“Sure; helped pull ’em aboard.  A damned queer combination, if you ask me; two nigger wenches, Joe Kirby, an’ a deputy sheriff from down Saint Louee way.”

“Two women, you say? both negresses?”

“Well, thet whut Joe sed they wus, an’ I reckon he knew; an’ neither ov ’em put up a holler whin he sed it.  However one ov ’em looked ez white as enybody I ever saw.  The deputy he tol’ ther same story—­sed they wus both slaves thet Kirby got frum an ol’ plantation down below; som’ French name, it wus.  Seems like the two wenches hed run away, an’ the deputy hed caught ’em, an’ wus a takin’ ’em back.  Kirby cum ’long ter help, bein’ as how they belonged ter him.”

“You knew Kirby then?”

“Hell, ov course.  Thar ain’t many river men who don’t, I reckon.  What is it to you?”

“Nothing; it sounds like a strange story, that’s all.  I want to get this wet stuff off, and will be out on deck presently.”

I was shivering with the cold, and lost no time shifting into the warm, dry clothing provided, spreading out my own soaked garments over the edge of the lower bunk, but careful first to remove my packet of private papers, which, wrapped securely in oiled silk, were not even damp.  It was a typical steamer bunkhouse in which I found myself, evidently the abiding place of some one of the boat’s petty officers, exceedingly cramped as to space, containing two narrow berths, a stool and a washstand, but with ample air and light.  The slats across the window permitted me a view of the river, and the low-lying shore beyond, past which we were slowly moving.  The sun was just rising above the eastern horizon, and the water reflected a purple tinge.  With no desire to return immediately to the deck, I seated myself on the stool to consider the situation.

Fate had played a strange trick, and I knew not how best to turn it to advantage.  One thing only was clear; whatever was to be accomplished, I would have to do it alone—­nowhere could I turn for help.  In the first place Kirby undoubtedly had the law with him, and besides was among friends—­those who would naturally believe him, and were loyal to the institution of slavery.  The very fact that this was a Memphis boat we were on precluded any possibility that the crew would sympathize with a nigger-stealer.  Nor could I anticipate any assistance from without.  Steamboats were few and far between on these northern waters, and at this time, if the report of war was true, everything afloat would be headed up stream, laden with troops and provisions.  That the report was true I had no doubt.  The probability of an outbreak was known before I left Fort Armstrong; the crisis had come earlier than expected, that was all.