Down South Part 11

"I did inquire about him in St. Augustine: people thought well of his knowledge and ability, though they agree that he is a brag and a boaster."

"If there were nothing worse than that about him, I should only laugh.

But I think he is a snake."

"What makes you think so?"

"I don't know; I only know that I do think so."

"But you are not a fellow to think ill of anybody without some reason for it."

"I have no reason, except his looks and actions," replied the mate. "I make no charges against him, and I can prove nothing; but Cornwood is a fellow that will bear watching."

"That is just what the Hon. Pardon Tiffany took the trouble to tell me this afternoon," I added, relating the particulars of my interview with that gentleman.

"I am glad there is some one besides myself who has an opinion on the subject," said Washburn.

"Cornwood was in Captain Boomsby's rumhole when I came down stairs after the row in the attic," I added, watching the face of my friend to notice the effect of this announcement.

"That's the best place for him; only this fellow will do a piece of treachery better than Boomsby can. Cornwood will not get drunk when he has a heavy job of iniquity on his hands. Boomsby is a wolf: this fellow is a snake. Cornwood reminds me of a kind of reptile they have in these parts, called the small rattlesnake. He is a little fellow, and you can't hear his rattle; but his bite will kill you as quick as that of a five-footer. You can't see or hear him, and the first thing you know you are a dead man. That's Cornwood's style, as I understand him."

"You are rough on him. What you say of him, and what you have done to Griffin, remind me that the two men seemed to have some connection before we engaged either of them," I continued, thinking of the events of that first day in St. Augustine. "Griffin brought off Cornwood in a boat."

"And when you apply to Cornwood for a stewardess, Griffin's wife appears to take the place. But I am bound to say I believe she is a lady," added the mate.

"Then you think we are marching into hot water, do you, Washburn?" I asked with interest.

"I don't say you are: I don't know that you are: only that we had better keep our eyes wide open, as Mr. Tiffany suggests. But it does look to me as though some sort of a storm is brewing."

"But where can the storm possibly come from?"

"From that rumhole in Bay Street which you visited this afternoon. I have heard that Boomsby threatened a dozen times to be the destruction of you. He says you have been the plague of his life; that you have crossed and defeated him so many times that he will be the 'ruination'

of you yet. This is out of pure revenge. Besides this, he believes your father is dead, and that, if he can get you out of the way, or bring you into subjection to what he calls his authority, this steamer will come into his possession. I know he is a fool; but he believes all this nonsense."

"Then you mean to suggest--without being able to prove it--that Cornwood is an agent of Captain Boomsby; and that Griffin Leeds is a tool of Cornwood, sent on board to watch me, as well as to wait on the fore-cabin table," I added, putting the various hints into words.

"I don't say it means anything; but that is what it means, if anything," replied Washburn after some hesitation. "Nothing can be proved; and we should not be justified in doing anything on mere suspicion. All we have to do is to keep a close watch on Cornwood and Griffin Leeds."

We agreed to do this, but in such a manner as not to alarm the conspirators, if they were such. I told Washburn then that I had letters from my father, and gave him both of them to read. While he was thus engaged, I began a letter to my father.

"The last one is written in good spirits," said the mate, as he laid the letters on my table. "But isn't it a little strange that you have no letter of later date than last January from your father? I should have supposed there would have been three or four more letters awaiting you; I mean those he must have written in January."

"I think there is nothing strange about that," I replied; but my heart sank within me at the very thought of any more doubts and uncertainties. "I wrote him that the Sylvania was bound to the Bahamas; but I had no idea where we should go next, or how long we should remain at any place to which we might go. I said we expected to return to Jacksonville in February."

"That explains the matter. You did not show me your letter to him,"

replied the mate. "But we are several days into March, and you ought to hear from your father again very soon."

"I shall expect a letter from him every day until I get one. I don't believe anything more can happen to him or me, for we have had our full share of mishaps."

The mate was turning in for the night, when Buck Lingley brought me a note from Owen, which had just been sent off by a boatman. My cousin had arranged for an excursion to Fort George Island, near the mouth of the St. Johns River, for the next day at ten, if the weather was favorable. He expected about thirty people, and wanted dinner for them.

I told Buck to carry the letter to the steward, that he might make his purchases of provisions early in the morning. It was one o'clock when I turned in, after finishing a twelve-page letter to my father.

CHAPTER XIII.

MR. COBBINGTON AND HIS PET RATTLESNAKE.

I turned out the next morning, or rather the same morning, only in season for breakfast. I had put my letter in the mail-box, and it had gone ash.o.r.e in the first boat at four o'clock. I kept an anchor watch all night in port, which was divided up amongst all hands in the sailing and engineer's department, except myself. Word had been pa.s.sed from watch to watch to call the steward and a boat's crew at half past three. The boats were hoisted up to the davits at night, and it required some time to get one into the water.

When I went in to breakfast, I found that Washburn had gone ash.o.r.e in the steward's boat, and had not yet returned. He was the only person on board, besides myself, who had liberty to leave the vessel without my permission, or his, if I was not on board. But the steamer had been put in perfect order the day before, and she never was in better condition than when I looked her over after breakfast. The day was bright and clear, as nearly all the days were in Florida. Every officer and seaman had put on his best uniform, and we were in "show" order, above and below decks.

The American flag was flying at the peak, and, in honor of the English guests who were to come on board, I had hoisted the British flag at the fore. Both boats' crews were in readiness to bring off the party as soon as they appeared on the Market Wharf. About nine o'clock we got a signal from that locality, but there was no party there, and the signal came from the mate.

"You went off early, Washburn," I said, as he came up the gangway steps.

"I was afraid the matter would get cold if I waited," replied the mate, who seemed to be in excellent humor.

"What matter is that?" I inquired.

"I went ash.o.r.e to look up that snaky lodger of Captain Boomsby's,"

answered Washburn. "There was certainly a lodger there, who furnished his own room, and stayed about two weeks."

"Did he furnish his room for a stay of only two weeks?" I inquired.

"I have not been able to find the person yet. He had his furniture carried to an auction-room, where it was sold."

"How did you learn all this?"

"I found Boomsby's saloon first. About five o'clock the porter of the store next to it began to sweep off the sidewalk. I saw that my uniform took his eye, and he was as polite to me as though I had been an admiral in the United States Navy. I talked with him awhile, asking him questions about the city. Finally I brought the matter of the conversation down to the subject of saloons. I thought there were plenty of them. He told me some of them had a separate bar for colored people, where they sold the cheapest corn whiskey and apple brandy for ten cents a gla.s.s, and made nine cents on every gla.s.s they sold."

"That's just the business for Captain Boomsby: it is just mean enough for him," I added.

"The porter spoke of the Boomsby saloon as a new one opened a few weeks before. The keeper had a bar for colored customers in a back room, with an entrance from the lane in the rear. When he said this, I began to pump him in regard to Boomsby. I finally asked if the captain took boarders or lodgers. He had one; but this one had had a quarrel with the saloonist's wife, and had left. He did not know his name, or where he went to. He said the cartman that stood at the next corner had carted off his furniture."

"Then you went for the cartman," I suggested.

"I went for him; but I could not find him for some time, and that is what made me so late," continued Washburn. "The porter told me he was hauling baggage from the Charleston steamer, which had just got in, to the Carlton Hotel. His name was Jackman, and it was on his wagon. I found the cartman, but he was so busy I had no chance to speak to him until half past eight. I took my breakfast at the Carlton, which is kept by Maine people. I introduced myself to one of the proprietors; and of course they knew my father. I told him I had been waiting a long time to speak to Jackman. He immediately called him into the office.

"Thus introduced to Jackman, he was willing to tell me all he knew on any subject. He said he had carried the furniture of the lodger to an auction-room, and his trunks and other things to the St. Johns House.

The lodger's name was Cobbington; and Jackman thought he was poor."

"He must have been, to take a room at Captain Boomsby's house."

"I asked Jackman what things besides the trunks he had carried to the St. Johns Hotel. He replied that Cobbington had a pet rattlesnake and a box of alligators."

"All this goes to confirm Captain Boomsby's explanation," I added.