jest the outeatinist crittur’ you ever did see.”
The burst of laughter that followed this
honest expression choked down the thanks
that wete rising to the lips of the family,
and pretty Alice was the first to speak.
“Mr. Calliper,” said she.
“Jack’s my name.”
“T noticed, Jack, that you put your
money back in the same, place where you
ripped open the seam. Would you not
like to have that seam sewed up again 2”
“JT was thinkin’ of axin’ fur a needle
and some thread.” pia
“ May I sew it for you, Jack?”
“Wal, now, Miss Alice, ef you'd raally
do sech a kindness fur a rough crittur like
me; I should think it. suthin’—suthin’—
wunnerful !”
“T will be very glad to do it, if you will
let me.”
“Let you! God bless your bright eyes !
Jest fix up that thar’ receipt, old gen’leman,
and T'll go outside and take a quiet smoke.”
The sand-hiller walked out of the door,
sat down on a bench, and filled and lit a
brierwood pipe (un unmistakable Yankee
article.) He had drawn but a few whiffs of
the weed, when he was joined by Alice
Sibley, who was armed with a needle and
thread.
“Now, Jack,” said she, “you must let
me sew up your coat.”
“Ef you will do. it, Miss Beauty,” said
Calliper, “Tl lay down my pipe.”
“Never mind the. pipe; the smoke will
not trouble me, for I will hold down my
head.”
“Ef you should hold it down cluss to
my heart, I’m afeard it mought bu’st ita
way ont.”
“ [ will risk that,” answered Alice, with
@ blush, as she bent to her work. ‘
1
=~
28
The task was soon finished, and when
Alice looked up, she blushed again, as she
saw that the sand-hiller’s eyes were bent
upon her admiringly, and that hir pipe had
gone out.
“T wish I knew how to thank you,” said
she, “for your kindness to my dear bro-
ther.”
“Jest stop that,
Beauty,” replied Jack.
trade, and that’s all—a bargain between your
father and me. §’pose you send the old
gen’leman and your brother out here, as I
want to talk to’em a bit. Ef thar’ was
any kindness about it, it’s nothin’ to what
Yd do fur one kind look of your bright
eyes.”
Again blushing, Alice tripped into the
house, and the sand-hiller lit his brierwood,
and puffed it sedately.
ef you please, Miss
“Tt’s a matter of
CHAPTER IX.
A Barnyard Fowl.
“Now, old gen’leman,”’ said Calliper,
afier he had conversed with his new friends
concerning the.concealment of Henry Sib-
ley, “I must be busy to-day, a-lookin’
around, and if you can spare him, I would
like to have the use of the boy, Jack, fur a
while, and we can let his hire go onto the
boardin’ account.”
“ You can have him, of course,” answer-
ed Mr. Sibley.
“Thank ye. Tl say setteteta’s then,
and go my way.”
The sand-hiller went to the barn, where
he found the black boy engaged in admiring
a spruce barnyard rooster, that he had con-
fined in a basket. ‘
“Pm ateard thar’ ain’t much fight into
him,” said Calliper. ‘ Never mind, though ;
we'll give him a chance, and let him show
what he is made_of. Tie his logs, Jack,
and bring him along.”
Then he saddled Jefferson, who, as usual,
was eating, vigorously, mounted that Jean
and hungry barb, and sallied forth, like a
new Don Quixote, in search of adventures.
He had no Sancho Panza, to act as a faith-
ful squire, but an equally faithful black boy,
carrying a barnyard fowl, trotted nimbly by
his side,
On reaching the Forks, at which he had
parted with Wamsley, Calliper took the
river road, and jogged along easily, until
s THE COTTON TUOTEF.
the “boy stopped, and pointed through the
trees at a fine mansion.
“‘ Dar’s mars'r De Saussure’s house,” said
he.
“Very well,
jest now.
fust.”
The sand-hiller rode slowly, as if he was
looking for some one. He was soon grati-
fied, for George Wamsley made his appear-
ance, riding from, the opposite direc-
tion.
“ Good-morning, Jack Calliper,” said the
speculator. “TI was taking a turn around
the country, thinking it possible that you
might turn up in the course of the ride.”
“ You were rightthar’, cap’n. I told you
Td be on hand when I was wanted.”
“Ts that your nigger boy? What is he
doing with that speckled rooster?”
“ Jest a little speckylation of mine, cap’n.
The boy don’t belong to me, but I’ve hired
him fur the ’casion.” ;
“You must not let your speculations in-
terfere with mine. . You may ride with me,
now, a short distance, and you will soon
know my plans and what you can do to
help me.”
A sbort ride brought them to Colonel
Creiglton’s house, where they alighted.
“ You stay here, Jack, and look arter old
Jefferson, and be kurful of that thar’ chick-
en,” said the sand-hiller,
Wamsley into the house.
“ Creation !” he exclaimed, as he entered
a luxurious apartment. “ This is ’most too
fine a place fur a rough-lookin’ critter like
me to step into, but I s’pose it’s all in the
way of business.”
“Try a glass of brandy, Jack ?”
“Thank ye; don’t care ef I do. Mighty
good stuff, that; ’most as good as I tasted
once at Judge Bumstead’s, in Georgy, when
I was actin’ as deppity constable. You see,
Jack Williams and Bill Hiter, they had a
fight—”
The remainder of this interesting anec-
dote was shut ouf by the appearance of Col
onel Creighton and Helen De Saussure.
“This is the man I spoke to you about, .
colonel,” said Wamsley.
“Who is he, and where - he from ?”
asked Oreighton.
“My name is Jackson Calhoun Calliper,
ginerally known as Jack Calliper, and I’m
a Georgy sand-hiller, but I come of proper
good stock. I was never yet beat by any.
man at hess-tradin’ or hoss-racin’, though
Jack; we won’t go thar’
I’ve got suthin’ else to attend to
as he followed.
:
.
+
se
a
A COCKPIT. ee)
some fellers, I must allow, have got more
chicken sense than I have.”
“How did you happen to come over
here?”
“Jest floated—or was blowed oyer—I
only know that I turned up here.”
“ He seems a shrewd enough fellow,” said
Creighton. “He is your man, however,
- Mr. Wamsley, aud you must be responsible
®t
for him. If he is to help us, or to serve
you alone, you should tell him our plan, and
how we are situated.”
Wamsley, with occasional hints from
Creighton and De Saussure, then explained
to the sand-hiller the purpose and method
of their operations, detailing fully all that
has been heretofore explained.
Jack Calliper, with his elbow resting on
his knee, and his head resting om his hand,
seemed lost in thought for a few moments.
“Tt seems to me,” he then said, “ that
thar’s one thing lackin’. The old gen’leman
has kinder shet you two out, and no one
can git to see him but the young lady. Ef
he could be talked to in the right sort of a
way, it mought make the matter smoother ;
and I’m the feller, though I’m rough-lookin’,
to ondertake that job,”
“You!” exclaimed Wamsley.
would you see him ?
one.”
“Bless your innocent heart! I can do
it jest as easy as I can clip a chicken, and
that I was brought up to. Ef the young
lady will only keep away when I’m about,
“ How
He rarely admits any
so as not to kinder vex him—beggin’ her
pardon—or to let him think she knows
any thin’ about me, I’ve an idea that I can
talk him over.”
“ By Jove, Creighton! I believe we had
better let him try it,” said’Wamsley, who
had formed a high opinion of the shrewd-
ness of his aide-de-camp. * :
“Tsee no objection. What do you say,
Nellie ?”
“TJ think it may do good, and can do no
hurt. I will promise not to interfere with
him in any way.”
“Then I s'pose it’s settled.” said CGalli-
per. ‘As business afore pleasure is my
motto, Pll be asin’, though I wouldn’t
object to another drop of that brandy,
cap’n, ef it’s the same to you.” »
The sand-hiller emptied another glass of
the Cogniac, and scraped himself out of the
presence of the conspirators.
* He went to the gate, where he found
Tefferson gnawing the palings as if he had
eaten nothing, for a month, and Jack
smoothing the feathers of the ‘chicken
rooster, who had espied a liftle bantam in
the road, and had wished to fight it then
and there.
“Come along, Jack,” said he, as he
mounted his bony steed. “ We'll see,
now, whether those De Saussure chickens
have got any fight into ’em.”
The sand-hiller must have been medita-
ting very deeply on the fighting qualities
of his bird, or on something else, for he was
remarkably silent, and the boy, in response
to all his questions and remarks, could get
only one expression from his patron.
“Take me right to the nigger quarters,
Jack, and not near the house.”
The boy led the way to the negro quar-
ters, and soon: he and Calliper were sur-
rounded by a motley collection of dark-
skinned individuals, of all ages and sexes,
who were wonderfully delighted at the
strange spectacle of the sand-hiller, his
body-guard, and the speckled rooster. that
the black boy held in his arm.
“Dis gen’leman here,’ said the boy, ad-
dressing tiie assembled congregation of ne-
groes, “is my mars’r fur dis day, and you
can jess bring out your chickens.”
“ve heern tell,” said Calliper, climbing
down from the back of Jefferson, and
giving the reins to Jack, while he took the
fowl from the boys’ hands, “that you nig-
gers here have got some chickens that you
brag on. ,This here chicken of Jack’s is
nothin’ but a barn-yard critter, but 1 reckon
he’s able to show fight, when he’s got any-
body who is able to handle him, and I am
jest that man. Ef you niggers think
you’ye got a chicken as can whip him, and
ef you've got the stuff to. make a pit, why,
then, 'ye got the gaffs, and we'll have a
fair and square stand-up fight, to see which
is the best bird, and ef your bird wins, Tl
buy him.”
The negroes, who appeared to be adepts
in the “noble art” of cock-fighting, brought
some boards, with which they soon made
an. octagonal pen, scattering bran over the
interior, and soon produced a black rooster,
with a few bright spots on his plumage.
Jack Calliper held the barn-yard rooster
in his arm, and took a pair of scissors from
his pocket, with which he clipped the
feathers of his fowl in artistic style,
“Can you niggers trim your own
birds?” said he, “or shall I fix em both ?”
“You clip him, mars’r,” said a big, black
Y
aoe
30 THE COTTON THIEF.
fetiow, who held the De Saussure fowl ;
“eause I nebber see anybody do it so neat
like you can.” *
“ [It do it,” said Calliper, “ and will put
the gaffs on him, too, fur I want to see a
square figlit.” i
The sand-hiller took the black rooster,
and clipped him as scientifically as he had
clipped. the other, and then brought out of
liis pocket two pair of sharp stecl gaffs, or
spurs, which he fastened on the legs of the
fowls, very carefully, and then held both
birds up for inspection.
“Now, then, darkey,” said he, “ take
your bird, and let’s see how they look at
each other.”
The big black man took the Dlack
rooster, and held it, and smoothed its re-
maining feathers, while each fowl tried to
lift its spurs, and crowed defiance to the
other. Mr. Sibley’s Jack stood by his
patron, with his eyes fixed on his own
fowl, and with his mouth closed so tightly
that he“did not show one of his white teeth.
“Gorry mighty!” exclaimed a black
boy, who was sitting on his haunches near
the pit, with his face resting on both hands,
“TJ wish ole mars’r was here !”
“What's that you say, boy ?” asked the}
sand-hiller.
“JT jest wish ole mars’r was here. It
would do him a heap ob good, ’eause he
hain’t seen a good cock-fight dis long time,
and he’s powerful fond ob’em. ’Spect he
nebber see’d no sech fightin’ things as dem
chickens has got on ’em, nohow.”
“ Look a-here, boy,” said the sand-hiller,
Holding up a small Confederate note, “ ef
you think your master would like ‘to see
sech a thing, I'll give you this, ef you'll
bring him here quick, fo see the sport.
*Praps he mought like to risk a dollar or
two, and who knows on what chicken ?”
“Yah, yah!” laughed the boy, as he ran
away. ‘Bet your life ole mars’r would go
a mile to see a chicken-fight wid steel
spurs.”
“Reckon we'd better hold our birds;
‘darkey, till Mr. De Saussure comes,” said
the sand-hiller, as he took Jack’s chicken
in his arms and clipped his feathers a little
more.
“Dat’s right,” said the man who held the
opposition bird. “Dar’s nuffin what will
please ole mars’r like dis. But Pll tell ye
what, mars’r white man, dis chicken is
bound to whip yourn.”
“ That's a thing we've got to try, as Abe
e \
Lincoln said to Jeff. Davis. Jest you keep
your bird stiddy, and we'll wait till your
master comes. Ef he likes this kind of
sport, we will show him some of it, and
perhaps he mought like to bet om one
chicken or the other.”
The two bottle-holders for the fowls—
Jack Calliper on one side of the pit, and
the big negro on the other—sat on their
haunches and held their respective birds,
awaiting anxiously the appearance of “ole
mars,” while the two roosters struggled
to get loose, and uttered notes of defiance,
CHAPTER X
A Cock-fight, and What Came of It.
Tue cock-fighters were not obliged to
wait long, for Mr. De Saussure, supported
on the arm of a negro man, soon came to
the pit, and sat down in a willow chair,
which another negro man had brought.
He seemed much exhilarated, and his face
glowed with an unusual fire,
“Fa! ha! he laughed. “ This is some-
thing out of the way, something unusual.
Are you sure, Pete, that both chickens have
good gaffs on? I haven't seen such a fight
since the war began.”
“Yes, mars’r,’ answered the man who
brought the chair, “ dey’s all fixed up jest
right, and here’s de man what done it, and
de chickens is all ready.”
“?Spect I'm the man what the nigger is
speakin’ of,” said Calliper, rising and touch-
ing his hat. “Tve fixed the gaffs onto
these here birds, and I’ve done the thing
fair, as all niggers here will testify to the
same; and ef you want to see a square
stand-up fight between two chickens, here’s
your time. Ef you want to do any bettin’,
you niggcrs, take your chance while it’s a-
goin’. Say, darkey, what do you call your
bird ?”
“ Dis here bird’s name,” said the negro,
with a sly glance at his master, “is Abe
Lincoln.”
“ Wal, ef you are suited, I'll call mine
Jeff. Davis, and we'll see which will whip.
Now bring on your bets.” °
As no one offered to bet any thing, the
sand-hiller took his bird in his arm, and
walked with him around the pit.
“ Hain’t this chicken got no friends?”
said he, as he carried the bird about.
“ Hain’t he got no friends? Ain't nobedy
¢
wilin to bet onto him? Wal, I'll jest
lay five dollars that he'll whip old Abe
over thar’, ef any man will take me up.”
“J will take” your bet,” said Mr. De
Saussure, who had been comfortably seated
in the arm-chair, “and I will give you
odds if you wih.” ;
“Don’t want no odds, colonel,” said the
sand-hiller. “Tl take your bet, and only
ask you to see fair play.”
“Tt must be a fair fight,” said the old
planter. “I know how to judge about
that, for I have seen many of them in my
day. Get to work, now, and put your
birds in.” ; “
After the usual preliminaries, and “ set-
ting” the chickens at each other, to get
them up to the fighting point, Old Abe and
Jeff. Davis were placed in the pit, and each
. .
commenced strutting about over the bran,
and looking defiantly at hjis antagonist,
while Mr. De Saussure gazed at the scene
with the eye of an eager and interested
connoisseur. ;
_ The fight did not last long, but was soon
bloodily decided. After the birds had
made a few. passes at each other, . Abe
leaped up into the air, and struck his steel
spur through the head of Jeff,, causing that
barn-yard hero to fall down and give up
the ghost immediately.
“The sand-hiller, with open eyes and
mouth, proclaimed his wonder at the result
of the contest, and the negroes joyfully
clapped their hands and showed their
ivories. © gabils
“J was,kinder ‘feared that bird didn’t
have much fight into him,” said Calliper,
“put he’s dead now, and it’s no use torkin.’
Here’s your five dollars, colonel, it has been
fa’rly won.”
“ Keep your money,” answered Mr. De
Saussure. “Keep your money, I only bet
for the purpose of making the game inter-
esting, for I was sure that your chicken
would be whipped.”
“Wal, colonel,,as you don’t want the
rag, Pll give it tg that nigger over thar’ ef”
he'll sell me his bird.”
The owner of Old Abe eagerly accepted
the offer, and took the money. :
or hat’s Onderstood to be a bargain,” said
the sandghiller. “Give the bird to this
doy, Jack, ‘cause the dead chicken b’longed
to him, and you can keep the gaffs, Durn-
ed ef I don’t think you niggers are glad
that Ole Abe licked Jeff Davis” ,
A chorus of laughter from ¢he assembled
=
’
AN EVEN BET. 3
darkies told his supposition’ was cor
rect.
“Wal, I don’t know as thar’s any thin’
onnatural about it,’ said Calliper. “Ef
I was one of you niggers, p'rajis I'd feel jest
the same way.”
“Abe Lincoln was their bird,” suggested
Mr. De Saussure.
“That's a fact, colonel, and I reckon
they can’t be blamed fur likin’ those as
likes them. ’Spect thar’s no use in sayin’ it’s
kinder ominous, colonel, or anythin’ of that
kind.”
“You need not say so, but we may all
think as we please, I, hope. Come, my
good fellow ; you have given us some very
pleasant sport, and Ilike you. Come up to
the house, and-you shall have something
good to eat and tink.”
“Thank ye, colonel; I'll do that thar’
thing with pleasuré. ‘Take that chicken,
Jack, and carry him home; and I'd like
one of these here niggers to look arter my
hoss—his name is Jefferson—and give him
some feed.”
“ Better not put him» near a haystack,”
insinuated the boy, “ef you want to see
that haystack ag’in.” hea
“ Your horse shall be taken care of,” said
Mr. De Saussure, “and he may eat up the
plantation if he wants to. Come to the
house, sit; come to the house. Pete,
give me your arm, and help me to
walk.”
Supported by a negro man, the old
planter walked to the house, where he seat-
ed himself on his» favorite lounge, on the
veranda.