University of Virginia Library

33. CHAPTER XXXIII.
SATAN AMUSES HIMSELF

VANCE sat in his room at the St. Charles. He seemed
plunged in meditation. His fingers were playing with a
little gold cross he wore round his neck; a trinket made very
precious by the dying kiss and pious faith of Estelle. It recalled
to him daily those memorable moments of their last
earthly parting. And she now seemed so near to him, so truly
alive to him, in all his perplexities, that he would hardly have
been surprised to see her suddenly standing in immortal youth
by his side. How could he, while thus possessed with her enchanting
image, evoke from his heart any warmer sentiment
than that of friendship for any other woman?

He thought of the so-called Perdita. He feared he would
have to leave the city without getting any further light than
Miss Tremaine had vouchsafed on the mystery that surrounded
that interesting young person. One thing, on reconsideration,
puzzled him and excited his distrust in Laura's story. Perdita
had pretended that the name Brown was improvised for the
occasion, — assumed while she was conversing with him.
Could she have been deceiving?

There were still other reflections that brought anxiety. He
had not yet heard from Peek. Could that faithful friend have
failed in all his inquiries for Hyde?

The immediate matter for consideration, however, was the
danger that began to darken over Vance's own path. It had
been ascertained by leading Secessionists, interested in providing
for the financial wants of the Rebellion, that Vance had
drawn more than a hundred thousand dollars of special deposits

of gold from the banks since the fall of Sumter. The question
was now put to him by the usurpers, What had been done
with that money? He was summoned to appear before the
authorities with an explanation. A committee would be in
session that very evening to hear his statement.

There was still another subject to awaken his concern.
Kenrick had been called on to set at rest certain unfavorable
reports, by appearing before that same committee, and accepting
a captaincy in the confederate army. Onslow was to be
presented with a colonel's commission.

Vance had made preparations for the escape of Kenrick and
himself. A little steam-tug called the Artful Dodger, carrying
the Confederate flag, lay in the river. Everybody supposed
she was a sort of spy on United States cruisers. For two
days she had lain there with steam all up, ready to start at a
moment's warning. Her crew appeared to be all ashore, except
the captain, mate, engineer, cook, and two stewards.
The last three were black men. The other three, if they were
not Yankees, had caught some peculiarities of pronunciation
which the schoolmaster is vainly striving to extirpate at the
North. These men said beeyownd for bound, and neeyow for
now.

While Vance was meditating on his arrangements, a card
was brought to him. It bore the name “Simon Winslow.”

“Show him in,” said Vance to the servant.

As Simon entered, Vance recognized him as the individual
who had aided him the day of the rescue of Quattles from the
mob.

“There 's a sort of freemasonry, Mr. Vance,” said Winslow,
“that assures me I may trust you. Your sympathies, sir, are
with the Union.”

Wary and suspicious, Vance bowed, but made no reply.

“Do not doubt me,” continued Winslow. “True, I 've been
a slaveholder. But 't is now several years since I owned a
slave. Mr. Vance, I want your counsel, and, it may be, your
aid. Still distrustful? How shall I satisfy you that I 'm not
a traitor knave?”

“Enough, Mr. Winslow! I 'll trust your threescore years
and your loyal face. Tell me what I can do for you. Be
seated.”

They sat down, and the old man resumed: “I have lived in
this city more than forty years, Mr. Vance, but for some time
I 've foreseen that there would be little hope for a man of
Northern birth unless he would consent to howl with the pack
for secession and a slave confederacy. Now I 'm too old to
tune my bark to any such note. The consequence is, I am a
marked man, liable at any moment to be seized and imprisoned.
My property here is nearly all in real estate; so if
that is confiscated, as it will be, I 've no fear but Uncle Sam
will soon come to give it back to me. The rest of my assets
it will be hard for the keenest-scented inquisitor to find. To-day,
by the death of Mrs. Ratcliff —”

“Of what Mrs. Ratcliff?” inquired Vance.

“Mrs. Carberry Ratcliff. By her death I become the
legally irresponsible, and therefore all the more morally the
responsible, manager of an estate of more than half a million,
of which a considerable portion is to be used by me for the
benefit of two women at present slaves.”

“But her husband will never consent to it!” interposed
Vance.

“Fortunately,” replied Winslow, “all the property was some
time since sent North and converted into gold. Well: I 've
just come from an interview with Ratcliff himself. He came
to tell me of his wife's death. He brought with him a quasi
will, signed a year ago, in which his wife requests me to hand
over to him such property as I may consider at her disposal.
He called on me to demand that I should forthwith surrender
my trust; said he was in immediate need of three hundred
thousand dollars. He did not dream of a rebuff. He was in
high spirits. The news from Bull Run had greatly elated
him. His wife's death he plainly regarded as a happy relief.
Conceive of his wrath, when, in the midst of his lofty hopes
and haughty demands, I handed him a copy of the memoranda,
noted down by me this very day, in which Mrs. Ratcliff makes
a very different disposition of the property.”

“I know something of the man's temper,” said Vance.

“He laughed a scornful laugh,” resumed Winslow, “and,
shaking his forefinger at me, said: `You shall swing for this,
you damned old Yankee! Your trusteeship is n't worth a

straw. I 'll have you compelled to disgorge, this very hour.'
But when I told him that the whole half-million, left in my
hands by his wife's father, was safely deposited in gold in a
Northern city, the man actually grew livid with rage. He
drew his Derringer on me, and would probably have shot me
but for the sober second thought that told him he could make
more out of me living than dead. In a frenzy he left my
office. This was about half an hour ago. After reflection on
our interview I concluded it would be prudent in me to escape
from the city if possible, and I have come to ask if you can aid
me in doing it.”

“Nothing could be more opportune,” replied Vance, “than
your coming. I have laid all my plans to leave in a small
steamer this very night. A young friend goes with me. You
shall accompany us. Have you any preparations to make?”

“None, except to find some trustworthy person with whom
I can leave an amount of money for the two slave-women of
whom I spoke. For it would be dangerous, if not impracticable,
to attempt to take them with us.”

“Yes, use your golden keys to unlock their chains in this
case,” said Vance. “Do not show yourself again on the street.
Ratcliff will at once have detectives at your heels. Hark!
There 's a knock at the door. Pass into my chamber, and lock
yourself in, and open only to my rapping, thus, — one, two —
one, two — one.”

Winslow obeyed, and Vance, opening his parlor door, met
Kenrick.

“Well, cousin,” asked Vance, “are you all ready? You
look pale, man! What 's the matter?”

“Nothing,” replied Kenrick; “that is, everything. I wish
I 'd never seen that Perdita Brown! Look here! They 've
got her photograph in the print-shops. Beautiful, is it not?”

“Yes; it almost does her justice. Could you draw out from
the Tremaines no remark which would afford a further clew?”

“After you had failed, what could I hope to do? But I 'll
tell you what I ventured upon. All stratagems in love and
war are venial, I suppose. Seeing that Miss Tremaine was
deeply interested in your conquering self, I tried to pique
her by making her think you were secretly enamored of Miss

Brown. She denied it warmly. I then said: `Reflect! Has
n't he been very inquisitive in trying to find out all he could
about her?' She was obliged to confess that you had; and at
last, after considerable skirmishing between us, she dropped
this remark: `Those who would fall in love with her had
better first find out whether she 's a lady.' `She certainly
appears one,' I replied. `Yes,' said Miss Tremaine, `and so
does many a Creole who has African blood in her veins.'”

“Ah! what could that mean?” exclaimed Vance, thoughtfully.
“Can that story of a paternal Brown be all a lie?”

Here there was a low knock at the door. Vance opened it,
and there stood Peek.

“Come in!” said Vance, grasping him by the hand, drawing
him in, and closing the door. “What news?”

And then, seeing the negro's hesitation, Vance turned to
Kenrick, and said: “Cousin, this is the man to whom you
need no introduction. He was christened Peculiar Institution;
but, for brevity, we call him Peek.”

Kenrick put out his hand with a face so glowing with a
cordial respect that Peek could not resist the proffer.

“Now, Peek,” said Vance, “pull off that hot wig and those
green spectacles, and, unless you would keep us standing, sit
down and be at ease. There! That 's right. Now, first of
all, did you hit upon any trace of your wife and boy?”

“None, Mr. Vance. I think they cannot be in Texas.”

“Then what of Colonel Delancy Hyde?”

“The Colonel was said to have attached himself to the fortunes
of General Van Dorn. That 's all I could find out about
Hyde.”

“Pity! I must unearth the fellow somehow. The fate of
that poor little girl of the Pontiac haunts me night and day.
My suspicions of foul play have been fully confirmed. When
you have time, read this letter which I had written to send
you. It will tell you of all I learnt from Quattles and Amos
Slink. But you have something to ask. What is it?”

“Where shall I find Captain Onslow of the Confederate
army?”

Vance pointed to Kenrick, who replied: “I know him well.
He is probably now in this house. 'T is his usual time for
dressing for dinner.”

“I 've terrible news for him,” said Peek.

“What has happened?”

“On my way from Austin to Fort Duncan on the Rio
Grande I passed through San Antonio. You have heard something
of the persecutions of Union men in Western Texas?”

“Yes. Good Heavens! Is old Onslow among the victims?”

“He and his whole family — wife, son, and daughter — have
been slain by the Confederate agents.”

The cousins looked at each other, and each grew paler as he
read the other's thought. Vance spoke first. “Go on, Peek,”
he said. “Tell us what you know.”

“The old man, you see,” said Peek, “has been trying for
some time to do without slave labor. He has employed a good
many Germans on his lands. The slaveholders have n't liked
this. At the beginning of the Rebellion he went with old
Houston and others against secession; but when Houston
caved in, Onslow remained firm and plucky. He kept quiet,
however, and did nothing that the Secesh authorities could find
fault with. But what they wanted was an excuse for murdering
him and seizing his lands. They employed three scoundrels, a
broken-down lawyer, a planter, and a horse-jockey, to visit him
under the pretence that they were good Union and antislavery
men, trying to escape the conscription. The old man fell into
the trap. Thinking he was among friends, he freely declared,
that `he meant to keep true to the old flag; that only one of his
family had turned traitor; the rest (thank God!) including the
women, were thoroughly loyal; that secession would prove a
failure, and end (thank God always!) in the breaking up of
slavery.' At the same time he told them he should make no
resistance, either open or clandestine, to the laws of the State.
The scoundrels tried to implicate him in some secret plot, but
failed. They had drawn out of him enough, however, for their
purposes. They left him, and straightway denounced him as
an Abolitionist. A gang of cutthroats, set on by the Rebel
leaders, came to hang him. Well knowing he could expect no
mercy, the old man barricaded his doors, armed his household,
and prepared to resist. The women loaded the guns while the
men fired. Several of the assailants were wounded. The
rest grew furious, and at last made an entrance by a back door,

rushed in, and overpowered William Onslow, the son, who had
received a ball in his neck. They dragged him out and hung
him to a tree. The daughter they tried to pinion and lash to
the floor, but she fought so desperately that a ruffian, whose
hair she had torn out by the roots, shot her dead. The
mother, in a frantic attempt to save the daughter, received a
blow on the head from which she died. The old man, exhausted
and fatally wounded, was disarmed, and placed under
guard in the room from which he had been firing. It was not
till the women and the son were dead that I arrived on the
spot. I claimed to be a Secesh nigger, and the passes Mr.
Vance had given me confirmed my story. The Rebels regarded
me as a friend and helper. I lurked round the room where the
old man was confined, and at last, through whiskey, I persuaded
his guard to lie down and go to sleep. I then made myself
known to the sufferer. I helped him write a letter to his surviving
son. Here it is, stained as you see by the writer's blood.
You can read it, Mr. Vance. It contains no secrets. Hardly
had I concealed it in my pocket, when some of the Rebels came
in, seized the old man, helpless and dying as he was, and, dragging
him out, hung him on a tree by the side of his son.”

Peek ended his narrative, and Vance, taking the proffered
letter, slowly drew it from the envelope and unfolded it. There
dropped out four strands of hair: one white, one iron-gray, one
a fine and thick flaxen, and one a rich brown-black.

“I cut off those strands of hair, thinking that Captain Onslow
might prize them,” said Peek.

“You did well,” remarked Vance. “And since you have
authority to permit it, I will read this letter.”

He then read aloud as follows: —

And then, in a different handwriting, the letter proceeded: —

There was silence for a full minute after the reading.

“I 'll wait,” said Kenrick, “till he gets through dinner before
I tell him the news. He 'll need all his strength, poor
fellow!”

“I foresee,” said Vance, “that Onslow will be of our party
of escape this night.” And then, turning to Peek, he remarked:
“Your coming, Peculiar, is timely. I want the help of a trustworthy
driver. You are the man for us. Can you, without
exciting suspicion, get the control of a carriage and two fast,
fresh horses?”

Peek reflected a moment, and then said: “Yes; I know a

colored man, Antoine Lafour, who has the care of two of the
best horses in the city. His master really thinks Antoine
would fight any Abolitionist who might come to free him; but
Antoine and I laugh at the old man's credulity.”

“There 's yet another service you can render,” said Vance;
and he gave five raps on the door of his chamber.

The lock was turned from the inside, and Winslow appeared.

“You 're among friends,” said Vance. “This is my cousin,
Mr. Kenrick; and this is Peculiar Institution, otherwise called
Peek. Notwithstanding his inauspicious name, you may trust
him as you would your own right hand.”

“But I want an agent who can write and keep accounts.”

“Then Peek is just the man for you. Of his ability you
can satisfy yourself in five minutes. For his honesty I will
vouch.”

“But will he remain in New Orleans the next six months?”

“I hope so,” replied Vance. “This is my plan for you,
Peek: that you should still occupy that little house of mine
with the Bernards. I 've spoken to them about it; and they
will treat you well for my sake. I want some one here with
whom I may freely communicate; and more, I want you to
pursue your search for Colonel Delancy Hyde, and to secure
him when found, which you can easily do with money. Will
you remain?”

“You know how it is with me, Mr. Vance,” said Peek. “I
have two objects in life: One is to find my wife and child; the
other is to help on the great cause. For both these objects I
can have no better head-quarters than New Orleans.”

“Good! He will remain, Mr. Winslow. Go now both of
you into the next room. You 'll find writing materials on the
table.”

The old man and the negro withdrew. Kenrick paced the
floor, thinking one moment of Clara, and the next of the dreadful
communication he must make to Onslow. Vance sat down
and leaned his head on his hands to consider if there was anything
he had left undone.

“I hear some one knocking at the door of my room,” said
Kenrick. He went into the corridor, and a servant handed
him a card. It was from Onslow, and pencilled on it was the
following: —

Sick at heart, Kenrick handed the card to Vance, who read
it, and said: “The sooner a disagreeable duty is discharged,
the better. Go, cousin, and let him know the character of that
fell Power which he would serve. Let him know what reason
he, of all men, has to love it!”

“I 'd rather face a battery than do it; but it must be done.”

At the same moment Winslow and the negro entered.

“I 've arranged everything with Peek,” said the old man.
“I 've placed in his hands funds which I think will be sufficient.”

“That reminds me that I must do the same,” said Vance;
and, taking a large sum in bank-bills from his pocket-book, he
gave it to Peek to use as he might see fit, first for the common
cause, and secondly for prosecuting inquiries in regard to the
kidnapped child of the Pontiac, and his own family.

Peek carefully noted down dates and amounts in a memorandum-book,
and then remarked, “Now I must see Captain
Onslow.”

“Give me that letter from his father, and I will myself
deliver it,” said Kenrick.

“But I promised to see him.”

“That you can do this evening.”

Peek gave up the letter, and Kenrick darted out of the
room.

Turning to Vance and Winslow, Peek remarked: “I thank

you for your confidence, gentlemen. I 'll do my best to deserve
it.”

“I wish our banks deserved it as well,” said Vance; then he
added: “And now, Peek, make your arrangements carefully,
and be with the carriage at the door just under my window at
nine o'clock precisely.”

Peek compared watches with Vance, promised to be punctual,
and took his leave.

Vance rang the bell, and ordered a private dinner for two.
Unlocking a drawer, he took from it two revolvers and handed
one to Winslow, with the remark, “You are skilled in the use
of the pistol, I suppose?”

“Though I 've been a planter and owned slaves, I must
say no.”

“Then a revolver would rather be a danger than a security.”

And Vance thrust the pistols into the side pockets of his
own coat.

Dinner was brought in.

“Come,” said Vance, “we must eat. My way of life has
compelled me to suffer no excitement to impair my appetite.
Indeed, I have passed through the one supreme excitement,
after which all others, even the prospect of immediate death,
are quite tame. Happy the man, Mr. Winslow, who can say,
I cling to this life no longer for myself, but for others and for
humanity!”

“Such a sentiment would better become a man of my age
than of yours,” replied Winslow.

“Here 's the dinner,” said Vance. “Now let us talk nothing
but nonsense. Let us think of nothing that requires the
effort of a serious thought.”

“Well then,” replied Winslow. “Suppose we discuss the
last number of De Bow's Review, or that charlatan Maury's
last lying letter in the London Times.”

“Excellent!” said Vance. “For reaching the very sublime
of the superficial, commend me to De Bow or to the
Chevalier Maury.”

Before the dinner was over, each man felt that the day had
not been unprofitable, since he had earned a friend.