I staid in St. Louis five days, prosecuting my inquiries; but all I could learn of any import was, that the last which was known of Legate in St. Louis, he was constantly with a certain pack of gamblers, of rather a desperate order, and that, with his quick temper, it was possible that he had got into a fight (as some had suspected), and been made way with—possibly thrown into the Mississippi. This was not decidedly encouraging, and I was on the point of writing back to my employers that it was useless to search for Legate longer at that time; that they would have to trust to some future accident to reveal him, if still alive, indeed. But having another affair on hand at the same time, which necessarily called me to New Orleans before returning to New York, I thought better of the matter, and merely wrote to my New York friends, that having gotten all possible clew to Legate in St. Louis, I should take boat next day for New Orleans, from which point they would hear from me duly.
The next afternoon I took the steamer "Continental," after having made all arrangements with my new friends in St. Louis to apprise me if ever Legate "turned up" in that city; and down the mighty Mississippi the proud boat bore me and a large number of the most cheerful, genial, and hearty men and women I ever travelled with. There's a certain frankness and generosity about the western and southern people which captivated me, when I first went among them, at once; but though I had often been in the west, I had never encountered a finer class of travellers than departed with me that day from St. Louis, on board the well-tried steamer Continental.
Nothing special, save the usual jollity, mirth, good living, copious drinking, and lively card-playing, which characterized a "voyage down the Mississippi," especially in those days, occurred, and being not over well, I kept my berth considerably—until our arrival at Napoleon, Arkansas, where we stopped to "wood up" and take on passengers, accessions of whom we had had all along our course, at every stopping-place. At Napoleon quite a concourse came on, mainly of not well-to-do people, mostly migrating to Texas in order to better their worldly condition, as they thought. Poor fellows! I fear many of them found themselves doomed to disappointment. But to my story. Among the on-comers at Napoleon were three men of marked individualities. They came aboard separately. One of them was quite large and comely, neatly dressed, in the style then prevailing at the North; nothing about him but certain provincialisms of speech to indicate that he might not be a northern man. The other two wore long hair, and beards, and slouched hats, and had the air of well-to-do planters of middle age. One of them was accompanied by a negro, the most obsequious of all his race, and who, whenever ordered by his master to do anything, always took great care to indicate his willingness to obey by saying, very obsequiously, "Yes, Massa Colonel," or "Yes, Massa Jacobs;" by which fact I of course learned what the negro supposed, at least, his master's name to be, but there was something about this man's appearance which excited my suspicion, at first, that he might not be a planter, after all.
It was near nightfall when we departed from Napoleon and it was not long after the cabin was lighted up that the usual card-playing was resumed; and these three men crowded, with others, round the tables, to look on at first, and of course to take part when occasion might offer. Jacobs was particularly observant of the games as they proceeded. Although I saw that he had peculiar talents for the gaming-table, I wondered why he lingered so long before taking a hand. But he was biding his time. The bar, of course, was pretty well patronized, and the finest looking of the three men in question grew apparently more and more mellow. The stakes at this time were not large, but the players were waxing more and more earnest, when this man—assuming to be slightly intoxicated—exclaimed, "Gentlemen, I say, I say—do you hear me?—that this fun is rather slow. Is there anybody here that wants to play for something worth while? See here," said he, "strangers, please let me draw up my seat," pushing his chair up between those of two players; "see here; there's a cool two thousand, that I want to double or lose to-night," and poured from a red bag a heap of gold, over a portion of which he clapped his large hand. "I am in for it. Is there anybody that wants to make this money?"
"Well, stranger," said Jacobs, "when these players can give us room, I'm your man; that is, till my pile's gone. 'Tain't so big as yours, and it ought to go for a new nigger down to Orleans. I must have another hand; but your challenge is rather provoking, I must confess, and I don't care if I try you."
The players, moved by that curiosity which such a proceeding between "strangers" would be apt to excite, politely made room for the combatants, and in their turn became lookers on. The large man played well, but he was (apparently) intoxicated, and now and then "bungled," giving the game into Jacobs' hands at times. My curiosity about Jacobs was, I know not really why, constantly increasing, and when the third of that trio had entered the lists with a partner, I managed to slip out down to the lower deck, where Jacobs had ordered his servant, and fall into conversation with him.
"Are you Mr. Jacobs' nigger?"
"Yes, massa; I'se Massa Jacobs' body sarvant."
"Your master's a jolly fellow—isn't he? He's a planter, I suppose—has a great number of "hands"—hasn't he?"
"No, Massa Jacobs don't plant. He's a banker, or a specumater, as they call um up there."