Flash For Freedom!

all the same; there's no trusting them whatever, not only because they're knaves, but because they're even more inconsistent than women. Selfish brutes, too.

At least, though, I was still alive, and fairly full of sin and impudence, when I might easily have been dead or chained on an Alabama plantation, or rotting at the bottom of the Mississippi or the Ohio. For the future, although it looked pretty horrid, I would just have to wait and see, and take my chance — if it came.

I was allowed up next day, and sat in state on the edge of a chair, with my wounded cheek over the edge, and various people came to see me — abolitionists, of course, who wanted to shake the hero's hand, and in the case of the older ladies of the community, to kiss his weathered brow. They came secretly, because like all towns thereabouts Portsmouth was split between pro-slavers and abolitionists, and my whereabouts was known only to a safe few. They brought me gingerbread and good wishes, and one of them said I was a saint; normally I'd have basked in it, as I'd done on other occasions, but the thought of Orleans took the fun out of it.

One of my visitors I even assailed with a thrown boot; he was a small boy, I suspect a child of the house, who came in when I was alone and asked: 'Is it right you got shot up the ass, mister? Say, can I see?' I missed him, unfortunately.

Another glum thing was that Cassy left that evening. She isn't one of my prime favourites, looking back — too strong-willed and high strung — but I hate to lose a good mistress just when I'm getting the taste of her. However, they said it wasn't safe for her to remain so near the Ohio, and an underground railroad man was to take her to Canada. We didn't even have the chance of a lusty farewell, for when she came to say good-bye the ugly Mrs Payne was on hand to see fair play, with Cassy looking uncommonly demure and rather uncomfortable in a drab brown gown and poke bonnet. I gathered she hadn't realised that I'd done my level best to desert her on the far bank of the Ohio, for she thanked me very prettily for all my help, while Mrs Payne stood with her hands in her muff, nodding severe approval.

'Cassiopeia is quite recovered from her ordeal,' says she, 'and looks forward with the liveliest anticipation to reaching Canada. There our friends will see to it that she is provided with shelter and such employment as fits her station. I have no doubt that she will prove a credit to all of us her benefactors, and especially to you, Mr Comber.'

Cassy's face was like a mask, but I saw her eyes glint in the shadow of the bonnet.

'Oh, I don't doubt it,' says I. 'Cassiopeia is a very biddable child, are you not, my dear?' I patted her hand. 'There, there — just be a good girl, and mind what Mrs Payne and her kind friends tell you. Say your prayers each night, and remember your … er … station.'

'There,' says Mrs Payne. 'I think you may kiss your deliverer's hand, child.'

I wouldn't have been surprised if Cassy had burst out laughing, or in a fit of rage, but she did something that horrified Mrs Payne more than either could have done. She bent down and gave me a long, fierce kiss on the mouth, while her chaperone squawked and squeaked, and eventually bustled her away.

'Such liberties!' cries she. 'These simple creatures! My child, this will never —'

'Good-bye,' says Cassy, and that was the last I ever saw of her — or of the two thousand dollars we had had between us. I've never been able to recall for the life of me where it was stowed when we got off the steamboat at Fisher's Landing, but I know I didn't have it on my person, which was careless of me. Ah, well, I've no doubt she put it to good use-and it had been paid for her anyway.

However, money was the least of my concerns just then. Unless there was some unexpected turn of events in the next few weeks I could see the American republic would be paying my board and lodging for some time to come. I had nightmares about it, in which I was in a place like the Old Bailey, but with great stained-glass windows, and a hanging judge in scarlet on the bench, and Spring and his mates all chained up, leering, in the dock, and a voice droning out, 'Call Beauchamp Comber, R.N.' And I saw myself creeping into the witness box, goaded on by Lincoln and a U.S. marshal, and Spring bawling out: 'That's not Comber — Comber's dead! That's the notorious Flashy, monstrum horrendum, come to impose on your worships like the bloody liar he is!' And then consternation, and I was dragged to the dock and chained to the others, and the judge said it would be twice as bad for me as for them, and upon conviction I would be shot in the other buttock and then hanged. At which there was great cheering, and I pleaded with them that I had been led astray and that it all came of playing vingt-et-un with D'Israeli, and they said that made it worse still, and then the faces and voices faded, and I would find myself awake, boiling with sweat and my wound aching like be-damned.

In the end, it wasn't quite like that, as you shall see. Have you noticed that things are never quite as bad or good as you expect them to be-at least, not in the way that you expect? So it was now, when my rump had healed enough for me to travel, and Judge Payne brought along the marshal, and with much handclasping and cheek-kissing and hallelujahs I was despatched on my way to continue God's work, as Payne put it.

I won't bother you with the journey, which was by coach and rail through Columbus, Pittsburgh and Baltimore, and then by packet down to Orleans. Sufficient to say that the marshal, a decent enough fellow called Cottrell, watched over me like a mother over a chick, very friendly, very careful, and that no official notice of our passage seemed to be taken, until we came to New Orleans.

There I was delivered into the care of Captain Bailey, U.S.N., a very bluff gentleman who shook me cordially by the hand, and said they were glad to see me, hey, and a fine commotion there had been when Captain Fairbrother had lost me, by thunder, yes, but here I was, safe and sound, so all was well that ended well.

'Mind you, Mr Comber, in these days I don't ask too many questions,' says he. 'I'm a sailor; like you, I do my duty. The past few months are a closed account to me, sir — one hears all about outlandish things like underground railroads and what not, but that's nothing to the point. What I know is that facing me now is a brother officer in the service of a friendly power, who is going to give evidence on behalf of the U.S. Navy against slave-runners. Capital work.' And he rubbed his hands. 'More than that — not my concern, sir. Not my concern at all. If anyone has been working for the underground railroad — which is an illegal organisation, of course — well, that's not our province, is it? That's for Washington, or state governments, to worry about.' He grew confidential. 'You see, Mr Comber, we're a strangely divided country here-some for slave-holding, others against. Now the government recognises it, officially, as you know, but a lot of very important people-some in the government itself — are against it. We have the strange position where federal government people, who may detest slavery, nevertheless are bound to enforce the law against things like underground railroading. So, often as not, a great many people frequently have to follow the example of your good Lord Nelson, and turn a blind eye to a great many things. Such as what you've been doing between your … er … departure from Captain Fairbrother and this moment, sir.' He frowned at me. 'Do I make myself clear, sir?'

'I think so, sir,' says I.

'Ye-es,' says he. Then suddenly: 'Look here, Comber, between these four walls, I heard from circles in Washington that you've been slave-stealing. Well, fine. I approve of that; so does half the government. But it couldn't approve officially — my God, no! Officially, it should arrest you and heaven knows what besides. But we can't, even if we wanted to. We need your evidence in this case, you're a damned important agent, by all Washington accounts, and we can't, for the love of mercy, have an international incident with the British.' He shook his head. 'I could wish you had let well alone, young man — and yet, by God, from what I hear from the friends of a certain Northern Congressman, you did a capital piece of work, sir!' He beamed at me, winking. 'So — there it is. Washington is concerned at all costs to keep your name and … er … recent activities quiet. You just make your statement in court, put on your hat, and take the first packet out from this port. You take me?'

If only it could be that simple, thinks I. But I made one last effort to wriggle free.

'Is my evidence so necessary, sir?' says I. 'Surely these Balliol College people can be convicted …'

'Convicted?' says he. ''Why, we're a long way short of that at the moment. You know the procedure, sir — when a slave-trading ship is captured, she must first of all be adjudged to be a slaver. You know how it is in your own mixed commission courts at Surinam and Havana and so forth — they hear evidence and pronounce themselves satisfied that she was carrying slaves. You must have seen it a score of times. And then — when the ship has been confiscated and condemned — then her master and crew may be charged with slave- trading, and on conviction, they can be hanged — although they seldom are. Jail terms sometimes, fines, etc. But with us it's not quite the same, as you'll see.'

I was hanging on every word, hoping and praying that he would point out some loophole to me.