"Well, consider yourself the newest employee of Faber Shipping, Worldwide, Clementine Amaryllis Jukes," I say, taking her by the arm. "And stand off, James Tanner, as we've got to get her below and get her dry."
Strange, but I thought I felt her stiffen a bit when I called Jim "James."
The morning dawned glorious, as it often does for me when I am off on a new venture. The sun shone, the sparkling wavelets were dancing merrily, and all was well in our watery world.
There was the hustle and bustle of getting the passengers aboard with their luggage, the last-minute payments of dock fees and such, which gives me time to sit down at my topside table and write my first entry into the log:
Belle of the Golden West log. Preparing to cast off from the port of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, USA, on the Ohio River, bound south for New Orleans and all points between. Passenger manifest as follows:
Mr. Yancy Beauregard Cantrell, with servant
Mr. Manning and daughter Elaine
Mr. and Mrs. Pankowski and family, homesteaders
Mr. McDaniel, lumber merchant
Mr. Brady
Miss Umholtz, schoolmistress, Cincinnati Normal School
Under way, 10 o'clock. Weather clear, all secure.
"Cast off!" I cry, exulting in two of the sweetest words in the sailor's language. The lines are taken in and we shove off the dock and pull out into the stream, finally, on the Ohio River.
"Man your sweeps!" I joyously sing out. Nathaniel is on port forward oar, his brother Matt on the starboard forward one. Behind Matt stands Jim Tanner on aft starboard, Higgins on port aft oar, and between them, on the cabin top, stands me on the tiller. Katy's on bow lookout, watching for snags and debris and other shipping that might impede our progress, while Clementine is below helping Crow Jane get the noon meal together.
When I see that all the oars are ready in the up position, I call out, "All ... pull!"
The oars dip into the water, the stroke is pulled, and they return to the up position.
"All ... pull!" and it is done again. And again.
When we're well clear of the dock area I say, "Port, hold! Starboard, pull!" I throw my tiller over to the right and the Belle turns neatly to the left, pointed downriver and parallel to the shore.
After several more pulls by all, I say, "Secure the after oars; forward oars pull together," and Higgins and Jim ship their oars and secure them. "Jim, take the tiller if you would. Keep her about fifty yards offshore and be alert if Katy spots a snag." We're going fast enough that we can get by with just the Hawkes boys on sweeps, and they know each other well enough that they don't need the strokes called out. We'll reserve that for tight situations, like coming in to dock and such.
Jim takes the tiller and I go forward to mix with the passengers for a bit. As I go, I step over the blue line I had the sign painter draw on the deck. It runs from the port gunwale over the deck, up the side of the cabin, across the top and down the other side, over the starboard deck to the gunwale on that side. That line separates the quarterdeck from the rest of the ship, and all passengers have been told that, for safety's sake, no one is allowed abaft that line 'cept crew—can't have some little brat hangin' off the tiller bar, now, can we? The real reason is that I like the separation. I've got three young females back here and I don't need any nonsense in that regard. Plus, we must separate the officers from the crew, the crew right now being the Hawkes boys, but I suspect it might grow. I offered a bunk back aft for Crow Jane, but she let it be known that she'd rather sleep next to her stove. For one thing, I know she didn't take kindly to my rule of no smoking at any time in Officers' Country, as it has become known. For another, I think she just liked it better there, next to her stove, with the Hawkeses for company. They've known each other a long time and are comfortable with that, and I can certainly understand.
About midway through our stay in Pittsburgh, I had promoted Jim from coxswain to Third Mate, with great ceremony and cheers from all about. With the title, he gets a slight increase in pay, which doesn't really matter much, for I can't afford to pay him anything at all now, but I know he appreciated the recognition. More than once when in the taverns, I saw him put his thumb to his chest and announce to others gathered about him that he was "Third Mate on the Belle of the Golden West, the best damned keelboat on any river in America!" It seems to me that the bragging and boasting tradition of the river has taken hold of our Jim Tanner.
All the passengers are out on deck, watching the riverbank slide by and remarking on the other shipping and the beauty of the river and of the day. I greet Mr. and Mrs. Pankowski and comment on the beauty of their children and am about to turn to engage others in small talk, when I look up and see a sight that sends me running back to the quarterdeck.
There on the bank, downriver, is a gang of convicts in black and white striped shirts and pants, toiling away at building a seawall. I can hear the sound of their hammers smashing rocks, to be pounded into the space behind the big rock wall that has already been put up. And there, as we draw closer, I see that at the top of the pile of rocks stands none other than Mike Fink, King of the River.
"Higgins!" I shriek. "Please, my fiddle!"
***
J. Fletcher, Convict
On the Rockpile on the bank of the Ohio
Pennsylvania, USA
To Jacky Faber or anyone else who might be the least bit interested in my wretched life:
I was in an extremely surly mood this morning, and in no temper at all to listen to any more of Mike Fink's drivel, or anything else for that matter. The other convicts have learned to stay clear of me, as I have been in several fistfights with a few of the more unruly ones and they have come out the worse for it. Harrumph—to think they would try to best an officer of the Royal Navy with any kind of weapon, including fists. Think of it—I, who have sat at the same table with the great Lord Nelson, now bruise my knuckles on the unshaven chins of ignorant American rabble in a squalid jail in the trackless wilderness.
Fink, of course, continues to think of me as his protégé in the life and the lore of the rivers, not getting it through his thick head that I could give less than a tinker's damn about all that.
Yes, it is true: Clementine's departure last night has wounded me to my core.
"Boy! Lookee there!" shouts Fink from the top of the pile. I am down at the bottom of the hole, tamping the broken bits of rock into the base of the seawall. I poke my head up over the top of the wall. "Out on the river! What's that say on the side of that boat?"
"It says, you illiterate brigand, 'Belle of the Golden West.' What of it?" Uh-oh, I say to myself—I believe I've seen that craft before.
"I'll be damned if that don't look like my boat, all gussied up like a fifty-cent whore!"
I look with a good deal more interest now. I can see people, a lot of them, on the deck and in the stern, and then what appears to be a girl with a fiddle jumps up on the cabin top.
Then, as the boat comes abreast of us, we can hear the strains of a fiddle and a voice raised in song.
Dance the boatman's dance,
Oh, dance the boatman's dance,
Dance all night till the broad daylight,
And go home with the girls in the morning!
I ripped out the melody of the "Boatman's Dance" and then put up my bow to sing the chorus, 'cause I knew Mike would enjoy it so, then I play and sing the verse that most pertains to the poor convicts' situation.
I went on board the other day,
To see what the boat girl had to say,
And there I let my passion loose,
And they crammed me down in the calaboose!
"Oh, look, Higgins, how he does rant and roar! Is this not just the finest thing!" I gloat.
"Have you never heard of the ancient Greek concept of hubris, Miss? If not, there are definitely some gaps in your education, to say nothing of your philosophy," says Higgins, observing the scene with a lot less relish than do I.
"Oh, bother all that," I say. "Here, I'll give him more of the tune and maybe a bit of a dance to cheer him and those poor convicts. How could that be bad of me?"
I don't wait for an answer but instead put bow to the Lady Gay and tear out the song, both with fiddle and feet. I'd like to take off my dress so that my legs could more freely move, but I've got passengers aboard and I cannot. However, in my skipping and jumping, I make sure my dress comes up well over my knees, because I am not shy in that way and I mean to bring only joy to those who watch.
J. Fletcher, astounded
Behind a stinking seawall in stinking Pennsylvania
Jacky,
I will address you directly, Jacky, since it is you that I see dancing on the deck of that boat out in the river. Not much sur prises me in this life anymore. The only thing surprising is that you still have any of your clothes on. My ankle shackles hold me down in this pit, such that I can only get my eyes up over the edge of the wall to watch you. Mike, however, is in full appreciation of your performance.
"Ah, is she shaking her tail for us poor convicts? To give us some cheer? Aw, that's right nice o' her, considerin she knows I intends to kill her when I catches her. I know it's a shame, it is, but it's gotta be done. Law o' the River, and all. But till then, hey, lookit her shake those tail feathers! She's a game little hen, she is."
Ordinarily, I would rise in anger and demand satisfaction, but now, no. I merely watch and take joy in watching you cavort. What a thing you are, Jacky Faber.
"Mike Fink, King of the River, in the calaboose, and me, Jacky Faber, loose on that same river! Ain't life grand sometimes, Higgins?" say I, handing him back the Lady Gay. We have gone around the bend, out of sight of the poor prisoners. I do hope I brought them some joy.
"True, Miss, but sometimes it is not best to antagonize the natives in the land you travel through."
"Oh, he can't hurt us now. I bet he's got a good twenty more days on his sentence and we'll be long gone by then."
"Is this being said by the same Captain who maintained that nothing could ever catch the Emerald?" asks Higgins. He has put the Lady Gay back in her velvet-lined case.
"That was an unlucky shot, Higgins, and you know it. If that ball had not caught our mainmast—"
"If is the biggest little word in our language, Miss, but no matter. Will you dine with the passengers today?"
"I believe so. What's for dinner?"
"Crow Jane has made up a very acceptable boeuf ragout."
"Ah. Beef stew. Sounds good. Crack out some burgundy to go with it, if you would."
"Certainly, Miss."
"Now, calm down, boy. Iffen you catch up with her 'fore I do, you'll marry her skinny tail and you'll have a mess of runny-nosed little brats, and she'll make yer life miserable, count on it. Plenty of time for stuff like that! Enjoy this!" says Fink.
"Enjoy what? Being a convict in a barbaric land?"
"Hey, this ain't so bad. Three hots and a cot, it could be worse. Say, jus' how close did you git to that little bundle, hmmm? Does she wiggle? Does she squeal and shout? Come on, warm a poor convict's heart, boy!"
"A gentleman doesn't speak of such things. Fink, I swear you are the most uncouth man I have ever met."
"Jest as I thought, boy. Oh, she prances, and she dances, and she says Oh, Mr. Man, you are just the very finest of men,' but when it comes down to tearin up the sheets together, she's gone all prissy church lady and won't deliver the goods. 'Why, Suh, I hardly know you...' I can hear it now. Yup, she's the teasin kind, I can tell."