gangplank to the quay was quite out of court. We hove to at night, with the whole splendid panorama of lights twinkling on either bank, the glow of Algiers to port and the French Quarter to starboard, but it was lost on me. Fairbrother was to take me ashore personally in the morning, so my only hope must be to give him the slip when we landed.
I already had a good idea of what my first moves would be when I had won free, so I set about my preparations. First I went through the clothes which I hadn't worn since I first boarded the
My other valuables consisted of a ruby pin and an old-fashioned gold and silver chain with seals which had belonged to my grandfather Paget. They could pawn for a tidy sum, but I hoped this would be unnecessary, as I had a more immediate use for them. For the rest, I had eleven gold sovereigns, which would tide me over the beginning at least.
Having completed my inventory, I packed everything carefully in my valise, and next morning when Fairbrother took me ashore I stood forth in the dothes he had lent me; since I should be staying ashore when he had presented me to the proper authorities it was natural that my valise should go with me in the boat.
We were rowed to the Algiers side by four bluejackets, Fairbrother sweating in full fig, and as we neared the bank my spirits rose. The levee and wharves were positively teeming with people, there was a forest of shipping along the bank, with small craft scudding about everywhere, hall-naked negroes toiling at the derricks as cargo was swung ashore, folk bustling about every which way on the jettys, nigger children playing and squealing among the piles, ship's officers and cargo bosses bawling above the hubbub — a tremendous confusion of thousands of busy people, which was just what I wanted.
At need I had been prepared to bolt for it, but I didn't have to. While I was handed ashore at the levee, and one of the men swung up my valise, Fairbrother stopped a moment to give orders to the coxswain. I picked up my baggage, took three steps, and in that moment I was lost in the throng, jostling my way quickly along the wharf. I didn't even hear a shout from the boat; in two minutes I was striding along through the heaps of cargo and cotton bales, and when I glanced back there wasn't a glimpse of Fairbrother and his men to be seen. They would be gaping around, no doubt, swearing at my carelessness at having got lost, and would start a hunt for me, but it would be an hour or so before they began to suspicion that my disappearance wasn't accidental. Then the fun would begin in earnest.
Now, I had considered carefully the possibility of trying to board an outgoing ship immediately, and had dismissed the notion. When Fairbrother and his navy friends eventually decided I had slipped my cable, there would be a tremendous hue and cry, and the first places they would look for me would be on departing ships. I couldn't be sure of finding a vessel that would be out and away before that happened; anyway, I hadn't much passage money. So I had determined to lie low in New Orleans until I could see what was best to be done, and then carefully pick my best passage home, perhaps from another port altogether.
So now, when I had put a quarter of a mile between myself and the spot where the boat touched, I halted on the levee, waited till I spotted a likely-looking craft among the hundreds that were putting in and out along the bank, and asked its rower to carry me over to the north shore. He was a big, grinning nigger with brass rings in his ears who chattered unceasingly in a queer mixture of French and English, and in no time at all he set me down on the levee from which you walked up to the Vieux Carre, the old French Quarter which is the very heart of New Orleans. I paid him in English shillings, which didn't bother him at all; provided it's gold or silver, the Orleanais don't care whose head is on it.
There is no city quite like New Orleans ('Awlins' as its inhabitants called it then; outsiders called it 'Nawlins'). I loved it at first sight, and I believe that setting aside London, which is my home, and Calcutta, which has a magic that I cannot hope to explain, I still think more kindly of it than of any other place on earth. It was busy and gay and bawdy and full of music and drink and pleasure; nowhere else did eyes sparkle so bright, voices sound so happy, colours look so vivid, food taste so rich, or the very air throb with so much excitement. In the unlikely event that there is a heaven for scoundrels like me, it will be built on the model of the Vieux Carre, with its smiling women, brilliant clothes, and atmosphere of easy indulgence. The architecture is also very fine, spires and gracious buildings and what not, with plenty of shade and places to lounge and sit about while you watch the ivory girls sauntering by in their gorgeous dresses. Indeed, it was sometimes not unlike a kind of tropical Paris, but without those bloody Frogs. New Orleans, of course, is where they civilised the French.
The first thing I did was to find a barber, and let him remove the fine black beard which I had sprouted in the past two or three months. I kept my whiskers, of course — where would Flash be without his tart-catchers ? — but had my hair trimmed fairly short to suit the role I intended to play. Then I passed on to a good tailor, and laid out most of my cash on a new finely-frilled shirt, in the Southern style, a silver-topped cane, and a curly-brimmed white stove-pipe hat.
Finally, I sought out a printer, in one of the back streets, spun him a tale, and placed an order for a gross of cards in the name of Count Rudi von Starnberg, which was my new identity. It warmed me to think of how Rudi would have delighted in this, evil throat-cutting b––-d that he was. I had the printer, who was all eagerness to oblige such a distinguished gentleman, run me off half a dozen of the cards then and there for immediate use, and promising to send round for the remainder next day, when they would be ready, bade him good morning. I had no intention of collecting them, of course, and doubtless they are still there. It occurred to me that if Rudi ever visited America he might find himself billed for them, which would have been most satisfactory.
Now I was ready to face the United States in all my glory — an immaculately dressed Austrian nobleman, speaking French and English with the accent of Vienna, and as different as you could wish from some English scoundrel calling himself Comber who had vanished, bearded and nautically attired, some hours before. True, I had little cash and no place of abode, but you would never have imagined that from a glance at the splendid gentleman who now strolled at ease through the Vieux Carre, stopping to refresh himself with wine and water at one of the wayside cafes, glancing over a newspaper, and generally spying out the land. I spent a few hours getting the sense of the place, dined extremely well at a Creole eating place where they had the good sense not to smother everying in garlic, and then went to work.
What I did, in my quest for quarters for the night, was to test a theory suggested to me years before by old Avitabile, the Italian soldier of fortune who had been governor of Peshawar. 'When you're like-a light in the pocket, boy, in a strange town, you got to find a whore-house, see, an' wheedle-wheedle your way roun' the madame, you know? Do I got to tell you? No, sir. Your shoulders an' moustaches — jus' like-a mine — it's like-a fall under a log. You charm, you talk, you tell any goddam lies — but you get that madame into bed, boom-boom-boom — why, she's glad to lodge you for a week, ne' mind for a night! Didn't Avitabile travel clear from Lisbon to Paris, an' I didn't pay one night's lodging, not-a one, you bet. Goddam it, does a gentleman got to stay in hotels?'
Well, if he could do it, so could I, and towards evening I set out to find a likely bawdy house. This, in New Orleans, was child's play; there may have been establishments in the Vieux Carre which were not bordellos, but precious few. All I had to do was find one with a susceptible madame, and take my ease for a few days.
It took me all evening, and four false starts. What I did in each case was to select a good-class house, send my card up to the proprietress by the nigger porter, and then address myself to the arch-harpy herself. I had a story all ready, and even now I must say it sounds not half bad. I explained that I was an Austrian gentleman in search of his sister, who had eloped with a profligate Englishman and been abandoned by him during a visit to the United States. Since then we had heard nothing of her, except an unconfirmed report that she had somehow found her way into … into, er, an establishment such as madame was conducting. We were beside ourselves with grief and horror, and here was I, the son of the family, on a tragic quest to find the erring creature and bring her back to the bosom of her distracted but unforgiving parents. Her name was Charlotte, she was a mere eighteen, blonde and of exquisite beauty … could madame render me any assistance in tracing her? Money, of course, was of no object, if only I could rescue my dear Wilful sister from the dreadful plight into which she had fallen.
This, of course, was purely introductory, to let me sum up the madame and see if she was likely game. The first four weren't — beaky, sharp-eyed old harridans whom I wouldn't have galloped for a pension, anyway. But they swallowed the story — no doubt it sounded well, coming from six-foot Harry with his curly whiskers and melancholy
