by Mayne Reid
CHAPTER SIXTY FOUR.
TWO VILLAINS.
We travelled rapidly. There were no hills to impede our progress. Ourroute lay along the Levee Road, which leads from New Orleans by the bankof the river, passing plantations and settlements at every few hundredyards' distance. The path was as level as a race-course, and the hooffell gently upon the soft dusty surface, enabling us to ride with ease.The horses we bestrode were _mustangs_ from the prairies of Texas,trained to that gait, the "pace" peculiar to the saddle-bags of theSouth-western States. Excellent "pacers" both were; and, before thenight came down, we had made more than half of our journey.
Up to this time we had exchanged only a few words. I was busy with mythoughts--busy planning my enterprise. My young companion appearedequally occupied with his.
The darkening down of the night brought us closer together; and I nowunfolded to D'Hauteville the plan which I had proposed to myself.
There was not much of plan about it. My intention was simply this: Toproceed at once to the plantation of Gayarre--stealthily to approach thehouse--to communicate with Aurore through some of the slaves of theplantation; failing in this, to find out, if possible, in what part ofthe house she would pass the night--to enter her room after all had goneto sleep--propose to her to fly with me--and then make our escape thebest way we could.
Once clear of the house, I had scarce thought of a plan of action. Thatseemed easy enough. Our horses would carry us back to the city. Therewe might remain concealed, until some friendly ship should bear us fromthe country.
This was all the plan I had conceived, and, having communicated it toD'Hauteville, I awaited his response.
After some moments' silence, he replied, signifying his approval of it.Like me, he could think of no other course to be followed. Aurore mustbe carried away at all hazards.
We now conversed about the details. We debated every chance of failureand success.
Our main difficulty, both agreed, would be in communicating with Aurore.Could we do so? Surely she would not be locked in? Surely Gayarrewould not be suspicious enough to have her guarded and watched? He wasnow the full owner of this coveted treasure--no one could legallydeprive him of his slave--no one could carry her away without the riskof a fearful punishment; and although he no doubt suspected that someunderstanding existed between the quadroon and myself, I would neverdream of such a love as that which I felt--a love that would lead me torisk even life itself, as I now intended.
No. Gayarre, judging from his own vile passion, might believe that I,like himself, had been "struck" with the girl's beauty, and that I waswilling to pay a certain sum--three thousand dollars--to possess her.But the fact that I had bid no more--no doubt exactly reported to him byhis agent--was proof that my love had its limits, and there was an endof it. As a rival he would hear of me no more. No. Monsieur DominiqueGayarre would never suspect a passion like mine--would never dream ofsuch a purpose as the one to which that passion now impelled me. Anenterprise so romantic was not within the bounds of probability.Therefore--so reasoned D'Hauteville and I--it was not likely Aurorewould be either guarded or watched.
But even though she might not be, how were we to communicate with her?That would be extremely difficult.
I built my hopes on the little slip of paper--on the words "_Ce soirviendrai_." Surely upon this night Aurore would _not sleep_. My hearttold me she would not, and the thought rendered me proud and sanguine.That very night should I make the attempt to carry her off. I could notbear the thought that she should pass even a single night under the roofof her tyrant.
And the night promised to befriend us. The sun had scarcely gone down,when the sky became sullen, turning to the hue of lead. As soon as theshort twilight passed, the whole canopy had grown so dark, that we couldscarce distinguish the outline of the forest from the sky itself. Not astar could be seen. A thick pall of smoke-coloured clouds hid them fromthe view. Even the yellow surface of the river was scarce perceptiblefrom its bank, and the white dust of the road alone guided us.
In the woods, or upon the darker ground of the plantation fields, tofind a path would have been impossible--so intense was the darkness thatenveloped us.
We might have augured trouble from this--we might have feared losing ourway. But I was not afraid of any such result. I felt assured that thestar of love itself would guide me.
The darkness would be in our favour. Under its friendly shadow we couldapproach the house, and act with safety; whereas had it been a moonlightnight, we should have been in great danger of being discovered.
I read in the sudden change of sky no ill augury, but an omen ofsuccess.
There were signs of an approaching storm. What to me would have beenkindly weather? Anything--a rain-storm--a tempest--a hurricane--anything but a fine night was what I desired.
It was still early when we reached the plantation Besancon--not quitemidnight. We had lost no time on the road. Our object in hurryingforward was to arrive at the place before the household of Gayarreshould go to rest. Our hopes were that we might find some means ofcommunicating with Aurore--through the slaves.
One of those I know. I had done him a slight favour during my residenceat Bringiers. I had gained his confidence--enough to render himaccessible to a bribe. He might be found, and might render us thedesired assistance.
All was silent upon the plantation Besancon. The dwelling-houseappeared deserted. There were no lights to be seen. One glimmered inthe rear, in a window of the overseer's house. The negro quarter wasdark and silent. The buzz usual at that hour was not heard. They whosevoices used to echo through its little street were now far away. Thecabins were empty. The song, the jest, and the cheerful laugh, werehushed; and the 'coon-dog howling for his absent master, was the onlysound that broke the stillness of the place.
We passed the gate, riding in silence, and watching the road in front ofus. We were observing the greatest caution as we advanced. We mightmeet those whom above all others we desired not to encounter--theoverseer, the agent, Gayarre himself. Even to have been seen by one ofGayarre's negroes might have resulted in the defeat of our plans. Sofearful was I of this, that but for the darkness of the night, I shouldhave left the road sooner, and tried a path through the woods which Iknew of. It was too dark to traverse this path without difficulty andloss of time. We therefore clung to the road, intending to leave itwhen we should arrive opposite the plantation of Gayarre.
Between the two plantations a wagon-road for wood-hauling led to theforest. It was this road I intended to take. We should not be likelyto meet any one upon it; and it was our design to conceal our horsesamong the trees in the rear of the cane-fields. On such a night noteven the negro 'coon-hunter would have any business in the woods.
Creeping along with caution, we had arrived near the point where thiswood-road _debouched_, when voices reached our ears. Some persons werecoming down the road.
We reined, up and listened. There were men in conversation; and fromtheir voices each moment growing more distinct, we could tell that theywere approaching us.
They were coming down the main road from the direction of the village.The hoof-stroke told us they were on horseback, and, consequently, thatthey were white men.
A large cotton-wood tree stood on the waste ground on one side of theroad. The long flakes of Spanish moss hanging from its branches nearlytouched the ground. It offered the readiest place of concealment, andwe had just time to spur our horses behind its giant trunk, when thehorsemen came abreast of the tree.
Dark as it was, we could see them in passing. Their forms--two of themthere were--were faintly outlined against the yellow surface of thewater. Had they been silent, we might have remained in ignorance as towho they were, but their voices betrayed them. They were Larkin and thetrader.
"Good!" whispered D'Hauteville, as we recognised them; "they have leftGayarre's--they are on their way home to the plantation Besancon."
The very same thought
had occurred to myself. No doubt they werereturning to their homes--the overseer to the plantation Besancon, andthe trader to his own house--which I know to be farther down the coast.I now remembered having often seen this man in company with Gayarre.
The thought had occurred to myself as D'Hauteville spoke, but how knew_he_? He must be well acquainted with the country, thought I.
I had no time to reflect or ask him any question. The conversation ofthese two ruffians--for ruffians both were--occupied all my attention.They were evidently in high glee, laughing as they went, and jesting asthey talked. No doubt their vile work had been remunerative.
"Wal, Bill," said the trader, "it air the biggest price I ever giv for anigger."
"Darn the old French fool! He's paid well for his whistle this time--heain't allers so open-fisted. Dog darned if he is!"
"Wal--she air dear; an she ain't when a man has the dollars to spare.She's as putty a piece o' goods as there air in all Louisiana. Iwouldn't mind myself--"
"Ha! ha! ha!" boisterously laughed the overseer. "I guess you can get achance if you've a mind to," he added, in a significant tone.
"Say, Bill!--tell me--be candid, old feller--have you ever--?"
"Wal, to tell the truth, I hain't; but I reckon I mout if I had pushedthe thing. I wan't long enough on the plantation. Beside, she's sostuck up with cussed pride an larnin', that she thinks herself as goodas white. I calclate old Foxey 'll bring down her notions a bit. Shewon't be long wi' him till she'll be glad to take a ramble in the woodswi' anybody that asks her. There'll be chance enough yet, I reckon."
The trader muttered some reply to this prophetic speech; but both werenow so distant that their conversation was no longer audible. What Ihad heard, absurd as it was, caused me a feeling of pain, and, ifpossible, heightened my desire to save Aurore from the terrible fatethat awaited her.
Giving the word to my companion, we rode out from behind the tree, and afew minutes after turned into the by-path that led to the woods.