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Mississippi Jack Page 38
Author: L.A. Meyer

I realize that everyone is weary, I know I certainly am, but I feel we've got to push on. I don't want to stay moored here tonight when any survivors of our attack might have leisure to take potshots at us.

I see that Jim has already put the towlines on the other two boats and we are ready to take off. I jump up on my quarterdeck.

"Stations, everyone!" I call out, and the oarsmen leap to their sweeps.

"Push us off!" and off we go into the stream to face the Rapids of the Ohio. A little white blur skitters around my feet—it is Pretty Saro squealing in delight at seeing me and at being back up on deck again, she having been sequestered below for the duration of the fight. I give her a quick scratch and say, "Later, baby. Work to do now," and I attend to business.

"Bring him up here," I order, and Higgins pulls the miserable Mr. Fortescue to his feet. "Cut off his leg bindings." It is done. I withdraw one of my pistols and hold it to his head. "Stand here. Do you have a good view of the river, Mr. Fortescue?"

"Y-Y-yes, I do, but..."

"Good. Then you may prolong the length of your miserable, rotten life a bit longer. We are now going to go down through the Rapids of the Ohio and you will guide us. If we so much as touch bottom or hit one rock, I shall blow your head off. Do you understand that, Mr. Fortescue?"

"Y-yes ... but what kind of fiend are you, that you would do this to me?"

"Ah, Mr. Fortescue, I am not half the fiend that you or any of your former friends are. I am, however, in many parts of the world known as Jacky Faber, Pyrate, and even as La Belle Jeune Fille sans Merci, 'the beautiful young girl without mercy.' You may discount the 'beautiful,' but I advise you not to discount the 'without mercy.' It would be at your peril, Mr. Fortescue."

I pause here and call forward, "Crow Jane."

"What, Boss?" Her head pops up above the front hatchway. I suspect she has been slaughtering chickens for tonight's victory feast.

"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.

Chapter 43

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.

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L.A. Meyer's Novels
» Under the Jolly Roger
» Viva Jacquelina!
» Bloody Jack
» Boston Jacky
» Curse of the Blue Tattoo
» In the Belly of the Bloodhound
» Mississippi Jack
» My Bonny Light Horseman
» Rapture of the Deep
» The Wake of the Lorelei Lee