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

  “Jim. Get us out farther into the stream. Matty, ‘Thaniel, on the sweeps. There’ll be time for rest in New Orleans, and it’s only sixty or so miles away.” They leap to it, as I’m sure Honeysuckle Rose and Tupelo Honey have told them many tales of the delights that wait for them in New Orleans.

  I scan the bank as we move along. The shores have changed a great deal as we have moved farther south into the delta of Louisiana. Before, the banks held trees that could easily have grown in England, or at least looked like they could have grown there. Now there are deep, dark shaded inlets where trees trail long beards of moss down

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  into the black water, bayous they are called, and it don’t look like England anymore, no, it don’t…

  “Good God, what’s that?” shouts Clementine Tanner, pointing with shaking finger at something on the bank. It looks like a huge black and bumpy log, about twelve feet long, but it is not that, oh no, for it has a tail and it swings it back and forth as it slips its bulk into the water.

  Crow Jane, alerted by Clementine’s cry, comes up on deck, holding a ladle. She looks over at where the girl is pointing and squints. The beast lies in the water, just its two eyes showin’.

  “It’s a ‘gator,” she says. “They eat up little girls like you. Everybody be careful ‘bout fallin’ overboard.” She points the ladle at me. “And no more swimmin’ for you!”

  I nod in agreement to that.

  I watch the bank slip by, looking for more alligators and finding them, and seeing snakes on branches, raccoons coming down onshore to catch crayfish, and big, squawking birds with flapping doomed fishes in their long beaks, with swarms of bugs flying about, and I wish myself back in merry old England, or at least in good old staid, starched-drawers Boston.

  I shake off these thoughts, too. Upriver we had found and bought a canoe, and Lightfoot and Chee-a-quat had gone off in it several times to see if they could run down Jaimy, but no luck—there were just too many tributaries in this fickle and maddening river.

  I decide on one more try. “Lightfoot. Will you and Chee-a-quat take the canoe and search again?”

  Lightfoot is sitting up with Katy, watching her fish. She has a stringer of fresh-caught fish trailing in the water beside

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  her, species we have not seen before. He looks at Chee-a-quat, on the opposite side, they both say wah, then get up, take their rifles, and climb into the canoe.

  “We’ll try this one last time, Wah-chinga, but you gotta know that soon this river widens out into a big, big old lake called Pont-char-train, and if’n he’s on that, we ain’t gonna find him, ever. We’ll be back tomorrow, with him or without him.” He nods at Katy and then pushes off.

  I watch them go, wondering if it was wise to send them, we now having no protection, save the river and the few left aboard.

  No, no…everything is all right. We’ll get dinner and then anchor for the night. Everything is all right. We’ll get some sleep…

  Jaimy, I know you hate me now, and think me false and deceiving and of very low character, but still I long to see you and I pray for your health and safety, I do. Amen.

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  ***

  Chapter 63

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  “Fire’s out, Boss,” Crow Jane is saying as I gaze southward looking for Lightfoot and Chee-a-quat to return. “That wood we bought up in Natchez must’ve been green. Damn crackers, you just can’t trust ‘em.”

  “Can you start it up again?”

  “Sure, Boss, but I’m gonna need an armload o’ kindling to get it going.”

  “Hmm …I would like the crew to have a hot breakfast and I could use a cup of tea, myself.” I scan the near bank, which is heavily wooded and looks like a likely place to find some wood. It’s pretty high land, not swampy like where the ‘gators tend to hang out. We haven’t seen anyone on the shore since we left Baton Rouge yesterday, so it should be safe enough.

  “All right, I’ll hop over and gather some.” After I decide this, I call back to Jim, “Pull her over next to that low bank there. I’m going ashore to get some firewood.”

  As the Belle slips over to the shore, I go down into my cabin and take off my buckskin skirt and pull on my white duck trousers, ‘cause I know the bugs’ll be bad onshore.

  When I come back out, we are alongside. “Solly, come

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  help me if you would.” I hop over and he follows. I go off to the left, picking up sticks as I go while he forages straight ahead. Sticks are plentiful and dry, so this shouldn’t take long, I’m thinking.

  “Hey, Missy, there’s a road back here!” says Solomon, out of my sight to the right. “And there’s— Missy, run! Get back to the boat!”

  “Make a move and yer one dead nigra!”

  Oh no!

  I drop my load of kindling and charge off toward Solly, but I don’t get ten feet before a hand comes across my mouth and my arms are pinned to my side. Desperately I kick and squirm but to no avail, I am held fast and forced to do nothing but listen as disaster falls upon us.

  I don’t hear nothin’ from Solly so I guess they’ve got guns pointin’ at him, but I do hear somethin’ from the direction of the Belle, somethin’ that chills me to the core.

  “Hands in the air, all of you! Anyone goes for a gun, I kill this here girl!”

  “Get your hands off her, you bastard!” Jim’s voice! They must have pulled Clementine off the boat and now have a pistol to her head!

  “Shut up, boy! Absalom, git the nigress!”

  “Got her, Pap! Git down there, you!”

  “Stop! You can’t—”

  A shot rings out and then a scream.

  “Can’t, can’t I? Shadrach, Moab, you keep these ones covered while we truss up the three we’re taking. You there! Cast this boat off and take it to the middle of the river or we’ll blow her brains out. Do it now!”

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  “What possible use do you have for the white girl?” That’s Higgins…

  “Oh, we got a use for her all right, big man, bein’ she’s the leader of yer gang of low-down slave stealers. A real good use.”

  There is a thrashing of the bushes and then they are parted and my horrified eyes behold the grinning face of one of the Beam boys. He holds a length of rope.

  “Turn the little nigra-lover around, Mordecai, so’s I kin tie her hands.”

  I’m roughly spun around, and as my wrists are crossed and bound, the grimy hand is taken from my mouth and I scream out, “Higgins! Jim! Wait for Lightfoot!” My mind may be shocked, but it’s still working. “Ow!”

  I’m backhanded hard across the face and then a rope is shoved between my teeth and tied at the back of my head. “That’ll keep her quiet, Ezekiel,” says the one named Mordecai.

  Ezekiel turns me again to look me in the eye. “Got yer little Abolitionist ass now, don’t we? And we got it good. Hee-hee, oh, yeah.”

  They push me back through the bushes where there waits an open buckboard hitched to two mules. Solomon slumps in the back, his head shaking as if he was slowly returning to consciousness. They must have hit him pretty hard, the bastards. There are strong ropes wrapped all about him. Next to him is Chloe, her face a mask of complete horror. I’m thrown into the wagon and made to lie down behind the seat. My ankles are tied together.

  Pap Beam comes out of the woods, climbs up, and sits

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  down. He grabs the reins and shouts, “Moab! Are they out in the river?”

  “Yeah, they are, Pap! ‘Bout in the middle!”

  “Good! Throw the girl in the water and let’s go!”

  There is a shriek and a splash and then the two men come charging out of the woods, and all mount their horses.

  Solomon looks at Chloe and says, “This here’s a free Colored girl. You should be lettin’ her go, Suh.”

  Pap Beam looks back at him. “If that don’t beat all, a nigra tellin’ Hezekiah Beam what he should or shouldn’t do. What’s this world comi
n’ to?” And with that he picks up the buggy whip from its holder and swings it, catching Solomon across the back with it. Solly stiffens and groans. “You say another word, boy, and the black bitch gets the next one, y’hear? Good. All right, let’s go, boys.” He slaps the reins on the backs of the mules and we move off.

  “What we gonna do, Pap?” asks one of the riders.

  “Wal, Shadrach, we’re gonna get back to the farm, lock up the two nigras, and then as soon as we can dig a grave, we’re gonna hang the Abolitionist whore from the sweet gum tree.”

  We rumble along for about a half hour, then pull up next to a field. “Let’s take down those rails, boys, and cross over here, so that in case anyone follows us, they’ll think we went straight along the road.”

  “Good thinkin’, Pap.”

  Think, dammit! You’ve got to think of something or else you’re dead! If only I could leave something here as a marker for Lightfoot, hut I can’t, leant. Oh, Lord!

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  “Say, Pappy, kin we have some fun with her, afore we hangs her?” Ezekiel Beam giggles. “You know…”

  “You would sully the purity of your body by cleaving unto this Jezebel, this whore of Babylon, Ezekiel? You saw yourself how she tore off her dress and exposed herself to inflame the lusts of men, how she danced like wicked Salome, herself! Nay!” roars the old man. “Never, never in my house or on my land!”

  “Sorry I axed, Pap,” says Ezekiel, smarting under the rebuff, but the crazy old man is not yet done.

  “Scripture says the Great God Jehovah gave us dominion over the beasts of the field, and the nigra is a beast of the fields and any damned Abolitionist who says any different is goin’ against the Will of Almighty God and needs hangin’ and that’s what she’s gonna git!”

  “Wal, Pap, nobody know the rules of Scripture like you do, that’s for sure. Pity, though…she ain’t half bad-lookin’…”

  He may be a crazy God-struck, and twisted man, but he has given me a ray of hope. It’s a slim chance, but it’s the only chance I got.

  We clatter ever onward.

  The buckboard pulls in to a farmyard early in the afternoon. Chloe and Solomon are dragged out and taken into a barn, where I am sure cruel shackles await them. Poor Chloe is stunned with grief—I found out on the way that Yancy Cantrell had been shot by Pap Beam as Yancy tried to prevent the abduction of his daughter. I am left in the wagon. The Beams dismount and tie up their horses, then two of

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  them take up shovels and go to a bare spot of ground and begin to dig what might very well turn out to be my grave. Pap and the others go into the house that sits next to the barn. I don’t see anyone else around—no wives, no children, just a few chickens pecking in the yard. I see a big, smooth-bark tree at the edge of the yard and a shiver runs up my spine—that can only be the sweet gum tree.

  The two digging Beams, Shadrach and Absalom, I think, labor at their grim task for a while, and when they are knee-deep into the dirt, Shadrach calls out, “Pap! Come out here! Is this deep enough?”

  Pap Beam comes out onto the porch of his house, his duster now shed, his gray beard resting on a dirty gray shirt over which a pair of suspenders lie, holding up his stained black trousers. He looks upon the work of his sons and shakes his head.

  “Nah, it should be about waist deep, else the hogs might root up her corpse.”

  “Then, hell, Pap, git the other boys to help,” whines Absalom, dusting off his hands, “I think I’m a-gettin’ a blister.”

  “Moab! Ezekiel! Mordecai! Git on out here!” His sons come out of the house, dressed exactly like their father. “You two spell Shadrach and Absalom. Moab, you pick her up and stretch her out there next to the hole and see if they got it long enough.”

  Moab leans over the buckboard and picks me up and hauls me over to the edge of the pit and drops me hard on the ground. I try to speak around the rope, but all I can get out is a garbled mumble.

  “You’ll git yer chance to say a few last words, slut, so just be quiet now,” says Pap. He looks down, appraising the

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  measurements. “Yeah, it’s long enough. Just git it waist deep. Shadrach, you go set up the rope there on that limb, and then bring over a horse. We’ll do it that way. And get them nigras out here to watch it—teach ‘em a good lesson.”

  “Yes, Pap.”

  Another half hour later and the job is done. I am lifted up and the bonds are taken from my ankles. I struggle and try to wriggle and make a run for it, but I am held too tight. I am placed on the horse and the noose is put around my neck and drawn tight. I know that the rope goes up over that limb and then is brought down, wrapped around the trunk of the tree, and tightly knotted. The Beams gather in a circle about me.

  “All right, then, let Divine Justice be done,” says Pap Beam. “Mordecai, take the rope from her mouth.” The man pulls out a knife from his belt and reaches up and places the blade between my cheek and the rope gag and pulls back, cutting it clean. It falls from my mouth.

  “Any last words before you go to stand before the Great God Jehovah?” says Pap, his hand upraised, ready to slap the flank of the horse that sits beneath me.

  “I pleads my belly!” I gasp out.

  “What?” says Pap.

  “You may hang me for being an Abolitionist, for I fully confess that, but you cannot kill the innocent unborn child that lies within my womb, if you are, as you say, a man of God!”

  I puff out my belly and make it as hard as I can, ready to receive the hand I know is coming.

  “See if it’s true, Pap,” says Mordecai. “You musta felt

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  Mama’s belly, God rest her poor soul, when we was all in there.”

  Pap Beam runs his hand up under my shirt and runs his hand over my stomach.

  “Her belly’s round and tight,” he reports, “but I can’t tell for sure. Damn.”

  “It’s true, I swear,” says I.

  “It’s true,” says Chloe from across the yard. “She bin gettin’ sick and throwin’ up ever’ mornin’ for a month now!” Oh, thank you, Chloe!

  “Damn, damn, and double damn!” sputters Pap. “Was it that nigra what put it there?” He points across at Solomon.

  “No, Suh, it was a fine southern gentleman, a man of high degree. It was Colonel William Howe of the Virginia Howes, who’s sure to be the next guv’nor of the state, a false fine gentleman who left me alone to fend for myself and my poor baby to come!” I babble along for all I’m worth, hopin’ to keep this horse under me for just a little while yet.

  “We could keep her till she has the baby and then hang her. Maybe have a little fun with her till then.” Ezekiel giggles. “She could even clean up a bit around here. Hoe corn and pick cotton and such. But what does Scripture say, Pap?”

  “Scripture says we’d have to keep her alive till the child was off the tit. Scripture also says we should stone her for the adultery, but that don’t solve the unborn-brat problem. Dammit all to Hell and back! Boys, I got to talk to God about this!” and he strides off into the woods at the edge of the farmstead.

  “Pap’s gone to his prayin’ place. You comfortable up there, girly?”

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  The horse under me is gettin’ skittish and is liable to solve this problem for everybody by runnin’ off and leavin’ me danglin’ while Pap and his God argue the fine points of this thing. Nice horsie…nice horsie…

  “Let’s move this nag just a little bit forward,” says Ezekiel. “Just a little bit. Hee-hee, look at her neck stretch, listen to her choke.”

  Oh please, God, I can’t breathe…it hurts…I can’t…

  “Take her down and put her in the shed. The Great God Jehovah has spoken to me and shown me the way,” says Pap Beam, coming out of the woods, his face all aglow with spiritual rapture.

  Oh, thank you, God!

  I am wrapped in my own rapture of thankfulness and relief as the hateful rope is taken from my neck and I am taken down and tossed i
nto a rough woodshed. Very roughly am I thrown—they were probably trying to cause a miscarriage. I hit the earthen floor and hear a bolt being thrown.

  My hands still bound, I wriggle about the floor, searching desperately for some way out, but find none. Then, on the breeze that blows in through the cracks in the door, I smell a wood fire being started. Could they mean to burn me? I wonder with renewed dread.

  Then I hear the squawks of chickens being chased and then the thump of ax on chopping block and then I hear the squawks no more. Could it be that they are preparing dinner and have forgotten about me for the moment?

  Oh, no, that is not it at all.

  For then I breathe in the unmistakable smell of hot tar.

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  ***

  Chapter 64

  ***

  The door of the shed is pulled open and I am dragged out by Ezekiel and Moab and taken back to the sweet gum tree, where the noose still dangles. The rest of the Beams stand there, waiting. Solomon and Chloe are off to the side, bound back-to-back to a post. The grave is still open.

  Have they decided to hang me after all? Oh please, God, no! “Be careful how you handle me, you’re gonna hurt my baby!” I wail.

  “We ain’t gonna hurt your baby none, heh-heh,” chuckles Moab, “but we’re sure gonna hurt you, girly. You git over here, now.”

  I’m pulled till I’m under the noose and then I am stood up. Mordecai goes to where it’s bound and lowers it till it hits the top of my head.

  “String her up,” says Pap Beam.

  They are, they’re really gonna do me! My knees tremble and my legs begin to give out, but the two Beams have their hands under my armpits, so they hold me up.

  “No, please don’t!” I burst into tears as the rough rope of the noose brushes against my face. But instead of putting it around my neck, they untie my hands and stick my crossed

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  wrists into it and pull it up tight. Mordecai goes back to the other end of the rope and pulls on it till my arms are stretched above me and I’m standing on my tiptoes.