CHAPTER XXIV.

A NIGHT-EXPEDITION.

Jack Somers was troubled with a strong desire to get his hands upon that Mr. Litchfield, _alias_ Lunsley; or, failing in that, to bring his pistol to bear upon some vital part of his corporeal being. The wretch was a traitor, and had worn Union colors to obtain the favor of the naval officers, that he might betray his trust into the hands of his employers. It was evident to him now that Litchfield had never intended to take the Middy above this point; for he knew of the existence of the earthwork. It was his purpose to get her aground, where the battery could knock her to pieces. It also looked very much as though he had come up for the purpose of taking charge of the cotton-steamer which the planter had intrusted to his care.

Jack waited but a moment, after the gentlemen had left the room, before he emerged from his hiding-place; and, carefully opening the window, jumped out upon the veranda. He took the precaution to close the window, that no suspicions might be awakened. He was now free: the old horse had not yet hit him on the head; and he was disposed to believe the old adage, that dreams go by contraries. But Jack was too wise a lad to crow before he had got out of the woods.

The conversation between the pilot and the planter, to which he had listened, placed in his possession some valuable information, of which he now purposed to avail himself. The light-battery was still in the vicinity, and a squad of rebels was at the earthwork watching the Middy. Instead, therefore, of going to the point where he had landed, he made his way directly to the river, hoping that he should be able to find a boat. He could discover no craft of any sort; and was compelled to resort to a log, upon which he boldly put off.

The current carried him down the stream, after he had pushed out from the shore; and, when he had rounded the bend, he discovered the Middy at anchor on the edge of the shoal. By a vigorous application of the board he used as a paddle, he contrived to navigate the log so as to bring it up under the bow of the steamer. The watch hailed him; but his well-known voice was all that was needed to secure him assistance in getting on board.

“Why, Jack, my darling!” cried Tom Longstone, as the veteran threw his arms around him, “I guv you up for lost!”

“I’m all right, Tom. Who’s officer of the deck?”

“Mr. Dickey, up there,” replied Tom, pointing to the hurricane-deck.

“Come on board, sir,” added Jack, touching his cap to Mr. Dickey. “If you please, sir, I would like to see the captain.”

“Come up, then.”

“Where away now, Jack, my dear? Can’t you tell us anything about it?”

“Not now, Tom; there’ll be more fun by and by: but don’t say a word,” whispered Jack as he ascended to the hurricane-deck.

“So you got off, Somers!” said Mr. Dickey with a degree of condescension which was indeed quite remarkable.

“Yes, sir: I stowed myself away in a dark place till night, and then came off.”

“Have you seen Mr. Hayswell?”

“No, sir: he was taken, and they have sent him off somewhere. If you please, sir, I would like to see the captain about something of great importance.”

“The captain! I’m acting first-lieutenant of this ship; and you are aware that all communications must pass through me,” added Mr. Dickey with sublime importance.

“I beg your honor’s pardon,” added Jack with a clever stroke of policy. “There’s something to be done right off; and I only wanted to save time.”

“State your business to me at once, then,” continued the acting first-lieutenant of the Middy.

Fortunately, however, Mr. Dickey’s high flight was disturbed by the appearance of Captain Bankhead himself, who at once recognized Jack, dark as it was.

“Somers!” exclaimed he, greatly astonished.

“Come on board, sir,” answered Jack, touching his cap.

“But you were captured?”

“No, sir: not quite. I came very near it.”

“Come into the wheel-house, and tell me all about it,” added Captain Bankhead, leading the way.

Jack told his story as rapidly as possible, including that part relating to the cotton-steamer. The latter portion of the narrative was particularly interesting to Captain Bankhead, who was much dispirited by the loss of his first-lieutenant and five men; for it now appeared that one had been killed in the boat. The capture of the steamer, laden with cotton, would heal his wounded pride, and enable him to return to the fleet with flying colors.

Mr. Dickey was called in; and Jack stated with great care all the particulars in relation to the cotton-steamer. The captain proposed at once to get up his anchor, and hasten to the mouth of the bayou where the boat was concealed.

“I beg your honor’s pardon,” interposed Jack very reverently; “but the battery is on duty somewhere about here, and men are watching the steamer from the earthwork.”

“Very good, Jack,” said the captain with a smile. “You are right. If you have any suggestions to make, I will hear them; for I find you have got a long head for so small a body.”

“I think the first cutter, with a howitzer and twenty men, would do the business in first-rate style,” replied Jack.

“But, Somers, you must be used up after such a hard day’s work.”

“Not at all, sir: I am as fresh as though I had just come out of my hammock.”

“Because you must go in the boat, if we conclude to take the steamer in that manner.”

“I am ready, sir.”

“Mr. Dickey, clear away the first cutter, and have a howitzer ready for her!” added the captain.

The commander of the Middy seemed to be much troubled when his little first-lieutenant had gone to execute the order. He did not speak for some time; and, as it was not proper to submit his doubts to a quartermaster, we must add that the want of a suitable officer to conduct the expedition was the occasion of his perplexity. Mr. Dickey was the only officer who was available for the important duty, and it was not proper that the captain should go himself.

Mr. Dickey was young, brave and smart in double sense; but he was hardly qualified to execute so difficult an undertaking. Captain Bankhead had seen one expedition fail for want of discretion on the part of an officer; and he was very much inclined to leave Mr. Dickey in charge of the Middy, and perform the duty himself. This plan was rejected; for the steamer herself might be captured in his absence. There was no alternative but to commit the charge of the expedition to Mr. Dickey; and accordingly that little officer was duly instructed for the purpose.

The best men on board were detailed to form his crew, all of them armed to the teeth. Mr. Dickey was solemnly charged to be prudent, and to act with vigor and determination. The chief engineer was ordered to go in the boat, as his services would be required in case the enterprise should be successful. Mr. Dickey was directed to consult with him in any emergency.

Captain Bankhead had decided to make a demonstration with the Middy in order to cover up the movements of the boat-party. The anchor was weighed, and she stood over to the other side of the river, where, under the shadow of the high bank, the boat cast off, and pulled up the river with muffled oars. The Middy was then headed down the river; and those who were watching no doubt congratulated themselves that they had driven her off.

Curled up in the bow of the cutter, Jack Somers related his adventures to Tom Longstone, who was one of the party. He spoke in whispers; and Tom did not speak at all, so deeply was he absorbed in the exciting story.

The oarsmen pulled for two hours against the current, when she was in the vicinity of the bayou where the cotton-steamer lay. Of course, none of the party knew precisely where to find the mouth of the stream they were to ascend. Jack Somers was in the bow of the cutter, on the lookout for anything like an opening in the bank of the river. The boat still kept under the shadow of the left bank of the river; and Mr. Dickey had carefully observed his instructions to preserve entire silence.

While Jack was on the watch, straining his eyes to find the bayou, he discovered a light on the opposite shore; and, when the boat had advanced a little farther, he clearly discerned the opening for which he had been in search. But the light was ominous. It was clearly a lantern in the hands of a man, as its occasional motion plainly showed.

Jack Somers promptly concluded that the light meant something, and that it was some kind of a signal for the cotton-steamer. As the man who carried it could not possibly have seen the cutter, the meaning of the light was easily read. The signal-man had, of course, been instructed to show the light if there was nothing to interfere with the passage of the cotton-boat.

Our hero saw that this was delicate business to manage, and he was very much afraid that Mr. Dickey would spoil everything by his self-sufficiency. He had a suggestion; but he hardly dared to offer it, lest it should be rejected; but there was no time to spare; for the cutter was now passing the bayou.

Creeping aft between the oarsmen, he touched his cap in the darkness, and “begged his honor’s pardon; but there was a light on the bank.”

“What of it?” demanded Mr. Dickey.

“Here’s the place, your honor,” added Jack in a whisper. “There is a man with a light on the bank. If your honor will please to order the men to lie on their oars.”

Mr. Dickey did give the order; for he had been submissively addressed as “your honor”; and nothing more than that could possibly be expected of a quartermaster. Jack then explained the probable meaning of the light, and hinted, in a very respectful but roundabout way, that the man who carried it must be disposed of before the boat entered the bayou. He did not say this in so many words; and, happily, Mr. Dickey did not take offense at the suggestion.

“We will pull over to the other side and land a couple of men, who can silence him, and keep the signal flying,” said Mr. Dickey, who fully believed that he had given utterance to an original idea, so carefully had Jack worded his hint.

The boat dropped down stream about half a mile, and then crossed over. Jack begged permission to be one of the two men who were to execute the important duty of capturing the signal-man; adding that it would enable him to verify some of the information he had obtained on shore. Mr. Dickey was graciously pleased to grant his request, for the reason stated; and, when a signal for the boat to approach had been agreed upon, he landed with his companion.

“Have you got your pipe with you, Raymond?” asked Jack as they touched the bank.

“Of course I’ve got my pipe. D’ye want to smoke, Jack?”

“No, I never smoke.” And Jack proceeded to explain his plan to his shipmate.

A fifteen-minutes’ walk brought them to the junction of the bayou with the main river, where they found the signal-man.

“Has that boat come down yet?” demanded Jack, pointing up the bayou.

“What boat?” replied the man.

“That cotton-boat; we are going up in her.”

“She hain’t come down yet. Why don’t you go up where she is, if you are goin’ in her?”

“Didn’t know where to find her. Come along, Raymond: we shall find her now easy enough,” added Jack as he moved off.

“Avast a minute till I light my pipe by this ’ere lantern,” replied Raymond as he had been instructed: “Lend us your glim a moment.”

“You’ll put it out.”

“No, I won’t.”

The signal-man permitted him to take the lantern: whereupon Jack sprang upon him, and bore him to the ground. The movement was so sudden, that he had no chance to resist. Raymond came to Jack’s assistance; placing his pistol at the fellow’s temple, which caused him to beg for his life. With a rope which had been brought for the purpose they tied him hand and foot, and fastened him to a tree.

Jack assured the unfortunate rebel that he should not be harmed, if he made no noise; but he instructed Raymond to shoot him if he opened his mouth or attempted to escape. Our hero then took the lantern, and waved it three times,--which was the signal for the boat to advance; then giving it to his companion, who was to remain, he hastened down to the water to board the cutter as she entered the bayou.