Mississippi Jack: Being an Account of the Further Waterborne Adventures of Jacky Faber, Midshipman, Fine Lady, and Lily of the West (31 page)

"Bring up our worst tablecloth and spread it over here on Mr. Fortescue's left side. Should it happen that I must shoot him, I will do it from the right side, as I don't want to spill his brains all over my clean quarterdeck."

"Yes, Boss," she says, as she goes below to get the cloth.

I look over at our sorry river pilot and ask, "Any orders to the helm, Mr. Fortescue?"

His face fades to an even whiter shade of gray and he says, "Right rudder. Get to the center. Might hit that rock on the right. Hard right, now..."

Six wild hours later and we are through the Rapids without a scratch, on any of the three boats. We drift into the now quiet center of the river and heave great sighs of relief. Then we reflect on what to do with Mr. Fortescue. I have my table set up again and convene the trial. Good smells are drifting up from Crow Jane's kitchen. I rap my knuckles on the tabletop.

"The good people of the Ohio River Valley versus the False Guide and Deceiver Mr. Frederick Fortescue. How do you plead, Sir?"

"Not guilty," he answers. "I'm but an honest river pilot trying to ply my trade."

"Right, Mr. Fortescue," say I. "Will anyone else speak in his defense?"

Not a word is spoken. The defendant squirms in his bonds.

"Is there anyone who wishes to speak against him?"

"He did order us over to the right, in order to ground us and to put us at the mercy of the river pirates," testifies Jim Tanner.

"I was there and heard that order myself," I concur. "I call for a verdict. So say you one, so say you all..."

"Guilty!" comes the call from all those aboard. Mr. Fortescue looks noticeably uncomfortable.

"Let us proceed now to the penalty phase. All in favor of hanging him, say
aye
."

There is a goodly chorus of
ayes.

"
Hmmm,
" I say. "Will anyone speak for the condemned?"

"Your Honor, if I may," says Preacher Clawson, rising with hands outstretched. "Whatever his past crimes, I beseech you to extend mercy, for is he not still one of God's creatures, even though he has gone wrong?"

"
Hmmm.
Very well, Reverend, we will take your recommendation under consideration."

I sit back and pretend to deliberate. Then I say, "Mr. Tanner, prepare the gangplank."

Mr. Fortescue looks aghast.

"Yes, Mr. Fortescue, for your crimes against the good people of this country, you shall, indeed, walk the plank. You and your cohorts thought they were true pirates, but, Sir, you do not know
real
pirates." I clap my hands together. "Let's get this unpleasant work done. Strip him down to his underclothes and put him on the plank. Prepare some heavy chain to wrap around him so that his body does not float up."

The Hawkes boys grab the quivering Mr. Fortescue and relieve him of his outer garments. Clanking chain is brought up and placed near him. His eyes begin to go out of focus. The brothers put him on the gangplank that extends over the port side of the
Belle.
I go up behind him, cocking my pistol. He stands, his hands bound behind him, his knees shaking.

"Mr. Fortescue," I say, "you are, indeed, fortunate to have fallen into our hands, for unlike you and your sort, we are not murderers of the innocent, nor even of the guilty." With that, I take out my shiv to cut the bonds from his hands.

"We have shown you mercy, Mr. Fortescue, kindness that you and your type have shown no others. It is to be hoped that you remember this, whether you sink now, or are able to swim to safety. I do not care which."

I put my foot in the small of his back and push him over. There is a splash and I do not turn around to see whether or not his head bobs up.

We have a great, triumphant feast that night, all three boats nested up and anchored in a quiet cove. Bottles of our best wine are opened and Crow Jane's fried chicken is received with great acclaim. Even Lightfoot and Chee-a-quat join us in this celebration. Tales of individual bravery are told and retold. Praise is heaped upon every brow. Songs are sung and more stories are told and eventually we go off to bed. It has been a very long day.

Clementine and I tumble into our bunk and begin to settle ourselves for the night. When we are set and quiet, but before we blow out the candle, I say, "Thank you, Clementine. You saved my life today, you did, and don't deny it."

She sniffs and maybe nods but says nothing else.

"I mean it," I go on. "And if there's anything I can do for you, please tell me."

At that, she gets up on one elbow and faces me. "All right. You see that?"

She points to my miniature painting of Jaimy, which I keep above my bed.

"Yes," I say. "That is a picture of my intended husband, Jaimy Fletcher, he's—"

"Uh-huh," she says. Then, "You done that picture?"

"Yes, though he's much better looking than—"

"Uh-huh," she says and settles back down into the pillow. "Then, if you'd make one of Jimmy, uh, Jim Tanner, for me, I'd be grateful ... and then ... we'll be even."

"Of course, I will, Clementine. I'll start on it tomorrow," I answer, preparing myself for the sleep that may not come, not for either of us. For I know I will have a new nightmare, that of a man standing over me with a bayonet, ready to gut me like a pig, while she'll be dealing with the fact that she killed a man.

Dona Nobis Pacem, Pacem,
I sing over and over to myself as Clementine and I lie wrapped in each other's arms against the terrors of the night.
Dona Nobis Pacem...

Give us peace.

Belle
log, midsummer. 12:35. Arrive town of Cairo. Debark passengers. Look out over Mississippi River. Personal observation: I had thought that we had been on mighty rivers these past few weeks, but I have never seen anything like this. Good Lord.

We had picked up our former passengers at Elizabeth town the day following the Battle of Cave-in-Rock. They expressed both delight and surprise that we were still alive, and climbed eagerly back aboard. All of them would get off at Cairo, most of them going upriver to St. Louis, which seems to be the only big town around here, and that mainly a trading post. Before leaving Elizabethtown, we informed the town fathers that we had cleaned out the nest of outlaws up at Cave-in-Rock and it would be well if they could send some good men up there, well armed, to keep the bandits from creeping back in and setting up their vile business again, which would surely help the future hopes of their little town. Whether or not they did so, I don't know. Prolly not.

Higgins had taken to calling me Commodore Faber on the way down to Cairo, but alas, that title was not to stick. We had such a torturous time keeping the three boats in a line that we decided to sell the latter two at Cairo, it being the meeting place of the Ohio and the Mississippi, where boats like these would be in great demand. When I finally did get a good look at the mighty, turbulent flood that was the Big River, all doubts were dispelled: No way was I going to take three boats tied together on the crest of
that.
Hell, there were
houses
floating by, for God's sake, to say nothing of massive uprooted trees, and other nasty snags what could gut the
Belle
and put all of us under in a minute. One thing you never know about a river: On one day it can be calm, then within minutes all that can change into a roiling mess that doesn't begin to calm down for several days.

We call a general meeting up on the cabin top soon after we dock and all the passengers have left.

Mr. Cantrell thought that it might be nice to keep one of the boats as a sort of floating tavern and gaming place, but I countered that by pointing out if we stopped carrying passengers, we could do the same thing with the
Belle.
And so it was decided and all agreed: No more passengers unless they could contribute to our general enterprise. They were mostly a bother, anyway. You had to feed them and all. Plus we would have had to hire on more crew, and I want no more of that. I know Crow Jane was relieved—she was cooking for enough people right now. No, it would be the
Belle of the Golden West
and our performances—Sanctified, Minstrel, or Medicine—that would see us downriver, and if they don't pay, well, we will just eat catfish and bullfrogs till they come out of our ears.

We all stand on board this ship as brothers and sisters! So say you one, so say you all! Good. It is agreed.

***

We set about in a great bustle of activity, selling some things we took from the Cave, stowing others. Higgins sets off into the town to sell the two captured boats, while Yancy and I set about making changes to the
Belle.
We hire carpenters and have half the passenger berths taken out on the starboard side, to be replaced by a good, sturdy bar with shelves and racks behind to hold the bottles of spirits. Our long mess table will serve as tavern seating. Lanterns and lamps are set about to provide the warm and welcoming lighting. Cantrell wants a small, round table set to the side, seating maybe six, for serious players. I admonish him that I will brook no cheating nor skinning of helpless country boys, and he assures me that only serious members of the sporting class will be allowed to take their place at that table. On the floor to one side of that table, we install a trapdoor, with a secret pull-lever handy to the head chair, to take care of any unruly patrons. There is much hammering and sawing going on as I take my leave of the place, to go out into the town, satisfied that all is going well.

The boy? Oh, yes, that boy. He does recover, against all odds. On the second day, his eyes pop open to stare about him in wonder, seeing three young females about him, mopping his brow with cold compresses and murmuring soothing words. It has to be quite a change from his former company.

When he is able to speak, he tells us that his name is Daniel Prescott and tearfully relates that he was captured by the river pirates last year, along with his father and uncle, neither of whom survived the attack. When I tell him of our successful attack on those same vermin, he expresses great joy to hear it.

"I hope you killed them all. Warn't a good one in the bunch. I hate them."

"And I hope that you do not let that hatred fester in your heart, young Daniel, for it will mean that they managed to hurt you for the whole of your life," I say, placing my hand upon his arm. "Never fear, many of them are dead, Daniel, and you are alive, here, and safe."

In his delight at being aboard the
Belle,
he is soon up and about and getting into everything. When we get him clean and presentable, I stand him up in front of me and inform him that his billet is to be ship's boy, and in that capacity he is subject to the orders of every single person aboard. In addition to any chores the others assign him, he has the job of looking after Pretty Saro, scrubbing her down and keeping her in the pink, and she seems to thrive under his care. Crow Jane, with plenty of new slabs of bacon and butts of ham now in her food locker, has given up gazing pointedly at a contentedly sleeping Saro whilst running her thumb along the edge of her knife to test its sharpness. My piglet is safe, for the time being, at least. But every day she
is
growing larger, and very soon we will no longer be able to call her a piglet.

Crow Jane has an unlooked-for delight in this port when she meets up with someone from her own Shoshone village high up on the Missouri and Snake rivers. There are exclamations of happiness at the meeting, expressed by a sort of shuffle dance done with thumb in mouth, then great hugs and squeals of joy. The girl, who turns out to be Crow Jane's niece, has with her a little boy of about two, Jean Baptiste. She was captured, as a child, by the Hidatsa Indian tribe and then later sold to a French trapper, who made her his wife when she was old enough to be a wife and to be gotten with child. I think to myself,
Huh! A lot of say she had in the matter,
but the travails of her life don't seem to bother her overmuch. She eats and laughs with great gusto and charm as she recounts her travels, in both French and English. I find that she has been on that Lewis and Clark Expedition across the new Louisiana Territory that Amy Trevelyne was going on about back in Boston. That expedition is now breaking up, the leaders heading back to Washington to report to President Jefferson. 'Tis no wonder the men on the expedition took her along, as I am sure she brought them much cheer in their darkest hours. Now she's been hired as cook on a boat going downriver. Of course, she'll take her son along, too. Her name in English is Bird Girl, and we invite her to dinner and avidly listen to her tales of the wild wonders she has seen, especially me, and, curiously, Katy, too, who seldom expresses enthusiasm for anything. And this Indian girl has even seen the Pacific Ocean on the other side of this massive country. Jeez ... Even I ain't never yet seen the Pacific. We sit there far into the night, listening with chins in hands, rapt, until she finally rises, picks up her child, thanks us for dinner, and leaves to continue her journey downriver.

"Wouldn't that have been somethin' to have been along on that trip?" I sigh, after all have left and we undress for bed.

"Yes," says Katy Deere, simply, but I catch an edge of real longing in her voice.

***

Higgins has managed to sell off some of the goods, and so, on our third day here, we have a payday. We break it down this way: Faber Shipping gets ten shares—after all, we have to pay for resupplying, repairs, and renovations, as well as to pay Higgins and Tanner. All others receive one share, except for Daniel, who gets a quarter share. It works out to fifteen dollars a share, and all pronounce themselves satisfied. Matthew and Nathaniel Hawkes head for the nearest taverns, with orders to be good. If they land in jail, they will be left here, and they know that. I don't know where Lightfoot and Chee-a-quat go, but then, I seldom do.

Mr. Cantrell pockets his pay and goes off looking for a game. Chloe, dressed in her best, goes off with him. As elegant as they both are, I cannot help but think of the circling sharks I have seen in various waters.