We go on with the lesson.
Last night I was so exhausted by all the events in what was probably the most horrific day of my life that I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. But not tonight, oh no, not tonight, for tonight he comes, as I knew he would—old Pap Beam with a rope in his hand and a tomahawk in his head, grinning at me through the blood that runs down over his face and reachin' out for me...
I wake up just when I'm into the babbling-pleas-for-mercy stage of the nightmare and not yet into full-scale howling, and I rise up on my elbow and collect my scattered wits. And then I hear Chloe weeping in her bunk across the room.
"Come over here, Chloe," I softly say. "We could both do with a bit of comfort."
And she does.
Chapter 67
We first noticed it as a worrisome bank of low black clouds lying off on the southern horizon, when we were about a day's travel outside of New Orleans. With increasing worry, we watched it grow higher and higher.
"We'd best batten down for a blow, Jim. Get everything below that's likely to be carried away," I say. "It'd sure be nice if we'd find a nice quiet cove to anchor in."
"Sure would, Missy," says Jim. "I ain't never seen clouds that dark before."
But we found no such luck. The banks of the river remained straight and featureless, with nothing even suggesting shelter, and unlike Jim, I have seen clouds this black before—last summer in the Caribbean, on the Emerald. We were lucky; we managed to get her into safe harbor at St. Maarten before the storm was upon us. I hope we'll be lucky again, but I worry, for I well remember the fury of a hurricane.
My table and canopy are taken down to be stowed below. Windows are closed and tightened down, and everything breakable is taken off shelves and secured. I have Crow Jane make up the big meal of the day at noon, for there probably won't be any cooking tonight. We all eat together at the big tavern table, mostly in silence.
There is a strange, oppressive stillness in the air. It is dead calm, and seabirds, gulls and such, are overhead, flying inland.
We have done all we can. Now we wait.
In the early evening, the storm hits. It starts as a sudden strong breeze, and within minutes it is a howling gale. Minutes after that, a full-blown hurricane. Like a dog on a leash, the Belle thrashes about on its anchor line, and I am glad we secured the boat with backup lines tied to trees on the shore, should the anchor drag.
We all sit at the tavern table throughout the long night and try to give one another cheer, as sleep would be impossible in this maelstrom. There is only the light of a single candle set in the middle of the table, for we don't want to take a chance with a lamp, which might overturn and spread fire in the hold.
We try a few songs, hymns mostly, and Reverend Clawson offers up a prayer for our deliverance, to which we all add a fervent amen. We fall silent after an especially fierce squall that sets the Belle rocking in a very alarming way. Young Daniel sits by my side, and I can feel him shudder. I reach over and take his hand and hold it.
"Tell me a story, Missy," he whispers. "Please."
I have to smile, thinking of other stories I have told in other places in other times. "All right, Daniel," I say, and collect my thoughts. Then I begin.
"Any old port in a storm. That's what I was thinking as I wove my little boat through the ships in the crowded harbor..."
***
At about midnight, the wind suddenly lessened and then died out completely. Many heads, which had been resting on arms, popped up to listen.
"Is it over?" wondered Honeysuckle Rose. "Lord, I hope so. This has been the worst night of my life."
"Maybe not," I say. "I was in St. Maarten down in the Caribbean last year when a hurricane struck the island, and the wind died down all of a sudden just like this, so we went out and saw that the storm was swirling all around us. People told us it was the eye of the hurricane and we'd better get back inside or we'd be sorry. And they were right—the storm came back, fiercer than ever. But maybe..."
And then again, maybe not. It starts as a low whistle, then a long whine, and then it slams into us again, twice as hard and from the exact opposite direction—where before the wind was trying to drive us into the bank, now it's trying to force us to the middle of the river.
Sometimes I hate being right.
Oh well, where was I? Oh, yes...
"Take her up and tie her to the mast!' roared Captain Blodgett, and heavy hands are put on me..."
In the morning, well before dawn, we are granted relief. The wind subsides to a mere gale and then tapers off to nothing more than a strong breeze. I conclude my tale and find that my telling of the exciting story has put young Daniel fast asleep. Ah, well, that is for the good. A young boy needs his sleep and I shan't take offense.
I stand up to stretch and say, "I think we're through it, mates, and—"
And I am knocked off my feet as there is a terrific shock and a great splintering, grinding noise aft and then along the Belle's port side.
Damn! Something hit us hard!
"Nathaniel! Open the hatch! We've got to see!"
He unlocks the door and I rush past him and look aft.
A house! A goddamn whole house has crashed into us, splintering the steering oar!
The building, which must have been unwisely placed on a bank near the river and was washed away by the storm's floodwaters, slowly turns in the current, then grinds down the Belle's port side, and then floats off, rocking wildly in the madly roiling water.
I run aft to look at the damage.
"Jim! The tiller is gone! We'll have to rig another! And it looks like there's a crack in the hull, down by the waterline, see it? Get some girls on the pump below and report if we're taking on any water!"
I look out over the river. There is all manner of flotsam, whole trees uprooted—there's a giant oak, its roots washed clean by the flood, turning over and over as it floats down the river.
"We've got water down here, but I think we can stay ahead of it!" shouts Clementine from below.
"'Thaniel! Matty! Get some boards and nails! We've got to—"
"We've got to get below!" hollers Jim, pointing up to the sky. "Look! It's a tornado!"
I look up and see the thing, its black funnel twisting out of the edge of the retreating storm, and scream, "Everybody back below! Move it!"
The Hawkes boys pound across the deck and down the hatch, with Jim and me close behind.
"Hurry, Jim!" I shout, pushing my hand on the small of his back, as we round the edge of the cabin top and head for the open hatch. He tumbles down in and I go to follow, but it is too late. The twister is upon us, howling out its natural fury.
It lifts me up and I grab for the hatchway top and manage to catch it, but my fingers soon start to slip. Jim's hands grasp my wrists, but they, too, cannot hold on.
"Close it up and dog it down!" I shout. This might be the last order I ever will issue on the Belle of the Golden West.
Jim's hands slip and I am lifted into the air.
I am aloft in the sky over Louisiana for what seems an impossibly long time, but is, in fact, probably only five seconds or so, and then I am dashed back into the waters of the Mississippi.
I go way under and then kick myself back to the surface and look about—'least I ain't got no hair to get in my eyes—and see only darkness. But then out of it approaches this many-tentacled monster and I scream in terror and flail about—only to see that it is merely the roots of that huge tree I had seen float by earlier. The tree seems to have steadied itself, so I swim out beyond the roots to the trunk and climb aboard.
I see the first glimmers of dawn in the east, but still can see nothing of the Belle, or much of anything else, for that matter.
Oh well, I say to myself as I wrap my legs around the trunk beneath me. Let's just see where this ship takes us, shall we?
***
That ship, HMS Log, takes us to a sandbar on the western bank of the river and there runs aground, its sailing days forever over. It is full light and I look upriver to see plenty of other stuff floating by—sheds; fence poles; chicken coops with the hens still sitting, clucking on the roof; many more big trees; the carcass of a poor drowned cow; dogs and cats, and sometimes people sitting up on the rooftops of their washed-away homes, but I see nothing of the Belle of the Golden West, nor any of her gallant crew.
I decide to follow the bar to the shore and then find a tree to climb, to see if that gives me a better vantage point.
I unwrap my legs from the HMS Log and walk along the sandbar to the shore, and I pick out a good tall tree to climb. As I put my foot on a lower limb, I see a movement out of the corner of my eye. It is but a small alligator, no more than four feet long, but still it sends a shiver up my spine. I climb up and look about, but again I see nothing welcoming to my eye—still nothing upriver. Damn!
I worry about my crew, of course, but not too much. I have the sense that the tornado only skirted us; otherwise, I would be quite dead and no more a bother to anyone.
Should I try to go back upriver, overland? It would seem to be the thing to do, after all...
No, that is not the thing to do at all, I think as I look below. My four-foot alligator has been joined by numerous relatives, many of whom exceed his length by ten feet or more. Some lie on the bank, some lie in the shallows just under the surface, with their two inquiring, very interested eyes poking through the top of the water.
Damn!
Looking out on the river, I see something new slipping by. It is a crude raft, maybe fourteen feet square, made up of logs bound together with rope, upon which sits a cabin of sorts, a rude hut, really. Perfect! If I can make it to that raft, I'll make it to New Orleans! I start my journey out on a long, overhanging limb. The eyes look up at me, one of my stranger, more hostile audiences, I reflect.
I run to the end of the limb, to the place where the branch will no more support my weight, and I leap off.
I hit the sandbar running, and I hear the monsters behind me bellowing and lunging out of the water and comin' after me, and Lord, help me!
I get to the end of the sandbar and dive in, arms and legs churnin' for all I'm worth, and I pull for the raft, which is slippin' on down the river, and I hope nothin' comes up from the horrid depths below and grabs one o' me legs and drags me down. Oh please, please, God, don't let that happen. I'll be good from now on. I promise!
Nothing grabs me and I am allowed to keep my feet, my legs, my life. Thank you, Lord, oh thank you! and I clamber aboard the raft.
I take more than several deep breaths and then look around me. The cabin is such that it could barely keep off even a light rain, and it contains only a pile of rags for bedding, but it sure looks like home to me. There are long poles laid out on the deck and I take one up to keep us off the shore, and I realize that this is how it will be from now on....
I will float and pole myself down to the city of New Orleans, and, if all goes well, as it very seldom does, I will be there tomorrow.
Chapter 68
I keep hoping that my friends on the Belle are all right after yesterday's blow. They must be safe, I pray, 'cause everyone but me got down below and the tornado only struck us a glancing blow, I'm sure, for if had it hit us full on, I'd be lyin dead somewhere far away.
I keep telling myself that.
Yesterday, after I had gotten on the raft, which I promptly named the Deliverance, I tried to think of a way to signal the others that I was all right and heading downriver for New Orleans. I knew that they would be delayed by making repairs, but as soon as they were able, they'd push on, and I didn't want them wasting any time looking for me. What to do? I'd only three things to my name: my shirt, my skirt, and my cutoff drawers. Ha! That's it, I thought, and poled my way over to the shore where I had spotted a likely looking overhanging tree. The sun was up over the horizon and it was now full day.