He discovered that these men were in correspondence with secret agents in the Confederacy; they spoke of various depots of the cotton which presently developed as mere caches—bales hidden in swamps, to be brought out only by such craft as could navigate bayous, or in deserted gin-houses on abandoned plantations, or in old tumble-down warehouses on the outskirts of towns,—never much at any one point, but all that could be found and bought, and concealed and held, to be gotten away at last to a foreign market. The system sought to reach to the Gulf of Mexico, to gather up the scattered wayside stores, and either by taking advantage of some lapse of Federal vigilance, or else by strategy, to run the blockade with a ship-load, and away for England! Thus the enterprise was contrary to the policy of both factions. The Company's gold would recruit the endurance of the South, and yet he knew that the Confederate authorities had put the torch to thousands of bales rather than let the cotton fall into their enemy's hands—the precious commodity, then selling at amazing prices in the markets of New York.
Suddenly his own personality came into the scheme with an abruptness that made his head whirl.
"How is it," demanded a sharp-featured man, who had sparse sandy hair, very straight, very thin, the head almost bald on top extending the effect of the forehead, watery-blue eyes that nevertheless made out very accurately the surrounding country, metaphorically considered, a somewhat wrinkled face albeit he was not old—"how is it that your cousin should be so well acquainted with the country? I take it that he is an Englishman, too!"
"Why, no, he is not," candidly answered Mr. John Wray, and Julius had an instinct to clutch at him from across the table to hinder the divulging of the imposture, "and, in fact, he is not my kinsman at all. I should be extremely glad if he were," and he smiled suavely across the table at Julius. "He is, I understand, a native of this region." And forthwith he told the story of the register.
The spare, businesslike man, whose name was Burrage, at once laid his cigar down on the table with its ash carefully disposed over the edge.
"And did he bring no letters?"
"None; very properly. It is most unwise to multiply papers in the hands of outside parties."
"But he should have had something definite."
"I think the registry of the name very definite." Mr. John Wray reddened slightly. He was not in the habit of being called in question for precipitancy.
"It strikes me as a most fantastic whim on the part of the Company. You might not have interpreted it correctly—taken as you were by surprise," Mr. Burrage rejoined. Then, "Did you have any specific instructions to guide you personally?" The querist turned full on the young man, much to Mr. John Wray's disapproval. But Julius answered easily:—