My suspicions were only vague and ill-defined. I had the presentiment of an evil—but what evil? Even admitting that the man who accompanied Madame Dardonville and her daughter, was the swindler Despard—what injury could they receive from his presence? But what reason had I to think it was he? Not the least. Indeed, upon reflection, I could not myself imagine what had brought this man into my mind: though that might be accounted for—since the forgery, of which we more than suspected him, was one of the first things to be inquired into, on our arrival in Saint Louis—and there we should be in the morning.
There was little reason, however, in all this, to connect him with the presence of the ladies on board the Missouri Belle; and the more I reflected on the matter, the more improbable did it appear.
The circumstance of meeting Madame Dardonville on her way downward, was certainly strange enough—especially when I remembered her letter. In that she had distinctly arranged that we should come up for her; and had stated her intention to travel back by the Sultana. Had she written again, and once more altered the arrangement? It had been her original design, as appeared by her second letter—to have gone to New Orleans at an earlier date; but some business, connected with the administration of her estate, had delayed her. Was this cause of detention unexpectedly removed? and had she, in consequence, started southward, without waiting for the Sultana? Perhaps she had written a third letter, which had not reached New Orleans at the time of our leaving it?
All these were probabilities—or rather possibilities—that passed through my mind; but, viewing them in their most favourable aspect, they failed to satisfy me. I could not help suspecting that there was a mystery—that there was something wrong.
The pilot was at his post inside his little cabin of glass, silent as is his wont. I would have entered into conversation with him; but just at that moment his second appeared, coming out of the pilot’s cabin, and rubbing his eyes to get them open for his work. A bell had just announced the hour of change, and the second was about to enter on his turn of duty. The ceremony was simple; and consisted in the old pilot handing over the spokes to the one that relieved him, and then squeezing himself out of the glass house. A little conversation followed before the relieved officer retired to his “bunk.” Seated within ear-shot, I could not help overhearing it. “Durnation dark—whar are we anyhow?”
“Jest below Shirt-tail bend—thar’s the bluff.”
“Durn me! if I can see a steim. I couldn’t see a white hoss at the eend of my nose this minnit. I reckon I’ll be runnin’ the old boat into the bank, if it don’t clear a bit.”
It certainly was a dark night. Some heavy clouds had drifted over the moon, and she was no longer visible.
“Oh, no fear,” rejoined the other, “you ain’t got the sleep out of your eyes, you’ll see clearer by-’n-bye.”
“Wal—it’s to be hoped. Much dirt in the water?”