Mississippi Jack: Being an Account of the Further Waterborne Adventures of Jacky Faber, Midshipman, Fine Lady, and Lily of the West (27 page)

The
Belle of the Golden West
slips by the southern bank, and as it does, I hear a splash, then the sound of someone swimming, and someone swimming quite well. I look over the port side and see Cantrell's girl stroking along, tawny arm over arm, and coming briskly alongside. Katy Deere reaches over the side and hauls her aboard.

"Now, if you could get to the middle of the stream, that would be good," says Mr. Cantrell, still looking fearfully down the barrels of my cocked pistols.

When I see the girl safely aboard, I put the pistols at half cock and lower them.

"So what's the scam, then?" I demand, not in the least mollified.

"We have done it many times before, Miss Faber," says Cantrell. "When we are in need of money, I take her inland, sell her, and return to the river. She makes her escape, and believe me she is expert in that, and she rejoins me downriver and we go on our merry way."

I am incredulous. "What happens if they lock her up?"

The girl looks at me with her dark eyes, water dripping from her hair. She pulls out a necklace, and from it dangles what I see is a set of lock picks. She shakes it and it tinkles like little bells.

"She knows how to get out."

"What if she can't?"

"I return and buy her back. Say I've had a change of heart. It's only happened once or twice."

I hand the guns back to Higgins. "All right, Mr. Cantrell. It is a good scam. But I will tell you this: I know I am barely sixteen years old, but this is
my
boat and I will say what scams get run from it, and you will never again do that particular one. If that ain't clear, you can get off now. What do you say to that?"

Yancy Cantrell bows his head and says, "Agreed." He turns to the black girl and says, "All right, Chloe. Go down and get dressed."

She gets up and says the first words I have yet heard her say.

"Yes, Father."

And she goes below.

Mr. Cantrell is being chastised for running that risky scam, and while I know I will forgive him eventually, for now he is banned from my table. I do, however, ask that he invite his daughter for dinner with me that afternoon as we approach the town of Cincinnati.

She emerges from the lower decks, the ribbons and braids gone from her hair, hair that now falls in glossy black ringlets to her shoulders. She wears a gray dress of a quite nice cut, with a white shawl about those same shoulders. White stockings and neat shoes on her small feet complete the outfit. All gaze upon her in astonishment.

When she comes back on deck, she takes Cantrell's arm and he brings her up to me.

"Miss Faber, may I introduce my daughter, Chloe Abyssinia Cantrell?" says Mr. Cantrell. The girl lowers her eyes and dips down into a very acceptable curtsy.

I return the same.

"Her mother, my late and very much missed wife, was a teacher of the Coloreds in New York City," said Cantrell, by way of explanation for the girl's appearance here on the
Belle of the Golden West.

"I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Faber," murmurs this Chloe creature.

"Mutual, I am sure," I say. "And now will you join me for dinner so that we might become better acquainted?"

"I would be delighted, Miss Faber."

Will wonders never cease?

The dinner is laid out by Higgins, himself, this time. I think it's mainly because he wants to listen in to the conversation that will surely ensue, being as curious as to the nature of this girl as I am.

We go to my table. The canopy is up, this time because it looks like it might rain. She sits, tucking the dress under her bottom as she settles in. Napkin in lap, face composed.
Hmmmmm...

"How came you to be here, Chloe, if I may call you that? Thank you, Higgins."

Higgins pours the tea and steps back. He gestures and Clementine brings up the platter of meat and potatoes. Chloe picks up the tongs and expertly nails a piece of venison. The platter comes to me and I do the same. This girl knows her way around a table, that's for sure.

"My mother was a teacher at the Abyssinian Academy in New York. She was educated by her parents, her father being a well-known Abolitionist preacher, who often addressed the students and teachers at King's College on the 'Peculiar Institution' of slavery. Her mother was a former slave, who had been indulged and set free by her owners. After I was born, Mother set herself to educating me to the highest level possible, believing that education was the way to advancement for any of the Colored race." She says this last with a wry smile.

"You don't agree with that?" I ask.

She cocks an eyebrow at me. "With my education, I could have become a tutor, maybe a governess."

"And that was not enough?"

"Enough for a black girl, you mean?"

I catch the edge in that. "There were times in my life, Miss, that I would have rejoiced to be either one of those. I have a book for you to read sometime. It was written by a friend of mine. It concerns my early life as a beggar on the streets of London."

"I would be glad to read it," she says, attending to her dinner. "This is very good. Thank you for inviting me."

"Yes, Janey's a very good cook," I say, applying myself to my own dinner. "I am sorry about your mother. Has she been gone long?"

She nods and, I think, loses some of her icy composure. "It's been two years. The yellow fever. I was devastated. Father returned home several days before she died, and was with her at the end," she says, "as was I."

"Mr. Cantrell was away at the onset of her illness?" I prompt, gently as I can.

"Father was away much of the time, pursuing his many ... enterprises. We never knew what they were, but he generally returned with enough money to sustain us in the style to which we were accustomed," she says, a smile returning to her lips. "Grandfather Burgess never quite approved of Mother's choice of Father, but then one must follow one's heart, mustn't one?"

I take another sip of the tea and ask the question I have been dying to ask. "Your father ... and mother ... from such different ... backgrounds, as it were. Was there not much talk?"

"Him being white and she being black, you mean?"

"
Umm.
"

"Well, they did not go out together in public much, not that Father gave a damn what anyone thought." Done with her dinner, she pats her lips with her napkin and places it on the table. "Besides, Mother was very beautiful, and Father was not untouched by the tar brush, as they say."

"Which means?"

"Father is from New Orleans. He is what is called an octoroon."

"Which means?"

"Which means a great-grandparent of his was a black man. Or woman, which is more likely the case."

"And so...?"

"In New York, people left us alone, and after Mother died, Father told me of his life and offered me the choice: Stay comfortable and bored in New York, or go off with him. I opted for the risky game."

I smile at that. "We are going to the South, you know, into the slave territories."

"I can play the po' little ol' black girl, as you know."

I think on that. "You know, you just might prove valuable on this journey, Miss Cantrell. Are you musical?"

"I can play the harpsichord, Miss Faber."

I have to laugh at that. "We are hardly likely to find such an instrument in Cincinnati, but who knows? As for now, let us talk of the 'risky game,' as you put it. Higgins, will you uncork us a bottle of the burgundy?"

***

After that very pleasant meal is done and cleared away and I'm at work at my table, I hear the call from 'Thaniel Hawkes: "Captain! We're comin' up on Cincinnati!"

I reach down to scratch the ears of my little pig, who lies asleep at my feet, and say, "Bring her in, Master Tanner, and let us see what this town has to offer the
Belle of the Golden West
and her weary travelers."

Belle
Log. Arrived Cincinnati, Ohio. Moored starboard side. Set out and secured performance boards. Disembarked passengers.

What Cincinnati has to offer is about fifteen hundred human souls of many backgrounds, and about fifteen thousand souls of the swine variety, many running freely in the streets. We are told early on that this town is nicknamed "Porkopolis," and one's nose certainly verifies that it is indeed aptly named. No matter, we shall be quickly gone from here.

Our passengers debark and all proclaim that they had a most enjoyable cruise and would recommend us highly to all their friends. We send out the Hawkes brothers to plaster the town with posters to gain us new passengers on our journey south, and Jim Tanner goes about announcing tonight's show.

While Higgins and Crow Jane go off to buy more provisions, I take Clementine to see if we can find her a more presentable dress than the yellow rag she wears. I plan to use her in the performance tonight—we shall sing several duets of lonesome mountain songs to see how that goes over. Reverend Clawson will deliver a Dramatic Recitation as well, so the cast of the Great American River Musical Revue is growing. It will be good not to have to bear the whole burden myself.

We find a general store and are able to buy some light blue material to make Clementine a nice little frock that will look good in performance. With Katy and Clementine both doing the cutting and sewing, it should be ready by nightfall. When Clementine finally does put it on, she fairly glows with the pleasure of wearing it. Jim Tanner is equally appreciative.

Miracle of miracles, while Higgins and Crow Jane were out and about, they found a harpsichord in a secondhand store and somehow managed to drag it back to the
Belle.
Evidently some poor family thought they could bring it west with them, but, alas, it was too heavy for their small flatboat. Fortunately our
Belle
is much bigger, and now Chloe can add to our musical efforts.

When we start to sign on passengers, we are perplexed by the number of people who want to go only to Shawneetown, a very small village on the Illinois side of the river. Upon some investigation, we find the reason. It is because of the fearsome outlaws who lurk at the place called Cave-in-Rock.

"Y'see, Miss, what they do is this. They send someone aboard to guide you down through the Rapids, but if the guide sees that you've got a lot of good cargo, what he'll do is run you aground near the cave and the other bad men will swarm all over you. They kill the people and slit open their bodies. Afterwards they stuff them with rocks to sink them in the river, and then they steal their boats. No, it's true, Miss, ask anybody. But, if you make it to Elizabethtown, which is right downriver from that place, well, we'll sure ride with you all the way to Cairo, yes, Ma'am."

Hmmmm. Fearsome, eh? Well, we'll show 'em fearsome...

It is now evening and the Very Reverend Jeremiah Clawson spreads his arms wide as he addresses our pretty good-sized audience.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to our show, a night of music, song, and story, starring our very own Miss Jacky Faber, the Lily of the West!"

It has been a good week since we left Cincinnati, the river town that proved to be such a handy place. There I found a glass factory and arranged for one hundred half-pint bottles to be blown and ready for us two days hence, complete with corks, all at a very reasonable cost. From a local apothecary I purchased some herbs and spices—cloves, mallow root, and the like—ingredients that I knew would not be harmful to my customers, even if they proved to be of no actual help, medically speaking. And glory of glories, I was able to buy two whole gallons of tincture of opium, and if a bit of that in our elixir doesn't help soothe the mind, relax the body, and regulate the bowels, I don't know what will. I was glad to find sassafras root, too, which I had first tasted back at Dovecote and which was sure to give my concoction a medicinal taste. I would add no sugar—best make it strong tasting so they are convinced of its curative power. A crude print shop was found to print up the labels and we spent some time gluing them to the bottles.

After hearing of what could await us at Cave-in-Rock and the Rapids of the Ohio, Higgins and I purchased enough guns to fit out our regular crew of the
Belle:
a rifle and a pistol each for Crow Jane, the Hawkes brothers, Clementine, Katy, the Reverend Clawson, Chloe, and Yancy Cantrell. That supplemented the firearms Higgins and I, and some of the crew, already possessed. Lightfoot and Chee-a-quat were already as armed as they needed to be. Jim requested a tomahawk and was given one. Powder and ball for all was purchased, and the new armament was put under the care of our new Master-at-Arms, Mr. Higgins, who locked everything away in a sturdy cabinet. Can't be too careful, I figure. We had bought much more powder than we originally planned, because we had been practicing with the two cannons ever since we got them aboard—trying ever harder for greater accuracy and speed in reloading. I finally pronounced us as ready as we could be for any emergency.

I also bought a ship's bell. No, it didn't come from any ship way out here, 'cause there ain't any, but it was a bell nonetheless—all bright and shiny brass—and I had it mounted by the helm. No, we shan't ring out the hours, 'cause we ain't got an accurate enough clock for that, but still, if we need to ring an alarm, we'll be ready.

Oh, yes, and now we tow a jaunty little sailboat behind us that we picked up for a song. It's only about twelve feet long, gaff rigged, and equipped with oars to use when there is no wind or when the river gets too narrow. It's a sweet little sailer and big enough for the Reverend Clawson and Jim to sail down ahead of us, moor at a likely town, figure out what show would go best in that particular place, then spread the word to the populace in the village and to farms thereabouts.

But before Jim is ready to take her on short jaunts downriver, he practices sailing her and delights no end in taking Clementine about and showing off his skill. I can hear her squeals of excitement as the boat heels over in a stiff breeze and rips along on a splendid beam reach.