Crow Jane, hearing the shot, came up on deck and looked over the scene, as did Lightfoot.
"Squee-eh-squash!" she said contemptuously, adding a stream of spit of her own to those ashore. To me she said, "Renegades. Outcasts. Murderers who kill their own people. Drunkards who sell their own women. Thieves who steal from anybody. They come from all of the Five Nations. You Whites have your bad ones. We have ours."
I nodded and looked at Chee-a-quat and said, "Wah!"
I swear he almost smiled as he turned and walked away.
We practice with the weaponry, as well, on the way south, to the great amusement of the passengers, especially the children. When we fire the cannons, the kids cover their ears and fairly scream with delight.
All the males in my crew are well enough versed in firearms, including the Preacher. Yancy Cantrell is expert. We drill Clementine and Chloe and Katy in how to load the rifles and pistols: First, the proper measure of powder is poured from the horn into the barrel and tamped down with the ramrod. Second, the bullet is dropped, and after that, the wad is pushed down, tamping the whole thing solid. Then the percussion cap is put on the nipple, the hammer cocked, the gun aimed, the trigger pulled, the gun fired, and the bullet goes on its murderous way.
Katy finds the loading process too slow compared to how fast she could loose arrows from her bow, but she learns all the same.
It's not all armament and murder. We put on shows at Louisville, Kentucky, a bustling little town, where our performance goes over very well, as it does farther downriver at Evansville, on the Indiana side. In between, though, we try a revival at the little town of Owensboro, Jim having gone down and found it a place more suitable for our sanctified show, and so he talked it up some. The word spreads and we draw a good crowd. The Reverend Clawson takes center stage with his Bible-thumpin', Hell-raisin', Judgement's-a-comin, brimstone-breathin', fire-eatin' sermon, while Clementine, 'Thaniel, Chloe, Matty, and me with my voice and fiddle do our best from the sidelines, belting out the holy songs and all of us together getting them rockin' and rollin' and writhin' in the aisles. The Preacher saves at least thirty souls that day, and lays hands on more than a few and cures 'em of what ails 'em. A couple of bottles of Captain Jack's Elixir passed around just before the service doesn't hurt none, neither. It gets 'em in the mood, like.
At the end the Reverend calls upon the faithful to give what they can for our ministry. "Which is bringin' the word of God to the poor miserable heathen Red Savages what don't know no better 'cause they don't know the love of God yet, but would surely shine in the glory of the Lord and be no longer a pestilence to us white folk. Give! Give what you are able to give to this noble cause! The Lord Jesus will take you to His side for your kindness to these poor wretches! Ride on, King Jesus, ride on and conquer all evil, ride on!"
The Preacher is really getting worked up at this point, but he pulls himself together enough to lay his hand upon his chest and intone, "And now, the angel Evangeline will take up your offerings. Bless you, oh, bless you...," and Jim kills the footlight lanterns and fires up the light behind me where I'm now standing on the cabin top. I'm wearing a long white gown, which Katy and I have sewn, that flows from my throat to my ankles, and we have made up a crown of gold leaf that now rests on my head, glinting in the light. It is not a halo, but it is close. There is a quiet gasp from the congregation as they behold me there. I hold the pose for a moment and then descend and go into the crowd, holding my basket before me. Bless you, oh, bless you. I hear the coins tinkle into the basket and smile my beatific smile. Oh, bless you and bless your children. And I mean it, too, as I weave through all these happy, smiling faces, knowing that we have put on the best show we could—and I do love putting on a good performance, whether sacred or profane.
Log of the Belle of the Golden West. 14:30, arrive Shawneetown, Illinois. Debark passengers. Prepare for battle.
The passengers get off in Shawneetown, Illinois, a small place that seems to make its living chiefly by providing for the needs of travelers who prefer to portage rather than face the dangers of Cave-in-Rock. It ain't big enough to be worth our show, so we push the Belle off and head downstream and get ready for the fight.
When we moor for the night, fifteen miles above Cave-in-Rock, I invite my entire crew in for a grand dinner on the passenger deck, and so we sit and eat and drink together, British and American, Indian, Negro, and somewhat White. For some of us, who knows, it might well be our last.
Dear Jaimy,
As I lie here in my bunk next to a girl named, of all things, Clementine Amaryllis Jukes (can you imagine such a name?), I think fondly of you back in Jolly Old England doing I don't know what. What I do hope is that you are safe and well and that maybe we might meet up again soon. It'll take me a while to get to New Orleans, and if I can take passage there for Britain, then that'll be another three weeks, at least.
Ugh! Clementine has just turned over in her sleep and I have to push her back a bit or else I'll be pushed over the side. I know she is a bit nervous about what will happen tomorrow, but she is a tough, brave little thing and I know she'll be all right. What? Wait ... she is talking in her sleep, saying something like Ja-Ja-Jaimy? No, that can't be right. There she goes again ... J-J-Jim ... Ah, that's who she meant. While I can't blame her, I'll be keeping an eye on those two, that's for sure, otherwise there'll be a swellin of a certain belly soon, and I don't need that, and neither does she.
I don't really want to be doing this thing that I will be doing tomorrow, Jaimy, for you know that I am really, at heart, a peaceable coward and would like nothing better than to lie back on my quarterdeck and soak up the sun as I float gently down to New Orleans, maybe bringing some people a bit of cheer as I go.
Ah, but that is not to be. As so often happens in this world, there are evil people who stand in the way of such a peaceful idyll because they seize boats carrying goods of any value and commit rape and murder for personal lust, and so I must do what I must do. What else is there? Abandon my ship and creep around the bandits at Cave-in-Rock and take off again with nothing and nothing with which to pay off my loyal crew? Nay, we must push through, for the tales of the foul deeds that those fiends have committed sicken me even to think of them, and they must be stopped.
Pray for me, Jaimy, as I pray for you.
Chapter 42
We round a bend in the river, all of us at our usual stations: Katy at the bow on lookout, the Hawkes brothers on the forward sweeps, Jim on steering oar, and me at my quarterdeck table, with First Mate Higgins at my side. I have on my black cloak and am covered by it from neck to boot top. Clementine and Chloe sit on the cabin top, in plain sight of anyone with a long glass, sewing away at a quilt and chatting sociably. All others are below, the better to make us look like helpless and easy prey.
"A fine morning, Miss," observes Higgins. He is wearing a long riding duster over his usual clothes, the better to conceal the two pistols he wears tucked in his vest.
"Indeed it is, Mr. Higgins," I reply. I put down my teacup and look out over the river, which does seem to be working itself up into a faster flowing stream. On the shore, I see bigger and bigger boulders sticking out of the water. I suspect the Rapids of the Ohio are not far downstream. In front of me is a map, which shows what we know of Cave-in-Rock, which is not much. It is apparently a fifty-foot cliff on the Illinois side of the river giving anyone standing on top a clear view of the river traffic coming down. In the cliff itself there is a large cave twenty feet high and thirty feet across its mouth and a hundred and fifty feet deep, wherein the outlaws and their hangers-on live.
"What do you think, Miss?" asks Higgins, refilling my cup from the pot that sits on the table.
I consider this and say, "There are evil men there, Higgins, men who think they are powerful and cunning, and we shall be meeting them soon, I think, but I try to hold down my fear." I add, "For are we not, you and I, Royal Navy?"
"Yes, Miss, we are."
"Then, they don't stand a chance, do they?"
"No, Miss, they do not."
"I thought not, Higgins," I answer. "However, if they do manage to prevail against us, I want you to know that I consider you the best friend I have ever had in this world and I will die happy knowing that I had your friendship to the end."
"The feeling is mutual, Miss, but you should not let—"
"Man in boat to starboard!" shouts Katy. "Callin' out to us!" Higgins rises from the table and goes to the side.
Ah, that would be our guide through the treacherous Rapids of the Ohio ... or to be delivered to what other treachery might lurk there.
I look out and see a man standing in a rowboat, waving his hat to us.
"Pull over by him," I say to Jim, and the Belle glides over to the small boat.
"What do you want?" calls out Higgins to the man.
"Sir," announces this person, "I am Mr. Fortescue, Frederick Fortescue, as it were, and I am a most experienced pilot. I would be glad to guide your boat through these wicked waters for a most modest sum. What do you say?"
"Bring him aboard," calls out Higgins, who will be acting as Captain for a short time. The man scampers up our side, leaving his rowboat to fend for itself. He shakes Higgins's hand and strides back to the quarterdeck and stations himself in front of Jim at his steering oar.
Hmmm. Not a good sign in a waterman, I'm thinkin', leavin' his boat adrift like that.
"Off to the left there, boy. Now rudder amidships! Steady as she goes!"
"You are experienced in these waters?" asks Higgins, affecting a pose of hopeful indecision.
"None better!" crows this creature. "Why, I know ever' rock in this river better'n I know the hairs on the back of my hand!"
Well, we shall see about that. I sense him for a fraud right off, but I have been told that there are honest guides on this river, as well as the rogues, so I hold my tongue, at least for the time being. We head down the river and the stream gets faster and faster and the rocks appear more and more frequently at our sides.
While this man is guiding us along, I rise from my table and approach this Mr. Fortescue, with my eyes cast down, and ask in a tremulous voice, "Please, Sir, I beseech you for myself and on behalf of the other helpless females aboard this craft that you will do your best to see us through to safety."
He looks at me, and then at Katy and Chloe and Clementine sitting up forward, and then smiles a smile that I recognize as being full of absolute joyful anticipation. Of course, I know he would not be high on the pecking order, but I also realize that he knows he'd have a run at us after the big tough men were done.
"Don't you worry, Miss," says he. "This is all gonna work out jes fine. Jest you settle back, now."
Finally, after the river rounds another bend, Cave-in-Rock comes into view. It is much as it had been described: a high cliff with a cave in its face. It has low-growing bushes about the mouth to the cave, and some more growing across the top. Bigger trees are at the bottom.
Mr. Fortescue guides us toward the middle of the river ... Should he bring us in the slightest way to the right, then we will know for sure that he is a bad one, and we will go from there.