Mignon by Cain James M

Author:Cain, James M. [Cain, James M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Crime
ISBN: 9781453291610
Goodreads: 17239778
Publisher: MysteriousPress.com/Open Road
Published: 1962-01-01T08:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

ALEXANDRIA WAS JUST LIKE THE PICTURES except for the rain drizzling down, the invasion fleet of steamers tied up at the bank, and the hoodoo on top of the courthouse—which I hadn’t believed in before, but now was beginning to, on account of something that happened on the boat coming up. We’d left from the foot of Canal Street, twelve noon two days before, on a sidewheeler called the Black Hawk. We carried on the boiler deck General, staff, headquarters noncoms, and headquarters orderlies; on the main deck horses, Louisiana volunteers, newspapermen, and traders; wherever they could fit waiters, hostlers, and hangers-on. It was kind of a tight squeeze, but I made out all right since I’d brought what the trip called for. After kissing Marie good night with the Judas taste on my mouth, I’d spent the small hours packing, and divided my stuff in two bags. One I checked with the hotel, the other I filled with field stuff, including sandwiches I had the hotel put up and my gun. I wore my corduroys, and with the blankets I’d bought for the sea voyage plus a canteen at my belt I figured to do all right, and did.

I bunked in, or wedged in, with the traders, aft of the shaft, in the passage leading back to the fantail. They were a strange bunch, half of them sharpshooter businessmen, the rest politicians, all full of windy guff, like the pair holding Lincoln passes, those two slips of paper that muxed everything up, causing headquarters, as it did, to accept them as a tip-off of what Washington really wanted—unlimited trade in cotton as a matter of public policy. Some had brought bagging, rope, and gear on board the boat, and piled it up so there was hardly room to step; they were so hungry for cotton they expected to bale the loose stuff on plantations after the regular stock in storage had all been bought up. But nobody made complaint, and we all shook down very friendly, standing around in the afternoon, pitching banana skins in the wake, watching the swamps go by, or crossing to the other side of the engine room to visit the newspapermen. But as dark was settling down and the crew was lighting lamps, Dan showed up to ask me how things were going. By then, bottles were being passed and jokes were being cracked, so he took a look and beckoned me forward. We ducked under the shaft and went up into the bow, where the horses were, and the hostlers had rigged a tarp to shield them from the breeze. We stood by the rail, and after Dan had done his manners with me, he stared at the shore, very gloomy. When I asked what the trouble was, he answered: “Nothing, Bill—and everything. This damned invasion, mainly.”

“Did something go wrong? I thought it was on.”

“It is on—it started two weeks ago. By now the advance must be in Alexandria. But Bill, it’s a queer; it keeps me awake at night.

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