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

by Louis A. Meyer

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  “Higgins! Pull him over to the other side of the cabin! Put him down and bind him!” Higgins grabs him by the scruff of his neck and drags him over to the side. Higgins had laid out two short lengths of rope for just this purpose, and now he uses them to truss up the hands and feet of the false pilot. Higgins uses his booted foot to force him facedown onto the deck, out of sight of anybody watching us with a long glass from the cliff.

  “Help me, boys! Help me!” bellows our prisoner.

  “Best gag him, Mr. Higgins, before he alerts his friends.”

  Higgins takes a handkerchief from his pocket and crams it into the captive’s mouth. Aside from muffled curses, we hear no more from him.

  The boat I had spotted before is now about a hundred yards ahead, and I can plainly see that it is full of men, probably a good ten or twenty of them, with no guns in sight.

  Good. That means they didn’t leave many behind to guard their fortress.

  “Ready, everybody,” I call, trying to keep my voice from trembling. Legs, stop shakin’! Katy and Chloe get up and go into the foreward hatch, while Clementine comes around the starboard side and goes down into the rear hatch. All in the crew had been given permission to get off with the passengers and meet us downstream, no hard feelings, but none took me up on it, not even the Preacher.

  The boat is now fifty yards directly ahead. The men in it wave and halloo and yell out things like “Come visit our tavern!” and “Good entertainment up at the Cave!”

  Twenty-five more yards and the charade is over. We see the men in the boat raise their rifles and point them at us, calling out, “Pull up, pull up there or forfeit your lives!”

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  I hear a pop and see a puff of smoke rise from the boat. The bullet hits the top of the cabin down and to the right of me.

  Wait one more second, till they are in point-blank range…Now!

  I throw over my table and whip the canvas cover off the swivel gun that lies beneath it, calling out, “Rudder hard right! Matty, pull! ‘Thaniel, back!” and Jim throws the rudder over and the Belle swerves to the left, swinging her stern to face the oncoming boat.

  I throw the levers that allow the gun to swivel on its base and to be raised or lowered. Then I point the barrel down to aim it directly at the enemy boat, lock down the levers, yell fire! and pull the matchlock.

  There is a roar as five pounds of sharp nails spray our would-be murderers. Then there are screams as many claw at their bloody faces while others curse, but some don’t say anything at all.

  “Reload! Jim, keep bringin’ her around! Matty, pull! ‘Thaniel, back! Bring her around!”

  At the sound of the blast, Clementine, stripped to undershirt and drawers for ease of movement, bursts out of the crew’s quarters, carrying a charge of powder. Higgins is already swabbing the barrel. Clementine slides the bag down the barrel and steps out of the way as Higgins rams in a wad. She picks up another cloth bag, this one containing more nails, and puts that in. Another wad, another ram, and ready again.

  I swivel, aim, and fire!

  More screams, more shouts, but the boat with its cargo of killers is not yet done. There are several of the bandits who

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  remain untouched and are shaking their fists and demanding revenge.

  At the sound of the first shot, as planned, Lightfoot, Chee-a-quat, Cantrell, and Katy hurry back up on deck, their rifles at the ready. Katy, like Clementine, has stripped down to her old fighting gear—drawers rolled to her knees, white band around her head. She also has her strung bow across her chest and a quiver full of arrows hanging down her back. The three of them take up positions on the cabin top and begin shooting with great effect into the other boat. Katy and Lightfoot say nothing as they set about their grim work, but Chee-a-quat stands straight and tall and sings what I suspect is a death song.

  The Belle has now swung completely around such that her bow again points directly at the brigands’ boat. I bound across the cabin top and yank off the canvas from the forward fixed cannon. There is, I know, a four-inch round ball deep in the cannon’s throat, resting on a full charge of powder.

  The Preacher has come up on deck with swab in hand, to help me with the gun. Feeling that it would not be right for a man of the cloth to be actively killing people, howsoever vile they might be, he has elected to be gun loader on the forward cannon. It is still a dangerous job, as bullets continue to buzz about us. One bullet takes off his hat and sends it skidding across the deck.

  I take the ratchet bar and crank down the barrel, then call out to the Hawkeses. “Matty, back! ‘Thaniel, pull! Keep doing it till you hear this gun fire!”

  They do it and the barrel of the gun swings into range of the attacking boat. I have only to wait till it comes to bear. A

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  little bit more, a little bit more… The gun points at the water, then the gun points at their hull…now… Fire!

  The recoil from this much more powerful gun shoves the Belle ten feet back in the water and knocks both the Preacher and me from our feet. It may do some damage to us, but it is nothing compared to what it does to the other boat. The ball slams into their starboard side, opening a huge hole, and the boat goes straight down. Or down as far as it can, which is about two feet, before it hits bottom. Those in the boat who are still able climb out and head for the bank. Lightfoot and Chee-a-quat take down a few before they reach the safety of the shore. Several even try to climb aboard the Belle, but showing no mercy, we club them down with the butts of our rifles. They sink and try us no more.

  I keep telling myself, These are murderers, girl…They have killed helpless men, women, and, yes, even children…You should not care what you do to them …I tell myself that…but still…

  Cradling in her arms a bag of powder, Chloe, in the same state of undress as Katy and Clementine, emerges from the hold to reload the fore cannon.

  At the sight of her doing her job, I shake myself out of these bootless thoughts and look over the battlefield and, satisfied with what I see, call out, “Plan B!”

  At that, Katy returns to her lookout position and I go back on the quarterdeck. I remove my long glass from its rack to scan the cliff. Hmmm. No sign of much activity, yet. Then I lower the glass and scan the bank on the right.

  “Anything, Katy?” I ask.

  “Nothin’ yet…wait! Got bottom…‘bout six feet down…sandy…some rocks…now about four feet.”

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  I had spied before a large tree trunk that had fallen from the bank into the water, its roots still anchored to the shore.

  “Jim! Steer for that tree! ‘Thaniel, pull! Matty, hold! Now pull together! Katy?”

  “‘Bout the same…no…bottom comin’ up. Two feet now, still sand and a few rocks, now…”

  There’s a grating sound as the Belle’s keel slips up on the shoal, but we are close enough such that her bow noses up to the fallen trunk.

  “All right! Go!”

  And Lightfoot and Chee-a-quat and Katy leap up on the trunk and disappear into the woods. Their mission: to keep the robbers from taking their booty out of the cave. I don’t want Katy to go, but she insists, saying that she can cover them with her arrows whilst they reload their rifles, and so I let her go. She’d have gone, anyway; my authority only goes so far on this bark.

  ‘“Thaniel and Matty! Push us off, boys!”

  The Hawkes brothers take their sweeps from the oarlocks and stick them into the sandy bottom and push with all their might. It is not enough, though, so Higgins and Reverend Clawson come up to add their backs to the push. Reluctantly, the Belle slides back into the stream.

  “Get your oars reset and pull us out!” Out, so I can have some firing room. “Stroke! Stroke!”

  I look up at the cliff and as soon as I can see the cave opening, I say, “Drop the anchor, Jim!” and he does it. We can feel the hook take hold by the dragging of the deck below our feet, and I go to the forward cannon.

  I cran
k up the elevation as high as it will go. I will aim it side to side with the help of the Hawkeses.

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  “‘Thaniel, back. Matty, pull. Keep doing it till I say ‘hold.’” They do it, and the barrel of the cannon slowly swings over toward the mouth of the cave.

  “Hold,” I say. Then, as the momentum takes us a few more degrees to port, I say, “Fire!” and pull the lanyard of the matchlock.

  The cannon barks out its ball and we stand and wait for the results. It hits above and to the right of the cave mouth. I think I can hear cries of alarm from up there. It is good that the shot was high, for I can get no more elevation out of this gun. I take the ratchet bar and crank down two. The Preacher and Chloe have already reloaded, and I have only to yell fire! and pull the lanyard.

  This time the ball hits the right side of the cave wall and careens into the interior. There are more screams and people spill out. I note with dismay that some are women.

  But I harden my heart, and when the gun is reloaded, I fire it again. This time the ball goes straight into the mouth. I think I hear glass shattering.

  “Let’s have a hot one this time,” I say, as Chloe and the Preacher reload. “Jane! Bring up a hot ball!” and Crow Jane struggles out of the hold, grasping in big tongs a red-hot cannonball, which had nestled in the coals of the stove for many hours. She drops it in the barrel and I waste no time in firing it, for the heat of the ball could set off the gun all by itself.

  It, too, goes right into the cave mouth, followed by more shrieks and howls. Smoke begins to pour out of the opening. I lift my glass and watch. And then I hear the popping of rifle fire. That would be Lightfoot and Chee-a-quat firing at the retreating robbers. Their orders are to prevent the outlaws

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  from hauling off any booty with them, but I fear they might be doing much more than that.

  “Hold fire,” I order, as I notice a woman come out of the cave, holding a baby. A few minutes later I see a figure on top of the cliff waving a red piece of cloth. It is Katy, and it is the signal that the place is taken.

  “Secure the cannon. Lift anchor. Bring us back to the shore. Well done, all.”

  The Belle swings back into the shore and again runs gently aground. I hop out into the shallows and call out for Higgins, the Hawkes boys, and Cantrell to come with me, leaving the ship in the capable care of Jim, Clementine, Chloe, and the Preacher. I lead my party into the woods.

  We find a well-worn trail that we know will lead up to Cave-in-Rock, and we work our way along it, pistols at the ready should we meet any disgruntled former inhabitants of the place. We meet none.

  Eventually we reach the top to find Lightfoot and Chee-a-quat leaning on their rifles. From Lightfoot’s belt hangs a bloody swatch of what looks like human hair.

  “Where’s Katy?” I ask, and he nods his head in the direction of the cave mouth. “And what’s that—on your belt?”

  Lightfoot considers this, then says, “‘Member when I said I was goin’ downriver ‘cause there was a man down there who needed killin’?”

  “Yes…?”

  “He don’t need killin’ no more.” Ah.

  Higgins and I go off to find Katy, while the Hawkes brothers strip the bodies on the ground of any valuables they might have. I notice that two of the dead men have

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  arrows sticking out of them. Another looks like he was done in with Chee-a-quat’s tomahawk. I look away from that.

  I find her coming out of the mouth of the cave, dragging the smouldering bedding that had been set on fire by the hot cannonball. The cave entrance was clearing of smoke.

  “What have we got, Kate?”

  “Some food. Powder. Bullets. Guns. Piles of stuff. The place looks like pigs’ve been living in it,” she says. “I think Lightfoot dropped the one that was trying to get away with the money box. But then again, I think the real prize is down there…” She points down toward the water, and there, nestled amongst the greenery of the shore, float two boats, one a flatboat, the other a keelboat like the Belle. It’s plain that they are boats stolen from innocent, luckless, and now-dead travelers. There is a path that leads down to the boats.

  “I think you’re right, Katy,” I say, already making plans in my head.

  “There’s a child in there, too,” adds Katy, nodding toward the cave. “Boy child. Sick. Maybe dead.”

  I look at Higgins and we go into the cave. It’s plain that there’s another entrance to this place, for a breeze blows through and the smoke is all but gone. The place is indeed a sty, but what would you expect from an outlaw den?

  There is a natural stone aisle that leads right into the cave—it is almost as if stonemasons had carved it, it is so straight and regular. On either side of this passageway are relatively flat rock ledges, shoulder high, that extend to the cave edges and have plainly served as sleeping areas—some seem almost to look like family hearths, with bunks and beds laid in a circle. I decide not to think on that.

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  Following the aisle to its end, we come to a large, domed room, which has a small hole at the top, through which sunlight twinkles. There are remains of a large fire in the center of this room, and a trickle of smoke trails up to the vent hole at the top. What a perfect fortress, says the pirate in me.

  There are piles of clothing and barrels of whiskey and tons of other booty the river pirates have taken and that now belong to us. Back along the right side of the cave is one of the living areas, and in one of the beds there, I see the recumbent form of a child, lying faceup.

  I go over, with Higgins beside me, and look down. “What do you think?”

  Higgins puts his hand on the boy’s forehead. “He is about eight years old and still alive, at least, but very feverish.” He opens the boy’s shirt and looks at his chest. “No measles, no chicken pox, no smallpox…I think it’s influenza. He is barely conscious.” The boy moans and twists in the bed. He is covered in sweat.

  “All right,” I say. “If he’s still alive when we’re ready to quit this place, we shall take him with us. Now let’s get loading.”

  I leave Higgins to supervise the loading of the goods and go back out to the Hawkes brothers, who are now through with their grisly work.

  “Matty. ‘Thaniel. I’m going back to move the Belle over next to those boats you see down there. We’ll load whatever we can take from here into them.”

  They both answer, “Yes, Skipper,” as they get down to the business of stacking up the booty.

  “And, lads, you could not have been more brave today when those bullets were whizzing around and yet you stood

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  at your posts, manning your sweeps. We could not have done this without you, and I want you to know that.”

  “Ah, pshaw” the boys reply together, blushing, but I know that they are pleased.

  I make sure that Lightfoot and Chee-a-quat are continuing to guard against the return of the remnants of the outlaws, and then head back to the Belle at a dead run.

  “We’re gonna move her about fifty yards downriver to load cargo. Everybody on the poles to pull her off!”

  The Belle comes off the shoal fairly easily and we slip back into the stream.

  “Mind the rocks now, Jim…There! You see those two boats tied up there? Head in!”

  We slip in beside the other boats and tie up.

  “I’m going back up,” I say, leaping onto the deck of the flatboat and then onto the other keelboat. “Clementine, you, too.” With a delighted yelp, she follows me off.

  She falls a bit behind me ‘cause it’s always been my pride that no one beats Jacky Faber in climbing the rigging, and nobody beats her on a steep trail, either.

  There is a rustle in the bushes next to me, and startled, I turn to face a very large, extremely wet man with rivulets of blood coursing down his face. Apparently he is one of the men from the robbers’ attack boat, obviously his rifle is wet and useful now only as club, and plainly he wishes to kill me. He swings
the rifle butt at my head as I manage to raise my shoulder in time to deflect the blow, but still it knocks me facedown in the dirt, stunned.

  Looking up, I see with horror that there is a bayonet at

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  the other end of the gun. He reverses the gun in his hand and lifts it over his head and prepares to use all his force to drive the point through my back and pin me to the ground.

  I can’t reach my pistols, I can’t…Oh, God, I’m gonna…

  I hear two shots, one right after the other, and two blossoms of red appear on the mans chest. He drops the weapon and falls back, still as a stone.

  I roll over to see Clementine standing over me, her two smoking pistols held out at shoulder level.

  “Thank you, Sister,” I say, my voice quavering as I get to my knees and then shakily stand. “He’d have skewered me for sure.”

  She nods, looking dumbly at the smoking pistols in her hands. I know how that feels, Clementine, when you kill someone, no matter how vile they might be, but we’ll deal with this later.

  “Reload, Clementine. There might be more.” Given this simple task to do, she does it, and we continue on to the cave, with me being much more watchful this time. Stupid thing, you! Keep watch!

  We gain the cave mouth and the Hawkes boys begin taking the plunder down to the boats. I go around to the side, where Lightfoot and Chee-a-quat and Katy are standing guard against a possible return of the thieves, and I call Katy to me. As she comes toward me, I notice Lightfoot watching her as she goes. Hmmm.

  “Katy,” I say. “Stand guard on Matty and ‘Thaniel as they take the goods down. I was almost killed by one of the survivors of the bandits’ boat on my way up here. If not for Clementine, I’d be dead right now.”

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  “Um,” she says, nods, and lopes off after the boys.

  Clementine and I go into the cave to find Higgins separating what we can use or sell from that for which we’d have no possible use.

  “So, Mr. Higgins, just what do we have here?”