by Mayne Reid
CHAPTER FORTY NINE.
THE SPORTSMEN OF THE MISSISSIPPI.
Before things had reached this point, I had gained an explanation of themysterious alarm. I alone knew it, along with the individual who hadcaused it.
On hearing the shots, I had run forward under the front awning, andstood looking over the guards. I was looking down upon theboiler-deck--for it appeared to me that the loud words that preceded thereports had issued thence, though I also thought that the shots had beenfired at some point nearer.
Most of the people had gone out by the side entrances, and were standingover the gangways, so that I was alone in the darkness, or nearly so.
I had not been many seconds in this situation, when some one glidedalongside of me, and touched me on the arm. I turned and inquired whoit was, and what was wanted. A voice answered me in French--
"A friend, Monsieur, who wishes to do you a service."
"Ha, that voice! It was you, then, who called out--"
"It was."
"And--"
"I who fired the shots--precisely."
"There is no one killed, then?"
"Not that I know of. My pistol was pointed to the sky--besides it wasloaded blank."
"I'm glad of that, Monsieur; but for what purpose, may I ask, haveyou--"
"Simply to do _you_ a service, as I have said."
"But how do you contemplate serving me by firing off pistols, andfrightening the passengers of the boat out of their senses?"
"Oh! as to that, there's no harm done. They'll soon got over theirlittle alarm. I wanted to speak with you alone. I could think of noother device to separate you from your new acquaintances. The firing ofmy pistol was only a _ruse_ to effect that purpose. It has succeeded,you perceive."
"Ha! Monsieur, it was you then who whispered the word in my ear as Isat down to play?"
"Yes; have I not prophesied truly?"
"So far you have. It was you who stood opposite me in the corner of thesaloon?"
"It was I."
Let me explain these two last interrogatories. As I was aboutconsenting to the game of whist, some one plucked my sleeve, andwhispered in French--
"Don't play, Monsieur; you are certain to lose."
I turned in the direction of the speaker, and saw a young man justleaving my side; but was not certain whether it was he who had giventhis prudent counsel. As is known, I did not heed it.
Again, while engaged in the game, I noticed this same young man standingin front of me, but in a distant and somewhat dark corner of the saloon.Notwithstanding the darkness, I saw that his eyes were bent upon me, asI played. This fact would have drawn my attention of itself, but therewas also an expression in the face that at once fixed my interest; and,each time, while the cards were being dealt, I took the opportunity toturn my eyes upon this strange individual.
He was a slender youth, under the medium height, and apparently scarcetwenty years of age, but a melancholy tone that pervaded his countenancemade him look a little older. His features were small, but finelychiselled--the nose and lips resembling more those of a woman. Hischeek was almost colourless, and dark silky hair fell in profuse curlsover his neck and shoulders; for such at that time was the Creolefashion. I felt certain the youth was a Creole, partly from his Frenchcast of countenance, partly from the fashion and material of his dress,and partly because he spoke French--for I was under the impression itwas he who had spoken to me. His costume was altogether of Creolefashion. He wore a blouse of brown linen--not after the mode of thatfamous garment as known in France--but as the Creole "hunting-shirt,"with plaited body and gracefully-gathered skirt. Its material,moreover,--the fine unbleached linen,--showed that the style was one ofchoice, not a mere necessary covering. His pantaloons were of thefinest sky-blue _cottonade_--the produce of the looms of Opelousas.They were plaited very full below the waist, and open at the bottomswith rows of buttons to close them around the ankles when occasionrequired. There was no vest. Its place was supplied by ample frills ofcambric lace, that puffed out over the breast. The _chaussure_consisted of gaiter-bootees of drab lasting-cloth, tipped with patentleather, and fastened over the front with a silk lace. A broad-brimmedPanama hat completed the dress, and gave the finishing touch to thistruly Southern costume.
There was nothing _outre_ about either the shirt, the pantaloons, thehead-dress, or foot-gear. All were in keeping--all were in a style thatat that period was the _mode_ upon the lower Mississippi. It was not,therefore, the dress of this youth that had arrested my attention. Ihad been in the habit of seeing such, every day. It could not be that.No--the dress had nothing to do with the interest which he had excited.Perhaps my regarding him as the author of the brief counsel that hadbeen uttered in my ear had a little to do with it--but not all.Independent of that, there was something in the face itself thatforcibly attracted my regard--so forcibly that I began to ponder whetherI had ever seen it before. If there had been a better light, I mighthave resolved the doubt, but he stood in shadow, and I could not get afair view of him.
It was just about this time that I missed him from his station in thecorner of the saloon, and a minute or two later were heard the shoutsand shots from without.
"And now, Monsieur, may I inquire why you wish to speak to me, and whatyou have to say?"
I was beginning to feel annoyed at the interference of this youngfellow. A man does not relish being suddenly pulled up from a game ofwhist; and not a bit the more that he has been losing at it.
"Why I wish to speak to you is, because I feel an interest in you. WhatI have to say you shall hear."
"An interest in me! And pray, Sir, to what am I indebted for thisinterest?"
"Is it not enough that you are a stranger likely to be plundered of yourpurse?--a _green-horn_--"
"How, Monsieur?"
"Nay, do not be angry with me. That is the phrase which I have heardapplied to you to-night by more than one of your new acquaintances. Ifyou return to play with them, I think you will merit the title."
"Come, Monsieur, this is too bad: you interfere in a matter that doesnot concern you."
"True, it does not; but it concerns _you_, and yet--ah!"
I was about to leave this meddling youth, and hurry back to the game,when the strange melancholy tone of his voice caused me to hesitate, andremain by him a little longer.
"Well," I said, "you have not yet told me what you wished to say."
"Indeed, I have said already. I have told you not to play--that youwould lose if you did. I repeat that counsel."
"True, I have lost a little, but it does not follow that fortune will bealways on one side. It is rather my partner's fault, who seems a badplayer."
"Your partner, if I mistake not, is one of the best players on theriver. I think I have seen that gentleman before."
"Ha! you know him them?"
"Something of him--not much, but that much I know. Do _you_ know him?"
"Never saw him before to-night."
"Nor any of the others?"
"They are all equally strangers to me."
"You are not aware, then, that you are playing with _sportsmen_?"
"No, but I am very glad to hear it. I am something of a sportsmanmyself--as fond of dogs, horses, and guns, as any of the three, Iwarrant."
"Ha! Monsieur, you misapprehend. A sportsman in your country, and asportsman in a Mississippi steamboat, are two very distinct things.Foxes, hares, and partridges, are the game of your sportsman.Greenhorns and their purses are the game of gentry like these."
"The men with whom I am playing, then, are--"
"Professional gamblers--steamboat sharpers."
"Are you sure of this, Monsieur?"
"Quite sure of it. Oh! I often travel up and down to New Orleans. Ihave seen them all before."
"But one of them has the look of a farmer or a merchant, as I thought--apork-merchant from Cincinnati--his talk ran that way."
"Farmer--merchant, ha! ha! ha! a
farmer without acres--a merchantwithout trade! Monsieur, that simply-dressed old fellow is said to bethe `smartest'--that is the Yankee word--the smartest sportsman in theMississippi valley, and such are not scarce, I trow."
"After all, they are strangers to each other, and one of them is mypartner--I do not see how they can--"
"Strangers to each other!" interrupted my new friend. "Since when havethey become acquainted? I myself have seen the three in company, and atthe same business, almost every time I have journeyed on the river.True, they talk to each other as if they had accidentally met. That ispart of their arrangement for cheating such as you."
"So you believe they have actually been cheating me?"
"Since the stakes have been raised to ten dollars they have."
"But how?"
"Oh, it is very simple. Sometimes your partner designedly played thewrong card--"
"Ha! I see now; I believe it."
"It did not need that though. Even had you had an honest partner, itwould have been all the same in the end. Your opponents have a systemof signals by which they can communicate to each other many facts--thesort of cards they hold,--the colour of the cards, their value, and soforth. You did not observe how they placed their fingers upon the edgeof the table. _I_ did. One finger laid horizontally denoted onetrump--two fingers placed in a similar manner, two trumps--three forthree, and so on. A slight curving of the fingers told: how many of thetrumps were honours; a certain movement of the thumbs bespoke an ace;and in this way each of your adversaries knew almost to a card what hispartner had got. It needed not the third to bring about the desiredresult. As it was, there were seven knaves about the table--four in thecards, and three among the players."
"This is infamous!"
"True, I would have admonished you of it sooner; but, of course, I couldnot find an opportunity. It would have been no slight danger for me tohave told you openly, and exposed the rascals. Hence, the _ruse_ I havebeen compelled to adopt. These are no common swindlers. Any of thethree would resent the slightest imputation upon their honour. Two ofthem are noted duellists. Most likely I should have been called outto-morrow and shot, and you would scarce have thanked me for my`interference.'"
"My dear sir, I am exceedingly grateful to you. I am convinced thatwhat you say is true. How would you have me act?"
"Simply give up the game--let your losses go--you cannot recover them."
"But I am not disposed to be thus outraged and plundered with impunity.I shall try another game, watch them, and--"
"No, you would be foolish to do so. I tell you, Monsieur, these men arenoted duellists as well as black-legs, and possess courage. One ofthem, your partner, has given proof of it by having travelled over threehundred miles to fight with a gentleman who had slandered him, or ratherhad spoken the truth about him! He succeeded, moreover, in killing hisman. I tell you, Monsieur, you can gain nothing by quarrelling withsuch men, except a fair chance of having a bullet through you. I knowyou are a stranger in our country. Be advised, then, and act as I havesaid. Leave them to their gains. It is late: Retire to yourstate-room, and think no more on what you have lost."
Whether it was the late excitement consequent upon the false alarm, orwhether it was the strange development I had just listened to, aided bythe cool river breeze, I know not; but the intoxication passed away, andmy brain became clear. I doubted not for a moment that the young Creolehad told me the truth. His manner as well as words, connected with thecircumstances that had just transpired, produced full conviction.
I felt impressed with a deep sense of gratitude to him for the servicehe had rendered, and at such risk to himself--for even the _ruse_ he hadadopted might have had an awkward ending for him, had any one seen himfire off his pistols.
Why had he acted thus? Why this interest in my affairs? Had heassigned the true reason? Was it a feeling of pure chivalry that hadprompted him? I had heard of just such instances of noble nature amongthe Creole-French of Louisiana. Was this another illustration of thatcharacter?
I say I was impressed with a deep sense of gratitude, and resolved tofollow his advice.
"I shall do as you say," I replied, "on one condition."
"Name it, Monsieur."
"That you will give me your address, so that when we arrive in NewOrleans, I may have the opportunity of renewing your acquaintance, andproving to you my gratitude."
"Alas, Monsieur! I have no address."
I felt embarrassed. The melancholy tone in which these words wereuttered was not to be mistaken; some grief pressed heavily on that youngand generous heart.
It was not for me to inquire into its cause, least of all at that time;but my own secret sorrow enabled me to sympathise the more deeply withothers, and I felt I stood beside one whose sky was far from serene. Ifelt embarrassed by his answer. It left me in a delicate position tomake reply. I said at length--
"Perhaps you will do me the favour to call upon me? I live at the HotelSaint Luis."
"I shall do so with pleasure."
"To-morrow?"
"To-morrow night."
"I shall stay at home for you. _Bon soir_, Monsieur."
We parted, each taking the way to his state-room.
In ten minutes after I lay in my shelf-like bed, asleep; and in tenhours after I was drinking my _cafe_ in the Hotel Saint Luis.