I noticed also that before she would eat, she would put her hands together, close her eyes, and mumble some words, when none of the rest of us did.
"Good. Now go to sleep. Tomorrow will be a brighter day, you'll see. Soon we'll take you to the General Butler with us so you can see the show. Would you like that?"
I felt her head bob up and down.
"Good. Now go to sleep."
She settled into my side and gradually grew quiet. After a while her breathing became slow and regular. And then, after a while, so did mine.
***
That night, as I lay tossing and turning as usual, I had the most unusual dream—I dreamed that Clementine had gotten out of bed and gone down, as I supposed, to use the pot. Some dream time went on and I dreamed that there was, of all things, a cold pistol put to my temple, and I heard the sound of a hammer being drawn back and cocked. What a strange dream, I remember thinking. It's not one of the things that I regularly dream and scream about. Funny, ain't it? Then I dreamed I heard the sound of a hammer being brought back safely down to half cock, and presently Clementine crawled back into bed and I stopped dreaming till I woke in the morning, her flaxen hair across my face.
Chapter 30
J. Fletcher, Convict
On a road gang
Somewhere in the God-awful USA
Miss Jacky Faber
Also somewhere in this God-awful USA
But no doubt in a state higher than my current one
Jacky,
We shuffle out of the Pittsburgh prison at dawn, clad in our prison stripes, left legs shackled by the ankles to a long chain, after having been fed a ration of oatmeal, molasses, and weak coffee, made from some plant that grows wild here and isn't even remotely related to a coffee tree. Sailors on the meanest ship would complain of this fare, but so be it. I shan't complain. It is my lot and I will accept it.
Then we are all loaded onto a rough cart and taken on a jolting trip to the outskirts of the town, to a place next to the Ohio River where some seawall work needs to be done, and we are, of course, the ones chosen to do it.
I am, as Fate and the ever-so-humorous gods would have it, fettered next to Mike Fink, my supposed partner in my crimes against the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, and must listen to his rants both night and day. He says he has taken a shine to me. God help me.
On the first day, we were shown the work that had to be done. There was a quarry where tons of what appears to be a sandy stone were blasted out of the quarry wall and hauled on carts by some convicts up to the rest of us, who would then use our hammers to break the bigger pieces into littler pieces that would be tamped into the space behind the seawall. It was called, not very poetically, the Rockpile.
While I was slaving away at the Rockpile, I added meaning to this deadly drudgery by picturing the many heads that I would very much like to have seen split, from Midshipman Bliffil to the pirate LeFievre to Captain Scroggs to Captain Blodgett to Captain Rutherford to many others I have met in this life. In my fury I even conjured up some half-buried jealousies and pictured smashing the knees of Robin Raeburne and the same of Randall Trevelyne. I am sorry, Jacky, but I am beyond rational thought. I swing my hammer with great gusto: Here's one for your toes, Randall! Smash! You like that, you arrogant son of a bitch? Try to get on my girl, will you? Well, here's another! Smash!
I was in an absolute orgy of jealous destruction, but I was restrained in time by my mentor.
"No, no, boy, y'see, y'gotta just do the least bit they require," said Mike with all the reasonableness of a schoolmaster. "Otherwise, if you do too good a job, they'll just nail you again as soon as you step outside the calaboose, 'cause they'll want you back. Y'see?"
I did see, and I slowed down my hammering and let my simmering resentment burn off. But I did not stop thinking and nurturing my resentments: There was the man Beatty to consider. Since I had grown a beard and pulled the ribbon from my hair to let my hair hang loose about my face, and affected an idiot's slow drawl when in his hearing, I do not think he recognized me. In fact, I was able to hear him talk to one of his compatriots to the effect that he and his partner, McCoy, would be heading south to a place called Johnstown after he got out of this hole. It warmed my heart to know that.
But my heart was not warm for long, for once again, that night Clementine did not appear at the jailhouse window.
Mike was sympathetic, in his way. "Should've kep' that one and got rid o' the other one. She seems like a good girl."
A good girl, indeed, I thought, as I grasped the cold bars and looked out onto the empty street....
Chapter 31
Clementine continues to sweeten. She arose singing from our bunk this morning and went straight to her work, helping Crow Jane get the stove started up from last night's coals and the breakfast on the table.
I had thought to take my meals in my cabin, separate from the others, as befits my station, but I decided against it. For one thing, I didn't want Higgins to appear to be waiting on me hand and foot, which, of course, I certainly enjoy, but it would damage his image as First Mate. Second, I liked the conviviality of sitting at the head of the long table and eating and drinking with my mates. Oh, sometimes I will take my dinner solitaire, when the occasion demands, but not now. The passengers will also join us at this table. The Hawkes boys must be taught some manners before that, though. I invite Mr. Cantrell to join our table and he does. I insist that the girl he has with him join us also, but she shakes her head and takes her plate to a corner to eat.
After serving, Clementine sits down next to Jim, who seems to appreciate the company. After the breakfast cleanup and the day's laundry are done, I'm sure the two again will be sitting on the bow, fishing and talking, their heads together.
The Hawkes boys sit at the very foot of this table, but they are learning their manners, very slowly but surely. There is hope for them, I think, crude as they now are.
I decide to take Clementine to the performance tonight, as a reward for her new cheerfulness, and I think it would be good for her to broaden her horizons some—I have the feeling she has seen very little of the world. I'll take Jim, too, since we can leave the Belle in the very capable hands of Crow Jane.
After the day's labor is done, Higgins and I set to work on Clementine's appearance. The hair is freshly washed and Higgins steps back and considers it, scissors in hand.
"Hmmm. We'll snip a little bit off here"—he applies the scissors quickly and surely—"and here. And we'll curl this, then tie this up in a bow. I think that will do it."
The girl does not know quite what to think, but she goes along with it. Higgins heats up the curling iron and goes to work.
"There, what do you think of that?" I ask, holding the hand mirror up for her to gaze upon her newly coiffed self. Two curled ringlets hang by either side of her face, the rest of her hair being swept up top and tied with a blue ribbon.
She is amazed.
"And what do you think your young man will think?" tease I.
"Ooooh. I don't know what he'll think," she says. "I don't know what to think myself."
"What's his first name, anyway?" I ask, putting away combs and pins.
"Jai—" she begins, and then coughs. "Jake. His name's Jake, short for Jacob."
"Is he a good man?" I ask. "And how old is he?"
"Yes, he's a good boy. 'Bout eighteen, I figure."
"Did he put those there?" I ask, pointing to some old yellow bruises high up on her arms.
"No. Pap done that. That's why I run away."
"Ah. What's Jake in jail for, if you don't mind me askin'?"
"Got caught up in a fight that warn't none of his concern."
"Ah, well, that happens, doesn't it? When the boys want to fight, sometimes you just gotta let 'em."
"I reckon," she agrees, softly. "Still, it tore me up to see him hurt like that."
"Well, he'll be out soon," chirps I, "and you'll have a most joyful reunion."
Strangely, she does not smile at the prospect but only nods and looks down at her hands.
"But as for now," I say briskly, "let's get you out of that dress and into something more suited to the evening. I shall lend you my serving-girl gear, which is what I usually perform in, and I shall wear my blue dress instead ... Now, Higgins, don't look at me that way. I know it's a bit scandalous, but is not 'scandal' my middle name? Come on, be a sport and stuff me in."
I had fashioned my blue dress after a dress I'd seen worn by a Mrs. Roundtree. I had sewn it while I was on the Dolphin and figuring I was about to get kicked off. In which thinking I was absolutely right, by the way. Mrs. Roundtree was a lady in Palma de Mallorca, who practiced what is sometimes called "the oldest profession," but who was very kind to me in explaining how things work. I, myself, do not think hers is the "oldest profession"...I think runnin' a scam is the oldest, but let that go. As everybody who knows me realizes, I am a somewhat eccentric Biblical scholar. However, it is possible I could have picked a more modest model for my first dress, I will allow that.
With a heavy sigh, Higgins hauls the dress out of my seabag and goes to set the iron on the stove, and I turn to strapping Clementine into my serving-girl rig.
We are about the same size, but I think that's because she maybe ain't stopped growing yet.
So anyway, on with the black stockings—she's got a tattered pair of drawers, so that's good 'cause I don't have to give her one of mine—then she dons the blousy white shirt, black skirt, and then the black vest to top it off. I stand back and survey my work.
"Good," I say. "You look the very picture of the hard-workin' barmaid. When we get there, I'll set it up with Molly so that you'll be helping Katy—pickin' up and washin' the empty mugs, wipin' off the tables, carryin' in the trays of food and drink. Don't worry, you'll get the hang of it right quick. When you learn to count change, you can wait on tables in your own right."
She nods, smoothing out the unfamiliar cloth under her hands.
"All right, we are off to the merry dance," I crow as we leave the Belle, me and Higgins and Katy and Clementine and, right next to her, Jim Tanner.
Jane lights up her pipe and sits by the gangway, Jim's rifle over her knees, as we depart. Behind her the Hawkes boys sit with their long legs dangling over the side, whining, "How come we'uns don't get to go, too?"
"'Cause yer a pair o' no-good drunken louts who'd drink up all the profits and then start fightin' with each other and then get thrown back in the calaboose ag'in," says Crow Jane, "after we'uns been trainin' y'uns all week and y'uns eatin' up all the food and bein' nothin' but trouble. Nope. We got a 'vestment in y'uns and yer gonna pay it off if'n I got anythin' to say about it."
Aw, Janey...
The Sign of the General Butler is very nearly full when we get there to prepare for the night's show. I wear my cloak about my shoulders as if for warmth, though the night is warm enough.
I set it up with Molly as to what Clementine's duties will be, then I step up on the small stage we have had built, with Higgins taking his usual station behind me. I pick up my concertina to accompany the first song. Jim, without being told, goes to help Clementine. Hmmmm... In the beginning, I had half hoped that some sparks might work up between Katy and Jim, but nothing happened. Oh, they are good friends and trade jokes and gibes and all, but it's a brother-sister thing. But with Clementine, now, I think I can feel the heat between them. But Jim, she says she's a married woman...