Mississippi Jack: Being an Account of the Further Waterborne Adventures of Jacky Faber, Midshipman, Fine Lady, and Lily of the West (9 page)

I went in at the point of the barrel. There was a stall, with a very large plow horse in it, and a ladder up to the hayloft.

"Up there, boy. That's it. G'night, now."

With that, the barn door closed and I heard the locking bar fall down in place.

I waited a long time, savoring the quiet and peace. Then I felt my way to the door and tried to figure out how to jimmy up the bar from inside. I am sure, Jacky, that you would have been out of this place in a minute and on your way, knowing your skill at escaping confinement, but I, alas, was found wanting, and the bar stayed in place and my attempt at fleeing this madhouse was thwarted. This whole country is a madhouse, as far as I am concerned, and I am sick of it.

Bone tired, I crawled up the ladder and burrowed into the straw and fell instantly asleep.

My sleep, however, was not to be undisturbed.

I do not know how long I had been there when I felt her slip in beside me. When I started, she put her hand on my lips and said, "Shush, Jaimy, quiet now. Pap's passed out asleep, but still, it's best we be quiet, just in case."

She wriggled around and her head came to rest on my shoulder and her arm draped around my chest. I felt her skin warm against mine. I did not feel any clothing and I knew that she wore none.

"Ain't this nice, Jaimy? I kin feel your heart beatin' there under my hand.
Mmmmm
..."

I was quite sure it was beating much faster now than it was before Miss Clementine Jukes's arrival. I could not protest, as that would raise an alarm and she would be in trouble with her father, and no telling what he would do to me.

No, there was nothing for me to do but remain as I was, and forgive me, Jacky, but I did not find it the most unpleasant thing that happened to me on this day....

I could smell the river way before we actually got there. While it lacks the salty tang of the ocean, smelling more of dark pools and grassy banks and fish, it was a most welcome aroma.

We had spent the last night at Katy's place, getting as comfortable as we could on the few straw pallets that were left in the house. It was plain that someone had gone through the cabin during its time of abandonment and taken all of value. We did, however, manage to find a few saucepans and a banged-up old teapot, which Higgins judged could come in handy later, and Jim added them to our packs.

Higgins has become quite lean and craggy-looking during these past few weeks on the road—the rough life is good for him physically, though it certainly doesn't suit his refined temperament. Still, he does not complain, and he maintains his good humor.

Before we left, Katy asked me to rummage in my seabag for quill and ink so I could write a note on a fairly clean cedar shake she had found:

This here farm belongs
to Katherine Deere
and I will come back
to claim it someday
so stay off it

I wrote it down just as she said it, and we nailed it to the front door. Then we climbed on the horses and rode off. Though Katy was behind me and I could not see her, I sensed that she did not look back.

"There it is!" shouts I, standing up in the stirrups and pointing to the gleaming ribbon of river lying in the valley down below. "The Allegheny River, at last."

"Yes, and a most welcome sight it is, Miss," says Higgins, with feeling. "Although this stoic beast has been very accommodating of my bulk these past weeks, still, if I never again see him or any of his brethren, I shall be content."

"Don't be expectin' too much down there, Jacky," warns Katy into my left ear. "East Hickory's only a little itty-bitty town."

"I'm sure it will serve, dear, for all we will need is to find us a boat to take us down the river," says I, full of hope and anticipation. "Let's go!" And we pound down into the river valley.

"Itty-bitty" is an understatement. East Hickory consists of a general store that, as a matter of fact, doesn't seem to have much in it, a stable containing a few dispirited swaybacked nags, a smelly tannery, and a rickety dock sticking out into the flowing stream—a very swiftly moving stream, I note. The Allegheny, being about a quarter-mile wide at this point, has a
lot
of water moving downstream.
And this is the littlest of the rivers we will ride?
I wonder.

It turns out that the man who runs the general store—a fat, fussy little man with a squeaky voice—also runs the stables and the commercial dock, at which, I notice with dismay, no boats are tied.

We dismount at the foot of the dock, and the little man hurries up to us.

"Welcome to East Hickory," he squeaks. "My name is Enos Tweedie. What will be your pleasure? We have the finest of whiskey and some very good beer." There is a board balanced on sawhorses at the dock's entrance, and Mr. Tweedie lays out several bottles and glasses thereon, then peers at us expectantly. This, apparently, is what passes for a tavern in East Hickory, Pennsylvania, in the United States of America.

I decide that the Fine Lady persona will serve us best here, so I put on the Lawson Peabody Look and say, "Mr. Higgins will have a whiskey, and Miss Deere and I will each have a glass of wine. And a beer for young Master Tanner, if you please, Landlord Tweedie." I pull up the small purse that hangs at my waist.

I can see that he is pleased to be addressed as such, and extremely pleased by the sight of my purse.

"Yes, oh, yes," he chortles, and he goes to pour some whiskey into a glass for Higgins.

"Wait," says Higgins, as he takes the empty glass from Mr. Tweedie's hand, holds it up to the light, frowns, pulls out a spotless handkerchief, and proceeds to polish it. Then again he holds up the glass to the light. "Ah. That is much better. We wouldn't want to sully the taste of your finest of whiskeys with a less-than-clean glass, now, would we?"

Mr. Tweedie, somewhat amazed, takes the glass back and fills it with brown liquid and places it in front of Higgins, then says, "Sorry, Miss, but no wine until the elderberries get ripe."

"A beer, then," I say, and a foaming tankard is put in front of me. I stick my nose in it and drink. It is very poor.
Very
poor. I look over at a silo that stands next to the tannery and suspect that there is a spigot at the bottom of it. The silage is soaked from the rain leaking in at the top, and the so-called beer comes out the bottom. But I drink it, anyway, as I cannot offend my host, from whom I will want to get some information.

"You got any birch beer?" asks Katy.

"Oh, yes, Miss, right down here." He stoops down and picks up another jug.

"Good. One for me and one for the boy."

Jim tastes his and his eyes open. "Oh, that's good," he says.

"Thought it might be," says Katy, tasting hers. She looks at me over the top of her glass, and I think she's saying silently to me,
Y'oughta check with what the locals are gettin 'fore you plunge ahead, girl.

I take that silent advice to heart. I push my very sorry beer to the side and say, "I'll try some of that."

Another glass is put in front of me, and I look at the clear liquid and then I taste it.
My, that is good!
It reminds me a bit of the sassafras root beer that Amy had at Dovecote.

Anticipating my question, Katy says, "You peel up a bunch of black birch twigs, then you soak 'em for a long time. Later you add sugar and yeast, and there you go."

Hmmmm. Good to know,
I think, quaffing the rest of mine down.

"Actually, this is quite good," says Higgins, rolling the whiskey around on his tongue.

"Only the finest barrels of Kentucky bourbon come up this river, Sir," explains Mr. Tweedie with satisfaction. "Only the finest. The crowned heads of Europe have not tasted finer."

"Amazingly, I can agree with that," says Higgins, finishing off his glass.

All right. Down to business,
I'm thinking.

"Landlord Tweedie, we desire to book passage downriver, but I see no boats moored at your dock. Why is that?" I ask.

"Ah, Miss, all the boats have gone downriver with loads of logs for Pittsburgh, they havin' used all theirs up in their furnaces for makin' glass and suchlike. They'll be polin' back up in a couple of weeks."

A couple of weeks! We can't wait that long!

I stand and think on this: Our horses are about shot—they need rest and food and shelter, things we cannot give them. The roads out here grow worse and worse—soon we will be leading the horses, rather than riding them.
Damn!

"Maybe we could build a raft, Jim?" I ask of my coxswain.

"Yes, we could, Missy, but we'd need seasoned lumber and tools, neither of which we have," he says, but then, like any true can-do sailor, he goes on to say, "but maybe we could find a good stand of straight timber, cut 'em down, and bind 'em together with rope and..."

"
WEEEEEEEE ... OOOOOOOOP! WEEEEEEE-O OOOOOP! GET OUT OF MY WAY! BY GOD, GET OUT OF MY WAY OR GET CHEWED RIGHT ON UP! WEEEEEEEEE ... OOOOP!
"

Shocked, I look upriver and see a boat coming down. It's about forty feet long, got a cabin, no sails, and a long, long sweep of an oar out the back to which clings a huge solitary figure.
Is it man or ape?
I wonder.

"Christ. It's Fink," curses Mr. Tweedie. He hurriedly scoops the bottles from the board and hurries them inside his general store, which he then locks securely.

I walk out on the dock to study this "Fink," angling its way to the dock with great swipes of its sweep.

It turns out to be a man, after all, a man about six and a half feet tall, chest like a barrel, arms like eighteen-pound cannons each, legs like hogsheads of molasses, and, perched above it all, a head that is mostly hair and beard and beady eyes, all crowned with a round, flat-brimmed black hat.

"Is he drunk?" I ask the scurrying Mr. Tweedie.

"No, only about a quarter drunk, I'd say, 'cause you can still understand what he's sayin'," says Tweedie. "Half drunk he talks to the angels, three-quarters he talks to God, and full drunk he shouts with Satan. Least that's what he says, and when he's full drunk, it's best to believe him."

Hmmmm ... I
decide the waif approach would be the best. I go to the end of the dock, fold my hands before me, and cast down my eyes, all girlish and respectful-like in front of the big, bad man who's coming on in, his head back and shoutin'.

"
WEEEEEEEEE ... OOOOOP! LOOK AT ME! WEEEEE ... OOOOP!! LOOK AT ME! I'M A RING-TAILED ROARER! I'M THE ORIGINAL IRON-JAWED, BRASS-MOUNTED, COPPER-BELLIED CORPSE MAKER FROM THE WILDS OF ARKANSAS! I'M HALF HORSE AND HALF ALLIGATOR! I WAS BORN IN A CANEBRAKE AND SUCKLED BY A MOUNTAIN LION! CAST YOUR EYES ON ME, AND LAY LOW AND HOLD YOUR BREATH, FOR I'M ABOUT TO TURN MYSELF LOOSE. WEEEEE ... OOOOP! WEEEE ... OOOOP!
"

I stand and wait for his boat to land. Quarter drunk or not, he brings his boat expertly into the dock, roaring out one last blast.

"
WEEEE ... OOOOP! LOOK AT ME! I CAN SPIT FARTHER, PISS HIGHER, AND FART LOUDER THAN ANY MAN JACK ON THIS RIVER! WEEEE ... OOOOOP!
"

"I am sure those are all admirable traits and abilities, Mr. Fink," I say, demurely. "Jim, will you attend to the gentleman's lines?" Jim Tanner jumps in the boat, grabs the stern line, and secures it to the butt on the dock. Then he does the same with the bowline. "Now, Mr. Fink, if you would give me and my friends a ride down to Pittsburgh, I would indeed count you a man among men."

A look of low cunning comes over what I can see of the man's face. "Hey, girly-girl. Didn't see you standin' there, or I would've—"

"You would have had perhaps a gentler speech of introduction to your splendid self?" I ask.

"Hell, no," he says, hands on hips and grinning hugely. "I would've bragged more about my legendary prowess in splittin' sheets and tearin' up mattresses with pretty little things like yourself! Ha!"

"Be that as it may, Mr. Fink, will you carry us down to Pittsburgh?"

He casts an eye on our party. "Four of you, hey? Hmmm ... All right, twenty-five bucks apiece—a hundred dollars even."

"I perceive that you are not only a man of great renown, Mr. Fink, but also a thief who preys on the misfortunes of poor young girls," says I, batting the eyes.

"You're breakin' my heart, girly-girl," says Fink. "A hundred dollars or you swim it."

Higgins comes up next to me and whispers, "That's half our current fiscal holdings, Miss!"

"I know, Higgins. Go and sell the horses and let's get on board," I whisper back at him. "Think of it not as fare money, but as the purchase price of this fine, fine boat."

Higgins looks at me sharply. "While there is a price on your head in Britain, there are no charges against you in this land. It may be well to keep it that way, Miss."

"Don't worry, Higgins, I shan't steal this man's boat," says I, smiling. "Nothing of the kind."

I raise my voice to say to Mr. Fink, "I accept your terms. I shall give you half now and half on our safe arrival. Agreed?"

"Sure, girly-girl. Come on board and make yourselves comfortable. Ain't nobody in this world can't say that Mike Fink is a poor host, no sir!"

I take Mr. Fink's proffered hand and step aboard what I believe will be the new flagship of Faber Shipping, Worldwide.

Jaimy Fletcher
In the hayloft of a barn
In Pennsylvania, USA
In the company of Miss Clementine Jukes

"
I love you, Jaimy," Clementine whispered into my ear. I was lying on my back in the hay, and her right leg was thrown over me, with various parts of her female self pressed tightly to my side. My right hand was on her shoulder and her hair was in my face. It smelled good. I liked it, the way it felt. I looked up into the darkness.

"And I, Clementine—"

That's as far as I got.

There was a squeak as the barn door was dragged open and the light of a lantern entered the barn. Both Clementine and I went rigid.
It's Pap.
There was a grating and creaking from the ladder, then his face, illuminated by the lantern swaying next to it, appeared over the edge of the loft.