Flash For Freedom!

among all the women I've known she must be about the only one that I never had hard feelings with, on either side. And she could touch me, somehow — at least I remember thinldng, the night I left, that in all the journeys I'd set off on before, never a woman had been at such pains to see I had everything packed and ready, and that my clothes were brushed, and my money safe, and the rest of it. She fussed over me in a way that none of the others — wife, aunts, mistresses, whores, legions of them — had ever done. It's strange, and no doubt significant, that the warmest leave-taking I remember should be from a bawdy-house.

I set out about ten, with a nigger carrying my valise, and Susie hustled me away. 'Give us a kiss, dearie. Now, be off with you. 'Ave a glass in the Cider Cellars for me.' She was absolutely crying, the soft old slut. 'An' take care of yourself you — you big scallawag, you!'

We slipped out of the side gate into the alley. It was one of those lazy, warm nights, with many stars, and above the hum of the town I could hear a distant steamboat whistle on the river, where my ship, the Anglesey Queen, would be lying. We set off down the dark lane together, and just as we reached its end a dark shadow loomed up before us and I was aware of others suddenly coming in at my back. I stopped dead, and the figure in front of me, a tall man in a broad-brimmed hat, said:

'Hold it right there, mister. Hands away from your sides. Now, don't make a move, because you're covered front and rear!'

8

I must have heard the same sort of thing barked at me in a dozen different languages, and it has never failed to paralyse me on the spot. My first thought was that these must be American Navy men, and my heart froze inside me. How the devil had they traced me? Could I bolt? — but there wasn't a hope. They knew their business too well — one a couple of yards dead ahead, and two others on my flanks, slightly behind me. But if I couldn't bolt I could bluff.

'Wer ruft mich?' I demanded, trying to sound angry. 'Was wollen sie?'

'Don't come your Dutch on me, Mr Comber,' says the big one, and that settled it. They were Navy men, and I was done for.

'You, nigger, gimme that bag,' he went on. 'Billy, take him down to the levee and let him go. And now, mister, you step ahead right lively. Do as you're told and you won't get hurt; try to run and you're a dead man.'

Sick with fear I started forward, with the big man and his mate right behind me, down a side-street and then, at their direction, into a maze of alleys until I had no earthly idea where I was. Why were they taking me out of the main ways, and why had they taken the nigger to the levee before letting him go? My G-d, were they going to murder me? — and at that instant the big fellow growls:

'Stop right there,' and came up beside me.

At this my nerve broke. 'What d'you want with me? What are you going to do? In God's name, if you're the Navy, I can explain, I can —'

'We ain't the Navy,' says he, shortly. 'And we ain't gonna hurt you.' And amazingly he added: 'You're the last man on God's earth I'd want to hurt.'

I gaped at him, trying to make out the shadowy face beneath the hat brim, but he went on:

'I've got a black bag here, and I'm gonna put it over your head, so you don't see where you're goin'. Now, don't fret ye'self; do as you're told an' you'll come to no harm.'

He slipped the bag over my head, and I choked in its coarse muffled folds, panicking, but he took my arm and said:

'Straight ahead now. Easy does it.'

We walked for three hundred and sixty eight paces through innumerable turns, and then stopped. I heard a gate creak, and when we went forward there was gravel beneath my feet. Then up stone steps, and a door opened, and we were in a house. Forward up stairs — thickly carpeted, too. I was suffocating with dread and astonishment by the time we had passed down a wellcarpeted corridor, and I heard knuckles knock on a door and a voice call: 'Enter!' I was pushed forward, the bag was whipped from my head, and as the door closed behind me I found myself blinking in the light of a great, well-furnished library. Behind a big oak desk a little bald-headed man was standing eyeing me benevolently over his spectacles, and waving a hand to an empty chair.

'Pray be seated, Mr Comber. And before you assail me with angry protests — which you're perfectly entitled to do, I confess — allow me to extend my most sincere and heartfelt apologies for the rather … er … cavalier manner of my invitation. Now, won't you be seated, sir, please? No one intends you the least harm — quite the contrary, I assure you. Sit down, sir, do.'

'Who the blazes are you?' I demanded. He was obviously friendly, and a kindly-looking little fellow in his old- fashioned neckercher and breeches, with bright grey eyes that peered eagerly at me. 'And what's the meaning of this?' Now that I was half-past fear I was prepared to be angry.

'There, now, that's exactly what I mean to tell you, if you'll only be seated,' says he soothingly. 'That's better. A glass of port? — no, perhaps brandy would be better. Settling for the nerves, eh ? — though I don't think yours are nerves that need much settling, young man, from all I've heard.'

Well, I'll always take brandy when it's kindly offered, so I fastened on the glass and gulped a mouthful down. And as he Went back to his desk I took stock of the richly-furnished room, with its fine carpet and dark panelling, and found myself reassured, if bewildered.

'Now, then,' says he, 'that feels better, eh? Well, Mr Comber, I owe you an explanation as well as an apology, so you shall have it.' He was American, but well-educated, and when you took a closer view of him you saw that he wasn't quite such an old Cheeryble as he looked. 'Let me begin by astonishing you. I have been waiting to make your acquaintance this past few days. Indeed, if you hadn't left tonight to board the Anglesey Queen — there, there, sir, all shall be made plain presently — I was preparing to come and call on you. Oh, yes, I much wanted to meet you. We have kept a very close eye on you indeed, sir, since you arrived in Washington, although I confess we lost you for a moment when you gave the good Captain Fairbrother the slip.' He chuckled. 'Very neat, that. Of course, we quite understood. Quite understood. Didn't we?'

This was bewildering, but I had my nerve back. 'Did you? If you understand so much, you won't mind enlightening me. Who or what are you — are you American government?'

He smiled. 'No — not exactly. Although we have great influence, and many highly-placed friends, in that same government — that government which, I'm afraid, has been rather embarrassing you lately with insistent questions. Naturally — you're in possession of what I believe one senior official called dangerous information, and Washington wants it. But you want to take it straight home to England — perfectly right, sir. So you gave them the slip, and behold you tonight preparing to set sail secretly for Liverpool.'

He hadn't quite got hold of the wrong end of the stick, you see, but very nearly. His only mistake lay in believing that I was Comber, and in deducing the wrong reason for my attempted flight from New Orleans. A flight which, rot him, he was putting in severe jeopardy.

'Then would you kindly tell me,' says I, 'why you have hauled me here at gun-point, instead of letting me catch my ship? In heaven's name, sir, I must get aboard her —'

'You would never have got aboard her,' says he. 'The Navy Department want you, Mr Comber, as a witness against those slaver friends of yours, and the U.S. Government, I know, wish to question you further about — those certain names you have in your head. Slave-trade names, I believe.' And suddenly he wasn't a genial little buffer any more; his mouth was like a rat-trap. 'Believe me, Mr Comber, the levee is well-watched; they know which way you'll try to go.'

'And by what right would they try to stop me?' says I, brazening. By George, if they ever found out I wasn't Comber, they'd have right enough. Maybe they had found out — but if they had my onmiscient little friend evidently hadn't.

'Oh, no right at all,' says he. 'But governments can generally arrange diplomatic reasons for delaying departures. I suppose they might hold on to you for a few weeks — until your ambassador pressed them into letting you go home. By then, Washington would hope, you might have let slip those names they want to know about.'

I saw I must play Comber's part for all I was worth, so I smiled grimly. 'They have no hope of that; those