Manly Wade Wellman - Novel 1955 Read online

  He approached the wounded man in the chair and addressed him in a deep, cold voice. Governor Claiborne smiled again at Ben and Casimir, and put out his long hand for a cup of wine that stood on a tabouret near his couch.

  “Sir,” said Ben, choosing his words, “you owe us no thanks. We heard the rumor of this cowardly attempt, and it was our plain duty to come.”

  “Well said,” added Casimir under his breath; then, aloud, “It was a privilege, Your Excellency, to be able to exert ourselves in the service of yourself and of the territory.”

  Claiborne glanced past them. “That’s an American, the man you took. Not a Creole. I’m—” He paused, and sipped wine. “I’m glad it wasn’t a Creole who wanted to shoot me.”

  “I’ve heard tell that he and his master, Jethro Wicks, are in the pay of the Spaniards,” volunteered Ben. “If, sir, you were no longer governor here, then those Spaniards might be bolder in their threats to us.”

  “Who gave you your information?” asked Claiborne. “He must be a wide-awake observer, and loyal into the bargain.”

  “I’m sworn not to tell who he is,” replied Ben.

  The Governor sipped more wine. “Are you sworn so, indeed? But I would want to reward the man. He deserves it.”

  “I can’t tell, sir,” said Ben.

  Horner Banton was returning. “That fellow yonder is as stubborn as a drover’s mule,” he reported. “He will not give us so much as his name.”

  “Then Mr. Parker here has caught an infection of stubbornness from him,” said Governor Claiborne, smiling faintly. “He will not say who gave him the news that brought him here in such good season.”

  “I’ve passed my word,” insisted Ben stubbornly.

  “Who’d know such a thing, now?” inquired Horner Ban- ton, as though of the world. “Some water-front rascal, who had been frightened into babbling?”

  “You named one Jethro Wicks,” Claiborne reminded Ben. “Did you hear it from him, belike?”

  “Or it may have been one of the Laffites,” put in Horner Banton. “They know a vast deal of what is said and done in New Orleans.”

  Ben gave no sign of how close this guess came. “Gentlemen,” he said boldly, “if I’ve done any trifling service here today, do not oblige me to speak when I have promised to keep silent.”

  Horner Banton’s handsome black brows knit, but Governor Claiborne nodded, smiled more kindly, and relaxed on his pillow.

  “I don’t think you could be forced,” he said, “and I, for one, will not try. Come, sit down, both of you. Here are my marines again.”

  The two uniformed figures tramped toward the house, leading the horses Ben and Casimir had left tethered by the levee road. Claude Dejan stepped to the edge of the gallery and bombarded them with questions.

  It appeared, from what they replied, that Jethro Wicks had escaped from them in the woods, and had also found and set free the horse-holder Ben and Casimir had tied up in the clearing. The marines showed the knife-slit bonds and the sleeve that had served as a gag.

  “If the prisoner is bandaged, take him away,” ordered Claiborne from his sofa, and he waited until the marines marched the wounded man off between them toward one of the outbuildings.

  “Now,” went on Claiborne, “please sit near me, all of you —Mr. du Fossat, Mr. Banton, Claude, and these two new friends. I’ve been deciding what to do.”

  “And what is that, Your Excellency?” inquired Banton for them all.

  “To some degree, nothing,” replied the Governor, in a stronger voice, as though he had defeated some of his fevered weakness. “That is, I want no public talk in New Orleans of what happened here today. These escaped assassins will take some time creeping back to their masters to report, and I ask all of you to give me your pledge to keep your counsel until I release you.”

  “I gladly pledge myself,” said Horner Banton, and the others gave their consent in turn.

  “Casimir and I wrote something to our kinsmen, sir,” said Ben. “I to my uncle, he to his father. But they can be trusted, I assure you.”

  “And there was Ma’m’selle Felise O’Rourke,” added Casimir. “Colonel O’Rourke’s daughter—I had to tell her part of the story, so that she would lend us horses.”

  Horner Banton’s shaven lips tightened. “A young girl in the secret,” he said soberly. “Then I fear it’s no secret at all.”

  “Then you do not know my cousin Felise, sir,” protested Casimir. “I told her she must keep still, and she will do so. She is the daughter of a brave old soldier, who is completely loyal to Governor Claiborne and to Orleans Territory and the United States.”

  “Come, I’ll engage for the discretion of the O’Rourkes,” said Claiborne. “Claude, bring pen and paper. You must write letters to be sent at once to New Orleans.”

  “Permit me,” put in Du Fossat. “I have a swift pirogue, and slaves who paddle stoutly. With the downstream current, they can bear your message to town as fast as the best horses will go on the muddy road.”

  “Thank you,” said the Governor. “I accept that offer.” He quickly dictated two letters, almost identical, to Frank Parker and Achille Beaumont. They contained the story of the attempted murder and its failure, and enjoined both men to strict secrecy. A somewhat different letter to Colonel O’Rourke asked his confidential help and advice, and thanked him for the use of his horses. When Claiborne had signed them, Dejan and Du Fossat went away in search of a messenger and boatmen.

  “In this way, perhaps the Spaniards will think for a few days that I have died as they hoped,” Claiborne told Horner Banton. “I will disappoint them soon enough, with another and more public letter. Claude,” he said as his secretary returned, “I will dictate a message to Governor Maxent at Pensacola, but not at once. There is something else.”

  His fever-bright eyes continued to look at Ben. “You have proved your courage and loyalty and enterprise today,” he said. “I venture to hope you’ll continue to prove them.”

  “In any way you command, Your Excellency,” was Ben’s prompt reply.

  “Will you then try to learn more of what the Spaniards seek to accomplish in New Orleans? You and your friend here?”

  “Gladly,” said Ben, and “Gladly,” Casimir echoed him.

  “Good,” said the Governor. “Claude, write out copies of two commissions on my staff. These are not to be announced as yet, but they will appoint Mr. Benjamin Parker and Mr. Casimir Beaumont as my aides, each to rank as a lieutenant of militia in the territory. Will you accept, you two?”

  Ben’s heart beat faster than when he stalked Jethro Wicks. He could only nod his acceptance.

  “I will hope for word from both of you,” went on Claiborne, “in private, as you learn news. Perhaps Mr. Banton will serve as a friend to bring messages from you. When I have recovered and have returned to New Orleans, I shall rely on our better acquaintance.”

  Still Ben could not speak his happy gratitude. It was Casimir who said, “Your Excellency, we will do our utmost in that duty or any other.”

  “Ha,” applauded Horner Banton, “my congratulations to Lieutenants Parker and Beaumont. And, Governor Claiborne, my further congratulations to you on securing two such aides.”

  VII. Fruitless Search

  The tension relaxed on all sides, governor claiborne, now quite exhausted, was helped into the house. The others came to shake the hands of Ben and Casimir and to offer praise and hospitality.

  Claude Dejan shrewdly diagnosed Casimir’s embarrassment and led him off, to lend him a handsome suit of green instead of the muddy riding clothes. Only Horner Banton was of a size to make a similar loan to the robust Ben, and he produced from his luggage a pair of nankeen trousers, a fine ruffled shirt, and a blue coat. Monsieur Du Fossat’s servants bore off the soiled garments for industrious brushing, scouring, and pressing.

  Dinner that evening was something of a celebration. Governor Claiborne kept to his room, and broth and custard were carried there to tempt his invalid app
etite 5 but in the dining room, Du Fossat presided at one end of a long table and his wife at the other, welcoming their guests to a meal little short of a banquet. It began with a clear, savory soup. This was followed by wild duck, egg dumplings, several vegetables lightly boiled together in spicy sauce, and a salad. Half a dozen varieties of fresh fruits, with nuts and raisins, appeared for dessert.

  When Madame du Fossat rose and said good night, the butler brought decanters of wine. The host called for toasts to the President of the United States and to Governor Claiborne. In turn, Horner Banton summoned Du Fossat and Dejan to drink the health of Ben and Casimir as heroes and future leaders of their people. Ben felt his face burn in an embarrassed flush, but Casimir responded gravely, proposing for his part a toast to “Orleans Territory—may she become the newest and greatest of the United States.” All drank to that.

  The two friends slept that night in the Du Fossat guesthouse, which Casimir called the gargonmere. They woke next morning as the plantation bell clanged to summon the slaves to their work. They found their riding clothes cleaned and pressed, and took breakfast of rolls and coffee with Monsieur du Fossat. Then they rode home along the river road, under skies that shone bright and clear after the cloudy weather through which they had hunted Wicks.

  Reaching home at noon, they found a trio of starkly anxious faces awaiting them. Monsieur Beaumont, Frank Parker, and Colonel O’Rourke had spent a worried night together and now fired questions about the affair at Tchoupitoulas.

  Concern for Ben and Casimir had been matched by concern for Claiborne and the territory he governed. When the story of the ride and rescue had been told, Colonel O’Rourke drew a long breath, half sigh and half snort. His lean fingers tweaked his mustache.

  “The Governor’s letters about the pair of you are full of praise,” he said, “and I beg to add my own. You have acted the parts of patriots and soldiers. Alorsy he should have rewarded you on the spot.”

  “And so he did,” said Ben. “I reckon it’s all right for you to see this.” He handed over his commission on Claiborne’s staff. “And Casimir has one like it.”

  The three older men pored over the commissions with interest.

  “These appointments are to be kept secret, you say?” inquired Monsieur Beaumont. “Tiensy I call that wise. But how many know the part you played in the adventure? ”

  Casimir counted on his slim fingers. “Nine,” he said after a moment. “The Governor himself, his secretary Monsieur Claude Dejan, Monsieur Banton, and Monsieur Soniat du Fossat. Then there are the three of you, and Ben and myself. Of course, we were seen by the servants at Tchoupitoulas, but they do not know us by name and heard little of our talk with the Governor.”

  “I count ten,” corrected Ben. “Casimir told Mademoiselle Felise about it when she lent us the horses.”

  “I’ll wager she says nothing,” insisted Casimir.

  “I, too,” nodded the Colonel. “Having no son, I have reared my daughter to play in some measure a man’s part. She is discreet. But you have forgotten others. This sad individual Jethro Wicks, and his friend who escaped—they will carry the news back to the enemy.”

  “I doubt if they delayed long enough to get a sure notion of Casimir or me,” said Ben. “Anyhow, they won’t know that we hold the Governor’s commissions.”

  “Let’s hope not,” said Frank Parker soberly, “or you might have trouble, both of you, on a dark street some night.

  Wicks and his friend make twelve, then, who know about the attempt—I don’t count the man you captured, he’s safe under arrest. Wait, there’s a thirteenth, and I hope he’s not the unlucky one.”

  “Who do you mean?” demanded Monsieur Beaumont.

  “The person who first warned Ben, and whose name Ben and Casimir will give no one,” said Frank Parker.

  “Please allow us to respect his wishes,” said Ben. “You know that Casimir and I are to learn what we can of any other plots. This man may help with more news if he sees he can trust us.”

  “Egad, nephew, you’re right,” pronounced Frank Parker. “Yet I plead guilty to superstition—Pd a sight rather have the secret shared by fourteen than thirteen.”

  “I was ready to say the same thing,” spoke up Monsieur Beaumont. “Suffer me to bring in a fourteenth.”

  “Who is that, Achille?” asked the Colonel.

  “A man as I trust myself or Casimir, as you trust Felise. Archimede.”

  “How?” cried Colonel O’Rourke. “Your black servant?”

  “I trust Archimede, too,” announced Frank Parker. “Have him in, Achille.”

  Monsieur Beaumont rang the bell. Archimede entered, grizzled and solemn.

  “Archimede,” said his master gravely, “you and I have lived together all our lives. We were children together, young men together. Now we grow old together. Throughout the years we have been the best of friends.”

  “It is as you say, M’sieu’,” agreed the servant, courteously expectant.

  “Often you have carried great burdens of responsibility for me,” continued Monsieur Beaumont. “I ask you now to take on the weight of another most important one.”

  “Anything you ask, M’sieu5,” said Archimede promptly. “I knew he would say that,” Monsieur Beaumont exulted to his friends. aBien> Archimede, listen while my son tells you a story.”

  Casimir’s tale lost nothing whatever in the telling. Archimede drank in the words, silent and expressionless as an Indian. When Casimir had finished, Archimede’s eyes turned toward his master.

  “I have already heard something of this,” he ventured. “It was in the mouths of two servants from Tchoupitoulas.” “How have you heard about it?” exclaimed Casimir. “It has only just happened, and twelve miles up the river at that.” “A letter came last night, for M’sieu’ your father,” Archimede reminded him. “With the messenger came two men who paddled the boat. By now, many workmen and servants will have heard a rumor.”

  “I thought the servants knew nothing,” sighed Casimir. “I misjudged the keenness of their hearing.”

  “That is why I brought you into this, my old friend,” Monsieur Beaumont told him. “We see, again, that very little is hidden from the gens noirs, the black folk of New Orleans. All of us here seek news of Jethro Wicks.”

  “Jethro Wicks,” Archimede repeated the name.

  “And of anyone else who would injure Governor Claiborne. You are loyal to me, Archimede, and to the United States. I ask you to work with us.”

  “Aye,” put in Frank Parker, “and say nought of our search for news. But find out what you can, and let us know.”

  “With gladness,” agreed Archimede, stately as an ambassador. “You honor me by trusting me.”

  Monsieur Beaumont rose. His slim pale hand caught Archimede’s sinewy dark one.

  “I have said that I trust you, and I say it again,” he said warmly. “We rely on your loyalty and sense. If you hear anything, if you even guess anything, come to me or my son, or to Monsieur Ben.”

  Archimede bowed and withdrew. Colonel O’Rourke watched him go, then cleared his throat raspingly and stroked his mustache. His dark eyes snapped.

  “A shrewd ally, that,” he commented. “Well, we are all sworn to help Claiborne and the nation. It is almost like going into battle. My blood tingles.”

  “Do you say the same thing, Casimir?” asked Ben. “Is there not a yearning in'your heart?”

  “Say rather in my stomach,” replied his friend. “It was a long ride, and Pm hungry.”

  After dinner, Frank Parker and Colonel O’Rourke said their farewells and departed. Ben went to his room to change. When he came out he met Casimir, dressed to the top of the fashion.

  “My father suggests that we walk out, you and I,” Casimir hailed him. “To the levee, then among the cafes. Tonight we go to the play at the Theatre Saint Philip. What say you to that, my Ben? It becomes a pleasure, this service to one’s country, hem?”

  Out they walked, hats tilted and canes sw
inging, along the shell-strewn levee road. The great crescent-shaped water front was strung with ships and barges, the market rang with voices, the Place d’Armes swarmed with strollers. Later they headed up Saint Louis Street to the cafe called La Bourse de Maspero, its small tables thronged with customers. Ben saw his Uncle Frank conferring with two traders, and once his heart bounded; for he glimpsed a checked shirt against the long bar at the rear of the big room. But then the shirt’s wearer showed his face, a heavy, good-humored face not at all like that of the horse-holder he and Casimir had tied to the sweet gum tree in the Tchoupitoulas woods.

  Toward evening, Casimir returned home while Ben, on sudden impulse, headed for the door where Jean Laffite had bade him good-by the day before.

  He entered a cafe, small and cheerful and full of people. Just inside the door, Jean Laffite strode forward to greet him.

  “Welcome, my friend,” said Laffite, smiling and cocking the brow above his squint eye. “I am told that you took a refreshing ride in the country yesterday.”

  “A refreshing ride and a profitable one,” replied Ben, falling into the other’s mood of veiled banter. “Thank you for past favors.”

  “N''wiforte” deprecated Laffite, shrugging. “But come, my brother is here. I will present you.”

  He led Ben to a table where two men sat with a wine bottle and glasses. They rose, and Jean Laffite made flourishing introductions.

  “This is Monsieur Ben Parker,” he said, “who is, shall we say, curious about certain people who may or may not be in the town.”

  “You know a vast deal about my affairs, Monsieur Laffite,” said Ben with a frown.

  “I but add two and two, and it makes four. My brother Pierre.”

  Pierre Laffite lacked his brother’s height and suavity, but he looked intelligent and competent.