I
Anthony Stevens paused on the broad door-stone of the Black Horse Tavern, and looked up and down Second Street.
It was much changed since he had seen it, years before; it was now thick-ribbed and confident; there was an assurance in the way it protruded its store windows, like well-filled bellies. But, and the young man noted this with pleasure, there was nothing stodgy in its new fatness; rather, there was that air of readiness one sees on the ordered deck of a well-mastered ship.
Second Street had been the much known street of Anthony's boyhood; his racing feet had kicked up its dust; he had spun tops on its stones; he had often followed its length away into the Northern Liberties where the woods began; from where he stood, he could see the turn he'd taken into Vine Street of a hot afternoon, and then down to the river, to splash and shout with other young adventurers in the dock next the shipyard.
It was an autumn morning; the wind and sun were in the street, and touched one with a bright coolness. Accustomed to the heavy balm of New Orleans, Anthony felt oddly light, and brisk of foot. He crossed Sassafras Street; at the foot of Mulberry he saw the shallops tied to the corder's wharf, their lugs furled tightly, just as others like them had been, years before; and there were the same ranks of gum, and hickory, and oak, marshaled against the coming of winter, even then stirring in the North.
At Pewter Platter Alley, Anthony turned toward the river. From Front to Water Street the way narrowed, and there was a sharp descent by means of worn stone steps; the wind was chill and high on the river, and through the lessened throat of the thoroughfare whistled the reek of the docks; with it came the smell of trampled mud, of pitch and cordage, and the peppery, alien scent of cargoes from far-off places.
In Water Street, across the tops of the counting-houses, he could see the great masts of an Indiaman at Clifford's Wharf; two-wheeled drays, burdened with bundles and bales and barrels, trundled through the alleys; Anthony could hear the blocks creaking on a Liverpool packet, which shoved its sharp nose between two buildings. From the deck of a sloop-of-war taking in stores, a fife shrilled: "Come Away to Billy Cooper's."
Anthony spoke to a man engaged in heading up some kegs of salt fish.
"Where shall I find the place of business of a merchant named Magruder?" asked he. "He is engaged in the trade with New Orleans."
The man pointed with his hammer.
"He's at the head of Bickley's Wharf," said he. "Turn in here, then on past Crousillat's, and you are at his door."
Anthony thanked the man, and picked along through an alley whose stones were slippery with mud; then, on the waterfront, he made his way through the drays, the sweating horses, the piles of merchandise, to a square building standing by itself; over the door swung a faded sign: "J. Magruder, Gulf Ports and West Indies." Anthony pushed open the door, and found himself in a great, low-ceilinged room heaped with casks of rum, packs of hides, barrels of tallow, cheese, and salted pork. There were also stores of hemp and corded bales of buffalo-robes, boxes of dried fruits, and hogsheads of tobacco. The place was dim with the bulk of stuff that crowded it, and here and there a whale-oil lamp lighted the way among the narrow aisles.
A stout man came forward.
"Yes, sir," said he, expectantly. He valued the young man for a moment, and then said with an air of confidence, "I'll venture, sir, it is in the matter of the Bristol Pride."
Anthony smiled.
"Well," said he, "that good vessel has done its part in my being here; there's no denying that."
"It is a marvelous thing, sir," said the stout man, smilingly, "how news gets abroad. The Pride only rounded the bend an hour ago; and yet a score of gentlemen have been here already. But," and he pointed through the glass of the door to where a small brig was anchored in the stream, "it's a common saying, though, that good news travels fast; and that ship carries in her hold three pipes of as fine brandy as ever bore the stamp of the king of Spain."
"Well," said Anthony, good-humoredly, "I can well believe it. And not only the three pipes of brandy are under her hatches; there are also two puncheons of sherry that came by way of St. Kitts—a rare, brown wine, as I had occasion to notice on the levee at New Orleans, and with the sun in every drop of it."
The stout man looked at him with a changed interest.
"Am I to understand, sir, that you came as a passenger in the brig?" he inquired.
"Yes," replied Anthony. "She became windbound at Newcastle yesterday; so I left her and came on by chaise."
"Your name would be Stevens, then?"
"Yes," said the young man. "Do I speak to Mr. Magruder?"
"No; I am clerk to him." Beckoning Anthony to follow, he threaded his way along one of the dim aisles toward the back of the warehouse. "Mr. Magruder is beyond, here."
They passed into a dingy counting-room where there was a tall desk with a long-legged stool, some chests, a cupboard, whose open doors showed it crammed with invoices and bills of lading, and a litter of odds and ends of things the place trafficked in.
At the desk was a stoop-shouldered man with a mean face and a sidelong look. When he heard Anthony's name he put aside the ledger he'd had his nose in, and stood examining him in a furtive way that caused a creep of dislike through the young man's blood.
"Mr. Magruder?" asked Anthony, shortly.
The West Indian trader came forward and gave him a meager handshake.
"I have been expecting you," he said, "and but now sent aboard to ask after you. Word came back that you'd already come ashore; in fact," as Anthony sat down, "that you'd left the ship yesterday." Anxiety pinched his face into meaner lines than before. "I trust you have not been showing yourself a great deal in public places."
"I reached the city about dark," said the young man, stretching his legs, unconcernedly. "I took my supper at a tavern, and then went to bed."
Magruder seemed put at ease by this.
"That is as it should be," he said. He sat down facing Anthony; warmed by a thin glow of hospitality, he took from a waistcoat pocket a silver snuff-box, upon whose lid was engraved a schooner under full sail. He offered it to his visitor; when the young man refused, he took a spare pinch himself; he sat and snuffled over its bite for a long time, with great relish, meanwhile studying Anthony with the same furtive look as before.
"Your reply to my letter was handed me by the master of the ship Loadstar, about a month ago," he said.
"Yes, Señor Montufars said he gave it to him," said Anthony. "You see, when your word came concerning the affairs of the firm of Rufus Stevens' Sons, I was a week's journey up the river, and Montufars was in care of my affairs. As the matter seemed urgent, he wrote to you at once, it being his thought I'd return in time to take passage on the Bristol Pride."
The face of the West Indian merchant went a dirty gray as Anthony spoke.
"Do you tell me a third person answered my letter?" His voice lifted to almost a shriek; his hands were held out, clawing like talons. "Do you tell me that he read what I wrote for your eyes alone?"
The features of the man worked like one in a fit; startled, Anthony got up and went to him.
"What is it? Are you ill? Is there anything I can do?"
The frantic hands drummed upon Anthony's breast.
"Montufars is a damned Spaniard," said the trader. "He will talk. His like always does. He'll spread the matter all about New Orleans, and it'll come north on every ship. Good God, why did I undertake this matter!" He wrung his hands, and all but groveled in fear. "What madness induced me to put such a thing on paper—with my name to it, as a witness against me?"
The man's rat-like panic made Anthony's gorge rise, and he turned away, saying curtly:
"Try and get yourself in hand; a grown man don't give way like this, even with cause. And, God knows," impatiently, "there's little enough cause for agitation, or anything else, in that communication of yours, if that's what you're afraid of. It was only a bare line or two, and even those set down in such a way as would puzzle the devil himself."
He planted himself at a window that overlooked the traffic of an alley, and stood frowning and stroking his chin. A clock on the wall ticked monotonously; for a space this was the only sound in the room, but gradually Anthony became aware of another—a sort of sniggering; he turned and saw Magruder, still with the dirty look of fear upon him, but shaking with laughter.
"The man's mad!" Anthony told himself. "I was a fool to give any heed to him in the first place."
"So you found it a puzzle, did you?" chuckled the trader. "Its meaning was hard to come at, eh?" There was a slinking gratification in his voice, and his grin had in it a sort of cowering pleasure. "Of course, you did. The writing of that letter cost me a deal of trouble; I desired it to say little and you to infer much; it was framed to safeguard me against any such misadventure as that which has happened. I should have remembered that; for I have no ground for uneasiness—none, whatever."
Anthony promptly put aside all idea of madness; he sat down, crossed his booted legs, eased himself back in his chair, and fell to studying the other with a shrewd narrowing of his eyes.
Anthony was a tall young man, lean and hard, and with a body of supple power. His face was long; but when he smiled it lit up wonderfully; his hair was trimmed short, giving him the "Brutus head" then slowly coming into fashion. There was something about him that suggested outdoors; he had the keen, ready look of one who knew the wilderness, and the savages thereof, who had faced torrent and desert, and mountains and seas, in quest of those hard-won things that are the jewels of the world's trade.
"From what you have said," spoke the young man, at length, "but more especially from how you've looked, I draw that you have a dread of being known in this matter."
"Outside there in the docks," said Magruder, "there are a score or more of fine, deep-water ships; on the wharves and in the warehouses there are much rich stuffs. But if they, to the last block and spar, to the last bale and barrel, were offered me as the price of making it known that I'd brought you north, as I have, I'd refuse."
Anthony cocked a shrewd eye at him.
"That," said he, "is keeping your mouth close shut, indeed."
"It is," said the West Indian merchant. He shook a skinny, warning finger. "And if you are wise you'll be equally cautious."
Anthony pulled his chair nearer.
"I'm going to speak candidly," said he. "I've known you only for a few minutes, Mr. Magruder, but in that time you've shown me that you are a man of no great courage."
"No," admitted Magruder, readily enough. "I am none of your brawlers."
"Very good," said Anthony. "But, for all that habit of mind, you send me a letter which, according to your own view of it, has danger written across its very face."
Magruder sucked in his thin lips; his fingers began plucking at a button on the sleeve of his coat.
"There must have been an excellent reason for your venturing so much," said Anthony. "And that reason is, I think—money. For, from all I've heard of you aboard your own brig, you are a close trader, Mr. Magruder; your methods are careful; you are of the kind who think far, but hazard little."
"I am none of your wasters," said the man.
"It has been the custom of the firm of Rufus Stevens' Sons," said Anthony, "to carry outside moneys in certain of its business; and it comes to me that at some time or other you have adventured with them in a ship that's sailed, and met with misfortune."
Magruder stopped plucking at the button; his hand went up in a trembling gesture, and his voice was sunk to almost a whisper as he said:
"Yes, you are right. I have moneys in some of your uncle's transactions; and because I've seen loss looking at me, everywhere I turned, I sent for you. There are items in my ledger that a madman might have placed there. What have I, who have scraped and struggled all my life, to do with high-colored plans that only lead aboard a vessel that never comes to port? What have I, who believe in plain, sure business, to do with letters of marque and decks crowded with hectoring ruffians? On this very desk, a year ago," and here his voice lifted in thin bitterness, "I told down one thousand gold johannes for a venture to the slave coast. And not a single blackamoor has been sold to my account anywhere in the islands."
"I'm sorry to hear this," said Anthony, "for it not only marks a serious loss to you, but it seems to show that Rufus Stevens' Sons is in shoal water."
"It was a black day for his house when your grandfather died," said Magruder. "And it was a worse one when your Creole mother coaxed your father away to Louisiana, and so left the trade and ships of the firm in the hands of your uncle."
Anthony looked perplexed.
"In New Orleans," said he, "merchants speak of my uncle with something like awe. In Havana, Martinique, and St. Kitts I've heard shipmasters tell tales of his enterprises that were like romances. If my mind has been made up to any one thing, it is that my uncle is a very prince of merchants."
"He has done fine things; he has done clever and difficult things," said the other. "I'll take no credit from him that's his due. But you are his nephew, and I'll say to you what I'd say to no one else. Let things progress as they are, and, great as is his house, it'll be that weak; rich as it is, it'll be that poor; splendid as are its adventures on the sea, they'll be that defenseless."
Anthony frowned at the man.
"That has a good deal of the sound of the letter you sent me," said he. "You've brought me a long distance to see you, Mr. Magruder, and so I think I can in all fairness expect words from you that I can make something of."
But the trader shook his head.
"Too plain speech is bad," said he. "One should never let the tongue venture where the hand dare not follow."
Anthony's boots scraped suddenly upon the floor; the chair creaked under him as he sat upright.
"The part that the hand has to do," said he, and there was a sharp cut to his voice that Magruder had not heard before, "you may leave to me. So speak up, sir, for I'm not used to your way of doing business, and tell you plainly that I do not like it."
Again the dirty gray came into Magruder's face, and again he began to cringe.
"I can speak no plainer, because I have no plain knowledge," said he. "I can point to nothing; I can accuse no one. But," and here he crowded close to the young man, and whispered in his ear, "there is a force at work in Rufus Stevens' Sons that means ruin."
"Good God!" said Anthony, more exasperated than ever. "Am I to get nothing from you at all?" He pushed the trader away, and got upon his feet. "At least," said he, "you can tell me what the thing is you are afraid of."
But Magruder shook his head.
"I do not know even that," said he.
Anthony clapped his tall beaver upon his head and buttoned up his coat.
"Good morning," said he.
But Magruder put a hand upon his arm.
"Very like," said he, "you've seen a deal, both at sea and on land. Strange things come to those who sail the ships of the world and who travel in its wilderness places. But for all that, young man, you've never seen a stranger thing than you'll see here in this port—in the counting-room of your uncle—if you have the mind for it, and the patience to wait and watch."
"Good morning," said Anthony. He pushed open the door, passed through the wareroom, and so out upon the waterfront, among the trundling drays, and the wilderness of spars and rigging.