Mississippi Jack: Being an Account of the Further Waterborne Adventures of Jacky Faber, Midshipman, Fine Lady, and Lily of the West (26 page)

I ran up to my little hillock and looked about and saw that no one was coming either way, so it looked like I had some time, at least for a while. I went back and gathered up the horses and led them into a small meadow I had previously noticed, hobbled them, and set them to graze. The beasts seemed content. Then I hurried back to the road.

Mr. McCoy was singing his death song.

"Lord, I've been to the river and I've been baptized and I have heard the Word of the Lord. I know that today will be my dyin' day, Jesus, and I beg You to take this poor sinner in Your lovin' arms and carry me away."

"Like He carried away the souls of all those poor travelers you murdered?"

McCoy turned his head to look at me as I took the feet of his former partner under either arm and dragged him into the bush. I have scouted out a deep ravine up near the hillock to hide the bodies until such time as the wolves find them. I got Beatty's body there and rolled it in and then went back to McCoy.

"I know I've been a sinner, but I know my sins will be washed away in the Blood o' the Lamb, yes, I know my redemption is at hand!"

"You've got a damned strange concept of religion in this land," I said as I gathered the fallen weapons from the ground. I broke off a pine bough and swept the ground of any signs of the mortal struggle that took place there. Time then for Mr. McCoy.

I put my hands under his armpits and dragged his groaning body through the woods to the edge of the ravine that was to be his grave.

He started singing, or rasping, really.

I am a pilgrim, and a stranger,
Travelin through this wearisome land,
I've got a home in that yonder city, good Lord,
And it's not—

Someone's coming.
I ran to the hillock to see a buckboard coming down the road from Johnstown. Man, wife, two children.
Damn! They'll hear him rant!

McCoy heard the rattle of the buckboard, too, and grinned up at me.

"All I got to do is shout, boy, and they'll be up on you faster than hounds on a possum. And you'll be taken off and tried and hanged for the murderer you are. Ain't that some fine? I may not be here to watch it, but trust me, I'll know, wherever I might be."

I watched the approach of the buckboard. The family in it was singing gaily, looking forward to a holiday in the big town. I had to agree with the wisdom of what he had said.

I took my sword out of my scabbard.

"You ain't got what it takes, boy," giggled McCoy. "You was just Fink's fancy boy back in the lockup. That's all you was. You ain't got the balls."

It turned out I did. I glided the edge of my saber across his throat, pulling back hard. His eyes opened wide, but he never again said another word. Not in this world, anyway. I wiped my blade on his coat and pitched him over into the ravine and looked upon him no more.

The merry family passed by, completely unaware of what had just happened here.

I continued on the road down to Johnstown, figuring that I'd better go in that direction rather than returning to Pittsburgh, because the people back there might remark on the once penniless, funny-talking, ex-convict hayseed, who suddenly came back to town with two saddled horses and money in his overalls.

So I continued on down the road to Johnstown, to fit myself out for further travels.

In going through the bandits' effects, I found myself richer by seventy-five dollars. Johnstown turned out to be another godforsaken frontier town completely lacking in any grace or style, and was actually little more than an over-large Indian village. I managed at least to sell the extra horse and saddle, no questions asked, as well as the old flintlock pistol and rifle that belonged to Clementine's father. I kept the four percussion-cap pistols that formerly belonged to Beatty and McCoy, and purchased what was represented to me as a "Kentucky squirrel gun, the most accurate rifle available today, yessir." It does have the new-fashioned grooved barrel that's supposed to spiral the bullets more accurately at the target, and I am anxious to try it out.

I did not strip the bodies back at that ravine, for I have never had a desire to wear dead men's clothes. However, in Johnstown, I found that there was no place to buy civilized clothing of any kind, so I bought the buckskin breeches and fringed leather shirt of the frontiersman off an Indian woman who was selling them by the roadside. She tried to sell me a hat that had the head of some unfortunate animal on the front of it, but I demurred. I kept the shirt that Clementine made for me, but threw away the overalls, hoping never to see the like again.

Apart from my sword, which hangs again at my side, there was one other object that McCoy had of mine in his saddlebag—it was the miniature portrait of you, Jacky, that you had painted with your own hand those years ago when you were at school, or when I thought you were at school. It fairly tore my heart out to see it, and it renewed in me the desire to track you down and bring you to bay, for that is the way I see it now.

I stayed overnight in a meager inn, had something to eat, and set out the next morning overland to get back to the river.

I won't be writing again for a while....

"Mr. Cantrell," I say, putting on my stern Look. "It appears that your fare is only paid up to this point. You had said you would make good your fare as we went along. What do you mean to do?"

I am half joking, of course. I am perfectly willing to wait for my money till he finds more fertile grounds on which to practice his profession.

"Ah, yes, Miss." He sighs. He finishes his morning coffee and rises. "I had hoped that I might find some gentlemen of the sporting class on this cruise, but, alas, I found none. A more square-headed, Bible-toting bunch I have yet to see. But no matter." He looks off to the left. "I see that we are coming up on a small town on the Kentucky side ... Augusta, is it? Yes. A fancy name for a squalid little town, but it will do quite nicely. If you could pull in there, Miss Faber, I'll go ashore and get your money."

Mystified, I give Jim, who's on the helm, the order to pull in to the rickety dock, and he throws over the steering oar and we drift in and tie up.

As soon as we are secure, Yancy Cantrell puts on his black hat, smooths down his lapels, and steps onshore. He gives a quick whistle and his black girl jumps to her feet and follows him off.

What is going on?
I wonder.

But I do not have the time to muse on this because I hear a strong
ahem!
from Jim and see Reverend Clawson off to starboard on the main deck, his hat in his hands.

"Passenger Clawson," he says, a hopeful look on his face, "requests permission to cross the blue line, Miss. I would like to speak with you on matters that might be mutually beneficial."

"Come ahead, Reverend Clawson, and seat yourself," I say, graciously waving him to the seat recently occupied by Yancy Cantrell. "Clementine. A cup of tea for the Reverend, if you would."

Clementine appears shortly, bearing the cup, saucer, and spoon, and she pours from the teapot that already sits on my quarterdeck table. The girl has been coming along quite nicely. Later in the evening of what I thought was my disastrous performance back in Maysville, I sought the girl out and found her huddled up in one of the unused passenger bunks. I put my hand on her shoulder and said I was sorry for what I had said to her in anger and asked her to forgive me my rash words. She did, and all was well between us again. Later still, when we were in bed for the night, I asked her what she meant by having given me something that I never would know about, and she just said, "Don't mind me, Jacky, sometimes I just talk out of my head. It ain't nothin'." Still, this girl is a mystery.

"It's this way, Miss," begins the Preacher, "I've been workin' this river ... er, preachin' the Word of the Lord, up and down here for a while and I learned some things, chief of which is this: You've got to know the kind of people you're gonna be comin' up on, you got to know what the crowd'll be like. I think you found that out back in Maysville. I coulda told you what was gonna happen there, but I thought it best you find out for yourself," he says. He puts four rounded teaspoons of sugar into his cup, stirs it, and pauses in his speech to give it a slurp. "You being a high-spirited girl and not liable to take any old advice."

I nod at the wisdom of this.

"So what do you propose?"

He leans forward. "You sent young Tanner downriver before to scare up a crowd, and he did. What you should have done was to have him make two trips, the first being to have him case out the town, then report back to us on what sort of town it is. If it is a sanctified town, with hard-rock churchgoin' folks, then we'd put on a revival; if it is of a more open nature, you would put on your regular show; and if it is truly a wide-open town, then who knows what sort of show we could put on?" He winks broadly at me. "Do you get my drift?"

I begin to realize that this Reverend Clawson is a man of many parts.

"I do indeed, Reverend Clawson. And in the revivals, what part would I play?"

"Oh, Miss, the spiritual music is not far off from what you already play. I know you could do it up proud," he replies, smiling. "Yep, I just know you could get 'em rockin' and a-rollin' in the aisles, comin' up to testify and a-praisin' the Lord to the very high heavens themselves! You've got the gift. I know you do."

He chuckles and leans back to let me soak it all in, and I do.

While I am taking in all of this, he continues. "And there's another kind of show you ain't considered, and it's perfect for podunk places like Maysville."

Here he gets all conspiratorial and leans in close.

"You've got a whole lot of good whiskey down below. We could pick up a bunch of empty medicine bottles in Cincinnati, pour in some colored water, maybe add a few herbs, cut it half and half with some of your good ninety proof, paste on some fancy labels, and put on a medicine show. Same sort of thing you did at Maysville, but a lot shorter. I make the speech, you play a few tunes in your skimpiest outfit, we give out a few tiny samples, and we rake in what they got, be it coin, paper money, or barter. Then we pull up the stage and are back in the stream inside of two hours. Believe me, we will get no complaints on the quality of the medicine, because we
know
it will make everyone feel much, much better."

Now
this
is a man of the cloth I can relate to.

"So," I say at last, "if we could pick up a small sailboat, one that could be handled with oars if the wind was contrary...," I say, musing.

"I'm sure the proper boat could be found in Cincinnati. Y'see, I know the Ohio, down to Cincinnati, but I don't know the river the rest of the way, nor do I know the Mississippi." He looks off, all dreamy-eyed. "The Big River, the Father of Waters, oh, I'm so anxious to go, Miss. Can you imagine the multitude of souls who need saving all along the Big Muddy, all the way down to the evil dens of New Orleans?"

I look over at Reverend Clawson and realize that he would not be found terribly out of place in those evil dens.

"This has been a most interesting conversation, Reverend Clawson," I purr, "and I believe you may be safe in now calling yourself part of the crew of the
Belle of the Golden West.
"

He gets up and bows. "And it is a singular honor to be named as such, Miss Faber. I look forward to a long and profitable relationship." Then he takes his leave of the quarterdeck.

I sit back in my chair and look out over the broad Ohio River and I think on what he has said. After a while I get up and go down to my bunk to rummage through my seabag and get out my carving tool, it being a V-shaped sort of blade that I've used before in woodcuts and in scrimshaw. I go down into the lower hold and find a nice smooth piece of hardwood.

Returning to my quarterdeck table, I set to work. Taking my pencil, I sketch out the words, backward of course, since this will be a print.

Captain Jack's Elixir
The finest of Tonics for the Cure of
Catarrh, Ague, Liver Dyspepsia, Choleric
Humor, Contrary Children, and Female
Vap ors, Nerves, & Hysteria

If I can find a printer in this upcoming Cincinnati, I will add more to the label. If not, this will have to do. I set to work on the wood square and let the chips fly.

***

I am finishing up the third line when Yancy Cantrell comes back aboard.

"Thank you for waiting, Miss Faber," he says, coming up to me and putting the fare money into my hand. I notice he has some more money, which he puts back into his pocket. "If you would shove off now, I think it would be good."

"Jim. 'Thaniel. Matty," I call, getting up and dusting the chips from my lap. "Let's be on our way. Cast off."

"Thank you, Mr. Cantrell," I say, bending back to my work, "but really, I would have trusted you for the money."

"I knew that, Miss Faber, but I felt it best that we keep accounts square," says Mr. Cantrell. Then, unaccountably, he says, "If it is not too much trouble, if we could keep close to the left bank, I would appreciate it."

This sounds a bit strange to me and I lift my head from my work. It is then that I notice that Cantrell's black girl is not with him. Grave suspicion grows in my mind.

"Where is your girl?" I demand, rising from my table.

"I sold her," says Yancy Cantrell, calmly, "for my fare, and for my stake in the next high-stakes card game. If you'll excuse me, Miss Faber, I believe I'll wash up for dinner."

"Higgins!" I shout. "My pistols! Now!"

Bearing the two firearms, Higgins bursts out of our quarters, a look of alarm on his usually placid face. I grab the pistols from him and train them both on Mr. Yancy Cantrell's forehead. He falls to his knees.

"You low-down, no-good son of a bitch! You sold that girl into slavery! Get off this boat! Get in the water now, before I blow your brains out! Now get out! Over the side! Now, you slimy bastard!"

Cantrell, seeing the fury in my eyes, puts his hands up in front of his face and pleads, "No, please, Miss. Don't shoot. Just wait a few minutes, please. You'll see. Just wait. Stay close to the shore. Please."