All the efforts of Peculiar to induce the bloodhound, Victor, to take the scent of either of the gloves, had proved unavailing. At every trial Victor persisted in going straight to the jail where his master, Antoine, was confined. Peek began to despair of discovering any trace of the abducted maiden.

Were dumb animals ever guided by spirit influence? There were many curious facts showing that birds were sometimes used to convey impressions, apparently from higher intelligences. At sea, not long ago, a bird had flown repeatedly in the helmsman’s face, till the latter was induced to change his course. The consequence was, his encounter with a ship’s crew in a boat, who must have perished that night in the storm, had they not been picked up. There were also instances in which dogs would seem to have been the mere instruments of a supersuper and supercanine sagacity. But Victor plainly was not thus impressible. His instincts led him to his master, but beyond that point they would not or could not be made to exert themselves.

Had not Peek’s faith in the triumph of the right been large, he would have despaired of any help from the coming of the United States forces. For weeks the newspapers had teemed with paragraphs, some scientific and some rhetorical, showing that New Orleans must not and could not be taken. They all overflowed with bitterness toward the always “cowardly and base-born” Yankees. The Mayor of the city wrote, in the true magniloquent and grandiose style affected by the Rebel leaders: “As for hoisting any flag not of our own adoption, the man lives not in our midst whose hand and heart would not be paralyzed at the mere thought of such an act!”

A well-known physician, who had simply expressed the opinion that possibly the city might have to surrender, had been waited on by a Vigilance Committee and warned. Taking the hint, the man of rhubarb forthwith handed over a contribution of five hundred dollars, in expiation of his offence.

All at once the confident heart of Rebeldom was stunned by the news that two of the Yankee steamers had passed Forts Jackson and St. Philip. The great ram had been powerless to prevent it. Then followed the announcement that seven,—then thirteen,—then twenty,—then the whole of Farragut’s fleet, excepting the Varuna, were coming. Yes, the Hartford and the Brooklyn and the Mississippi and the Pensacola and the Richmond, and the Lord knew how many more, were on their way up the great river. They would soon be at English Bend; nay, they would soon be at the Levee, and have the haughty city entirely at their mercy!

No sooner was the terrible news confirmed than the Rebel authorities ordered the destruction of all the cotton-bales stored on the Levee. The rage, the bitterness, the anguish of the pro-slavery chiefs was indescribable. Several attempts were made to fire the city, and they would probably have succeeded, but for a timely fall of rain. On the landing of the United States forces, the frenzy of the Secessionists passed all bounds; and one poor fellow, a physician, was hung by them for simply telling a United States officer where to find the British Consulate.

But if some hearts were sick and crushed at the spectacle, there were many thousands in that great metropolis to whom the sight of the old flag carried a joy and exultation transcending the power of words to express; and one of these hearts beat under the black skin of Peek. Followed by Victor, he ran to the Levee where United States troops were landing, and there—O joy unspeakable!—standing on the upper deck of one of the smaller steamers, and almost one of the first persons he saw, was Mr. Vance.

Peek shouted his name, and Vance, leaping on shore, threw his arms impulsively round the brawny negro, and pressed him to his breast. Brief the time for explanations. In a few clear words, Peek made Vance comprehend the precise state of affairs, and in five minutes the latter, at the head of a couple of hundred soldiers, and with Peek walking at his side, was on his way to the jail. Victor, the bloodhound, evidently understood it all. He saw, at length, that he was going to carry his point.

Arrived at the jail, a large, square, whitewashed building, with barred windows, they encountered at the outer door three men smoking cigars. The foremost of them, a stern-looking, middle-aged man, with fierce, red whiskers, and who was in his shirt-sleeves, came forward, evidently boiling over with a wrath he was vainly trying to conceal, and asked what was wanted.

“There is a black man, Antoine Lafour, confined here. Produce him at once.”

“But, sir,” said the deputy, “this is altogether against civilized usage. This is a place for—”

“I can’t stop to parley with you. Produce the man instantly.”

“I shall do no such thing.”

Vance turned to an orderly, and said, “Arrest this man.” At once the deputy was seized on either side by two soldiers. “Now, sir,” said Vance, cocking his pistol and taking out his watch, “Produce Antoine Lafour in five minutes, or I will shoot you dead.”

The bloodhound, who had been scenting with curious nose the man’s person, now seconded the menace by a savage growl, which seemed to have more effect even than the pistol, for the deputy, turning to one of the men in attendance, said sulkily, “Bring out the nigger, and be quick about it.”

In three minutes Antoine appeared, and the dog leaped bodily into his arms, the negro talking to him much as he would to a human being. “I knowed you’d do it, ole feller! Thar! Down! Down, I say, ole Vic! It takes you,—don’t it? Down! Behave yourself afore folk. Why, Peek, is this you?”

“Yes, Antoine, and this is Mr. Vance, and here’s the old flag, and you’re no longer a slave.”

“What? I no longer a— No! Say them words agin, Peek! Free? Owner of my own flesh an’ blood? Dis arm mine? Dis head mine? Bress de Lord, Peek! Bress him for all his mercies! Amen! Hallelujah!”

The released negro could not forego a few wild antics expressive of his rapture. Peek checked him, and bade him remember the company he was in; and Antoine bowed to Vance and said: “’Scuze me, Kunnle. I don’t perfess to be sich a high-tone gemmleman as Peek here, but—”

“Stop!” cried Peek; “where did you get those last words?”

“What words?” asked Antoine, showing the whites of his eyes with an expression of concern at Peek’s suddenly serious manner.

“Those words,—‘high-tone gemmleman.’ Whom did you ever hear use them?”

“Yah, yah! Wall, Peek, those words I got from Kunnle Delancy Hyde.”

“Where,—where and when did you get them?”

“Bress yer, Peek, jes now,—not two minutes ago,—dar in the gallery whar the Kunnle’s walkin’ up and down.”

Peek smiled significantly at Vance, and the latter, approaching the deputy who had not yet been released from custody, remarked: “You have a man named Hyde confined there.”

“Yes, Delancy Hyde. The scoundrel stole the funds given to him to pay recruiting expenses.”

“For which I desire to thank him. Bring him out.”

“But, sir, you wouldn’t—”

“Five minutes, Mr. Deputy, I give you, a second time, in which to obey my orders. If Mr. Delancy Hyde isn’t forthcoming before this second-hand goes round five times, one of your friends here shall have the opportunity of succeeding you in office, and you shall be deposited where the wicked cease from troubling.”

The deputy was far from being agreeably struck at the prospect of quitting the company of the wicked. But for them his vocation would be wanting. And so he nodded to a subordinate, and in three minutes out stalked the astonishing figure of Colonel Delancy Hyde, wearing a dirty woollen Scotch cap, and attired in the coarsest costume of the jail.

Ignorant of the great event of the day, not perceiving the old flag, and supposing that he had been called out to be shot, Hyde walked up to Vance, and said: “Kunnle, you look like a high-tone gemmleman, and afore I’m shot I want ter make a confidential request.”

“Well, sir, what is it?” said Vance, shading his face with his cap so as not to be recognized. “Speak quick. I can’t spare you three minutes.”

“Wall, Kunnle, it’s jes this: I’ve a sister, yer see, in Alabamy, jest out of Montgomery; her name’s Dorothy Rusk. She’s a widder with six childern; one on ’em an idiot, one a cripple, and the eldest gal in a consumption. Dorothy has had a cruel hard time on it, as you may reckon, an’ I’ve ollerz paid her rent and a leetle over till this cussed war broke out, since when I’ve been so hard up I’ve had ter scratch gravel thunderin’ lively to git my own grub. Them Confed’rate rags that I ’propriated, I meant to send to Dorothy; but the fogies, they war too quick for me. Wall, ter come ter the pint: I want you ter write a letter ter Dorothy, jes tellin’ her that the reason why Delancy can’t remit is that Delancy has been shot; and tellin’ her he sent his love and all that—whar you can’t come it too strong, Kunnle, for yer see Dorothy an’ I, we was ’bout the same age, and used ter make mud-pies together, and sail our boats together down thar in the old duck-pond, when we was childern; an’ so yer see—”

Vance looked into his face. Yes, the battered old reprobate was trying to gulp down his agitation, and there were tears rolling down his cheeks. Vance was touched.

“Hyde, don’t you know me?” he said.

“What! Mr. Vance? Mr. Vance!”

“Nobody else, Hyde. He comes here a United States officer, you see. New Orleans has surrendered to Uncle Sam. Look at that flag. Instead of being shot, you are set at liberty. Here’s your old friend, Peek.”

The knees of Colonel Delancy Hyde smote each other, and his florid face grew pale. Flesh and blood he could encounter well as any man, but a ghost was a piling on of something he hadn’t bargained for. Yet there palpably before him stood Peek, the identical Peek he believed to have been drowned in the Mississippi some fifteen years back.

“Wall, how in creation—”

“It’s all right, Hyde,” interrupted Vance. “And now if you want that sister of yours provided for, you just keep as close to my shadow as you can.”

Hyde was too confounded and stupefied to make any reply. These revelations coming upon him like successive shocks from a galvanic-battery, were too much for his equanimity. Awestruck and stunned, he stared stupidly, first at Vance, then at the flag, and finally at Peek.

The roll of the drum, accompanied by Vance’s orders to the soldiers, roused him, and then attaching himself to Peek, he marched on with the rest, Peek beguiling the way with much useful and enlightening information.

They had not marched farther than the next carriage-stand when Vance, leaving Captain Onslow in command, with orders to bivouac in Canal Street, slipped out of the ranks, and beckoning to Peek and his companions, they all, including Antoine and Hyde, entered a vehicle which drove off with the faithful Victor running at its side.

Behold them now in Vance’s old room at the St. Charles. The immediate matter of concern was, how to find Clara? How was the search to be commenced?

Antoine, a bright, well-formed negro of cheerful aspect, after scratching his wool thoughtfully for a moment, said: “Peek, you jes gib me them two glubs you say you’ve got.”

Antoine then took the gloves, and, throwing them on the floor, called Victor’s attention to them, and said: “Now, Vic, I want yer to show these gemmen your broughten up. Ob dem two glubs, you jes bring me de one dat you tink you kn fine de owner ob right off straight, widout any mistake. Now, be car’ful.”

Victor snuffed at the large glove, and instantly kicked it aside with contempt. Then, after a thoughtful scenting of the small glove, he took it up in his mouth and carried it to Antoine.

“Berry well,” said Antoine. “Dat’s your choice, is it? Now tell me, Vic, hab yer had yer dinner?”

The dog barked affirmatively.

“Berry well. Now take a good drink.” And, filling a washbowl with water, Antoine gave it to the dog, who lapped from it greedily.

“Hab yer had enough?” asked Antoine.

Victor uttered an affirmative bark.

“Wall, now,” said Antoine, “you jes take dis ere glub, an’ don’t yer come back till you fine out su’thin’ ’bout de owner ob it. Understan’?”

The dog again barked assent, and Antoine, escorting him down-stairs and out-of-doors, gave him the glove. Victor at once seized it between his teeth and trotted off at “double-quick,” up St. Charles Street.

During the interval of waiting for Victor’s return, “Tell me now, Peek,” said Vance, “of your own affairs. Have you been able to get any clew from Amos Slink to guide you in your search for your wife?”

“All that he could do,” replied Peek, “was merely to confirm what I already suspected as to Charlton’s agency in luring her back into the clutch of Slavery.”

“I must make the acquaintance of that Charlton,” said Vance. “And by the way, Hyde, you must know something of the man.”

“I know more nor I wish I did,” replied Hyde. “I could scar’ up some old letters of his’n, I’m thinkin’, ef I was ter sarch in an old trunk in the house of the Widder Rusk (her as is my sister) in Montgomery.”

“Those letters we must have, Hyde,” said Vance. “You must lay your plans to get them. ’T would be hardly safe for you to trust yourself among the Rebels. They’ve an awkward fashion of hanging up without ceremony all who profane the sanctity of Confederate scrip. But you might send for the letters.”

“That’s a fak, Kunnle Vance. I’m gittin’ over my taste for low society. I want nothin’ more ter do with the Rebels. But I’ve a nephew at Montgomery,—Delancy Hyde Rusk,—who can smuggle them letters through the Rebel lines easy as a snake kn cahrry a toad through a stump-fence. He’ll go his death for his Uncle Delancy. He’s got the raal Hyde blood in him,—he has,—an’ no mistake.”

“Can he read and write?”

“I’m proud to say he kin, Kunnle. I towt his mother, and she towt him and the rest of the childern.”

“Well, Hyde, go into the next room and write a letter to your nephew, telling him to start at once for New York city, and report himself to Mr. William C. Vance, Astor House. I’ll give you a couple of hundred dollars to enclose for him to pay his expenses, and a couple of hundred more for your sister.”

Four hundred dollars! What an epoch would it be in their domestic history, when that stupendous sum should fall into the hands of Mrs. Rusk! Colonel Hyde moved with alacrity to comply with Vance’s bidding.

Mr. Winslow and Captain Onslow now entered, followed by Colonel Blake, between whom and Vance a friendship had sprung up during the voyage from New York. Suddenly Peek, who had been looking from the window, exclaimed: “There goes the man who could tell us, if he would, what we want.”

“Who is it?” cried Vance.

“Ratcliff’s lawyer, Semmes. See him crossing the street!”

“Captain Onslow,” said Vance, “arrest the man at once.”

Five minutes did not elapse before Semmes, bland and suave, and accompanied by Peek and Onslow, entered the room.

“Ha! my dear friend Winslow!” cried the old lawyer, putting out his hand, “I’m delighted to see you. Make me acquainted with your friends.”

Winslow introduced him to all, not omitting Peek, to whom Semmes bowed graciously, as if they had never met before, and as if the negro were the whitest of Anglo-Saxons.

“Sit down, Mr. Semmes,” said Vance; “I have a few questions to put to you. Please answer them categorically. Are you acquainted with a young lady, claimed by Mr. Carberry Ratcliff as a slave, educated by him at Mrs. Gentry’s school, and recently abducted by parties unknown from his house near Lafayette Square?”

“I do know such a young person,” replied Semmes; “I had her in my charge after Mr. Ratcliff’s compulsory departure from the city.”

“Well. And do you know where she now is?”

“I certainly do not.”

“Have you seen her since she left Ratcliff’s house?”

Happily for Semmes, before he could perjure himself irretrievably, there was a knock at the door, and Antoine entered, followed by the bloodhound, bearing something tied in a white handkerchief, in his mouth.

A general sensation and uprising! For all except the lawyer had been made acquainted with the nature of the dog’s search. Semmes glanced at the bloodhound,—then at the negroes,—and then at the other persons present, with their looks of absorbed attention. Surely, there was a dénouement expected; and might it not be fatal to him, if he left it to be supposed that he was colluding with Ratcliff in what would be stigmatized as rascality by low, cowardly, base-born Yankees, though, after all, it was only the act of a slave-owner enforcing his legal rights in a legitimate way?

Darting forward, just as Vance received from Antoine the little bundle the dog had been carrying, the lawyer exclaimed: “Colonel Vance, I do not know, but I can conjecture where the girl is. Seek her at Number 21 Camelia Place.”

Vance paused, and looked the old lawyer straight in the eyes till the latter withdrew his glance, and resorted to his snuff-box to cover his discomfiture. Deep as he was, he saw that he had been fathomed. But Vance bowed politely, and said: “We will see, sir, if your information agrees with that of the dog.”

He untied the handkerchief, took out the paper-weight, and underneath it found Clara’s note, which he opened and read. Then turning to the lawyer, he said: “I congratulate you, Mr. Semmes. You were right in your conjecture.”

None but Semmes and Peek noticed the slightly sarcastic stress which Vance put on this last word from his lips.

Vance now knelt on one knee, and resting on the other the fore-legs of the bloodhound, patted his head and praised him in a manner which Victor, by his low, gratified whine, seemed fully to comprehend and appreciate.

Peek, who had been restless ever since the words “21 Camelia Place” had fallen on his ears, here said: “Lend me your revolver, Mr. Vance, and don’t leave till I come back. I promise not to rob you of your share in this work.”

“I will trust you with the preliminary reconnoissance, Peek,” said Vance, giving up the weapon. “Be quick about it.”

Peek beckoned to Antoine, and the two went out, followed by the bloodhound.

Mr. Semmes, now realizing that by some display of zeal, even if it were superserviceable, he might get rid of the ill odor which would follow from lending himself to Ratcliff’s schemes, approached Vance and said: “Colonel, it was only quite recently that I heard of the suspicions that were entertained of foul play in the case of that little girl claimed by Ratcliff as a slave. Immediately I looked into the notary’s record, and I there found that the slave-child is set down as a quadroon; a misstatement which clearly invalidates the title. I have also discovered a letter, written in French, and published in L’Abeille, in which some important facts relative to the loss of the Pontiac are given. The writer, Monsieur Laboulie, is now in the city. Finally, I have to inform you that Mr. Ripper, the auctioneer who sold the child, is now in this house. I would suggest that both he and the Mrs. Gentry, who brought her up, should be secured this very evening, as witnesses.”

“I like your suggestion, Mr. Semmes,” said Vance, in a tone which quite reassured the lawyer; “go on and make all the investigations in your power bearing on this case. Get the proper affidavit from Monsieur Laboulie. Secure the parties you recommend as witnesses. I employ you professionally.”

In his rapid and penetrating judgments of men, Vance rarely went astray; and when Semmes, who was thinking of a little private business of his own with the President of the Lafayette Bank, remarked, “If you can dismiss me now, Colonel, I will meet you an hour hence at any place you name,” Vance knew the old lawyer would keep his promise, and replied: “Certainly, Mr. Semmes. You will find me at 21 Camelia Place.”

Peek and Antoine, taking a carriage, drove at full speed to the house designated. Here they found to their surprise in the mulatto Sam, a member of a secret society of men of African descent, bound together by faith in the speedy advent of the United States forces, and by the resolve to demand emancipation. Peek at once satisfied himself that Clara was in no immediate danger. He found that Sam had withdrawn the bullets from Ratcliff’s revolver, and was himself well armed, having determined to shoot down Ratcliff, if necessary, in liberating Clara. In pursuance of his plan he had lured the negrowoman, Agnes, up-stairs, under the pretence already mentioned. Here he had gagged, bound, and confined her securely. Hardly had he finished this job, when, looking out of the window, he had seen Peek and Antoine get out of a carriage and reconnoitre the house. Instantly he had run down-stairs, opened the front door, and made himself known.

It was arranged that Antoine and Sam, well armed, and supported by the bloodhound, should remain and look after Ratcliff, not precipitating action, however, and not communicating with Clara, whose relief Peek had generously resolved should first come from the hands of Vance.

Then jumping into the carriage, Peek drove to Lafayette Square, and taking in Madame Josephine and Esha, returned to the St. Charles Hotel. Here he told Vance all he had done, and introduced the two women,—Vance greeting Esha with much emotion, as he recognized in her that attendant at his wife’s death-bed for whom he had often sought.

Four carriages were now drawn up on Gravier Street. Into one stepped Winslow, Hyde, and Vance; into another Semmes, Blake, Onslow, and Blake’s trusty servant, Sergeant Decazes, the escaped slave. Into the third carriage stepped Madame Josephine, Esha, and Peek; and into the fourth, Mrs. Gentry and Mr. Ripper.

This last vehicle must be regarded as the centre of interest, for over it the Loves and Graces languishingly hovered.

In introducing Ripper to Mrs. Gentry, Semmes had remarked, in an aside to the former: “A retired schoolma’am: some money there!” Here was a shaft that went straight to the auctioneer’s heart. In three minutes he drew from the lady the fact that, ten days before, she had received a visit from a Vigilance Committee, who had warned her, if she did not pay over to them five thousand dollars within a week, her house would be confiscated, sold, and the proceeds paid over to the Confederate treasury. “Five thousand dollars indeed!” said the lady, in relating the interview; “a whole year’s income! O, haven’t they been nicely come up with!”

The Confederate highwaymen had done what Satan recommended the Lord to do in the case of Job: they had tried Mrs. Gentry in her substance, and she had not stood the test. It had wrought a very sudden and radical change in her political notions. Even slavery was no longer the august and unapproachable thing which she had hitherto imagined; and she threw out a sentiment which savored so much of the abolition heresy, that Ripper, thinking to advance himself in her good opinion, avowed himself boldly an emancipationist, and declared that slavery was “played out.” These words, strange to say, did not make him less charming in Mrs. Gentry’s eyes.

The drive in the carriage soon offered an opportunity for tenderer topics, and before they reached Camelia Street, the enterprising auctioneer had declared that he really believed he had at last, after a life-long search, found his “affinity.” And from that he ventured to glide an arm round the lady’s waist,—a familiarity at which her indignation was so feebly simulated, that it only added new fuel to hope.

But Camelia Place was now reached, and the carriages stopped. The whole party were noiselessly introduced into the house. Vance darted up to the room where Clara’s note had instructed him he could find her. Seeing the key on the outside, he turned it, opened the door, and presented himself to Clara in the manner already related. The unsuspecting Ratcliff soon followed, and then followed the scenes upon which the curtain has already been raised.

As Vance left the house, with Clara on his arm, several of Ratcliff’s slaves gathered round them. To all these Vance promised immediate freedom and help. An old black hostler, named Juba, or Jube, who was also a theologian and a strenuous preacher, was spokesman for the freedmen. He proposed “tree chares for Massa Vance.” They were given with a will.

“An’ now, Massa Vance,” said the Reverend Jube, “may de Lord bress yer fur comin’ down har from de Norf ter free an’ help we. De Lord bress yer an’ de young Missis likewise. An’ when yer labors am all ended, an’ yer’v chewed all de hard bones, an’ swollerd de bitter pill, may yer go ober Jordan wid a tight hold on de Lord, an’ not leeb go till yer git clar inter de city ob Zion.”^[44]