Miss Kate Darlington was the only daughter of Thaddeus Darlington, a real down-eastern Yankee, who had imbibed all those unreasonable prejudices prevailing in the New England States against all citizens of the South. He had been sent South by the government to look after some defaulting revenue collectors, and after discharging that duty, he concluded to locate in Jackson, Mississippi. His daughter, Kate, had received a polished education, but she had been petted and flattered until she was pretty well spoiled. Her disposition was gentle and kind when things went smoothly, but she had a temper which often got the upper hand, and then she usually made matters rather unpleasant.

After the maskers had dispersed Miss Darlington stole away from the crowd, and took a seat behind the ladies’ cabin, in order to have what she called a day dream. A sentiment of a mysterious nature had of late been disturbing her mind—a strange feeling not altogether painful, and not entirely pleasant. A kind of joyful pain—a happy sorrow—a pleasant fear.

“What is the matter with me?” was the question she asked herself. “What sort of a pain is this that is mixed with delicious pleasure? How strange that such joy can be concealed under such misery!”

While she was thus soliloquizing the image of a man would every now and then pass across the path of her imagination. She could see the image plainer when her eyes were shut than with them open; and despite her efforts to drive it away, it would keep thrusting itself before her, sometimes in one shape, then in another, but always with the same look—the same form; that shape was the exact counterpart of the gallant sir knight of Ivanhoe.

“Yes, it is so; I am captured at last—it is love; heigh ho! there is no use to struggle any longer. What will dear papa say when he finds that I have fallen in love with a real double and twisted rebel—a man who fought through four years of bloody war against the union—a downright traitor, who brags of the part he played in the rebel army? Ah, me! how strange it is that I should fall in love with such a man! But didn’t Juliet fall in love with a son of her father’s bitterest enemy? Yes; but, alas! what a tragic ending did that love produce! Something tells me that this love will end in sorrow. But stop a moment; why should papa be Ralleigh’s enemy? Why should I not love Captain Burk? He fought for his country—he fought in self-defense—he battled for his life—his liberty—his home—his mother and his sisters. He would have been less than a man if he had refused to fight—it would have been cowardly. No, he was right and I honor him for it; I love Captain Burk; papa will love him when he knows him better. I ought to be proud that such a man as Captain Burk has honored me with his love. I am proud of it. I will reciprocate his love; and, if papa is willing, I will be the wife of what my people have misnamed a traitor. Ah, me! there is the rub. Papa will raise a great row when he knows how I love a rebel.”

Scottie then took out her handkerchief and wiped away the tears that were stealing down her cheeks.

“A gentleman is looking for you, miss,” said a chamber-maid who came through the back door and approached her.

“Who is it?”

“I believe they call him Divinghoe or Hivanhoe, or some such outlandish name.”

“Where is he?”

“He is in the front part of the saloon; he sent me to hunt you.”

“Very well; you may tell him where I am, if you wish.”

But a moment elapsed before Ivanhoe was by Scottie’s side.

“I have been looking all over the boat for you, Scottie. What induced you to hide from me?”

“I did not hide from you particularly, but I felt sad and wanted to be alone.”

“I hope you will not be so cruel as to drive me away, when you know how it pleases me to be by your side!”

“Oh, no! I have had my little day dream, and am glad you came.”

“Thank you; can we have a little chat here without being interrupted?”

“Yes, I guess so; take a seat.”

“I have made another wonderful discovery.”

“What is it?”

“We have got a counterfeit emperor aboard of this boat.”

“What do you mean?”

“The real Napoleon has slipped out of his costume, and a counterfeit has slipped in. To be plain, a stranger got aboard somewhere, and is dressed in Napoleon’s costume; and the real Napoleon has vamoosed the ranch—run away, disappeared, melted into thin air, fell overboard, become extinct, or something of the sort; anyway, the original emperor is not comeatible. Now, Scottie, I should like to know what you think of such doings?”

“I will tell you in short what I think: We are all struggling in a sea of nonsense; and I am heartily ashamed of my part of it. I wish I were at my father’s house—that I do; and if things don’t change pretty soon I shall set my sails in that direction. Napoleon is not the only one who has been playing tricks on this boat. Captain Quitman ought not to permit such doings.”

“How did you get possession of the information?”

“I had had many conversations with the original Navarre; one subject in particular had been frequently discussed between us. A while ago I walked up and took Navarre’s arm and began to talk about the special subject. He was startled when I took his arm; and I could feel his body trembling. After I had gone on talking for about five minutes he gave a grunt like a wild hog and abruptly walked away, leaving me thunderstruck with astonishment; I then discovered that he was not the real Navarre.”

“Now, Scottie, if I had been present when that scamp had the impudence to grunt at you, I think I should have broken his head with my cane.”

“I am very glad, then, you were not present, because I am on Grant’s platform—Let us have peace.”

“Peace is a very good thing in its proper place; but I feel very much inclined to get up a row here. I think I shall commit some sort of mischief if these things don’t change very soon. The fact is, we may look out for squalls—some sort of deviltry is brewing aboard of this boat certain.”

“I am of that opinion, myself; but I think we had better have nothing to do with it.”

“That woman in the black domino keeps me on the rack all the time; and I would not be at all surprised if it should turn out that she is at the bottom of all this mysterious game.”

“Suppose we change the subject and let the black domino and her co-conspirators work out their own schemes.”

“Very good. What shall we talk about?”

“Oh, anything for a change.”

“What book is that you hold in your hand?”

“Paradise Lost.”

“I would rather see Paradise found; but how do you like Milton?”

“Too much imagination and not enough sentiment. Such extravagant ideas! Just think of his description of the war in Heaven. He says they plucked up great mountains by the roots and threw them at each other’s heads. Now I think that is a little too extravagant.”

“If you like sentiment, you admire Tom Moore.”

“Ah! you are right as to that. Give me Moore and Burns above all others. I often steal away when at home and weep over the sweet sentimental songs of those favorite poets.”

“Shakespeare is my poet. Speaking of sentiment, it gushes up on every page, and streams from every line. Rosalind, Imogene, Juliet, Romeo, Orlando and Hamlet—all are made to utter the most soul-stirring, heart-melting sentiment. But enough about poetry; take my arm and let us go on deck and enjoy the scenery.”

As soon as they reached the upper deck, George III. came up with a look of mystery on his countenance.

“Good morning. I was wanting to speak a few words with you. Perhaps you have heard of my great mishap?”

“No! what is it?”

“My watch was stolen from my pocket within the last thirty minutes.”

“Ah, ha!” exclaimed Scottie, “I told you so. The whirlwind has started, and a tornado will wind up the scene.”

“Have you any idea who was the thief?”

“Yes; but my suspicions may not be well founded.”

“May I know whom you suspect?” inquired Ivanhoe.

“Yes, provided you will promise not to mention it to any one.”

“Good! I promise, of course.”

“So do I,” said Scottie.

“My suspicions point to that man who appears in Napoleon’s dress and mask; though he is a newcomer.”

“Why not make the charge boldly, and demand the right to make a search for the watch?” said Ivanhoe.

“Let us wait and watch him, for he is bent on mischief, and we will catch him in the act of picking some man’s pocket.”

“I beg pardon, gentlemen,” said an old man with long, white whiskers, as he bowed very low to Ivanhoe and George III. He was the same gentleman who had been so often seen with the lady in the black domino leaning on his arm. “I have a communication to make which I consider of some importance. The fact is, matters are becoming somewhat complicated on this boat; and if I might be so bold as to offer advice, I should say that it is high time for all these young people to lay aside their masks. Wolves have managed to get into the flock; and mischief will be done if matters go on in this way much longer. A lady aboard of this boat, whose name I am not at liberty to mention, has made a startling disclosure to me, which portends some dire mischief. The fact is, I am constrained to believe, from what she told, that murder is contemplated.”

“May we know the particulars?”

“Of course, yes; that is the very matter I wish to communicate. If you will be so good as to request Ingomar to join us, I would be much obliged, as I think he ought to hear what I have to say.”

Ivanhoe went after Ingomar, and soon returned accompanied by him.

“The young lady to whose sagacity I am indebted for the important information which I am about to communicate has a history—yes, a very strange history, full of queer incidents such as you see in novels. The young lady to whom I refer is the one in the black domino. You have often seen her leaning on my arm, gentlemen. She is a most elegant young lady, of remarkable beauty and superior intellect, whose protector I have the honor to be at this time. A combination of sad circumstances—unfortunate events, I might say—have clouded her young life. You may perhaps have noticed that she has not participated in any of the amusements in which the young people have been indulging on this boat. If I were at liberty to reveal the secrets of her unhappy life, I could unfold a most distressing story; but that is a sealed book, so far as we are concerned. You have probably noticed a disposition on the part of this young lady to wander about alone, seeking solitude, where she could give free vent to her grief, and let her tears flow unnoticed by the unsympathizing crowd. Well, I did not approve of this course, but was unable to prevent it; and perhaps, after all, it was fortunate that I did not stop it, for it was during one of these solitary rambles that the information which I am going to communicate was obtained. She had concealed herself on the larboard side of the boat just in front of the wheel-house, and behind a stack of furniture, where she could meditate alone, when two men came out and stood on the other side and held a consultation in very low tones. She could not hear every word that was said, but what she did hear was of a most startling character. As soon as the two men stepped into the saloon the young lady came and immediately imparted to me what she had heard. To say I was surprised would not convey the full meaning of what I felt. The fact is, I was shocked, startled, paralyzed with astonishment! Yes, gentlemen, it is most wonderful—I might say diabolical. I can repeat, word for word, all that the young lady heard, which I mean to do. It was unfortunate, however, that she did not see the two men—that is, she did not get a full view of them; but she saw the head and shoulders of one of the men as he passed through the door, and she thinks she knows who he is; but for fear that she might be mistaken as to that, she requested me not to mention the name of the man she suspects, which request I, of course, must respect. Now here is the conversation verbatim, as it was related to me by this unfortunate young lady:

“‘He is the man, beyond question,’ said the first speaker.

“‘Yes, that’s certain,’ replied number two.

“‘He has lots of greenbacks,’ says number one.

“‘We must have his money and his life, too. We must first get his money, and then settle the other matter.’

“‘Do you know how much money he has?’

“‘No; but it is way up in the thousands—and I think I may say tens of thousands.’

“‘Good; That’s lucky; but have you matured any plan to crib the game?’

“‘Yes.’

“Then they began to talk in a whisper, and the young lady could not hear all that was said; but ever and anon she could catch a word such as ‘Throttle him—chuck him overboard—dead men keep secrets—revenge—old grudge—he ruined me—money good—revenge better—could steal his money—but rather have his life.’ Then they whispered for a long time in tones so low that the young lady could not hear what was said. Now, gentlemen, I guess you will indorse me when I say it is diabolical. Who is to be the victim? who is to be chucked overboard? That is the question, gentlemen. It may be you, or you, or you, or it may be me. What’s to be done? That’s the question I put; shall we sit still and wait for the catastrophe; or shall we go to work and prevent it?”

“I can answer for one,” said Scottie, in a tone of firmness, as she rose from her seat: “I shall leave this boat as soon as we reach Vicksburg, and make my way to my father’s house at Jackson, Mississippi; I wash my hands of this nonsense.”

“If Scottie leaves the boat at Vicksburg,” observed Ivanhoe, “I am inclined to the opinion that another passenger will feel it his duty to fall back, too.”

“I’ll fight it out on this line if it takes all summer,” said George III. as he walked round, describing a circle of fifteen feet. “The man who chucks me overboard shall go along with me; and who robs me of my purse, only cheats himself, and does not make me poor, indeed; because that has already been done long, long ago.”

“A man would be an expert pickpocket indeed who could steal a purse from me,” said Ivanhoe; “I have had no use for an article of that sort for many years; Scottie can testify truly.”

“I don’t suppose you have had any use for a purse since Confederate money went down,” replied Scottie.

“I think we had better consult Captain Quitman about this matter,” suggested Ingomar.

“Certainly, sir, I agree with you there,” observed the old gentleman with the white whiskers, “and if you will wait a moment I will bring him here.”

Captain Quitman soon appeared accompanied by the old gentleman.

“Well,” said the captain, “what’s the question to be discussed?”

The old man related, in a rambling manner, what the young lady in the black domino had heard. When he had finished the narrative, he began to stroke his long white whiskers with his left hand.

“What do you think of that, sir? Yes, yes, that’s the question, Captain Quitman; what do you think of that, sir?”

“Gammon, sir! all gammon!” muttered the captain, as he lighted a fresh cigar and began to puff the smoke in clouds above the old gentleman’s head.

“Gammon! gammon! zounds! sir, do you apply that epithet to the young lady who has the honor to be under my protection—I mean the young lady whom I have the honor to protect?” The old gentleman locked his hands under the tail of his coat, and began to prance around at a rapid rate. “Gammon! I think you said gammon, sir! What in the deuce do you mean by gammon, sir? Do you know the meaning of the word, sir? I ask you that, sir. Do you know, sir, that gammon and humbug mean the same thing? Why, didn’t you say the young lady was a humbug, sir, in plain terms! Answer me that, sir. I’ll have you understand, sir, that this young lady is no humbug; she is not gammon either, sir. If you call this unhappy young lady a humbug, sir, you shall answer for it; yes, answer for it. Is that plain enough for you, sir?”

“I beg pardon, sir,” said Captain Quitman, politely; “you have entirely misunderstood me, my good friend; I had no allusion to the young lady when I made the remark, I assure you. I am convinced that the young lady heard just what she stated; but I was inclined to think that the conversation she heard was gammon, or humbug, if you please; I infer that the conversation alluded to something that had occurred, not to a plan for future execution.”

“You did not mean to apply the word gammon to the young lady then?”

“Certainly not! certainly not! I had no thought of such a thing.”

“Then, sir, there’s my hand—I forgive you, sir, with all my heart. I am a peaceable man—fact is, sir, I never get excited. I am slow to anger; I love peace, but despise the word gammon. I don’t think such an odious word should ever be used. I had an uncle once who committed suicide under circumstances of the most distressing character. My uncle was a very handsome young man—everybody said he resembled me. He was a very sensitive, melancholy man; had a fashion of looking on the dark side of everything; the fact is, my uncle was an unhappy young man. He fell in love with a beautiful young widow, and for a long time he tried to muster up courage to ask her to marry him; but it was postponed from month to month, until another man entered the lists to contend for the fair prize. At first the beautiful widow was rather favorably inclined toward my uncle. Time went on—my uncle went on, too; so did the beautiful widow. After so long a time, my uncle at last, in a fit of desperation, asked the beautiful widow to marry him. What do you think was her reply, sir? Why, sir, she looked him full in the face and sneeringly said, ‘Gammon!’ The next morning my uncle’s remains were found in a briar patch with a bullet hole through his head; and on a sheet of paper, which he held clinched in his fist, appeared the odious word—gammon, in large letters made in red ink. Now, sir, you will readily understand why I was displeased when you used that word just now.”

“Ah, sir, I again most humbly ask your pardon—I certainly did not mean to use the word as in any way applicable to you or the young lady.”

“Again, sir, I offer you my hand; but I fear you do not attach as much importance to what the young lady heard as you should; in fact, sir, I think you are mistaken when you conclude that the conversation referred to something which had transpired at some previous time.”

“I am inclined to agree with this gentleman’s views,” observed George III., “because part of the conversation evidently referred to some one on this boat who was to be the victim. By the by, had you heard that my watch was snatched from my pocket but an hour ago?”

“Ha! is that so?” exclaimed Captain Quitman, who for the first time began to look serious. “This, indeed, is news to me—it must be looked into; whom do you suspect?”

“The man wearing the mask and uniform of Napoleon. There are three men on this boat wearing costumes that were worn by other men when we left Memphis.”

“I must confess that this information surprises me; this conduct looks suspicious; something must be done.”

“I think all masks should at once be discarded,” observed the old gentleman; “and I had advised that course before you came up.”

“No! no!” said Captain Quitman, “that would prevent us from catching the thieves. I think I can suggest a better plan; in fact, I believe we can manage to capture the rascals, if my plan is adopted. We will employ some one to watch the three suspicious men; meantime don’t mention this matter to any one; just let me manage the case. I’ll place guards on all parts of the boat, both day and night, with instructions to keep an eye on those three men. Let the amusements proceed as if nothing had happened—mention the matter to no one, and I’ll vouch for the result. I have a man on board who was in the detective service many years. I’ll put him on their tracks. Your watch shall be found, if the matter is left to me; if not, you shall be paid for it.”

“Your plan, sir, is evidently the best under the circumstances,” said Ingomar, “because if we unmask now that would enable the thieves to evade detection. Let the young lady in the black domino understand that she is not to tell any one about what she heard.”

“Do you remember the number of your watch?” inquired Captain Quitman, addressing George III.

“No.”

“What is its value?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where did you purchase it?”

“I—I, that is, I ah, hem! I didn’t buy it at all, sir.”

“Ah! a present then, I suppose, from some dear friend?”

“No.”

“You inherited it from deceased relations?”

“No.”

“Then how in the deuce did you come by it?”

“I borrowed it from a friend.”

“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed the jolly old captain, “that makes the loss a more serious one; but never mind, you shall have your watch again soon, or cash enough to satisfy your friend.”

“But suppose those suspicious individuals should try to leave the boat,” said the old gentleman with the white whiskers.

“I shall instruct the guards to arrest them, and compel them to unmask and submit to a search, whenever they attempt to leave the boat.”

Ingomar and Captain Quitman then walked away, followed by the old gentleman with the white whiskers.

“Well, Scottie, I’ll give you a nickel for your thoughts.”

“Keep your nickel; and you had better not seek to know my thoughts just now, for they are not of a very pleasant nature. However, one idea has found its way into my scanty brain, which I have no objection to your knowing.”

“Let me have it, pray; any little idea of yours would be acceptable to me.”

“The black domino is a humbug, and her guardian is an old fool; there now, you have got at least one idea; do what you please with it.”

“Yes, and a very bright little idea it is, too; something of the same sort has been knocking for admission at the back door of my brain-pan for some time.”

“Ah, indeed! I hope it did not knock very hard.”

“Scottie, dear, don’t cut so deep, pray.”

“Don’t call me ‘Scottie, dear,’ if you please; I am tired of it. It is time for the queen’s party to re-assemble, and I want Ingomar to hurry through with his story, because when that is done the masks must all be laid aside.”

“Take my arm, Scottie.”

“No, no, that’s not the style now; you take mine.”

“Good enough; anything to get you in a good humor.”

“I smell tobacco, and something else; I believe it is gin.”

“Ha, hem! I dare say you smell tobacco, but as to gin, I expect you are mistaken; it’s brandy.”

“Well, either is bad enough, and I despise both.”