Mignon

Chapter 17

Whatever I had or hadn’t found out, I still had to eat, so around 6:30 I walked up to the hotel. It was jammed, and I didn’t get a seat until the third or fourth table. But I bought my ticket, and then saw Dan come in and beckon to the newspapermen. When they’d gathered around him, he gave them the latest: the Army was moving up, being now in Natchitoches — “Nackitosh,” he called it; the Navy was having some trouble from low water on the falls, the stretch of rapid water just above the town, but several boats were up, and no serious delay had been caused. In other words, everything was moving according to schedule. But when he’d finished with them and dropped into a chair beside me, he had nothing to say and seemed in a sour humor. I said: “Why all the gloom if the sun is shining so bright?” He said: “It is, in a pig’s eye,” and then, mysterious: “You want to see something, Bill? Meet me out back.”

So I did, slipping out past the desk in under the stairs, through a door between the dining room and a big lounge with a stove in it. In a moment, there he was, in among the hotel’s steam boiler, gas tank, and cistern, pointing. I looked; in the gathering dark, the sky back of town was pink. He said: “That glow is cotton they’re burning out there — from some plantation gin on the Opelousas Road. They’ve been doing it, I’m told, every night since the Navy crossed them. We hear they hate our guts.”

“Yes, but since when did they love us?”

“They were all ready to think things over.”

“You’re hipped on that hoodoo, Dan.”

“I’m telling you, it’s going to dog us.”

“The cotton’s gone — it’s on its way to Cairo for condemnation in Springfield. The rest is a new deal.”

“We haven’t heard the end.”

When I didn’t respond he got sore, and circled the tailor shop at one side to return to the headquarters boat without going back through the hotel. I went in and at last got a place for dinner, which wasn’t too bad: corned beef, cabbage, potato, rice pudding with rum sauce, and real coffee — the first sign of a change when the Union comes to town. When I went out into the lobby again, Ball was back of the stagecoach desk, a grizzled, seamy two-striper who looked like an old river pilot, which is probably what he was. He was talking to a woman about her son who’d been captured, but spotted me and called me over, telling her to wait. He shook hands, saying: “Mr. Cresap, Sandy Gregg said you’d come — I know you by his description.”

“I’m easy described,” I said, waving the stick.

“He never mentioned it. He spoke only about your beauty — and that torn fifty-dollar bill you have. Could I see it just once, Mr. Cresap?”

I got one half of it out, and when he loved it as though it was alive I realized I had a pass, by just a crazy accident, to a lodge I’d never heard of. He said: “It’s the old smuggler’s talisman, and my, how that carries me back. Mr. Cresap, before annexation, and the tariff changes of Forty-six, everything was protected — from jumping jacks to sewing machines — and the smuggling that went on, especially here in the South, had to be seen to be believed. Jefferson, Texas, was the Lone-Star port of entry, and Shreveport of course was ours. We had, and still have, the long, narrow steamers, and what they took through the bayous — Twelve-Mile Bayou to Lake Caddo, and Big Bayou to Red River — ran into the millions, sir. And with every dummy manifest, I’d be given this same bill — a fifty torn once, to match a piece I had in my wallet. Well, when you show me this I know you have real friends, and I may as well tell you the truth — or they will. So: Our orders, here in the Navy, are to receipt for loyal cotton, whether captured or not. But which Red River cotton is loyal? As we hear, there’s none. It’s all been impressed, we’ve been told, by the Confederate bureau at Shreveport, for export — you know how they do? Haul to Texas, then ship through Mexico?”

I said I knew about it, and he went on: “So much for what we heard. There’s also the element of confusion. Did Sandy speak of the stencil?”

“... Stencil? I don’t think so.”

“When we capture a bale we stencil it USN to keep things straight. And the boys — no order was given, it was strictly a fo’c’sle idea — they put an extra stencil on, CSA — all perfectly honest, since it meant Cotton Stealing Association, U.S. Navy. But a court could easy conclude it meant Confederate States of America. Well now, couldn’t it? But why, you may ask, couldn’t a court open its mouth and inquire what the stencil meant? All right, since you ask, I’ll say. Under the law of prize, if the prize bears any marks, ‘sufficient to its adjudification’ — that’s what he said, adjudification — that closes the case, no more evidence can be heard. So the court can’t inquire, the law don’t permit it! So you, Mr. Cresap, are sitting in the soup, so far as cotton’s concerned that was stored in Rachal’s Warehouse, and that’s offered you for sale. Am I making the point clear?”

“I think I get it, yes.”

“CSA — CSA, they’re one and the same.”

“We could say, like Black Hawk — Black Hawk.”

“That’s it! War is war!”

Then, leaning close: “I ask you right out, Mr. Cresap: Have you bought in on this cotton or haven’t you?”

“Not actually, Lieutenant Ball.”

“Then don’t! Save your tin!”

“I’ll remember what you say. Thanks.”

He called the woman over, took the name of her son, and said he’d do what he could to get the boy released. Then he leaned back and started in again about the old days of the smugglers, in the time of the Texas Republic, when all of a sudden he stopped, as a man in moleskins, jackboots, and felt hat leaned over toward him. We were seated facing each other, he behind the desk, I beside it, my back to the lobby. He looked up, said: “Mr. Burke, I’m sorry I have no news — we’re taking nobody upriver until the occupation is complete.”

“But I must get to Shreveport,” said the familiar voice, “before I leave for Springfield, to see to me interests there. I’ve a tremenjous opportunity to buy a parcel of cotton on the Sabine, back of the town—”

“The Pulaski dump?”

“Aye, a cache of five thousand bales, no less!”

“But the Army has boats too. Why not see them?”

“The Army and I have our differences.”

“Well with this Army, who wouldn’t have differences — we have a few ourselves. But for two million in cotton, I wouldn’t be too damned proud. Why don’t you hop a wagon? You don’t need a pass for that.”

“ ’Tis an idea; I’ll think it over.”

They batted it back and forth, and perhaps to change the subject, Ball suddenly asked: “Did the little lady cross? To visit that grave in Pineville? Her mother’s, I think you said?”

“She’s — been a bit under the weather.”

“She still has Powell’s pass?”

“Aye — she remembers’m in her prayers.”

“Whenever she’s ready, any cutter’ll take her.”

“And she’s grateful, have no doubt of it.”

“Funny, Mr. Burke, I’ve often thought about it: How could they lay out this town so neat, with no place to bury people? No cemeteries here, you know. What’s the idea? Do they figure to live forever?”

“As they tell it, many of’m do.”

“Not Powell, unfortunately.”

“Have you word of the wretch who killed’m?”

“Not yet. But God help him when we catch up.”

“To that a brace of amens.”

They came back to her again, Burke saying how “slimsy” she’d felt today, “especially with the rain.” How long it went on, I don’t know, but more than just a few seconds, as I had my back to the lobby, and Burke couldn’t see who was there — and long enough for stuff to go through my head. I thought: Since when was she “slimsy” today? She hadn’t looked slimsy to me, and in fact was chock full of mean, rotten ginger. Then I thought: If she wasn’t slimsy, why should he say she was? To cover not using her pass, but then I thought: Why hasn’t she used it, for instance? I thought all that without caring too much. But then suddenly it hit me like a sledge: Suppose she’s not going to use it? Suppose it was just a trick to get Powell’s specimen signature, so Burke could forge the receipt the Navy wouldn’t give? And suppose that’s why Powell got killed, so he couldn’t deny his name in court? For one heartbeat, she was guilty as hell to me and one heartbeat again, I felt the same feeling as Booth had had in his eyes. But then, as always, came the excuse I made for her: Suppose, I thought, she knew nothing about the pass? Suppose he’d got it for her so he could forge the receipt, and conveniently forgot to tell her? That would tie in with the way she’d acted with me, bragging about the receipt, and certainly believing he had one. It would also put her, as soon as the Navy caught up — and figured why Powell was shot — right on the gallows step. Because, when they searched Burke’s papers, they’d find the pass in her name, the receipt with identical signature, and nothing to show she hadn’t been in on the trick.

By the time he looked down and saw me, I was well on my way, I knew, to solving two or three mysteries, all in one fell swoop. “Hello, Burke,” I said.

“... What are you doing here, Cresap?”

“Was talking to the lieutenant. Am talking to you.”

“What business have you with me?”

“You’ll find out. Thanks, Lieutenant Ball.”

As Ball, kind of puzzled, gave me a wary wave, I led to the DEMOCRAT desk and took my seat behind it, but then saw that Burke hadn’t moved. “Of course,” I called, “IF YOU WANT THE NAVY TO HEAR—”

He’d heard me bellow before, and came in five quick steps, pulling up a chair so he could sit close. But I kicked it out from under him. I said: “Stand when talking to me.

“Talking to you? About what?”

“Couldn’t we say a slight case of murder?”

“Are you out of your mind? Whose?”

“Lieutenant Powell’s, perhaps — whose name you got on a pass, so she could cross the river; then used his specimen signature, to forge one on the receipt, the Navy’s receipt for your cotton, as you forged the informer notes last month down in New Orleans; and then you killed him so he couldn’t deny it in court!”

“Cresap, I think you’re crazy.”

“I don’t, that’s the difference — and the question is, what do we do about it? I wasn’t here, I didn’t see it, I don’t have to turn you in — it all hinges on the other people involved, the ones named in your written agreements, as to whether they’re guilty too. If not, I can’t turn you in, but I can destroy your papers, to cut you out, and them out, of every dime of the hundred-twenty thousand you thought you’d make from this crime. If they are as guilty as you are, I’m turning you all three in — you, your partner, and her. I don’t care how pretty she is, or whether you love her or not, or whether anyone does, she’s going to swing!” I let that soak in as he stood there licking his lips, then went on: “So that’s what we’re doing now — going into it, to see what’s what, and who gets his neck broke. Come on, we’re paying them a call — now.”

“ ’Twill suit me very well.”

“Then fine, let’s go.”

“But I’ve a suggestion, me boy — when we’ve explained the thing to Adolphe, and to Mignon Fournet, of course, why don’t we all go to my house — after all, me papers are there. ’Tis quite a decent place I took on Second Street in the block below the market, back of Adolphe’s store — we can make ourselves comfortable there, and I’ll prove to you once and for all how mistaken you are.”

“If they agree, your house sounds fine.”

“Then ’tis settled, and let’s be off!”

It was settled — a little too much. Because I’d worked myself out on a limb and was neatly sawing it off. To own the truth, I’d come without my gun, not supposing I’d need it. And how far I was going to get, walking down the street in the company of this man I was sure had killed the lieutenant, I didn’t like to think. With the stored-up venom I’d had, I had let myself go regardless, but now I had the cold sweaty feeling of someone about to fall. However, that venom saved me, as everyone there stopped talking and turned my way, and the clerk, the same stiff-necked one who had rented the houses out, got so concerned, as my vicious whispering kept on, that he strolled to the door, stepped out, and called: “Corporal of the Guard! Corporal of the Provost Guard!”

In a moment a soldier was there, not a corporal but a private, belted for duty with sidearms, who took things in with one look and came over to Burke and me. “What’s going on here?” he wanted to know. “What seems to be the trouble?”

“Nothing,” I said. “Just a nice, sociable brawl that’s nobody’s business but ours.” But then, thinking fast, I added: “But I feel my life in some danger, going home tonight, and if you’d ask your corporal, or whoever’s in command, to provide me with an escort, I’d feel myself obliged.”

“Where do you live, sir?”

“Schmidt store, block and a half down.”

“It’s on my post. I’ll take you there myself.”

“And me,” said Burke. “Me life’s in danger too.”

That got a laugh, for some reason, and we got a laugh and a hand when the boy formed us up, Burke and me in front, he bringing up the rear, and we marched out the door. Even Ball was laughing, but for once that day I didn’t feel like a dolt.

We were quite a noisy parade, going down the street, the guard’s heels clopping, my stick clicking, my corduroys whining, and Burke’s jackboots whispering like a deck of cards being riffled. When we got to our corner I told Burke to rouse out Mr. Landry and Mrs. Fournet while I got some stuff I’d need, and then, after thanking the guard, I went through the little gate, up the stairs to the platform, and into my flat with my key. I was no sooner in than I scrambled fast to the bedroom, clawed into the bag, and after scattering all kinds of stuff — sandwiches, clothes, and gear — I got my hooks on the gun. I dropped it in my pocket, not bothering with the harness, then went down to the street again. The guard was still on the corner, looking up at the Landry flat, where Burke was on the platform, beating on the door, and calling loudly in French. Not a sound came from inside, and no light showed. “They don’t answer,” he said peevishly.

“I bet they don’t,” I said, “after you told them not to, in that trick language you speak with them. They’ll answer me, though.”

“Hey, you!”

That was the guard, snapping it out as I started up, and stopping me in my tracks. He called Burke down, and gave us both a bawling out, ordering us “to your billets, or you’ll spend the night in the clink.” I told Burke: “You be at my place in the morning, with them, both of them, do you hear — at nine, sharp.” Then I watched him march off in the dark, thanked the guard once again, and went back up to my flat. I bolted the door, lit a half candle that was there in an iron stick, hung up my clothes in the armoire in the bedroom, put on my nightshirt, and went to bed. As I reached for the candle to blow it out, there grinning at me from the night table was one of the china heads. I said: “My friend, for once, the joke is not on me, and you haven’t seen anything yet. Just you wait till tomorrow, and you may really have something to laugh at.”