Lew walked the wooden planking near the river’s edge. He passed Cadwaller the night watchman. Shortly he moved through the lines of Irishmen carrying cargo to the two ships tied up at the wharves. The men labored silently as they trod heavy-footed and bent under large loads along the lane of light cast by burning lanterns.
A slow wind came off the Mississippi, keeping the smoke of the burning tar over the city. Millions upon millions of mosquitoes had fled the smoke zone and congregated along the river. Invisible in the darkness, the black-winged pests droned around Lew. The grease he had smeared on his face gave him but scant protection from the stinging bites.
He reached the downriver edge of the Wollfolk dock and turned to head along the border in the direction of the levee. He thought of Cécile. She had read the Courier’s description of the many deaths from yellow fever and had urged him to take her from New Orleans until the epidemic ended. He knew she had good reason to be afraid. But he had refused to leave and tried to get her to go alone. She would not go without him. Now both remained in the pestilential city. God! How he hoped the deadly disease did not strike her.
He looked ahead in the direction of the city. For hours the cannon, hidden in the smoky night, had rumbled without stop. The flames of distant funeral pyres showed as dirty red splotches on the darkness. A dismal sight.
The two pistol shots came close together, just beyond the levee and near Jackson Square. Lew barely heard them between the crashing booms of the cannon. He halted and stared hard through the formless vapors of the night. Had Morissot found Kelty? Were they fighting in the darkness? A third shot rang out.
Lew watched for Morissot to appear in the light on the docks or at the warehouse. Morissot did not appear. That was a bad sign. Lew hastened forward.
He stopped on top of the levee in the edge of the cloud of tar smoke. He would go no farther, for he must be near if an attack was made on Tim. Squatting on his haunches, Lew watched in the direction of the city for a long time.
The weary minutes passed. Sleep began to pull at his eyelids. He climbed erect and shook himself awake. He looked upward at the pinprick holes the stars made in the black dome of the heavens. The day could not be far away. He moved off along the top of the levee toward the lighted warehouse.
Iron wheels rattled on the stone pavement of Front Street. A few seconds later, a wagon pulled by a trotting horse bounded out of the night and whirled up to the warehouse. The Negro driver shouted and O’Doyle hurried to him.
O’Doyle called down over the docks. Tim separated from the stevedores and hastened up the slope to the wagon driver. They spoke together.
Tim saw Lew approaching. “Lezin is dead. Kelty killed him.”
“I’m sorry about Morissot,” Lew said. “What of Kelty?”
“He’s dead too. They fought and wounded each other. Before Lezin died, he told Jonathan that there were four members in the Ring and that we should hunt them down and kill them.”
“I don’t have to be told to hunt them,” Lew roughly replied. “I’ve had enough of giving them the first blow.”
“Lezin is dead and Marie is all alone,” Tim said sadly. “I must go and be with her.”
“Wait,” Lew said. “Some men are coming. They may mean trouble.”
Three men walking swiftly along the levee top came into the full light of the lanterns. “Hello, Wollfolk,” one of the men called.
“Gustave Besançon, what brings you here?” Lew asked.
“My friends and I have come to pay you back for the favor you did us. And to get in on the fight,” replied Gustave.
“What fight?” Lew said.
“The fight when Custus and his Live Oak Boys from the Swamp come to burn your warehouse and docks.”
“Tell me more,” Lew said.
“About fifty of them will be here in an hour or so. They’ll have coal oil and lucifers. Some uptown men have hired them to burn you out.”
“We can guess who they are,” Lew said.
“Who would that be?” Gustave said.
“There are four of them, men named Shattuck, Rawlins, Loussat, and Tarboll.”
“We know them. You pick strong enemies. But we’re not worried. I’d like to introduce you to Leandre and Maurice. All three of us would like to join you. A little fight would get our blood flowing.”
“Join if you like. But there must be no killing if we can help it.” Lew’s mind raced as he surveyed the warehouse and the dimly lit dock. He spoke to Tim. “Send the old black man home,” Lew said. “He’s done his part.”
“Jonathan, please go and take care of Marie,” Tim said.
Jonathan nodded and reined the horse away from the warehouse. Man and wagon vanished into the night.
“O’Doyle, call your men together,” Lew said. “They have a right to know we will soon be attacked.”
“All right,” O’Doyle said. He faced about and whistled shrilly through his teeth.
The Irishmen gathered at the end of the warehouse. They looked curiously from O’Doyle to Lew.
“That’s all of them,” O’Doyle said.
Lew nodded. He began to speak to the assemblage of men. “In an hour or so, a gang of head-knockers called the Live Oak Boys from the Swamp will come here to burn the warehouse and docks. They have been hired by our competitors to destroy the Wollfolk Company. I’m telling you this so that you may leave before the attack comes.”
The men were silent, shifting their feet, looking from Lew to O’Doyle.
The Irish leader stepped closer to Lew and faced his countrymen. “If the warehouse and docks are burned, then our jobs are gone,” he said.
An angry growl rose from the men. “I wouldn’t like that,” a man shouted. There was an answering chorus of agreement.
“The men who are coming are tough,” Lew said. “But those of you who stand with me will get a week’s pay. Anyone who gets hurt and unable to work will receive full pay until he is well again.”
“Irishmen are tough too,” O’Doyle said. There was a roar of approval at the statement. As the noise subsided, O’Doyle said, “I for one am standing with Wollfolk. He helped us to get started in a foreign land. But those of you who think this fight is not yours can leave with no blame thought toward you. But leave now, for we got to know our strength.”
O’Doyle waited, looking from face to face. Not a man moved. “Damn good fellows,” he said with a broad grin. “Wollfolk, tell us what you want done.”
Lew made a quick count. Thirty-five men against fifty or so. Damn poor odds, and there was so much area to protect. Yet they had no choice but to fight. It would be impossible to prevent determined men from starting fires and doing damage. A hard smile stretched Lew’s lips. There might yet be a joker who he could deal the Live Oak Boys.
* * *
Tim watched Lew’s flinty face and slitted eyes as they sat at the battered desk in the warehouse. Lew the strategist had devised the defense. Tim could not find fault with the plan. Every door in the warehouse was opened to its full extent to allow a clear view in almost every direction. About two-thirds of the men were positioned in the warehouse. They appeared to be working; however, they were merely shuffling the mounds of military supplies from one location to another within the building. Barrels had been emptied of their contents and now were spaced about, full of riverwater and soaking burlap sacks to be used to swat out fires.
The last third of the men were near the river. Hundreds of buckets of water had been splashed upon the beams and planks of the dock. They would not burn easily.
Every man had found a hard cudgel of some sort and carried it in his belt. There would soon be many broken heads. Men could die.
Lew turned his gimlet eyes on Tim. “You once said that you could kill a man if the situation was right. Well, I think tonight is the right time. The Irishmen have no guns. Some of the Live Oak Boys will surely be carrying them. Those armed men must be shot, and you and I have to do the shooting.”
Tim breathed in and out. The sound was like a sigh, yet held an undertone of anger.
Lew’s voice came sharply, questioning, “Can you help me shoot every Swamp man that has a pistol? If we can’t, they will surely kill these men who are helping us.”
Tim could feel the wolf rising in his heart. The Texan was correct. There was a time to meet violence with violence, to kill your enemy if you could. “Yes, I can shoot them. I think my uncle would approve.”
“I’m certain of that,” Lew said.
Tim pulled his pistol from his belt and checked the set of the lead balls on the powder and the condition of the firing caps. He slid the weapon back into its place.
The two fell silent. The wind washed over them in hot, damp waves as they waited for the impending battle to begin.
Lew stiffened. He knew the enemy had come, was hidden just out there beyond the reach of the lantern light.
“They’re here, Tim,” Lew said quietly. “Take your club and walk down to the other end of the warehouse like we planned. Remember, don’t let our men get shot. Kill any Oak Boys that pull a gun. If they don’t use guns, then it’s only a fight with clubs. Maybe there’ll only be broken heads and nobody will die tonight.”
Tim walked among the piles of cargo. “Get ready. Get ready.” He repeated the words in a low voice again and again to the men until he came to the far wall of the warehouse.
* * *
Edward Tarboll felt his pulse pounding with the excitement of the imminent attack. Nine years had passed since he had last led his band of pirates. The Boston-bound merchantman had been overtaken just off the east coast of Cuba after a three-day chase. He and his band had stormed aboard the ship with pistols banging and cutlasses swinging. Once they had boarded the ship, the fight to clear the decks of resistance and rout the last holdout defenders from below had taken less than ten minutes.
Capturing Wollfolk’s docks and setting all afire would be little different from capturing the merchantman. Probably even less difficult because Wollfolk and his Irishmen were not expecting to be boarded.
“I see that Texas Ranger, Lew, there at the desk,” Loussat whispered.
“So do I. We’ll both go for him. Once he’s dead, the other men will run.”
“Remember I get the first shot at him.”
“Then don’t fall behind me. Soon as Custus attacks and Lew is fighting them, we’ll catch him from behind.”
Tarboll crouched with Loussat in the dark at the foot of the levee. They were beyond sight of Custus and his gang of Live Oak Boys, and he could hear nothing from them. But unless he was mistaken, he could smell coal oil. He liked that. Soon Wollfolk and his property would be no more.
“What’s Custus waiting for?” Loussat said in an aggravated voice.
“Have patience,” replied Tarboll. Old pirates had learned much patience.
* * *
The shrill, savage battle cries pierced the night like daggers. An instant later, a long line of running men armed with clubs broke from the darkness and charged up the sloping face of the levee. A group of the men veered off at ail angle and tore past the end of the warehouse toward the docks. The major portion charged directly at the long side of the building.
Lew grabbed up his club from the desk and sprang to meet the assault. A. tall man yelling in a wild voice rushed upon him.
Lew blocked a hard swing of the man’s club. Then, before the fellow could recover, he struck him on the side with a rib-cracking blow. Another whack of Lew’s weapon laid the man out cold on the dirt floor of the warehouse. Lew whirled, looking for another foe.
No one was close and he threw a look along the length of the warehouse. Men fought with clubs. And swords flashed, for the young Creoles were using their sharp blades to cut arms, legs, to cripple men and put them out of the fight. Clubs were no match for the swords. Lew was glad the Creoles were with him.
Shouts and the clash of weapons rose to fill the building with a great clamor. Men began to fall as their opponents overcame them. Moans rose to mix with the shouts of victory.
At the foot of the levee, a second line of men, widely spaced and carrying metal cans, came out of the murky night. Part of the line peeled away, as had happened with the first wave, and ran toward the docks. The largest number of men climbed straight up the levee to the warehouse.
Lew barely had time to see the new threat before a man with an ax handle was flailing at him. They circled, darting in at each other, parrying and hammering, striving to find an opening, a weakness.
Tarboll slipped out of the darkness beside Loussat. Though his eyes were focused on Lew, he saw the strong resistance of Wollfolk’s armed Irishmen. How could they have been so well-prepared for the battle? Somehow they must have been warned. Still he could win, for fires were beginning to burn at half a dozen places on the side of the warehouse and one end wall.
Loussat raised his pistol to aim at Lew fighting a man swinging a club. The gun crashed. A jet flame lanced out at Lew’s back.
* * *
The man bore in, swinging his club mightly at Lew’s head. Lew dodged to the side. He bent forward and, reaching out to the limit, rammed his club into the man’s gut.
As Lew started to straighten, a bullet nicked him on the side of the head. He flinched and ducked. The second bullet whizzed over his head.
Lew pivoted to the rear and dropped to a knee. Two men with pistols were moving upon him. One held his gun leveled and was sighting down the barrel.
Lew dropped his club. His hand caught the butt of his pistol, lifted it, fired.
Loussat’s eyes opened wide in terrible surprise. He stumbled, his legs giving way. He fell with a thump.
Tarboll saw Loussat’s shot stagger Lew. But then, unbelievably fast, the Texan drew his revolver and killed Loussat. Tarboll jerked up his gun, aimed quickly.
Lew hurled himself from in front of Tarboll’s pistol. Even as he fell, he swung the barrel of his pistol, brought it into alignment with the man’s body. The gun roared and bucked in his hand.
Tarboll’s face twisted with the shock of the bullet ripping through him. He collapsed, slack and lifeless.
Lew leapt erect, his eyes searching for another man with a gun. He saw only men in hand-to-hand combat.
A pistol shot boomed in the far end of the warehouse. A second shot, from a different gun answered. Then a third shot rang out.
Lew broke into a streaking run, dodging swinging clubs and leaping over fallen, bloody men. A Live Oak Boy yelled a harsh cry and tried to hit Lew as he passed. Lew’s speed carried him safely beyond the reach of the club.
Lew slid to a stop at the opposite end of the building. Tim leaned against the wall. A redheaded man lay on the ground. Blood leaked steadily from a hole in his chest. He breathed once, then no more.
“Are you hurt?” Lew asked.
“No, I’m okay. That’s Custus, the man we had trouble with on the street. He tried to shoot me.”
“He’s done for. Go help the Irishmen. I’ll help the men on the docks.”
“The fire’s getting a good start.” Tim pointed at the oil-fed flames climbing the stanchions and sides of the warehouse and licking at the rafters.
“The fire can wait a few minutes longer. Help the men.” Lew snatched up a club from the floor and dashed down onto the docks.
“Now! Now,” Lew shouted as loud as he could above the screams and curses of the fighting men.
As if in answer to his call, the deckhouse hatchways of the two ships tied at the dock were flung open. A mob of seamen swarmed out onto the decks and down the gangway. Their voices rang out savage as a pack of hunting dogs. Swinging belaying pins, the seamen sprang into the fray.
A Live Oak Boy, the first to be overrun by the sailors, screamed out in a harrowing voice as he was struck several times. A second Swamp man chased by two seamen raced full-speed into the darkness. Another man, badly hurt, tried to crawl away on hands and knees, but an Irishman spotted him and knocked him unconscious with a bone-breaking lick from his club.
More Live Oak Boys fell or fled. The front of the battle zone retreated toward the warehouse.
A sailor shouted out, “They’re running. Yahoo! Look at them run.”
Like a wave, the knowledge of which side was winning swept across the docks. Struggling groups of men broke apart. One side ran.
A great cheer swept across the docks. Men began to laugh. The Irishmen called out happily to the sailors who had come to their aid and helped defeat the bully boys from the Swamp.
The captain of one of the ships saw Lew and raised his hand in salute as he approached.
Lew, smiling broadly, called out, “Damn glad to see your seamen come tearing off the ship, captain.”
“I couldn’t let them destroy my cargo or endanger my ships,” said the captain. “It was a good plan to draw them all into the open and then beat the hell out of them.”
“It worked just like we hoped,” Lew replied. “Now, if you’ll have your medico look at the wounded, I’ll take the rest of the men and put out the fires those fellow started.”
“Can’t be much damage done by the fire in such a short time. Some charred timber, but not enough structural damage to put you out of business. I want you to start loading cargo again just as quickly as you can. When daylight comes, I want to see the last of New Orleans and be on my way with military supplies for General Scott.”
“You’ll be loaded by then.” Lew began to shout orders at the men around him.