Books: The Law of the Land

E >> Emerson Hough >> The Law of the Land

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It was across this watery wilderness that John Eddring and his ally,
Captain Wilson, urged their way on the wildest journey ever known
even in the mad times of this great river. In a half-delirium which
set aside all reason and all reckoning, the bow of the sturdy boat
was driven against the down-coming seas, opening up one after another
of the channel marks; parting one after another of the massed groups
of shadows; churning round bend after bend, faster and faster, day
and night, until, far up in the welter of the new waters, she forsook
all charts and guides in the fury of her quest, and steamed forward
in her own fashion, black smoke belching continually from her flues,
and the pant of her fuming engine bidding fair to tear out the
inadequate covering of her sides. Pilot and captain let go all track
of the miles behind, looking only at those ahead. They got contempt
for ordinary dangers. So, pushing her way on, against and across
currents, shaving the bends, essaying every cut-off, the boat in her
strange race hurried on, running express for the purposes of justice,
and in the cause of the permanency of society.

At last they were far up the river, above the mouth of the Arkansas,
and opposite the great swamps which lie between the Arkansas and the
White upon the western side; so that now the greater portion of the
journey was well-nigh done. Eddring and Wilson, both haggard with
fatigue, stood on the bridge together and gazed out over the watery
prospect.

"This overflow means millions in losses to the planters in the
Delta," said Wilson. Eddring nodded.

"If levee-cutters started this flood up in Tullahoma, and the
planters ever get hold of them, I shouldn't think it would be exactly
healthy," added Wilson. "This means everything under water, clean to
the Yazoo. Looks like those fellows in there had had their share of
trouble lately."

"Nothing but trouble for four or five years," said Eddring. "Black
politics."

"Yes," said Wilson, sighing, "when Mr. Nigger gets the notion that
he'd like to be school superintendent or county treasurer, or
something of the kind, he's goin' to be mighty willin' to lay down
the hoe. I even think he would be willin', if he was asked, to let
the white man do the hoein', and him do the governin'." Eddring made
no answer, but gazed steadily out over the racing seas of tawny
water.

"At any rate, we'll soon be there now," said he at length. "How can I
pay you, Captain Wilson? How can I thank you?"

"Well," said Wilson, thoughtfully, "you might give me your note, the
way a friend of mine, Judge Osborn, down at New Orleans, did once.
That was in the war, you know, and Judge Osborn was a Confederate
colonel. He had to take passage on a river boat, and they got hung up
somewhere, and he and the Cap'n played a little poker for several
days. Colonel couldn't win nohow. At the end of the week he owed the
Cap'n four hundred thousand dollars--Confederate money, of course. At
last says he, 'See here, Cap'n, now I owe you this four hundred
thousand dollars, and I can't pay you by about one hundred and fifty
thousand dollars. Now, what am I going to go? Shall I give you my
note?' The Cap'n he looks at the Colonel, and says he, 'Ain't I
treated you all right, Colonel? Ain't I fed you good enough? Did I
ever do you any harm?' The Colonel 'lowed he had been treated all
right. 'Well, then,' says the Cap'n, 'what have you got against me?
What do you want to give me your note for? Take everything I've got;
take my boat, but please, sir, don't give me your note.' Now that's
the way I feel. I don't want your thanks, and I don't want your
note."

Eddring laughed frankly. "Well, Captain," said he, "let it go that
way. I won't give you my note, nor my thanks; but when you are in my
part of the world, come and live with me. After I get through with
these things in there, I shall see you again sometime. There are some
gentlemen of the Delta who will never forget Captain Wilson."

"Well," the gruff old Captain answered him, "I'll tell my little girl
about it, and I reckon I'll get my pay from her. But now I shall have
to be leavin' you before long," he resumed, as he studied again the
appearance of the country into which they had now come. "We're
raisin' the Old Bend landin', or the place where it ought to be."

"Wait a minute, Captain," said Eddring, "we'll need a skiff. Put in
two or three blankets and something for coffee, if you will. It looks
pretty rough in there, and we might not get through before dark."
Eddring swept a hand toward the submerged forest, which, shoreless
and all afloat, appeared upon their right, stretching away in every
direction as far as the eye could reach through the evening haze.

"I will fix you up the best I can," said Wilson. "But now, do you
know that country in yonder? Are you safe in going in?"

"I have hunted bear and deer all over there," said Eddring. "The main
current across this big bend ought to carry us inland into a bayou
that runs not far from the Big House. It is not more than twenty
miles or so to the plantation. If I can strike the course of the
Tippohatchee bayou, a few hours ought to take us through. If it comes
dark before we get there, we shall have to camp, that is all about
it. If a fellow tried to travel through in the night-time, he might
land at Greeneville, or Vicksburg, or anywhere else."

"Well," said Wilson, "if you must go, I won't try to stop you. I'll
have the skiff fixed up."

So, finally, after her journey up the river, the _Opelousas Queen_
rounded the thin neck of the long river bend, and with a hoarse growl
of relief, rather than of signal, slowed down and reversed, plowed up
the yellow waters into billows half-white, and so lay breathing
heavily, with just enough way to hold her against the current.

During the entire course of the journey, Eddring had not approached
either Madame Delchasse or Miss Lady in personal conversation, and
the latter had proved quite as willing to avoid him. Madame Delchasse
had taken great and voluble interest in matters about the boat, and
was often seen on deck. To her Eddring now sent his message, which
brought both the ladies to the lower deck, for the first time in two
days.

"What," cried madame, "we go in that leedle boat! _Ah, non!_ I stay by
the ship; also mademoiselle."

Miss Lady said nothing; she looked at the frail skiff, the turbulent
river, and the great woods beyond, already growing mysterious beneath
the veil of coming evening.

"Madame," said Eddring, "I can't argue about it. You must go." He
turned upon her the stern face of one who, having assumed all
responsibility, exacts in return implicit obedience.

"We shall drown," said madame.

Eddring turned gravely to the girl. "There is no danger. I can assure
you of that. I shall do my best. I am sorry that it is so. But we
must go. It is the only way to reach Colonel Blount's."

Upon Miss Lady's pale face there sat the look of one resigned with
fatalism to whatever issue might appear. She made no further speech,
but was the first to step into the boat. Madame Delchasse, still
grumbling, followed clumsily. Eddring helped them in, took up the
oars, and the two deck-hands, who had been holding the skiff,
clambered back aboard the _Queen_. Eddring settled himself to the
oars, and they cast off. The little skiff rocked, tossed, turned,
and headed toward the shore under the strong stroke of the oars.
Presently the set of the inbound current aided the oars, so that soon
they were at the fringe of the forest. Eddring rose and waved a hand
back to the watchers who were looking after them from the guards of
the steamer. The _Queen_ roared out a deep salute, and then the little
skiff passed out of sight into the wilderness.

CHAPTER XII

THE HOUSE OF HORROR

"Me, I have thought never to cook again," said Madame Delchasse,
"but now I shall have the honger. See! if I had the coffee-pot and
the what-you-call the soss_-pan,_ I should make of this the grand
peok_-neek._ This journey through the h'wood, it is fine."

As madame spoke, the little boat was hurrying forward through the
half-submerged forest, and the party had by this time reached a point
some miles distant from their embarkation at what had formerly been
the river-bank. Of shores along the river proper it could hardly be
said that any remained, and at this point of pause, near to one of
the long ridges which still here and there remained above the water,
there appeared small trace of the accustomed landmarks. Here, deep in
the forest, the inset of the main current through the broken levee
was arrested by the forest itself, and by the channels of many
intersecting bayous. It was not a river, but a vast, shallow lake
that lay about them. Water was everywhere, and in this wide expanse
Eddring confessed to himself that he had lost his course and had no
definite knowledge of the way to find it. It gave him pleasure to see
that the spirits of madame were buoyant, and that even Miss Lady,
silent as she was for the most part, seemed to lose a portion of the
apathy which had at first oppressed her.

Hoping that he might at any time reach country familiar to himself,
Eddring sought to maintain the spirits of his companions by pointing
out to them the unfamiliar objects of the world in which they now
found themselves. Explaining that they were quite safe in their
little craft, he showed to them the repulsive moccasin snakes, whose
rusty forms lay wreathed on the logs or on such dry ground as here
and there appeared. Again he showed them the log-like bulk of the
alligator, lying motionless and invisible to the unpractised eye; or
called their gaze to a group of noble wild turkeys, which craned out
their necks from their perch on a tall dead tree.

"The game is all driven to the dry ridges," said he. "You will see
that the birds and beasts are afraid to move. Their fright makes them
almost tame. Do you see that little fellow there?"

He pointed out a wild deer, cowering beside a log on the little
island near which they were passing. Here he stopped, and
disembarking, soon called out to them that he had seen the track of a
bear, fresh in the loam near-by. They being terrified at this, he
returned to the boat, and skirted the muddy edge of the ridge,
showing them the footprints of the raccoon, small and baby-like, the
round tread of the timber wolf, the pointed footmark of the wild hog.

"Look," said he, "here is where an otter has been playing,"--and he
showed them a little huddle of twigs and dirt scraped together at the
end of a log which projected over the water. "Why does he do it?" he
said. "I don't know. It's his way of playing. There are a great many
strange ways in the world of wild things. By to-morrow I shall have
made good hunters of you both."

"To-morrow?" cried Madame Delchasse; and Miss Lady also turned upon
him a startled and supplicating look.

"Yes," said he, "it's no use to promise what one can't be sure of
doing. I know that we are not very far from the Big House station. We
can't miss it, because we can't cross the railroad without knowing
it, and you know the railroad would lead us directly to the place. At
the same time, for us to attempt traveling in the night might mean
that we should get hopelessly lost. I assure you, you have no need to
be alarmed. There is plenty in the boat to keep you comfortable, and,
as madame says, we will just make a picnic of it. I am sure none of
us will be the worse for a night out in the woods."

Eddring bent steadily to his oars. He was forced to admit that their
case showed small improvement as the shadows began to thicken. He
stood up in the boat at length and gazed steadily at a little ridge
of dry land which appeared before him. "I think we'll land here,"
said he, "and make our camp for the night." Miss Lady edged toward
madame and laid a hand upon her arm.

"My shild," murmured madame, "yes, yes, it is the grand peek-
_neek;_ I, Clarisse Delchasse, will protect you." Rejoiced that
matters were at least no worse with his passengers, John Eddring
helped them from the boat, and as he did so caught sight of the tears
which stood in Miss Lady's eyes. The strain of the last few days had
begun to tell, and as she looked into the dense shadows of the forest
in this precarious spot of refuge, it seemed to her that all the
world had suddenly gone dark, and must so remain for ever. Eddring
was wretched enough without this sight, but he went methodically
about the work of making them both comfortable.

"First, the fire," he cried gaily; and presently under his skilled
hands a tiny flame began to light up the gloom. He worked rapidly,
for now night was coming on. "Watch me build the house," he cried;
and soon he was absorbed in his own work of making an out-door
structure, hunter fashion, as he had done many times in his
expeditions in this very region. He cut some long poles and thrust
their sharpened ends into the ground, and bending over the tops, wove
them together. Then he thatched this framework with bundles of fresh
green cane cut near at hand, and in a few moments had a sort of
_wickiup._ On the bottom of this he threw brush and yet more
cane, and then spread down the blankets. The opening of the little
house was toward the fire, and presently both the women were sitting
within, their fears allayed by the sparkle of the cheering flame.

"But, Monsieur, where you yourself sleep?" asked madame.

"Oh, my house is already built," replied Eddring, and pointed to a
giant oak-tree some fifty yards away in the little glade. "You see
how the knees of the big tree stand out. Well, I just get some pieces
of bark, and put them down on the ground, and then I lean back
against the tree-trunk, and the dew doesn't bother me at all. Of
course, the main thing is to keep dry."

"Sir," said Miss Lady, almost for the first time accosting him, "do
you mean to say that you sit up and do not lie down to sleep at all
during the whole night? Why, you would be wretched. You must take one
of the blankets, at least."

"Not at all," said Eddring. "I have sat up that way many a night on
the hunt, and been glad enough of so good a chance. Now, you ladies
begin to get ready for supper, if you please. Madame, I am sure that
to-night you will prepare the best meal of your career. I think we
can promise you that it will be enjoyed. Excuse me now for a while,
and I will go and see about some more wood. An open fire eats up a
lot of wood during a night."

He disappeared down a faint path which he had detected opening into
the cane at the end of their little glade. His real purpose was to
explore this path; for there now came upon him the growing conviction
that he had seen this place before. He found the path to be plainer
than the usual "hack" of the mounted cane-brake hunter, and here and
there he caught sight of a faint blaze upon a tree. Hurrying along
through the enveloping foliage of the cane, he had traversed some
three or four hundred yards of this tangle before he saw a thinning
of the shadows ahead of him, and came out, as he had more than half
expected to do, at the edge of a little opening in the forest.

There, near the edge of the cleared space whose surface showed even
now the prints of many feet, he saw a long, low house of logs. It was
as he had seen it years ago! It was now, as then, the temple of the
tribesmen. Around it now swept, open and uncontrollable, Father
Messasebe, building anew his wilderness.

The white men had spared this temple. Perhaps they knew that sometime
it would serve as a trap. And so it had served.

That there had been fateful happenings at this spot Eddring felt even
before he had stepped out into the opening before him. He was
oppressed by a heavy feeling of dread. Yet he went on, looking down
closely in the failing light at the footprints which marked the
ground.

These footprints blended confusedly, leading up to the door of the
house, disappearing in the rank growth all about. And crossing these
human trails from one side to the other of the narrow island left by
the rising waters, there ran a strange and distinct mark, as though
one had swept here with a mighty broom, or had dragged across the
ground repeatedly some soft and heavy body! In this path there were
marks of feet deeply indented, with pointed toes. This trail, these
foot-marks, horrid, suggestive, led up to the open door. Eddring
hesitated to look in. He knew the tracks of the alligators, but
guessed not why these creatures should enter a building, as was never
their wont to do. It required determination to look into the door of
what he knew was a house of mystery, perhaps of horror.

Within the long room, now lighted faintly by the late twilight which
filtered through the heavy growth about, he saw dimly the long
benches fastened to the walls, as they had been when he first saw
this place years before. In spite of himself, he started back in
affright. The benches were tenanted! He could see figures here and
there, a row of them.

Some of them were bending forward, some sitting erect. But all of
them were motionless, the postures of all were strained, as though
they were bound! The house had its tenantry. But there was no central
figure here now, no leader, no exhorter, no priest nor priestess.
There was no shouting, nor any note of the savage drum. The drum
itself, its head broken in, the drum of the savage tribes, lay near
the door, its mission ended. This audience, whoever or whatever it
might be, was silent, as though sleep had made fast the eyes of all!

Eddring sprang back as he heard the scuffling of feet at the farther
end of the hall. His teeth chattered in spite of himself, as this
Thing, this creature of terror, came shuffling forward in the
darkness, and with clanking jaws pushed past him, to disappear with a
heavy splash in the water which now stood close at hand.

It was a house of horror. It was the place of the black man's savage
religion and of the white man's savage justice. Here the white man
had wrought sternly in the name of his civilization, and his keel,
departing like that of the fierce Norseman in the ancient past, had
left no trail on the waters lapping the shore which had known his
visitation.

CHAPTER XIII

THE NIGHT IN THE FOREST

It was some time before Eddring could trust himself to appear before
the companions whom he had left at the little bivouac. Night had
practically fallen when he finally emerged into the little glade, now
well-lighted by the fire. He paused at the edge of the cover and
looked at the picture before him. Sick at heart and full of horror as
he was from that which he had seen, none the less he felt a swift
burst of savagery come upon his own soul. What was the world to him,
its strivings, its disappointments, its paltry successes? Almost he
wished, for one fierce instant, that he might exchange the world
beyond for this world near at hand. A little fire, a little shelter,
and the presence of the woman whom he loved--what more could the
world give? He gazed hungrily at the figure of the tall young woman,
defined well in the bright firelight. Yearning, he coveted the
endurance of the picture, saying again and again to himself, "Would
this might last for ever, even as it is!"

Madame Delchasse meantime was adding support to her well-founded
reputation as artist in matters culinary. When presently Eddring
joined them at the fire, he was invited to a repast in which madame
had done wonders. It seemed to him that even Miss Lady began to
revive under the summons of these unusual surroundings. Once, he
noted, she actually laughed.

As they sat on the rude floor of cane-stalks, engaged with their
evening meal, there came suddenly from across the forest the sound of
a long, hoarse wail, ending in a tremulous crescendo; the cry of the
panther, rarely heard in that or any other region. In terror the
women sprang to each other, and Eddring felt Miss Lady's hand close
tight upon his arm in her unconscious recognition of the need of a
protector.

"What--what was it?" she cried.

"Nothing," said Eddring; "nothing but a cat."

"A cat?" cried madame. "Never did I hear the cat with voice so big
like that."

"Wasn't it a panther?" asked Miss Lady. "Will it get us?"

"Yes, Madame Delchasse," said Eddring, "it's a cat about eight feet
long--a panther, as Miss Lady says. But it's a mile away, and it
doesn't want to get any wetter than it is; and it wouldn't hurt us
anyhow. I assure you, you need have not the slightest fear. Water and
fire are not exactly in the panther's line, so you can rest assured
that he will not trouble you. He wouldn't even have screamed that way
if his disposition hadn't been spoiled by all this water."

Inwardly he noted the fact that Miss Lady did not again remove to a
greater distance from him. His heart leaped at her near presence, and
again there came the fierce demand of his soul, the wish that this
night might last for ever.

Finally, building anew the fire, and showing the two how they might
best use their blankets to make themselves comfortable, Eddring
withdrew for his vigil at the tree-trunk. Now and again he dozed,
wearied by the strain and the physical exertion lately undergone.
Madame Delchasse slept heavily.

Upon her couch Miss Lady lay, and watched the flickering of the fire
and the heavy masses of the shadows. She could not sleep. There came
upon her the feeling of unreality in her surroundings which is
experienced by nearly all civilized human beings when thrown into the
uncivilized surroundings of nature. It all seemed to her like some
rapid and fevered dream. She wondered what had become of Henry
Decherd, what had been the cause of his sudden departure from the
steamer. She resolved to summon courage on the morrow and to accost
this uninvited new-comer upon the scenes of her life. She pondered
again upon this strange man; asked herself why he had sought her out,
why he had left her so soon and had since then been so frigidly
aloof, even though he still carried her with him forward, virtually a
prisoner. By all rights a thief, a dishonest man, ought not to be a
gentleman; yet strive as she might, she could recall no single
instance where the conduct of this man had been anything but that of
a gentleman, delicate, kindly, brave, unselfish. Miss Lady could not
understand. The shadows hung too black over all--the shadows of the
past, of the future. About her there were vague, mysterious sounds,
rustlings, coughings, barkings, sometimes sullen splashes in the
water not far away. Terrors on all sides oppressed Miss Lady's soul.
She had no hope; she could not understand. Her thoughts were in part
upon that silent figure sitting in the darkness beside the tree. And
then there came again the voice of the great panther, wailing across
the woods. Miss Lady could endure it no longer. She sprang up.

"Sir!" she cried, "Mr. Eddring, come!" And so he came and comforted
her once more, his voice grave and quiet, fearless, strong.

"I will build up the fire," said he, "and then I will sit by another
tree, closer to the camp and just back of your house. I shall be
between you and the water, and you need not be afraid."

And then there came about a wonderful thing, which not even Miss Lady
herself could understand. She ceased to fear! She found herself
wondering at the meaning of the word "depend." In spite of herself,
in spite of all the evidence in her hands to the contrary, she felt
herself growing vaguely sure that she could depend upon this man.
Gradually the night lost its terrors. The whispers of the leaves grew
kindly and not ominous. The fire seemed to her a reviving flame of
hope. Presently she slept.

In the night the wild life of the forest went on. The barkings and
rustlings and splashings still were heard, and the great cat called
again. But all these savage things went by, passing apart, avoiding
this spot where the White Man, most savage and most potent of all
animals, had made his lair and now guarded his own.

In the night the voice of the wilderness spoke to John Eddring: "Old,
old are we!" the trees seemed to whisper: "Only the strong! Only the
strong!" This seemed the whisper of the wind in its monotone. He sat
upright, rigid, wide-awake, his eyes looking straight before him in
his vigil, his heart throbbing boldly, strangely. All the fierceness,
all the desire, all the sternness of the wilderness in its aeons ran
in his blood. His heart throbbed steadily. Peace came to his soul now
as never before; since now he knew that he was of the strong, that he
was ready for life and what combat it might bring.

CHAPTER XIV

AT THE BIG HOUSE

The fire lay gray in ashes at the dawn, when Eddring awoke, and the
gray reek of the cane-brake mist was over everything. The leaves of
the trees and of the cane dripped moisture, and the dew stood also in
heavy beads upon the roof of the little green-thatched house. A short
distance apart Eddring built another fire. Presently the sleepers in
the little house awoke, and he saw emerge madame, tucking at her
hair, and Miss Lady, in spite of all fresh and rosy in the wondrous
possession of youth, as though she were a Dryad born of these
surrounding trees. There seemed to sit upon her the primeval vigor of
the wilderness. She came to him gaily enough and said good morning as
though there had been but recent friendship and not aloofness. She
pushed back her hair, and smoothed down her skirt and combed out with
her fingers the bunch of bright ribbons at her waist. She and madame,
having made ablutions at the island brink, returned, all the fresher
and more laughing. Eddring's heart quickened in his bosom as he saw
Miss Lady smile once more.

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