Underground Captive (15 page)

    
             
Charles nodded and smiled, though Jared wore a straight face.

    
             
Odessa, the head house servant, walked in carrying Jared’s cloak over her arm.  "Mam'zelle, her say to give you this, Masta Jared," she said, extending the cloak out to him.

    
             
Jared regarded her a moment then took the cloak.  He dipped his head

slightly, smiled and drained his glass.

    
             
"If the authorities decide they need a statement from me, ye know where to find me."  Jared knew full well that he would not be in the house by the ramparts.  And he knew, also, that Charles knew nothing of his horse farm.

    
             
"You can stay and have a repast with us."

    
             
"Nay, I can't.  I have a valuable horse out in the courtyard that is in need of a rub down.  I must take my leave now.  Say good day to the ladies for me." Jared started for the door.

    
             
"Good day, Jared.  Remember tonight is our meeting with Captain Blossom.  I will meet you at Crescent Wood?" Charles reminded him in the form of a question.

"Aye, Charles, I'll meet ye at Crescent Wood.  Until later."

11

    
             
Dressed in his disguise of solid black, from masked head to booted feet, Jared sat astride Satan, his black stallion, hidden in the distant trees and thickets.  Charles and six other plantation owners stood on the banks near Charles's former overseer's cabin, Williams, who conversed with Charles.

    
             
Too far away to hear the hushed conversation, Phillipe Dureau and Henri Robicheaux walked toward Charles, grim looks upon their faces.

    
             
Looking toward the horizon, Jared saw a paddlewheeler in the distance, so far away that it seemed a toy.  If it was the Magnolia Blossom, 'twould be a few minutes before it reached where the men stood.

    
             
Stealthily, Jared circled behind them until he reached the edge of the canefields where a lone slave held the men’s horses at bay.  Startled, the slave looked up just in time to see the pistol butt come down on the side of his head.  He crumpled to the ground in unconsciousness.

    
             
"Sorry about that, Zeke.  Ye'll be fine.  Ye'll probably have a huge headache when ye wake up, but there's a price we all have to pay for something or other," Jared whispered.  ‘Twas necessary to keep Zeke out of this deception as much as possible.  No slave except those escaping had actually seen the Black Rider.

    
             
Taking the horses's reins, Jared led them a distance away and slapped one on its hindquarter.  It broke out in a run toward the stables, located on the other side of the mansion. He slapped another, then another, until they were all scattered about, a far distance from the riverbanks.

    
             
He walked Satan back to his hiding place in the trees. The last rays of the sun dipped beyond the horizon, turning the sky a deep, rosy red.  Waning light cast its long, eerie shadows along the banks and cast the lone figure of Williams into bold relief.  He waved to the boat that trailed boiling white foam in its wake and was now recognizable as the Magnolia Blossom.  Jared ventured a guess that the other men were all hiding inside the cabin.

   
             
Williams went inside the cabin and a few minutes later, came back with a lighted lantern.  He swung the lantern from left to right as the boat, itself lighted sufficiently for the descending darkness, glided close to the riverbanks.

Underground Captive
             
             
             
             
             
             
             
49

    
             
The boat came to a halt, and a tall, black-haired man in a captain's uniform, stepped cautiously from the control room onto the deck.  Several Negroes scrambled ashore.  Suddenly the door to the cabin swung open.

    
             
The captain turned to flee when six men, brandishing pistols and barking orders, spilled out of the dwelling.

    
             
"Stop in your tracks,
monsieur
, or die on the spot!" Charles Duplantier ordered, his words harsh and exact.

             
The captain stopped without turning as the angry planters held the slaves who made it to shore at gunpoint.

    
             
"A freedom ship!" Charles barked, the kind of ship the captain ran dawning on him, recognizing a slave belonging to Phillipe Dureau.

"What?" Phillipe snarled.

             
Charles pointed to a man.  "Doesn't he belong to you, Phillipe?"

    
             
Phillipe looked at the slave, rage contorting his features.  "You black bastard! I ought to shoot you right here and now.  I've been good to you, Hezikiah.  I've been good to all my slaves.  Why would you betray my kindness by running away like this?"

    
             
"Easy, Phillipe.  If they didn't have help they couldn't run away.  The traitor is up on deck,” Charles said.

"Get down off that boat,
monsieur!
" Henri ordered.  "Show your cowardly

face."

"Drop yo' guns and don't y'all turn 'round," Jared commanded in a heavy,

muffled voice.

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Underground Captive
             
             
             
             
             
             
             

    
             
Darkness had settled in and the moon shone its light through the trees.  The white surface of the boat gleamed like pearls.  With the moonlight and lanterns shining, Jared easily discerned the figures before him.  But he stood in the shadows, a nebulous figure of uncertain actions.

    
             
Gun in hand, Henri turned toward the sound.  A pistol shot sent the gun flying through the air.  Henri yelled.

    
             
"Ah's done told you gent'mins to drop yo' guns.  Now y'all kin jus' step aside an' let the captain and the black mens git the rashuns," Jared said in an exaggerated  dialect.   ‘Twas necessary.  Every man there knew the sound of his voice.

Without hesitation, the others threw down their weapons.

    
             
"Go on mens, y'all git yo' food.  Iffen any o’ these gent'mins move, Ah's gonna shoot them."  The dialect went hard on his tongue.  It took real effort to leave off traces of his native speech.

At the captain's nod, the slaves converged on the cabin and soon emptied it of

its food contents.

   
             
Seeing that they had finished loading the food and were safely aboard the Magnolia Blossom, Jared called out, "Cap'an Blossom, ain't you gonna pay fo’ this haul?"

    
             
The captain, silhouetted against the moonlight, said something to a dark-skinned man, then dug into his pocket and took out a bag of coins.  The man took the coins and brought it to the man to whom Captain Blossom pointed.

    
             
Charles opened his hand and accepted the small bag, all the while straining his eyes in the dusky light to see the captain's half-hidden face.

    
             
"Hey you white mens, you tho' those guns in the water.  Ah cain't have y'all shootin' at me when Ah takes ma leave."

    
             
"You must be out of your mind," Phillipe snarled.  "I have a very valuable weapon here and I will not throw it in the river!"

    
             
"Ah said tho' the guns in the river," Jared repeated slowly, enjoying how cowed he had the slaveowners.  "Ah ain't gonna tell y'all no more.  Ah's just gonna start shootin'.  An' you is gonna be the first one Ah shoots!"

    
             
Almost instantly the proud plantation owners bowed to his command.  The guns plopped into the river and water splashed up.

* * *

    
             
Jared met Angus in their prearranged hiding place, exchanged horses and replaced the black disguise he wore with proper attire.  He fastened his gray brocaded waistcoat over the white shirt he already wore.  He slipped off his black breeches and put on a pair of dark gray trousers, then slipped on his gray topcoat and put his cloak around his shoulders.

    
             
He climbed upon King George's back and turned the palomino in the direction of Crescent Wood.  "Be careful, Angus.  There are patrollers out." 

"Aye, Master Jared."

    
             
"Keep to the main path.  More than likely they will be patrolling the back roads looking for runaways.  See ye later."  He clicked his tongue and King George galloped down the path.

    
             
The moon, full and luminous lighted the night.  'Twas a crisp, cold, starry night.  'Twas a perfect night to began a free life, Jared thought, very pleased with himself.  He didn't know how many slaves were set on the path to freedom, but he’d counted eight men who carried food from Williams's cabin.

    
             
Turning off the road to the path to the mansion, seven men walked wearily toward him.  Jared knew before reaching them who they were.  He reined in King George as he got to them, hard put to stifle a laugh.  "Charles? 
Messieurs
?  Aren't ye going the wrong way?"

    
             
"Jared!"  A shadow of annoyance crossed Charles's features.  "
Mon dieu
!  Why couldn't you have made it here just a half hour sooner?"

    
             
"Am I too late, Charles?  Forgive me,
messieurs
.  I must have gotten the hour mixed up.  I thought ye said seven o'clock.  But it looks like ye have everything under control.  Who was the bold captain of that dastardly boat?"  He glanced around, feigning puzzlement.  "Where are yer horses?"

    
             
"Jared, we're cold and tired so we're going to the house now for a shot of brandy," Phillipe said, his anger evident.  "Our horses are scattered to the four winds and poor Zeke was found sitting in the field, dazed."  He threw his hands up in disgust.  "We've just been outwitted and humiliated by a slick, black bastard, clad in some black disguise.”

    
             
"All right, Phillipe.  I'll meet ye all at the house.  Try and hurry there.  'Tis nippy out here."  Jared rode down the path, chuckling.

     * * *

"There's no point reporting this to the authorities," Charles grumbled, in the warmth of his parlor.  He leaned back in his chair and took a gulp of the brandy he held.  "There's not much they can do.  By the time we get word to them, that blasted boat would be far enough upriver for the captain to sneak the cargo off.  And without the evidence, there really is nothing they can do."

    
             
Jared passed a hand across his chin.  "Ye said the captain of the ship is a black?"

    
             
"For God's sake, man!"  Phillipe slammed his fist in the palm of his hand, his eyes wild.  "Haven't you been listening? You know there are no black captains.  We believe the man who held us at bay is black.  In fact, we know who he is!  What can be more humiliating than having a Negro outwit you?  There is an extremely smart Negro out here making complete asses out of us,
messieurs
."

    
             
"
Oui
, I have to agree."  Henri Robicheaux nodded, perplexed.  "We've been looking for a masked white man and all this time the blackguard has been a Negro."  His laugh was cold and brittle.

    
             
"I've got it!  I know who it is!"  Phillipe bolted from his seat on the sofa.  "Omar, a trusted field Negro at the Fuselier Plantation in northern Louisiana."

    
             
Bloody damn! Now what shall I do
?  Jared didn't want these pompous imbeciles to kill an innocent man because of his antics.  He frowned, asking casually,  “how do ye know he is from northern Louisiana?  For that matter, how do ye know he is this Omar?"

    
             
"
Monsieur
, the slaves in northern Louisiana don't have the dialect of the New Orleans and southern Louisiana slaves," Phillipe explained, walking to the liquor cabinet and pointedly ignoring Jared's last question.

"I see."

"Whoever the bastard is, we'll get him and hang him from the highest

tree."

    
             
"Obviously, Jacques, you aren't convinced that the Black Rider is a Negro." Phillipe held the decanter in mid-air, pinning Jacques with a narrowed gaze before finally pouring himself another drink.

    
             
"
Non
, Phillipe, I am not.  How can you be so sure he is?"

    
             
"Aye," Jared agreed.  "How can ye be sure, Dureau?  How could a slave come and go at random as the Black Rider does?  Wouldn't his master miss him just once?"

    
             
Henri’s brow quirked in bemusement.  "Jared and Jacques have a point, Phillipe."

    
             
"
Oui
, I couldn't agree more," Charles said, tight-lipped and stern-faced.  "The Black Rider strikes sometimes every night in one week.  Explain to me, Phillipe, how could a slave not be missed one of those times?  Especially since the blackguard's activities have been going on for well over three years."

    
             
Phillipe laughed without humor.  "Dammit,
messieurs
!  There are some very cunning Negroes.  Omar is a trusted Negro, which means he is not as closely watched.  I think I'm right in assuming the bastard is a darkie."  His depthless black eyes brimmed with anger and self-righteous contempt.

"Well, he did have the dialect of a slave," Jacques conceded, standing up and

walking to the liquor cabinet to refill his drink.

    
             
"What about yer patrollers?" Jared asked with cool authority.

    
             
"Jared, you can always tell a black when you hear one," Phillipe assured him,  dropping into his vacated space on the sofa.

One of Jared's copper brows raised in silent inquiry.

    
             
Phillipe shrugged his shoulders.  "Their voices are heavier, deeper."

   
             
Rhetorical nonsense
, Jared thought.  "Charles, is Zeke all right?"

"
Oui
, Jared," Charles answered.  "He was able to return to his cabin on

his own."

             
Jared stood.  "I apologize for arriving late and being the first one to leave, but I have an appointment in the city."

             
"If you'll excuse me for a moment,
mes amis
?" Charles said, attempting to rise.

    
             
Jared raised his hand in protest, shaking his head.  "Nay, Charles.  I'll find my way out," he insisted, shaking each man's hand.  "Stay with your friends."

12

    
             
Ricard squinted his eyes, scanning the noisy, smoke-filled room of the Red Dog Saloon, which he had entered seconds before.  He hated this snake pit, but he had to pay Captain Duplessis, the owner of the boat,
Southern Beauty
.  Ricard would finally own the boat that he'd rented for almost a year; the boat known to freedom seekers as the
Magnolia Blossom
.

    
             
He took a table close to the door and gestured to the barmaid to bring him his usual.  A well known face at the Red Dog because of Duplessis' insistence to meet here, Ricard knew and was known by everyone alike as Sean O'Dowell from the Irish county of Dublin--and an avid whiskey drinker.

Ricard had saved enough of the allowance his father sent him each month when he was in France to purchase the boat.  His father still sent an allowance but now it took longer to reach Ricard because it still went to France.  He had one of his friends, for a small portion of the money every month, send it to the boarding house where Ricard lived in Baton Rouge, upriver from New Orleans.