Майн Рид
The Guerilla Chief, and Other Tales
Story 2, Chapter II
Scene in a Drinking Saloon
We passed plantations of sugar-cane, and admired the houses in which their owners dwelt – handsome villas, embowered amid orange groves, and shaded with Persian lilacs and magnolias.
We might have entertained the desire to enter one or other of these luxuriant retreats, but, under the circumstances, there was neither hope nor prospect, and we continued on.
As we advanced up the road, other houses were encountered – some of a less inhospitable character. These were cabarets and cafés, that, with their coloured bottles and sparkling glasses, their open fronts and cool shaded corridors, were too tempting to be passed.
There was a sweetness about these novel potations of “claret sangarees” and “juleps,” fragrant with the smell of mint and pines – an attractive aroma – that could not be repelled, especially by one escaping from the stench of raw rum and ship’s bilge water.
Neither my companion nor I had the strength to resist their seductive influence; and, giving way to it, we called at more than one cabaret, and tasted of more than one strange mixture. In fine, we became merry.
The sun was already low when we landed; and before we had entered the suburbs of the city, his disc had disappeared behind the dark belt of cypress forest that bounds the western horizon.
The street lamps were alight, glimmering but dimly, and at long intervals from each other; but a little afterwards a light glistened in our eyes more brilliant and attractive.
Through a large open folding-door was disclosed the interior of one of those magnificent drinking “saloons,” for which the “Crescent City” is so celebrated. The sheen of a thousand sparkling objects – of glasses, bottles, and mirrors ranged around the walls – produced an effect gorgeous and dazzling. To our eyes it appeared the interior of an enchanted palace – a cave of Aladdin.
We were just in the mood to explore it; and, without further ado, we stepped across the threshold; and approaching the “bar,” over a snow-white sanded floor, we demanded a brace of fresh juleps.
What followed I do not pretend to detail, with any degree of exactness. I have a confused remembrance of drinking in the midst of a crowd of men – most of them bearded, and of foreign aspect. The language was that of Babel, in which French predominated; and the varied costumes betokened a miscellaneous convention of different trades and professions. Numbers of them had the “cut” and air of sea-faring men – skippers of merchant vessels – while others were landsmen, traders, or small planters; and not a few were richly and fashionably dressed as gentlemen – real or counterfeit, I could not tell which.
My companion – a jolly young Hibernian – like myself, just escaped from the cloisters of Alma Mater, soon got en rapport with these strangers. Hospitable fellows they appeared; and in the twinkling of an eye we were drinking and clinking glasses, as if we had fallen among a batch of old friends or playmates!
There was one individual who attracted my notice. This may have arisen partly from the fact that he was more assiduous in his attentions to us than any of the rest; but there was also something distinctive in the style of the man.
He was a young man, apparently about twenty years of age, but with all the ton and air of a person of thirty – a precocity to be attributed partly to clime, and partly to the habitudes of New Orleans life. He was of medium size; with regular features, well and sharply outlined; his complexion was brunette, with an olive tinge; and his hair black, luxuriant, and wavy. His moustaches were dark and well defined, slightly curling at the tips. He was handsome, until you met the glance of his eye. In that there was something repellent; though why, it would be difficult to say. The expression was cold and animal. A slight scar along the prominence of his cheek was noticeable; and might have been received in an encounter with rapiers, or from the blade of a knife.
This young man was elegantly attired. His dress consisted of a claret-coloured dress-coat, of finest cloth, with gilt buttons, and satin-lined skirts – a vest of spotless Marseilles– black inexpressibles – white linen bootees– and a Paris hat. A shirt ruffled with finest cambric, both at the bosom and sleeves, completed his costume.
To-day, and in the streets of London, this would appear the costume of a snob. Not so there and then. The dress described, with slight variations as to cut and colour, was the usual morning habit of a New Orleans gentleman – that is, his winter habit. In summer, white linen, or “nankeen” upon his body, and the costly “Panama” on his head.
I have been particular in describing this young fellow, as I afterwards ascertained that he was the type of a class which at that time abounded in New Orleans – most of them of French or Spanish origin – the descendants of the ruined planters of Haiti; or a later importation – the sons of the refugees whom revolution had expelled from Mexico and South America.
Of these the “Crescent City” contained a legion – most of them being without visible means – too lazy to work, too proud to beg – dashing adventurers, who, in elegant attire, appeared around the tables of “Craps” and “Kino;” in the grand hotels and exchanges; at the public balls; and not unfrequently in the best private company – for, at this time, the “society” of the “Crescent City” was far from being scrupulous or exacting. So long as a gentleman’s cloth and cambric were en règle, no one speculated as to whether his tailor was contented, or his blanchisseuse had given him a discharge for her little account.
The New Orleanois pride themselves on minding their own affairs; and indeed there is some justice in their claim. Moreover, the rôle of the meddler is not without danger among these people; and even the half-proscribed adventurers of whom I have spoken, though not disdaining to live by cards, were ever ready to exchange one with the man who would cast the slightest slur upon their respectability.
Of just such a “kidney” was the individual we had met; though, of course, at that first interview, I was not aware of it. I was then little skilled in reading character from the physiognomy, and yet I remember that the glance of this young fellow, notwithstanding his polite attentions, produced an unpleasant impression upon me; and some instinct whispered to me that, despite his elegant attire and fine bearing, our new acquaintance was not exactly a gentleman.
My companion seemed more pleased with him than I was. I confess, however, that he had drunk deeper, and was far less capable of forming a judgment. As I turned away to converse with another of the strangers, I noticed the two – the Hibernian and the Frenchman – standing close together, champagne glasses in hand, and hobnobbing in the most fraternal manner.
Ten minutes might have elapsed before I faced round again. When I did so, it was in consequence of some loud words that were uttered behind me, and in which I recognised the voice of my friend, speaking in an angry and excited tone. The words were: —
“Yes, sir! it’s gone – and, by Jaysus, you took it!”
“Pardon, Monsieur!”
“Pardon, indeed! – you’ve got my watch – you’ve stolen it, sir!”
Almost simultaneously with this unexpected accusation, I heard a loud, fierce “sacr-r-ré” from the Frenchman, followed instantly by a sharp metallic click, as of a pistol being cocked; and as soon as I could get my eyes fairly upon the disputing parties, I beheld a somewhat frightful tableau.
My friend was standing close to the bar, pointing with one hand to the broken guard of his watch, which dangled loosely over the lapels of his waistcoat. His face was towards me, and from his gestures, as well as from the words he had uttered, I could see that some one had made free with his chronometer, and that he believed the thief to be the elegant already described.
The latter was between me and the Hibernian, and, as he stood facing his accuser, I could as yet see only his back.
But the suspicious “click” I had heard, caused me to step hastily to one side; and this brought me in sight of the ugly weapon poised in the fellow’s hand, with its muzzle pointed directly at the head of my fellow-voyager, who, seemingly taken by surprise, was making no effort to get out of the way!
All this had passed within a second of time.
Impelled by a sort of instinct, I sprang forward and clutched the pistol around the lock.
Whether I saved the life of my friend by so doing, I cannot say; but the shot was not delivered; and in the subsequent struggle between myself and the stranger, for possession of the pistol, the cap was wrenched off, and the weapon remained in my hands.
Seeing it was harmless, I returned it to its owner, with a word of caution to him not to be so ready in drawing such dangerous weapons in the middle of a crowd.
“Sacré!” shouted he, addressing himself more particularly to my fellow-voyager; “you shall repent this insult —sacr-r-ré!”
“Insult, indeed!” stammered out the Hibernian – whom, as he would not desire his real name to be known, I shall call Casey. “I repeat it, then, my fine fellow! My watch is gone – it was taken from my fob here: you see this, gentlemen?” and Casey exhibited to the crowd the wrenched swivel. “It was he who did it: I repeat that he is the thief!”
The Frenchman fairly foamed with rage at this fresh accusation; while, by his gestures, he appeared as if desirous of recapping the pistol.
I watched him closely, however, to prevent such a movement, as I knew that Casey was in no condition to defend himself.
At the same time I endeavoured, along with several others, to bring the affair to an explanation, and, if possible, to a pacific termination.
Story 2, Chapter III
A General Search All Round
My first belief was that Casey was labouring under an erroneous impression. That some one had robbed him of his watch was clear enough; but there were several persons around him – some of them far more suspicious-looking characters than the accused.
Moreover, the elegant style of the man, and the indignant warmth he had displayed, seemed, to some extent, to attest his innocence.
My belief, then, was that Casey had pitched upon the wrong man; and I appealed to him to withdraw the charge, and acknowledge his error.
To my surprise he would do neither the one nor the other; and, notwithstanding the half-maudlin state he was in, there was an earnestness in his manner, and an unwavering pertinacity in his accusation, that led me to think he was not acting upon mere suspicion, but had seen something.
The noise and confusion, however, for the time prevented any explanation from being heard upon either side.
A voice arose above the din, calling out for the doors to be closed.
This was followed by a proposal that every one present should submit to be searched.
“Let there be a general search all round!” demanded several voices.
I recognised the man who was foremost in this demand – it was the mate of our own ship, who had dropped in along with several old sea-wolves like himself – for the vessel had been warped up, and was now lying at an adjacent wharf.
“Yes,” responded several voices; “a search, a search! let us see who is the thief!”
No one objected – no one could – for each person present had a personal interest in the result; and, as no one was likely now to go out, the shutting of the doors was ruled as unnecessary.
Two men were immediately chosen as “searchers” – one of whom was our mate himself – the other the keeper of the saloon; and, without loss of time, the search proceeded.
It was altogether an odd spectacle, to see the two inquisitors pass from individual to individual – stopping before each one in turn, handling him about the breast and back, and stripping him down the arms, legs, and thighs, as if they were a brace of electro-biologists, putting the whole company into a mesmeric slumber.
There was a good deal of merriment, and now and then loud bursts of laughter, as some character well known to the company interrupted the silence with a jeu d’esprit. For all this, there was a certain solemnity about the proceeding – a sort of painful anticipation that some one would prove the criminal.
During all this time the accused maintained a moody silence – addressing only a short phrase or two to some of his own friends, who had clustered around him. His look betokened confidence; and but for a side-whisper which I had heard from Casey, I should certainly have continued under the impression that the gentleman was innocent. This whisper, however, staggered my faith: for it was a simple and earnest declaration that he, Casey, had seen the watch in the fellow’s hand.
“Surely you must be mistaken – it might have been some other hand?”
“Not a bit of it! – I noticed the ruffles as the watch disappeared under them.”
“Remember, Casey, you’re not very clear-sighted at this moment: think what you’ve been taking – ”
“Bah! I’m not blind for all that; and I tell you, the loss of my twenty guinea repeater has made me as sober as a judge, my boy. I hope, however, it is not gone yet – we’ll soon see.”
“You’ll never see your watch again,” said I. “The fellow hasn’t got it – I can tell by his looks.”
My conjecture proved correct. The young Frenchman was searched in common with the others. He made no objection – he could make none – and, to do the old sea-wolf justice, he performed his duty with elaborate exactness. He was no lover of Creole dandyism; and I verily believe he would have chuckled with delight, to have found the stolen property on the person of the exquisite.
It was not so to be, however: the watch was not there, and the Frenchman smiled triumphantly at the termination of the search.
Others were now examined, until all had had their turn. No watch!
All present were declared innocent men – the watch was not in the room!
This result had been prophesied long before, and I expected it myself. It was easily explained. Beyond doubt Casey had lost his watch, by a thief, and inside the saloon; but several persons had been observed to go out about the time he discovered his loss, or rather at the moment when he declared the accusation. One of these must have been the thief – that was the verdict of the company. More likely one of them had been the receiver.
Casey was a little crest-fallen, and the regards of the company were not favourable to him. This, however, only referred to the Creoles and Frenchmen. The honest sea-faring fellows rather sympathised with him. They saw he had sustained a loss; and they were well enough acquainted with New Orleans life, to know that the man who did the deed was probably still in the room.
Casey obstinately clung to his original statement; but of course no longer urged it publicly – only sotto voce to our mate, and one or two others, who, with myself, were counselling him to apologise.
Our whispering conversation was interrupted by the approach of the young Frenchman. There was a certain resolve in his look, that bespoke some determination – evidently the affair was not over.
As he drew near, way was made for him, and he stood confronting Casey.
“Now, Monsieur, do you apologise?”
Several cried “Yes,” by way of urging Casey to an affirmative.
“No,” said he, firmly and emphatically – “never! I stand to what I said. You took my watch – you stole it.”
“Liar!” cried the once more infuriated Frenchman, and both at the same instant sprang towards each other.
Fortunately, neither was armed – except with the weapons which nature had provided – and a short game of “fisticuffs” – in which Casey had decidedly the advantage – served as a ’scape valve for the ebullition of their anger.
I might have dreaded the re-drawing of the pistol; but, during the whole interval, the mate and I, to whom I had given a hint, had kept our eyes upon the owner of it, and hindered him from rendering it available.
The combatants were soon separated; and after that commenced the more formal ceremony of the exchange of “cards.”
Casey gave his address, “Saint Charles Hotel” – whither we were bound, and towards which we had been steering when “brought to” by the gleaming lights of the café.
The Frenchman’s card was taken in return; and, after a parting glass with the honest mate, and his two or three confrères, we sallied forth from the saloon; traversed the long narrow streets of the First Municipality, and a little before midnight we arrived at that magnificent caravanserai known as the Saint Charles Hotel.
Story 2, Chapter IV
The Exchange of Cards
Monsieur Jacques Despard,
9, Rue Dauphin.
Such was the little memento that met my eyes as I entered Casey’s sleeping apartment, at an early hour in the morning. It lay upon his dressing-table – a sorry substitute for the “twenty guinea repeater” that should have been found there.
My friend was still in the land of dreams. I was loth to awake him to the unpleasant reality which that tiny piece of pasteboard would naturally suggest; for, besides being in itself a symbol of grave import, it would be certain to recall to poor Casey the remembrance of his loss, to whom, being no Croesus, it was a serious one.
In reality he so regarded it; and, when awakened at length, and conscious of what had transpired on the preceding night, he expressed far more concern about the loss he had sustained, than about the expected encounter. The latter he treated as a ridiculous joke – laughing at it as he pitched the card upon the floor.
“Stay!” said he, picking it up, and carefully placing it in his pocket-book. “It might be the fellow’s real name and address. If so, it will enable me to find him again; and, by Jaysus, I’ll have that watch, or take the worth of it out of his hide. Hang it, man! – it’s a family piece – got our crest on it – has been in the family ever since repeaters came into fashion. Yes, I’ll take the worth of it out of his hide! But that’s not possible – the whole of his yellow skin isn’t worth that watch!”
And so talked Casey, while he performed his toilet as coolly as if he were dressing for a dinner party, instead of preparing himself for what might prove a deadly encounter.
Pistols we had decided it should be. Casey, expecting to be the challenged party, would, of course, be entitled to the choice of weapons. Had it been otherwise, my friend would have been in a bit of a dilemma; for, as he assured me, he had never taken a fencing lesson in his life; and it is notorious that the Creoles of New Orleans are skilled in the use of the small-sword. Some friendly strangers, after the exchange of cards on the preceding night, had made us aware of this fact, at the same time warning us that Casey’s intended antagonist, whom they knew, was a noted swordsman. Swords, then, were not to be thought of.
Of course, as the party to be challenged, our duty was to stay at home (at the Hotel) until we should hear from the challenger. For my part, I did not anticipate there would be much delay; and I gave orders for a hurried breakfast.
“Faith! you may take your time about it,” said Casey to the retiring waiter. “There’s no need to spoil the meal. Never fear – we’ll eat our breakfast without being interrupted.”
“Nonsense! the friend of Monsieur Despard will be here in ten minutes.”
“No – nor in ten hours nayther. You’ll ate your dinner without seeing either Misther Despard or his friend.”
“Why do you think so?”
“Bah. – Is it a thief send a challenge to a gentleman? All blarney and brag! I tell you the fellow’s a thief – he has got my watch, bad luck to him! – and he thinks the givin’ of the card a ready way to get out of the scrape: that’s the maning of it. We’ll never set eyes on him again, barrin’ we go after him.”
I was at first disposed to ridicule this logic; but, as time passed, I began to think there was some truth in it. We waited for breakfast being prepared, and then ate it in the most leisurely manner. As Casey had predicted, no one interrupted us at the meal; no visitor was announced – no card came in. I had already given rigorous orders to the clerk of the Hotel to forward any application on the instant.
The hour of ten arrived, but no communication from “Monsieur Jacques Despard.”
“Perhaps he is hunting up a friend?” I suggested. “We must give him time.”
Eleven o’clock.
“Let’s have a sherry cobbler!” proposed Casey; “we’ll have plenty of time to drink it.”
A couple of those magnificent “sherry cobblers,” for which the Saint Charles is world renowned, were immediately ordered up; and we passed the better half of an hour with the straw between our lips.
Twelve o’clock. Still no Despard – no friend – no challenge!
“I told you so,” said Casey, not triumphantly, but rather in a tone of despondence. “This card’s good for nothing,” he continued, taking the piece of pasteboard from his pocket, and holding it up before his eyes; “a regular sham, I suspect, like the fellow himself – a false name and address – you see it’s in pencil? Ah, mother o’ Moses! I’ll never see that watch again! Sure enough,” continued he, after a pause, “the name’s in print – he’s gone to the expense of having that engraved, or somebody has for him, which is more likely. – No! – he won’t come to time.”
“We must remain at home till dinner. Perhaps they keep late hours here.”
“Late or early, we won’t see Misther Despard till we go after him; an’ by gorra!” cried Casey, striking the table in a most violent manner, “that’s what I mane to do. A man don’t point a pistol at my head, without giving me a chance to return the compliment; and I’m bound to have another try for that watch.”
From Casey’s earnest speech and manner, I saw that he was resolved; and I knew enough of him to be aware that he was a man of strong resolution. Whether a challenge came or not, he was determined that the affair should not drop, till he had some kind of revenge upon Jacques Despard, or, if no such person existed, upon the “swell” who had stolen his repeater.
It certainly appeared as if the card was a sham: for the dinner hour came, and no one had acknowledged it.
We descended, and ate our dinner at the general table d’hôte– such a dinner as can be obtained only in the luxurious hostelrie of the Saint Charles.
We sat over our wine till eight o’clock; but although a few friends joined us at the table, we heard nothing of a hostile visitor. Under the influence of Sillery and Moët, we for the time forgot the unpleasant incidents of the preceding night.
For my part, I should have been glad to have forgotten them altogether, or at all events to have left the matter where it stood; and such was the tenor of my counsels. But it proved of no avail: the fiery Hibernian was determined, as he expressed it, to have his “whack” out: he would either get back his watch or have a “pop” at the thief who stole it.
So resolved was he on carrying out his intention, that I saw it was idle to oppose him.
Certainly it was rather a singular affair; and now that a whole day had passed without any communication from Monsieur Despard, I became more than half convinced that Casey was right, and that the exquisite really had committed the theft. It was his indignant repudiation of the charge that had misled me; but Casey’s constant and earnest asseveration – now strengthened by the after circumstances of the false card, and the failure to make an appearance – satisfied me that we had been in the company of a sharper.
With this conviction I retired for the night, Casey warning me that he should be with me at an early hour in the morning, in order to devise what measures should be taken.
With regard to an early hour, he was too true to his promise. Before six – long before I felt inclined to leave my comfortable bed – he was with me.
He apologised for disturbing me so early, on the score of his being without a watch, and could not tell the time; but I could perceive that the jest was a melancholy one.
“What do you mean to do?”
“Why, to find Master Ruffleshirt, to be sure.”
“Will you not give him an hour’s grace? Perhaps he may send this morning?”
“No chance whatever.”
“It is possible he may have lost your card? Leave it alone till we have had breakfast.”
“Lost my card? No. Besides, he might easily have got over that difficulty. He knew we were on our way to this hotel. Don’t all the world come here? No; that isn’t the fellow’s excuse, and I shan’t eat till I know what is. So, rouse up, my boy! and come along.”
“But where are you going?”
“Number noine, Rue Daw – daw – hang his scribble! Daw – phin, I believe.”
I arose, and dressed myself with as little delay as possible.
Whilst making my toilette, Casey gave me a hurried sketch of how he intended to proceed. It amounted to little more than a declaration of his intention to make Monsieur Jacques Despard disgorge the stolen property, or fight. In other words, Casey, believing himself to be in a lawless land (and his experience to some extent seemed to justify the belief), had determined upon taking the law into his own hands.
I saw that he no longer contemplated a duel with his light-fingered adversary. On the contrary, he talked only of “pitching into the fellow,” and “taking the worth of his watch out of him.” The angry feeling he exhibited convinced me that he meant what he said; and that the moment he should set eyes on the Frenchman, there would be a “row.”
I saw that this would not do on any account, and for various reasons. Monsieur Jacques Despard, if found at all, would, no doubt, be found to have a fresh cap on the nipple of his pistol; and to be present at a street fight, either as principal or backer, was not to my liking. I had no ambition, either of catching a stray bullet, or of being locked up in the New Orleans Calaboose; and by yielding to Casey’s wish I should be booked for one or the other.
Before completing my toilet, therefore, it occurred to me to suggest a slight change in Casey’s programme – which was to the effect that he should stay where he was, and leave it to me to call at the address upon the card. If it should prove that Monsieur Despard lived there, there would be no difficulty in finding him whenever we should want him. If the contrary, my going alone would be no great waste of time; and we could afterwards adopt such measures as were necessary to bring him to terms.
This advice appeared reasonable, and Casey consented to follow it, charging me, as I left him, with the emphatic message —
“Tell the fellow if he don’t challenge me, I’ll challenge him, by God!”
In five minutes afterwards, I was on my way with the card between my fingers, and walking rapidly towards the Rue Dauphin.
