"I really don't think I can," replied the young planter; "but I should know Black and Stinger, the men in charge. I could see them aboard."
"True. But they might also see you, if you went near enough to distinguish them. That would never do."
"I fancy I can manage that part of it," I suggested. "Black can be but slightly acquainted with my face, though I shall never forget his. By sacrificing my mustache, and borrowing a pair of whiskers from one of these creole costumers—that and a change of dress would do, would it not?"
"The very thing," said the astute Sawyer. "You can put on a light camlet cloak—they are worn here. It will conceal the mark Mr. Black has for the time put upon you. That, with a broad-brimmed palmetto hat, and a pair of cottonade trowsers, will turn you into a creole complete. As for you, Henry Woodley, and your brother, your best plan will be for both of you to go back to the hotel, stay within doors, and wait till I communicate with you. It will not do for either to be seen in the streets—at least till we get the birds safe inside the cage."
In obedience to Sawyer's instructions the two brothers returned to the hotel, while I remained in his office to make the transformation required.
In order to avoid suspicion, a razor was obtained, and I did the shaving myself. It was not altogether pleasant to part with my pet mustaches; but I consoled myself with two thoughts—one that they would grow again, and the other that before they did I should see the man who had twice attempted my life stand in the felon's dock.
The garments necessary for my disguise were readily got at one of the levee "clothing stores," and the whiskers from a costume shop with which New Orleans, noted for its masked balls, is abundantly provided.
In less than an hour I was ready to play the part of a detective.
With Mr. Sawyer acting as guide we sallied forth, and took our way toward the flat-boat wharf.
Those not acquainted with the New Orleans "levee" must be told that it is a landing full four miles in length; that only a portion of it is provided with wharves, strong wooden platforms, supported by piles, driven deep into the river-bank. Between, are spaces where the natural slope of the levee is left unfurnished with such structures, and where boats, both flats and steamers, at low water, can project their staging-planks into the mud.