CHAPTER VIII.
BAD NEWS FROM MARCY.
Sailor Jack and his old commander spent two hours locked in the Hyperion’s cabin, and if a stranger could have seen how very cordial and friendly they were, or had heard the peals of laughter that arose when one or the other described some amusing scene through which he had passed since they last met, he never would have dreamed that one had risked life and liberty in doing what he could to put down the rebellion, while the other had run an equal risk in bringing aid and comfort to it.
Captain Frazier had been a daring and successful blockade runner as long as his Boston owners could make money by it, and there were not many cruisers on the Atlantic coast that had not, at one time or another, sighted and given chase to the fleet West Wind, nor were there very many officers and sailormen who could not recognize her as far as they could see her. When light swift steamers were added to the blockading fleet the business became too uncertain and dangerous to be longer followed, and Captain Frazier was honest enough to say that he was glad to stop it, for, being a Yankee, he had never had any heart for it any way.
When the Mississippi was cleared as far as Port Hudson, and all that immense cotton country on both sides the river was thrown open to traffic, Captain Frazier’s owners saw an opportunity to do business in an honest way and were prompt to improve it. Armed with a pocketful of credentials one of the firm hastened to New Orleans to obtain a permit to trade in cotton, and the West Wind was ordered to a neutral port “for repairs.” When she again appeared on the high seas she did not look at all like herself, and even her name had been changed. She went to Portland, Me., and stayed there long enough to get a charter, and then sailed to Boston and loaded up with commissary stores for Banks’ army. On the way down she was boarded by more than one officer who had chased her when she was a blockade runner, and now she was in New Orleans (safe, too, although surrounded by Federal war ships) and making ready to take a cargo of cotton to New York.
“I grew ten years older during the twelve months I was engaged in running the blockade,” said Captain Frazier, in concluding his story, “but I had lots of fun and saw no end of excitement. And now to come back to business. Didn’t I hear you say, while you were serving as pilot and second mate of the West Wind, that you have relatives here in Louisiana and that they raise cotton? I thought so. Well, now, have they got any that they want to sell?”
“I don’t know; but I can find out. I did not intend to leave this country without seeing them. How far is Baton Rouge above here?”
“Not far; a hundred and fifty miles, I should say.”
“Well, if I can get there and obtain a pass that will take me through the lines as far as Mooreville, I can easily find them.”
“You can get there, and I’ll see that you have a bushel of passes if you need them. If they’ve got any cotton I want it.”
“You can’t have it, captain, for any such price as you have been paying others. I’ll not stand by and see my uncle gouged in any such way as that. And I shall hold out for greenbacks, too.”