There was no one there, nothing but the parallelopipedons of cordwood piled up in readiness for the firemen.
The question now arose how I was to get to the house—how to get inside it—without being seen by the negroes of the plantation. I knew that they were up, and stirring about the place. I could hear the murmur of their voices, with now and then the louder baying of a hound. Of course I could not approach the dwelling without being observed—much less get inside of it.
My plight too! My crippled arm which I carried slung in the silk scarf taken from my neck, with my coat hanging loose on my left shoulder. It is true that all this could be concealed under my cloak, but the cloak itself, and the trowsers underneath, were embrowned by the muddy water. In short, my whole person presented such an appearance as to have puzzled an intimate friend in identifying me.
While reflecting on what to do, I heard footsteps coming from the direction of the house. They were made known to me by the rustling of the dry leaves with which the wood-road was thickly covered.
The footfall was flat and heavy, evidently that of a negro.
Soon after I saw the negro himself. It was Jake.
With joy I recognized him—the very man I wanted to see. I could take the old skiffman into my confidence, and by him send a message to his master, to come out to me in the woods. This was the course to be pursued. Jake had not yet discovered me. I did not intend that he should, until I had taken steps to secure against his retreat. Were I to appear to him before he had got fairly upon the ground, he might mistake me for something else than I was, perhaps the spirit of that haunted island, from which I had truly come. In my enfeebled state, he could easily outrun me, and by reaching the house before me, spoil my plans of secrecy. Jake must be captured by stratagem.
Crouching behind one of the cords of firewood, I waited for him to advance. I could see that he was en route for the landing, perhaps to embark in the skiff, which was moored in its usual place.
He passed on without suspecting my presence.
He did not go down to the skiff, but out to a projecting point, upon which the steamboats usually rested their staging-plank.