"Miss Faber, I presume," I hear from the dock, and look up to see a very well-dressed man taking off his hat and bowing to me. Instinctively, now, I drop into a bit of a curtsy, then rise to look at him. He is dressed in black from bottom to top. Black trousers, black coat pulled back to reveal a black vest. His hair, which he wears cut short and not tied back, is wavy and black, except for gray at his temples. His hat, which he now puts back on his head, is curled in the brim, high in the crown, and black. The only spot of color is his red cravat, which is worn instead of lace, at his neck. I put his age at about forty-five, fifty, or so. I also put on the Lawson Peabody Look—back straight, chin up, lips together, teeth apart, and eyes hooded.
"Yes?"
"My name is Mr. Yancy Beauregard Cantrell, and I am bound for New Orleans." He smiles, and I see that, unlike many around here, his teeth are white and even. Except for a neatly trimmed mustache, he is clean shaven, which is also a rarity around here. All in all, he is a very handsome man.
"That is good, Mr. Cantrell, as I plan to journey there myself, on my boat."
"Alas, Miss Faber, I have only enough fare to travel halfway to Cincinnati, but I assure you, in all confidence, that I will gain the rest of the fare as we travel on. If I do not, then you shall be free to put us off wherever you choose. Agreed?"
I do not yet agree. I see some telltale bulges under his jacket and comment upon it.
"All guns are checked at the gangway, Mr. Cantrell, and believe me, you will be checked," I say, in warning.
"That is a very wise rule, Miss Faber," he replies, bowing again, apparently to my wisdom. He broadens the smile.
"What do you mean by 'us'?" I ask, suspicious. I have seen the Colored girl hanging back behind him.
"I have my girl, Chloe, here with me. She will be no trouble."
"I'll have no slaves on my ship, Mr. Cantrell."
"She is not my slave. She is my servant, and she is free to go at any time." He reaches back and brings the girl forward. She is clad in a dingy white shift, her slightly maturing figure evident through the thin cloth. From the bottom of her shapeless dress extend possibly the longest legs I have ever seen on any human around the age of sixteen, which age I suspect she is. Her hair is tied up in small braids, and on her face she wears an expression of the purest indifference.
"You agree with what was just said, girl?" I demand.
The girl nods, not looking me in the eye.
"She is mute, Miss Faber. That is all the answer you shall get from her, I'm afraid."
I think on all this, and I decide.
"Give me your hand on it, Mr. Cantrell," I say, as I walk to the gangway and extend mine. I feel the touch of his palm and know that his hand has never felt labor of any kind. He squeezes my hand and then raises it to his lips.
"Thank you, Miss Faber. I do not think you will regret your decision."
"I hope I shall not, Mr. Cantrell," I reply, withdrawing my hand and looking at him with my level gaze.
"And now, Miss Faber, I would like to move aboard, as I would rather give what money I have to you, rather than to some inn. Is that agreeable?"
We are more than a few days from departure, but what could it hurt?
"That will be acceptable, Sir. However, you shall have to take your dinners onshore, as we have not yet set up our kitchen," I explain.
"That will be just fine, Miss Faber," answers Mr. Cantrell. "I will take my leave now to go collect our luggage." With that, he bows again and turns to leave, walking back up the dock, the long-legged black girl loping in his wake.
Well, I think, and turn back to my task. According to my calculations with my dividers, Cincinnati is about four hundred and seventy-five miles downstream, so at twelve cents a mile, that works out to fifty-seven dollars, more or less, which seems fair, considering the fact that we are providing both food and entertainment. So that means that passage to Cairo in Illinois Territory will cost—
"Faber?"
Hearing this, I lift my head and look to the dock. Standing there is a woman, about five feet tall and three feet wide, a solid woman built like a door. She is dressed in a skirt of what I take to be leather, a fringed shirt of the same, and a red headband around her brow. Her hair is black, with streaks of white, and it is braided into two pigtails that are bound with bright ribbons. In her hands she holds the hilts of at least three knives and several pans.
"You must be Crow Jane," I say, somewhat taken aback at her appearance.
"Yep. Cook. Lookin' fer work. You the boss?"
"Yes, I suppose I am."
"Whatcha got?"
"Well..."
"Lemme look at yer fire," she says, and with that she steps aboard, her saucepans clanking about her. She heads for the hatchway down into the hold. I meekly follow her.
She rattles around the stove, opening doors and lifting lids. She checks out the wood stacked next to it, picking up a piece and holding it to her cheek. She nods in apparent approval and then examines the sleeping quarters.
"All right. What pay?"
"Uh...," I stammer, "...a dollar a day, room and board. A cut of any prizes." That last part sort of slipped out.
She turns to look at me, with black eyes 'neath lowered black brows. "Prizes? I ain't heard of prizes before."
"Prizes are anything we can take ... steal, like," I say, lamely.
She gives a grunt of a laugh. "All right, then." She puts her pans on the stove and throws a sack I had not noticed before on the bunk that was to be hers. Her knives go into a slot on the side of the stove. Then she looks at me, sizing me up, I suspect. "Whatcha got fer crew?"
"Well, we have two girls, me being one of them, one young lad, and one big man," I say.
"You'll need more. At least two strong men. You got the Rapids of the Ohio to get through. Cave-in-Rock, too. More stuff after that. Where's yer supplies—flour and lard and such?"
"Down here below," I say, showing her the entrance to the lower hold. "Do you know of any that might serve?"
"Might. The Hawkes boys are both in the jailhouse. Due to get out tomorrow. Nathaniel and Matthew Hawkes. They're good boys if you can keep 'em away from strong likker and wild women. Good boatmen, too. Grew up on the river. If you want 'em, best pick 'em up right from the jailhouse and bring 'em here. Don't give 'em no money or they'll just get in trouble ag'in. I'll go with you when you pick 'em up. They'll mind me."
What could I say to that? I now have a cook and some additional crew. I hope I have done right.
But now I must put all that out of my mind. I must finish up my distance figuring, compose an advertising poster for the Belle, and then take it up to the printer on Market Street. When I return, I need to get ready for tonight's show.
That night, during the second show, all was going really well, when, in the midst of me doing "Billy Broke Locks," there was the sound of a tremendous fight going on down the street. There were shouts and gunfire going off, and in the midst of it all, there was an oddly familiar roar that I could not quite place. Higgins went to the door to see what was up. He was gone for a short while, and when he returned, he reported, "It was a big riot going on down at the White Horse. The sheriff and his crew arrived and are beating men to the ground with truncheons. It seems to be ending. Even as we speak, men are being dragged off to jail."
"None of our concern, mates!" I crow. "Stay here and be gay, for there's nothing but trouble down there, and nothing but good fun here!"
And so they stayed and so we played, far, far into the night.
Chapter 26
Jaimy Fletcher
At Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, USA
Jacky,
We got into Pittsburgh in the early evening and I suggested to Mike that we might put up for the night along the wooded shore and resume our search in the full light of day, the better to give me some time to work things out between you two, but he would have none of it.
"No, b'God! Mike Fink don't wait when there's killin' to be done! Nope, he gets right down to it and sends them souls directly to Heaven or Hell, dependin' on their inclinations, and I suspects that Jacky Goddamn Faber is goin' to the lower regions 'cause God don't put up with people who steal other people's boats. No, he don't," said Fink with great resolution and firmness of purpose in his voice. "Hey!" He sat up straight and pointed off to port. "That looks like my boat! Pull over there!"
With Clementine steaming behind me, I rowed in that direction.
***
Clementine has been steaming a lot, ever since she found out that not only are you not a boy, but, worse yet, my betrothed.
"That mean you gonna marry her, Jaimy?" she asked last night when we finally camped onshore, her hot eyes brimming with tears.
"I don't know what anything means anymore, Clementine," I answered wearily, "but I meant what I said: I won't leave you."
"What you gonna do, keep me in a shed out back of yer place when you marries her? Is that what you mean to do, Jaimy?"
"No, I don't. Now come over here and give me a kiss, and hush, now. Hush."
"Do you love me, Jaimy?"
I took a breath, held it, and then exhaled.
"Yes, I do, Clementine."
She waited a moment and then came over and lay next to me and put her hot, tearful face next to mine.
"I was so happy then, Jaimy, before ... when it was just you and me on the road." She snuffled. "So happy..."
"Now, now. You'll be happy again, Clementine," I said. "I promise."
"It shore looks like my boat, but what are them lumpy things on deck? And what does that say on the side?" asked Fink, squinting in the gloom.
"It says 'Belle of the Golden West,' and I don't know what those things are," I said, trying to figure a way to divert his attention. It was his boat, all right, and I knew damned well what those canvas-covered things were: They were guns. I reflected that it did not take long for La Belle Jeune Fille sans Merci to commandeer a ship and rearm herself. "Let's put in there and then go check out the taverns. That's where she's most likely to be, night falling as it is."
"All right," growled Fink. "I could use a drink, anyhow. Do it."
I steered toward a landing, breathing a small sigh of relief as we hit the shore. If he had gone directly to the boat, all hell would have broken loose. I had recognized Jim Tanner standing guard on the deck of that boat. There's no mistake. You are somewhere in this town, Jacky.
Mike jumped out of the boat and headed toward the lights of the town, which were just now being lit.
I jumped out after him and said to Clementine, "You stay here and watch our stuff. Give me the pistol."
She handed it to me and said, "Oh, Jaimy, stay here with me! She ain't worth it, please, Jaimy..."
"Now, Clementine, I will be careful. You'll see."
And with that I scrambled after Fink, who was heading full tilt for the nearest tavern.
"Mike, wait!" I panted as I caught up with him. For a huge man, he can certainly move fast. I looked up and found we were at the entrance of the White Horse Tavern. From up the street, at another tavern, I heard applause and then a female voice say, "Thank you, thank you, you are all too kind. I would like to sing you now a song from the days of your glorious revolution, 'Billy Broke Locks.'" I knew in an instant it was you, and it was all I could do to keep myself from bolting up the street. But what I thought was good sense prevailed: I couldn't let Mike Fink at you just yet.