by J. T. Edson
With the idea of confirming his suspicions in mind, Engels entered the lounge at breakfast time the following morning and looked for the objects of his interest. Belle and Amesley shared their table with a couple of the top-class families while Dusty and Red sat among the younger officers. In passing, Engels halted at Belle’s side and, in the pretence of inquiring after her health after the excitement of the previous evening, studied the girl. Sharp though he might be, he saw nothing in her answer or appearance to suggest that she might be other than what she appeared on the surface. Although he studied it carefully, he could find no proof that the neatly coiffured blonde curls might be a wig. However, he did notice a change in Amesley’s attitude towards Belle. The ‘General’ now showed some interest in Belle that had been lacking the previous day. After seeing Engels bedded down for the night, Dusty had visited Amesley and warned that they might be under observation, offering the suggestion that more interest in his ‘niece’ might not come amiss.
During the remainder of the trip down to Shreveport, Engels continued his surveillance of the party. After some thought, he decided that Red might prove the most fruitful of the quartet to pump. However, Red had been primed for such a move and his answer told Engels only that he and Dusty had taken a furlough and aimed to see what pleasures Alexandria or Morgan City might offer. Nothing Engels learned from Red gave any hint that other than a pleasure trip brought the two Texans from Arkansas. However, Engels learned, from hints Red dropped, that the two young men travelled as Amesley’s aides so that their expenses might be defrayed against the taxpayer; the ‘General’ being an old friend of the family and not averse to doing a good turn for an influential person like Ole Devil Hardin.
On the second night Engels kept a close watch, but saw nothing to help him. Dusty and Red spent the early part of the evening on the main deck, where Red’s Henry rifle brought down a prime young whitetail deer buck which would be of use to the boat’s cook. After that the Texans returned to the lounge where they joined the other young officers in a rowdy, low-stake game of Vingt-Un. Amesley and Belle spent their evening in the company of the senior passengers and Engels decided to keep watch in case of another visit by Dusty to the girl’s cabin.
In stateroom after stateroom the lamps were extinguished and Engels stayed patiently in his position at the stem end of the promenade deck. Midnight came and just as the man decided he would go to his room, he heard a door open along the deck. The promenade deck was illuminated by a couple of small lamps and Engels could see that Amesley, not Dusty Fog left his room and entered the girl’s quarters. Stealthily the watcher moved forward and halted outside the door of Belle’s stateroom. He heard only what one might expect from such a visitation and after a short time decided that his suspicions might have been wrong. Assuming that nothing further would happen that night, Engels went to his bed. He did not know that while he watched Amesley, Dusty kept an eye on him; nor that after his departure Amesley returned to his own stateroom to spend the night.
“What do you think, Dusty,” asked Belle, as they met while strolling on the hurricane deck the next morning.
“He watched you last night,” Dusty replied, leaning on the protective rail and watching the shore slip by. “I don’t know if we’ve got him fooled or not. Seeing a Confederate ‘General’ go into your cabin wearing just his shirt, pants and socks ought to have convinced him.”
“If he heard what we said, it could,” Belle said, and smiled in recollection of an incident in her cabin. “Poor Major Amesley looked real embarrassed at entering a lady’s room that way. He—I sure won’t be sorry to get to Morgan City, Captain Fog. I do declare this itty-bitty cabin’s plumb ruinous—Oh, good morning, Mr. Engels. How are you-all on this beautiful morning?”
In a hash, on seeing Engels approach, Belle Boyd disappeared to be replaced by Clarissa, Amesley’s ‘niece’. Having seen the girl in earnest conversation with Dusty, he attempted to get close enough to hear what was being said; but Belle proved too quick for him.
After making small talk with Dusty and the girl for a time, Engels passed on. Nor had he reached any decision when the boat pulled into Shreveport. Watching Maudie Dimsdale take her departure, Engels decided that he might possibly learn something of use from her. He knew the boat would not be departing for two hours at the least and so went ashore. Following Maudie, Engels found no difficulty in striking up an acquaintance. Her ‘brother’ had left the Rosebud without providing any money for her wellbeing and over a meal she told Engels what had happened when she followed Belle out on the promenade deck.
While listening to the girl’s description of how an amazing change came over the blonde, turning her from a scared little milk-sop to a cold, deadly female who used her fist like she knew what it had been given her for, Engels happened to look around the room. A feeling of cold shock hit him as he saw a tall, gangling sergeant-major of the Texas Light Cavalry seated at a nearby table and apparently engrossed in eating a meal.
Engels felt sure that the ‘blonde’ on the boat must really be Belle Boyd, and also guessed that she and her escort must be suspicious of him. Slipping some money under the table to Maudie, Engels made the usual suggestion and she agreed.
“I’ll just have to go out back first,” he told the girl and thrust back his chair. “Wait for me.”
While walking towards the door marked “MEN’S,” he figured she would have a long wait.
Eleven – The Inventive Genius of Mr. Henry and Captain Williams
“And there I was, just a-sitting and waiting,” Billy Jack admitted as he stood on the hurricane deck of the Rosebud with Dusty. “Comes fifteen minutes, I got to figuring that happen it took him that long, he should be told how good croton oil works. So I went to tell him and, dog-my-cats, if there’s not another door out of the room. It led to the street, but time I got ’round to figuring that, he’d up and was long gone.”
Looking at his sergeant-major’s miserable expression, Dusty had difficulty in holding down a grin. Billy Jack knew Dusty’s attitude when somebody reported a failure through lack of foresight, and expected an explosion. However, Dusty realized that the lean non-com had not been trained in the business of following a suspected person and so made a mistake which lost Engels.
“It can’t be helped,” Dusty declared. “I’ll go down and see if he’s come back on board.”
“You reckon he’s a Yankee spy, Cap’n Dusty?” asked Billy Jack.
“I’m keeping an open mind,” Dusty answered. “He did meet up with that Maudie gal and buy her a meal. But that doesn’t mean he wanted to learn anything from her.”
“Nope,” agreed Billy Jack. “Happen he’s come back, what say we lay hold of him tonight and ask him a few questions?”
“He might not want to answer,” Dusty pointed out.
“Maybe he’d change his mind after he’d been dragged head down for a spell behind the boat.”
Unfortunately for Billy Jack’s plan, one essential item was missing. On visiting the clerk’s office, Dusty learned that Engels had sent a messenger to the boat with instructions to collect his baggage. Knowing that travelling salesmen often made unscheduled departures should business come their way, the clerk raised no objections and could offer no suggestion as to where the baggage went after leaving the boat. Nor did he connect Engels’ departure with a letter brought aboard for delivery to an address in Alexandria; although both the baggage collector and the man who brought the letter had been hired by the departed Engels.
While Dusty would have liked to make an immediate start to search for Engels, the Rosebud was due to leave Shreveport before he could do so. Allowing Billy Jack to return to the card game which went on pretty continuously in the barber’s shop, Dusty went down to the boiler deck and located Belle, Red and Amesley.
“Billy Jack lost him,” Dusty told them after making sure he would not be overheard by any of the passengers other than his party. “He followed Engels into town and saw him meet up with that Maudie girl.
Engels took the gal into an eating house, bought her a meal and then started talking quiet to her. She did some answering but Billy Jack couldn’t hear what they were saying.”
“Could have been asking her what happened on the promenade deck,” Amesley commented. “Most likely was; if he’s a Yankee spy and suspicious of Miss Boyd.”
“Reckon he is a Yankee spy, Dusty?” asked Red.
“Could be. Or maybe he’s just the kind of sneak who’d listen at a stateroom door for fun.”
“The riverboats have always been good sources of information.” Belle put in. “A solider going on or coming off furlough tends to talk more than when he’s with his outfit. There’s a chance that Engels was aboard to learn anything he could.”
“What’ll we do about him?” Red growled.
“There’s not much we can do,” Belle replied. “We can’t delay our trip while we go back and look for him. Even if we could persuade Captain Boynes to turn around without telling him far too much. When we reach Alexandria, I’ll see a friend and arrange for a very close watch to be kept on Mr. Engels.”
“Happens he’s decided that you aren’t what you seem, maybe even guessed that you’re Belle Boyd,” Dusty said quietly. “Can he pass on the news to the Yankees?”
“I’d be surprised if he couldn’t,” Belle answered. “There’s no telegraph to them, of course, but he could pass the message verbally, or written and concealed on a courier.”
“Which same the feller couldn’t reach the Yankees until long too late to find us,” Red stated, sounding a mixture of relief and disappointment. Red always craved for excitement and had so far found the trip boring.
“Unless Engels decided his information is so important that he sends it by carrier-pigeon,” Belle warned.
“Do you reckon he might do that?” Amesley inquired. “Would he have access to the pigeons, I mean?”
“Don’t sell the U.S. Secret Service short, major,” Belle replied. “I’d bet that every major town along the river has its spy set-up including pigeons hid away somewhere.”
“Of course it could be that we’re blowing this thing up out of all proportion,” Amesley said. “Engels might be no more than a venal sneak who wanted to know something bad about a young man who’s gained the fame he can never achieve. The kind of man who’s a failure himself and wants to bring everybody down to his level.”
“We could hope for that, sir,” Dusty admitted. “But I’d hate like hell to rely on it. I figure we should work on the assumption that Engels is a spy and that he’ll send word about us to the Yankees on the lower Mississippi.”
“And what will they do?” asked Amesley.
“Was I the Yankee commander, I’d make a stab at stopping us,” Dusty stated. “Reckon they could do it, Belle?”
“I’m not sure,” she replied. “Why not go ask Captain Boynes? He knows the river better than any of us.”
The men adopted Belle’s suggestion and took their problem for solution to Captain Boynes. Having seen his boat safely on her way out of the harbor, the Captain welcomed ‘General’ Amesley and Dusty to the wheelhouse deck. Amesley followed the plan arranged as they came up to the topmost deck, by explaining that he was on an important mission with Dusty as his escort. Without going into too much detail, Amesley went on to say that he feared the Yankees might make an attempt to intercept him and prevent his arrival at Morgan City.
“What’re their chances of doing it, Captain?” Dusty asked when Amesley finished speaking.
“How do you mean?” Boynes inquired.
“Could the U.S. Navy’s Mississippi Squadron get through and attack the Rosebud?”
“With their iron-clads or gunboats?”
“Something like that.”
A grin came to Boynes’ lips. “The Yankees might control the lower river, but we own everything for a good way below the Atchafalaya. We’ve batteries of guns that nothing short of a full-scale battle might break through. And if there’s a sign of a breakthrough, there’s a fast side-wheeler kept fuelled and ready to run up river like the devil after a yearling to raise the alarm.”
“How about them slipping through at night?” Dusty went on.
“Not with iron-clads or gunboats. Going upstream they’d have to use their engines, which means noise and flames glowing from their smoke-stacks.”
“Could they run through in one of those submarine things I’ve heard about?” Amesley wanted to know. “We’ve used them and I reckon the Yankees could have them.”
“Maybe they have,” admitted Boynes. “But the biggest only carried six or eight men.”
“That’d be enough if they got in close and planted their explosives,” Dusty pointed out.
“They’d have to get close enough to do it,” Boynes answered. “Even underwater that’d take some doing. Don’t forget that my pilot’s used to spotting things under the river’s surface even in the darkness. If he could see a snag ii in floodwater mud, he’d not miss anything as large as a submarine.”
That figured as Dusty admitted to himself when thinking of the skill every successful river pilot must possess if he hoped to keep his boat out of danger.
“There’s nothing to worry about then,” Amesley commented.
“Not too much,” Boynes agreed. “But I’ll make sure that we keep an extra careful watch, General.”
“My thanks, sir. And, of course, I don’t need to ask you not to mention my mission to anybody.”
“You don’t,” Boynes replied. “I don’t want my other passengers worrying, and they sure as hell would if I let them know about your mission.”
Returning to the boiler deck, Amesley found Belle surrounded by a bunch of junior officers. A scowl from the ‘General’ caused a hurried scattering of the shavetails and Amesley sat at the girl’s side to tell her of the meeting with Boynes.
“We don’t have much to worry about then,” she said. “I didn’t expect any trouble until we’re beyond Alexandria anyway. Of course, we may have nothing to fear even then.”
While Belle did not sound any too certain as she spoke she would have been even less so had she been in a position to see a carrier-pigeon rise from the wooded country about a mile to the east of Shreveport. Circling twice until it got its bearings, the bird struck off in a south-easterly direction, headed down river in the direction of Yankee-held territory.
The journey went on without incident. Mile after mile fell behind the Rosebud and Dusty’s party settled down to the tedium of travelling. Each night Dusty and Red took their Henry rifles to the main deck where they kept watch for some suitable addition to the boat’s larder.
On arrival at Alexandria, Belle and Dusty went ashore and the girl made arrangements for a watch to be kept on Engels. From the same source she made the arrangements, she learned the latest news concerning her mission. Clearly the Yankee Secret Service knew, or guessed, where the gold taken in Arkansas was going and that meant they would try to stop its arrival. Just how far the Yankees might have gone with their plans Belle could not learn. While hoping for the best, she prepared to handle the worst.
After loading up a good-sized cargo of cotton which would be run through the Yankee blockade and sold in Europe to help finance the Confederate war effort, the Rosebud pulled out of Alexandria on the final leg of its journey to the town of Morgan City.
“There’s not much chance of getting anything tonight, Cap’n Dusty,” said the mate, Hogan, as he stood at Dusty’s side. “This’s ’gator country.”
Earlier that day, the Rosebud had left the main river to follow the narrower but still navigable reaches of the Atchafalaya. Thick wooded country closed in on either bank, ideal territory for animals had it not been for the menace of the big Mississippi alligators which Dusty had seen sprawling on sandbars or diving hurriedly from the banks as the boat approached. Living in fear of alligator attacks made the local game far more alert, watchful and suspicious than the creatures of the upper river. However, the cook needed meat, so Dusty and Red had
agreed to try their luck that night.
Accompanied by the mate and the pilot’s cub—assistant—the two Texans stood partially concealed behind the big wooden crate which still rested forward in the bows and clear of the piles of cotton bales which now covered most of the free space on the main deck. The cressets glowed brightly, lighting the river ahead and flickering upon the shoreline at both sides, giving the waiting men a clear sight of any animal which might be risking the dangers by coming to the river’s edge for a drink.
“We’ll give it a bit longer,” Dusty stated.
Time dragged by slowly and the men scanned the banks for any sign of life. Up in the wheelhouse, the pilot stood at the big wheel and his eyes never left the dull ribbon which glowed ahead as what little light filtered down from above reflected on the river’s surface. Long practice had trained him to look beyond the area illuminated by the cressets and pierce the blackness of the night in a never-ending search for signs of danger ahead.
“Cap’n!” he said.
Turning from the door of the wheelhouse where he had been standing and talking with a few passengers, Boynes stepped to the pilot’s side.
“What’s up, Marse?”
“Up ahead there,” the pilot answered. “I saw the loom of some—Yes. There it is. By cracky! It’s—”
He stopped speaking and his right hand stabbed up to close on the whistle’s cord, jerk at it and send a series of piercing blasts ripping through the night.
At about the same moment that the pilot called to Boynes, Red Blaze peered along the river, squinted his eyes and then he pointed. “What’s that ahead there, Dusty? Up the river.”
The rest of the meat-hunting party followed the direction of Red’s pointing finger. All could see the dark shapes, blacker than the surrounding area and contrasting with the dull ribbon of water, one near each bank of the river. Being more used to such sights than the Texans, Hogan recognized the dark bulks first; and did not like what he saw.