The light was just about gone when we finally came to a grassy hammock not much bigger around than Dick Langley’s little one-room cabin back at Lake Istokpoga had been—before the Yankees burned it—but we were all mighty glad to see dry land again. We crowded our horses onto grass as if there were prizes hanging from the tree limbs. I believe that was the first time we’d been out of water in several hours.
There was a large slough curving around two sides of our little island, and we could see alligators resting on the far banks like logs pulled up on shore and left there to dry. I’d guess there were about twenty of them lying there side-by-side, including a couple of old granddaddies, twelve and fourteen feet long.
“Them things decide to come for us, we’re gonna be chin-deep in shit creek real fast,” Roy said worriedly.
“Them ’gators ain’t gonna be botherin’ no one for a spell,” Jim replied. “You can tell they’s all be fed recent-like, and are just layin’ up lettin’ whatever they got in their bellies settle a bit.”
“You willing to bet your life on that, Jim?” Casey asked.
“I wouldn’t be leavin’ one of y’all here if I thought they’d come huntin’.”
Now that got our attention real fast.
“What do you mean, leave one of us here?” Roy demanded, his features scrunched up in a fierce scowl. “I ain’t stayin’.”
“Marse Boone,” Jim said seriously. “We has got to go in on foot for a while, so we can check out what them Klees has waitin’ for us.”
“What makes you think they’re waiting?”
“Because by now that Pablo fellow has told ’em we’re followin’. They knows we’re here, marse. We’s got to count on that.”
“All right,” I said quietly, then waited for him to go on.
“One of us needs to stay behind with the horses, while the rest of us goes in on foot and see can we put a sneak on whoever they’s got watchin’ that north trail. Likely they’s gonna be some deep water we’ll have to wade, so we’ll leave our rifles here and carry our gun belts ’round our necks. Won’t do nobody no good was our powder to get wet.”
I was unbuckling my belt before Jim finished speaking. Although I briefly debated who I’d leave behind, I think we all knew. Even Punch. His eyes grew wide as saucers when I turned to him.
“Boone, no. I ain’t staying out here by myself. I won’t do it.”
“We ain’t gonna be so far away we can’t get back in a hurry, something happens,” Jim said, in a futile attempt to reassure the younger man.
“I don’t care if you’re within spitting distance. If I can’t see you, it’s too far.” Pivoting in his saddle, he flung an arm toward the dozing alligators. “They could be here in five minutes if they set their mind to it, and I wouldn’t even know it until one of ’em took a bite out of my rump.”
“They won’t,” Jim said. “But even if they try, these here ol’ horses’d let you know to skedaddle in plenty of time.”
“You don’t know that,” the young man retorted.
“Someone’s got to stay with the horses, Punch,” I said firmly. “It can’t be helped.”
The kid’s mouth hung open like he couldn’t believe I’d make him do such a fearsome thing, but there was no way around it. Punch was the youngest man there and the most inexperienced. He was the obvious choice.
“We likely won’t be gone long a-tall,” Jim said gently. “We just needs to see if they’s waitin’ for us, like I got a powerful itchy feelin’ they are.”
“How long is not long?” Punch asked in a small voice.
“Maybe an hour, maybe a few.” Jim shrugged. “We be back soon as we can, though. You can bet on that.”
“I’ll shoot ’em if they come after me,” Punch threatened, jerking his head toward the recumbent ’gators. “I don’t care how much noise it makes.”
I tended to agree with Jim. If even one of those big reptiles decided to make a move on the hammock, our horses would know it was coming before it got halfway across the slough—even after dark. A horse might shy away from a poisonous snake, because it sensed the danger, but it’d know an alligator’s approach meant life and death and wouldn’t wait around to see how Punch Davis intended to handle the threat.
“Stay in your saddle,” I told him. “If you see a ’gator on the prowl, head for the road.”
Punch flopped his arms in exasperation. “I don’t know which way the road is, Boone. I’m so turned around now, I wouldn’t swear the sun is really setting in the west.”
“Dammit, Punch,” Casey said impatiently. “Are you going to be a kid all your life, or toughen up? We need you to stay here and keep an eye on the horses. Do what you’re told, and if something comes up, then handle it.”
I guess what with Casey being family and all, it finally got through. Punch swallowed hard, then tightened his grip on his reins. “You boys put your lead ropes on your ’tackies,” he said determinedly. “I don’t want to have to haul them out of here with reins that’ll snap when the going gets tight.”
“Fair enough,” Casey said, and quickly stepped clear of his saddle. He loosened the lead rope that hung around his mount’s neck and handed it to his cousin. Giving the kid an affectionate slap on the knee, he added: “You’ll be fine, Punch. We’ll be back before you know it.”
“I ain’t gonna hold my breath waiting for you,” the younger man said morosely.
I tied the bay’s reins above its withers, then looped the loose ends around the saddle horn to keep them from sliding down the animal’s neck. Then, one by one, we handed our lead ropes to Punch.
“Keep a sharp eye out,” I warned him. “There’s more than just ’gators in these swamps, and Fort Dallas ain’t far away, either.”
“I’ll be OK,” Punch said with more bravado than I suspect he really felt, although I admired his determination.
Leaving young Davis in the thickening twilight, we crowded close around Negro Jim.
“Single file,” the black man instructed, “and don’t make no noise. Them Klees is close, if I ain’t mistook.”
I stepped off that little hammock into the swamps with my heart in my throat, the water rising quickly to mid-thigh. It was a lot darker than I expected once we left the relatively open waters of the slough, and it made me feel bad for Punch. I’ll tell you, I wouldn’t have wanted to be left out there alone with night closing in so fast. It worried me, and after a while, I said: “Jim?”
He paused and turned. “Yes’um, marse?”
“Are you going to be able to find your way back?”
“I believe so, yes’um.”
He waited a moment, but when I didn’t say anything else, he started forward again. Following directly behind, I tried to ignore a feeling of doom that sat atop my shoulders like a small, but chubby, child. My eyes darted, but there was no longer much to see. The broad expanse of Jim’s back under a faded blue shirt and his kinked, starting-to-gray hair were my only beacons. I kept my eyes riveted on them as we wound our way through the muck, aware of the others trailing silently behind.
We were in water nearly to our waists by then, and my boots felt full and heavy. Twice we had to alter course when the odor of cucumbers rose powerfully before us, and once we heard the hollow-tube huffing of a cow alligator, close enough to make my scalp crawl and made all the worse because I couldn’t tell from which direction the big reptile’s warning came. Finally the earth started to slope upward beneath my feet, and in another few minutes we were back on dry ground, our chests heaving from either effort or anxiety, I’m not sure which. Flopping to our butts, we raised our legs to drain our footwear. No one suggested taking them off. To remove them at that point meant we wouldn’t get them back on until they’d dried, which might have taken weeks in that humid country.
As our breathing returned to normal, we stood and shuffled about, moving our gun belts back around our waists and talking quietly about our recent adventure, reliving individually what we’d felt and thought when tha
t cow ’gator cut loose. Then Jim, standing a few yards away, told us to hush.
We stood as statues, not knowing what was up, until Roy hissed: “Listen.”
“It’s them, I figure,” Jim said softly.
At first I didn’t hear anything other than the usual night noises—the croaking of frogs, the cries of katydids, the occasional spine-chilling scream of a limpkin—but then I caught it, a feminine laugh echoing faintly through the swamp. Like a witch’s cackle, it set my flesh to crawling.
“That ain’t Lena,” I said quickly.
“No, suh,” Jim replied solemnly. “That there be a white woman laughin’.” He looked at me, his expression unfathomable. “I believe we is there, marse, or mighty close to it.”
“Miami?”
“Yes’um.” He jutted his chin off to the side, and I realized with something of a start that I could see him do it, that there was light coming from somewhere. “Off yonder a ways,” he volunteered.
I saw it myself then, a yellowish glow through the trees, followed by another burst of laughter, both male and female this time.
“Sounds like someone’s having a high ol’ time,” Ardell remarked.
“Places like Miami, if what I been hearin’ is true, they do a lot of high ol’ timin’,” Jim replied. “Lots of popskull to keep ’em in a mood for laughin’.”
“What do we do now?” I asked.
“What me and your daddy used to do down in the ’glades. We go scoutin’.”
“Lead off.”
Jim hesitated. “No, I reckon I best go alone from here. I figure that Mistah Jacob, he probably got a man watchin’ that north trail. It’s him I want. Maybe we can ask him some questions, then tickle an answer outta him with the pointy end of my knife, if he ain’t keen to talk.” He looked at me. “That there guard, marse, he likely be a white man.”
“I know, Jim. Do what you have to do. We want Lena back first, then the horses if we can find them.”
“Yes’um. I’ll be back in a bit, then. Y’all stay put, and don’t make no noise. A guard ain’t likely to be as drunk as that Miami bunch is.”
I watched him fade from sight, and when he was gone, I realized I hadn’t even heard him leave, not a crack of a twig or the rustle of leaf. It made me wonder what stories Pa and Jim hadn’t told me about their years fighting the Seminoles.
After a while we sat down to wait, rarely speaking as our ears strained at the darkness. Once, after we’d been there for what seemed like hours, I thought I heard someone calling my name. Casey and Ardell heard it, too, and Casey shoved to his feet.
“That’s Punch,” he whispered, starting for the swamp.
I rose and grabbed him by the arm and hauled him back before he could enter the black water.
“Even if it was Punch, you’d never find him in the dark,” I said. “Besides, Jim told us to wait.”
Casey stood like a dog on point, but finally allowed me to pull him back to where the rest of the crew waited. “If he’s hurt . . . ,” Casey said thickly, but didn’t finish the sentence.
We grew even quieter after that, ceasing any comment on wet socks or how we might steal back our horses when we got the chance—typical nervous-kid stuff, and meaningless since we had no idea where Klee was keeping the Flatiron mounts. It was another hour before I heard a thud in the dirt at my side and scrambled to my feet with my hand clenched on the Navy’s grips.
“Don’t shoot,” Jim called softly. “I’s comin’ in.”
“Come ahead,” I replied shakily, forcing my fingers away from the revolver. A few seconds later, Jim was standing before us. Sweat sheened his face, and his breathing was taut but controlled.
“Where the hell you been?” Roy demanded. “We figured you’d sloped.”
“No, suh,” Jim replied, keeping his tone mild. “I been scoutin’, like I said I would.”
“What did you find?” Casey asked.
“I found that guard, first thing, though I didn’t bother him none. I figure they’ll switch off soon enough, then we can take the mornin’ man. That way they won’t know anyone’s missin’ till daylight comes ’round, and maybe not then, dependin’ on how much popskull whiskey they puts away.”
“You reckon you can put a sneak on that morning man?” I asked.
“I reckon so, yes’um. They ain’t likely to be no smarter than Indians, and your daddy and me put a sneak on a good many Red Sticks during the Seminole Wars.”
I nodded, satisfied that Jim knew what he was doing.
“You boys need to be pullin’ your charges, if you ain’t already,” he told us.
Jim’s directive elicited a quick protest from Roy, but I held a hand up to stop him before he could work up a decent head of steam.
“We been traipsin’ through a good bit of water, and your powder might’ve got wet,” Jim explained, I suspect more for Roy’s benefit than anyone else’s. “Best y’all empty your pistols, then reload with fresh powder and ball. Make real sure what powder you pour in those chambers is bone dry, too. Then change your caps for fresh ones, and make sure they’s sittin’ tight on their nipples. It wouldn’t do to lose a cap in the middle of a fight.” After a pause, he added: “In them revolvers . . . make sure you load all six chambers. Likely we’s gonna need ’em ’fore this mornin’ is over.”
“Have you had a look at the settlement yet?” Ardell asked.
“Yes, suh, I has. It’s mostly south of the river, and I didn’t cross over, but I saw a good bit of it from the north bank. They ain’t much to the place, from what I could see, but it is full up to the muzzle with hardcases. The fort is on this side of the Miami. They’s a dock there, in case some ship wants to tie up, but nothin’ bigger than a sloop in harbor now. I didn’t see no lights burnin’ at the fort, though I reckon that don’t mean much.” He hesitated, then went on: “You boys do what I said ’bout them guns. I’m gonna go fetch Mistah Punch and the horses. I won’t be long, but you be ready when I get back.”
He turned and within a few paces had once again vanished. I listened close, but didn’t even hear him enter the water.
“Boone, that’s one good Negro you’ve got there,” Roy said in a heated whisper, “but if he calls me a boy one more time, I’m gonna be real tempted to take a whip to his black hide.”
“Roy,” I said evenly, “if you ever so much as lay a heavy hand on that Negro, I’ll kill you.”
I reckon that’s the boldest statement I’ve ever made in my life, but I meant every word of it. I’d always respected Jim, even when I was just a toddler, and I liked him something fierce, too, but after that journey south from the Flatiron, I’d grown to admire him almost as much as I did my pa. To this day, I can’t think of anyone outside of blood kin that I ever felt as close to as Negro Jim and Josie, and my eyes still get misty when I think of them. Ol’ Jim’s been dead a good many decades by now, but if I ever make it back to Florida, I’ll look up his grave and tell him what I’ve been up to since leaving the state. I bet he’d be tickled I did, too.
Us boys, we’d pretty much cut our teeth on rifles and revolvers, and it didn’t take long—even in that near-total darkness outside of Miami—to pull our old charges and reload with fresh. I added a dab of bear grease to each of my caps to seal them in case I took an unexpected dunk in deep water, then returned the Navy to its holster and stood waiting with the others. Our ears were turned toward the swamps now, waiting anxiously for Jim’s return.
It seemed to take forever, but of course it didn’t. Finally we heard what sounded like that same cow alligator, huffing her warning to stay away. I figured she must have had a nest in there somewhere that she was protecting. Female ’gators are short-tempered when it comes to their eggs and will tackle a full-grown bear if one gets too close.
“Bet that’s them,” Roy murmured, and, not long afterward, we heard the gentle splashing of several large animals moving toward us. Even though I knew it couldn’t be anyone else but Jim, I ordered the boys to back off and fan out. A
few minutes later I heard Jim’s quiet call, telling us not to shoot.
“Come on in,” I replied, then walked down to the water’s edge as Jim led his cavvy ashore. Punch rode close behind him, no doubt as fearful as I’d been at the thought of losing sight of the African’s broad shoulders in the swamp’s pitch-like night. Punch had the extra horses strung out behind him, tied chin strap to tail, my bay bringing up the rear. As soon as the horses were on solid ground, we swarmed forward to cut our individual mounts out of the string and lead them aside.
“I thought you guys had forgot me,” Punch accused from his saddle.
“Jim told you it might take a while,” Casey reminded him.
“Them ’gators were stirring. I saw one swimming past not forty yards away, big as you please in the moonlight.”
“Be thankful you had some light,” Roy groused. “We been squattin’ here in the dark like a bunch of constipated ’possums, waitin’ for that Negro to do something.”
“Hush,” I chided, but Jim merely chuckled.
“Mistah Roy, you be gettin’ your fill of doin’ something real soon,” he predicted. “Ought to clear up that constipation, too. Just see you don’t get your head blowed off while you’re at it.”
Roy grumbled a little at Jim’s response, but hell, Roy was always grumbling about something. Turning my back on him, I walked over to where Jim was checking the cinch on his marshtackie.
“What now?” I asked.
“We be ready to ride or ready to fight, whichever comes our way, but if we ain’t been seen, then you and me and . . . Mistah Casey, I reckon, is goin’ to slip on over to where that Klee man is watchin’ the north trail. It’s well on past midnight now, and if they’s going to spell him, it’ll be soon. When I’s sure it’s the man I want, I’s goin’ to slip up on him and drag him into the bushes where we can squeeze some information outta him without being disturbed.”
Miami Gundown Page 18