by Mayne Reid
CHAPTER SIXTY THREE.
TO BRINGIERS.
Coachmen of New Orleans possess their full share of _intelligence_; andthe ring of a piece of silver, extra of their fare, is a music wellunderstood by them. They are the witnesses of many a romanticadventure--the necessary confidants of many a love-secret. A hundredyards in front rolled the carriage that had taken Aurore; now turninground corners, now passing among drays laden with huge cotton-bales orhogsheads of sugar--but my driver had fixed his knowing eye upon it, andI had no need to be uneasy.
It passed up the Rue Chartres but a short distance, and then turned intoone of the short streets that ran from this at right angles towards theLevee. I fancied for a moment, it was making for the steamboat wharves;but on reaching the corner, I saw that it had stopped about half waydown the street. My driver, according to the instructions I had givenhim, pulled up at the corner, and awaited my further orders. Thecarriage I had followed was now standing in front of a house; and justas I rounded the corner, I caught a glimpse of several figures crossingthe banquette and entering the door. No doubt, all that had ridden inthe carriage--Aurore with the rest--had gone inside the house.
Presently a man came out, and handing his fare to the hackney-coachman,turned and went back into the house. The latter, gathering up hisreins, gave the whip to his horses, and, wheeling round, came back bythe Rue Chartres. As he passed me, I glanced through the open windowsof his vehicle. It was empty. She had gone into the house, then.
I had no longer any doubt as to where she had been taken. I read on thecorner, "Rue Bienville." The house where the carriage had stopped wasthe town residence of Monsieur Dominique Gayarre.
I remained for some minutes in the cab, considering what I had best do.Was this to be her future home? or was she only brought heretemporarily, to be afterwards taken up to the plantation?
Some thought, or instinct perhaps, whispered me that she was not toremain in the Rue Bienville; but would be carried to the gloomy oldmansion at Bringiers. I cannot tell why I thought so. Perhaps it wasbecause I wished it so.
I saw the necessity of watching the house--so that she might not betaken away without my knowing it. Wherever she went I was determined tofollow.
Fortunately I was prepared for any journey. The three thousand dollarslent me by D'Hauteville remained intact. With that I could travel tothe ends of the earth.
I wished that the young Creole had been with me. I wanted his counsel--his company. How should I find him? he had not said where we shouldmeet--only that he would join me when the sale should be over. I sawnothing of him on leaving the Rotundo. Perhaps he meant to meet methere or at my hotel; but how was I to get back to either of theseplaces without leaving my post?
I was perplexed as to how I should communicate with D'Hauteville. Itoccurred to me that the hackney-coachman--I had not yet dismissed him--might remain and watch the house, while I went in search of the Creole.I had only to pay the Jehu; he would obey me, of course, and rightwillingly.
I was about arranging with the man, and had already given him someinstructions, when I heard wheels rumbling along the street; and asomewhat old-fashioned coach, drawn by a pair of mules, turned into theRue Bienville. A negro driver was upon the box.
There was nothing odd in all this. Such a carriage and such a coachmanwere to be seen every hour in New Orleans, and drawn by mules as oftenas horses. But this pair of mules, and the negro who drove them, Irecognised.
Yes! I recognised the equipage. I had often met it upon the Levee Roadnear Bringiers. It was the carriage of Monsieur Dominique!
I was further assured upon this point by seeing the vehicle draw up infront of the avocat's house.
I at once gave up my design of going back for D'Hauteville. Climbingback into the hack, I ensconced myself in such a position, that I couldcommand a view of what passed in the Rue Bienville.
Some one was evidently about to become the occupant of the carriage.The door of the house stood open, and a servant was speaking to thecoachman. I could tell by the actions of the latter, that he expectedsoon to drive off.
The servant now appeared outside with several parcels, which he placedupon the coach; then a man came out--the negro-trader--who mounted thebox. Another man shot across the banquette, but in such a hurried gaitthat I could not recognise him. I guessed, however, who _he_ was. Twoothers now came from the house--a mulatto woman and a young girl. Inspite of the cloak in which she was enveloped I recognised Aurore. Themulatto woman conducted the girl to the carriage, and then stepped inafter. At this moment a man on horseback appeared in the street, andriding up, halted by the carriage. After speaking to some one inside,he again put his horse in motion and rode off. This horseman was Larkinthe overseer.
The clash of the closing door was immediately followed by the crack ofthe coachman's whip; and the mules, trotting off down the street, turnedto the right, and headed up the Levee.
My driver, who had already been instructed, gave the whip to his hack,and followed, keeping a short distance in the rear.
It was not till we had traversed the long street of Tehoupitoulas,through the Faubourg Marigny, and were some distance upon the road tothe suburban village of Lafayette, that I thought of where I was going.My sole idea had been to keep in sight the carriage of Gayarre.
I now bethought me for what purpose I was driving after him. Did Iintend to follow him to his house, some thirty miles distant, in ahackney-coach?
Even had I been so determined, it was questionable whether the driver ofthe vehicle could have been tempted to humour my caprice, or whether hiswretched hack could have accomplished such a feat.
For what purpose, then, was I galloping after? To overtake these menupon the road, and deliver Aurore from their keeping? No, there werethree of them--well armed, no doubt--and I alone.
But it was not until I had gone several miles that I began to reflect onthe absurdity of my conduct. I then ordered my coachman to pull up.
I remained seated; and from the window of the hack gazed after thecarriage, until it was hidden by a turn in the road.
"After all," I muttered to myself, "I have done right in following. Iam now sure of their destination. Back to the Hotel Saint Luis!"
The last phrase was a command to my coachman, who turning his horsedrove back.
As I had promised to pay for speed, it was not long before the wheels ofmy hackney rattled over the pave of the Rue Saint Luis.
Having dismissed the carriage, I entered the hotel. To my joy I foundD'Hauteville awaiting my return, and in a few minutes I had communicatedto him my determination to carry off Aurore.
Bare friendship his! he approved of my resolve. Rare devotion! heproposed to take part in my enterprise, I warned him of its perils--tono purpose. With an enthusiasm I could not account for, and thatgreatly astonished me at the time, he still insisted upon sharing them.
Perhaps I might more earnestly have admonished him against such apurpose, but I felt how much I stood in need of him.
I could not explain the strange feeling of confidence, with which thepresence of this gentle but heroic youth had inspired me. Thereluctance with which I accepted his offer was only apparent--it was notfelt. My heart was struggling against my will. I was but too glad whenhe stated his determination to accompany me.
There was no boat going up that night; but we were not without the meansto travel. A pair of horses were hired--the best that money couldprocure--and before sun-down we had cleared the suburbs of the city, andwere riding along the road that conducts to the village of Bringiers.