But that is not my story.
One day Jack came to me with a rather more sinful proposal than he had
heretofore done me the honor to submit. He knew of about a thousand bales
of cotton, some of it private property, some of it confiscable, stored at
various points on the banks of the Alabama. He had a steamboat in
readiness, "with a gallant, gallant crew," and he proposed to drop quietly
down to the various landings by night, seize the cotton, load it on his
boat and make off down the river. What he wanted from me, and was willing
to pay for, was only my official signature to some blank shipping permits;
or if I would accompany the expedition and share its fortunes no papers
would be necessary. In declining this truly generous offer I felt that I
owed it to Jack to give him a reason that he was capable of understanding,
so I explained to him the arrangements at Mobile, which would prevent him
from transferring his cargo to a ship and getting the necessary papers
permitting her to sail. He was astonished and, I think, pained by my
simplicity. Did I think him a fool? He did not purpose--not he--to
tranship at all: the perfected plan was to dispense with all hampering
formality by slipping through Mobile Bay in the black of the night and
navigating his laden river craft across the Gulf to Havana! The rascal was
in dead earnest, and that natural timidity of disposition which compelled
me to withhold my cooeperation greatly lowered me in his esteem, I fear.
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