there had come an animating ray of hope--they were going to take me
with them. Even as a prisoner I should be near her. Would yet be able
to dig out the truth.

"You take heem along, Monsieur?" It was Broussard's voice. "Zat vat
you mean?"

"Certainly--why not? There's plenty of work for another hand on board.
Trust me to break him in. Come, hustle the lad along, boys. I 'll be
with you in a minute."

They drove me forward roughly enough, the German marching
phlegmatically ahead, still silently puffing at his pipe, and leading
the way along a narrow footpath through the weeds. This wound about in
such crazy fashion that I lost all sense of both direction and
distance, yet finally we emerged into an open space, from which I saw
the chimneys of the old house far away to our left. The path led
onward into another weed patch beyond, down a steep ravine, and then
before us stretched the lonely waters of the bayou. Hidden under the
drooping foliage of the bank was a small boat, a negro peacefully
sleeping in the stern, with head pillowed on his arm. Herman awoke him
with a German oath, and the way the fellow sprang up, his eyes popping
open, was evidence of the treatment he was accustomed to. A hasty
application of an oar brought the boat's nose to the bank, and I was
thrust in unceremoniously, the three others following, each man
shipping an oar into the rowlocks. Herman alone remained on shore,
scattering the embers of a small fire, and staring back toward the
house. A few moments we waited in silence, then the slender figure of
the one who seemed the leading spirit, emerged from out the cane. He
glanced at the motionless figures in the boat, spoke a few words to