Death on the River

by John Wilson

  The flames are followed by a white cloud of superheated steam that races along the exposed deck. Pain sears the backs of my hands where they cling around the vent, but the rest of me is protected. Men are screaming all around me. I slump down into a huddle. Above me flaming coals arc like a madman’s insane fireworks display, and lumps of wood, metal and human bodies curve away and splash into the illuminated water.

  I look down at my burned hands. They don’t hurt now, but the backs are an angry red and whitish blisters are already forming. Gradually, I become aware of shadowy figures around me. Some stand still, and others stumble around helplessly. Quite a number are climbing the ship’s rail and jumping into the water.

  One figure is close by, sitting with his hands over his face mumbling what sounds like, “Ine glinde,” over and over again. His feet are bare and he has no toes.

  I reach out and touch Sam’s shoulder. He drops his hands and turns his head. I scream. Sam’s face is gone; all that is left is a raw mass of scalded flesh. His eyeballs have melted. The black hole where his mouth used to be moves. “Ine glinde,” it says. I scramble around the vent away from the horror.

  The deck ends in a ragged edge of shattered wood about twenty feet in front of me. If I hadn’t decided to go and confront Billy, I would have been there. I crawl over and look down.

  The explosions have torn the Sultana’s heart out. A huge hole, fringed by a tangled mass of twisted machinery and charred beams, has replaced the space between the paddle wheels where the boilers used to be. Fires rage out of control in several places and grow together as I watch. The screams of those still alive and trapped in the inferno are agonizing.

  One deck below on the far side, the wall has been ripped away from a cabin. The bed hangs at a crazy angle over the abyss, but the rest of the furniture is untouched. Even the water jug and basin sit in the sideboard, ready for use. A woman and her daughter, both with striking blonde hair, stare in horror out over the wreckage while a man with dark hair struggles to force the cabin door open. I notice the girl is wearing a red nightdress.

  I feel oddly sorry for the family. I’m a soldier. I’ve been in battle and I’ve been in Hell. Violence is part of my life, but not this family. They represent innocence and the world I am trying to get back to. They shouldn’t have to be a part of this.

  Silently wishing the family luck, I push myself away from the edge and retreat to the stern. By the time I have fought my way there, the entire center section of the Sultana is in flames and the fires are moving toward me. People are climbing the rail and leaping into the dark water all around. I think of the hopeless soldier in Andersonville crossing the dead line. The Sultana’s rail will be a dead line for most of those who jump. I mumble thanks to Jim for teaching me to swim when we were boys.

  The water around us is lit up as bright as day by the fire. It is filled with floating bodies, struggling figures and debris. Here and there, a few men cling to timbers or pieces of decking.

  “Where the hell’s Sam?” I turn to see Billy pushing through the mass of bodies toward me.

  I shake my head dumbly, too stunned to speak.

  “What the hell happened?”

  “The boilers,” I manage to croak out. “I told you.”

  “What? Oh yeah. Well, ain’t nothin’ we can do about it now. Goddammit. Government ain’t gonna pay for dead men on a lousy ship that blew up. I was aimin’ to set myself up with that money.”

  “Goddamn you, Billy,” I scream. Hundreds of men are dead or dying because of Billy’s, Sam’s, Heath’s and Mason’s greed, and still all Billy can think of is his lost money. I turn away in disgust.

  The fire is approaching with frightening speed, eating its way along the tar-soaked decking. The crush of people around us is increasing as those who can’t or don’t want to jump from the rail crowd as far back as possible. I can feel the heat on my face and am aware of a growing pain in my raw, blistered hands.

  Billy grabs my arm. “Where’s Sam?” he repeats.

  “Dead,” I say. I don’t know if he is yet, but he will be soon. No one can survive the injuries I saw.

  “So it’s just you and me again, Jake, boy. Just like Andersonville. We stick together, remember? Organize, that’s the way to survive.”

  “Go to hell,” I say. The thought of Billy and his arrogant self-interest makes me sick. I refuse to be drawn back into the twisted world of Andersonville.

  I try to shake off Billy’s grasp, but his grip is tight and the crush of people around us doesn’t allow me any purchase.

  “What’re you doin’, Jake?” There’s a note of panic creeping into Billy’s voice. “We got to stick together.”

  I try to shake him off again, but he pulls me around and grabs me with his other hand. He pulls me close, almost embracing me now. I struggle, but my hands are agony and the crush of people doesn’t allow me to get away. Billy thrusts his mouth close to my ear. His voice is a scared, high-pitched whine.

  “Jake, don’t leave me. I don’t want to burn.”

  “Then jump,” I say coldly.

  “For pity’s sake, Jake. I can’t swim.”

  Billy pulls back and looks at me. His eyes are darting back and forth, and beads of sweat are running down his face. All pretence at arrogance is gone, replaced by sheer terror.

  Billy gulps convulsively. “I ain’t never been this feared, Jake, boy. Help me.”

  I feel no pity for Billy. “This is how Nathaniel felt the night you stabbed him,” I say harshly.

  Billy looks confused for a minute; then he remembers. “I didn’t mean that, Jake. I got carried away. I’m sorry.”

  I sigh. I don’t believe a word Billy’s saying about being sorry, but it’s not my place to judge him. The man in front of me is just a pitiful, helpless human being. Exactly the sort of person my brother Jim would help. Judgment is for later, if there is a later.

  “All right,” I say. “My hands are burned. Hold on to my arm and don’t let go.”

  I lead Billy over to the rail. People are jumping all over now. The main danger is going to be a jumper landing on us when we’re in the water.

  “When we jump,” I tell Billy, “it’s important that we get as far from the side of the boat as possible.”

  Billy nods. We climb the rail and put one foot on top. Billy’s grip on my arm is like a vice.

  “The water will be cold, but just hold on. We’ll come back to the surface.”

  Billy’s breathing heavily. It looks a long way down, and the water below looks very crowded.

  “Don’t let me go, Jake,” Billy says, forgetting that it’s him holding onto me. “I can’t swim. I don’t want to drown. I’m scared.”

  “Shut up,” I say, and we jump.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  The shock of cold water forces me to cough a bubble of air out. We sink a long way. I can feel the river current tugging at us. Billy is almost ripping my arm off. Wildly, I try to swim with my free arm. My hands are in agony. In the glow from the fire above I can see pale ghost-like strips of skin coming off them as I move. Are we sinking or floating?

  My head breaks the surface beside the body of a sailor. He’s wearing a crude cork lifejacket. I gasp, frantically hauling air into my tortured lungs. Billy kicks me hard on the leg. He’s clinging onto my arm with both hands and wildly kicking to try and stay afloat. All he does is drag us under again.

  “Let go! You’ll drown us both,” I scream as we surface a second time.

  Billy ignores me. He’s in a complete panic, both his arms wrapped tightly around my left arm and his face only a few inches from mine. His eyes are wild and he’s jabbering incoherently. We go down a third time.

  When we come up, I throw my free arm over the floating body, lean back and head butt Billy in the face as hard as I can. I think I hear the crack of his nose breaking, but the sudden pain makes his eyes focus and stare into mine.

  “You’ll kill us both,” I yell. “Loosen your grip or I’ll hit you again.”
<
br />   Billy looks stunned. He’s gasping for air and keeps taking mouthfuls of water and coughing it back up. A stream of dark blood is running from his nose into his mouth and the river.

  “I won’t let you drown,” I say as reassuringly as possible.

  Billy’s grip loosens.

  “Hold onto the body,” I order. “Kick your legs slowly to keep afloat.”

  Billy does as I tell him. The body sinks noticeably; the life jacket won’t keep all of us up. I tread water to help, but the body won’t float for long with our added weight. We have to find something better. Already my legs are aching.

  I look around. The current has carried us away from the Sultana, which is now a raging inferno. Dark shapes, limbs flapping like broken puppets, leap from any area of deck that is not on fire. The screams of those trapped in the burning wreckage echo across the water.

  Hundreds of bodies bob hopelessly on the water. Those still alive struggle to stay afloat or cling to whatever piece of wreckage they can. Three men, sitting apparently comfortably on a wide piece of decking, drift by. I spot something, a door, I think, low in the water about thirty feet away.

  “Billy, we can’t stay here.”

  Billy’s eyes widen with fear. “I ain’t lettin’ go.”

  “You won’t have to,” I say calmly. “There’s a door over there. Just do as I say and we’ll swim over to it. Hold the body lightly and kick your legs like this.” I show Billy what to do.

  Progress is painfully slow, and Billy keeps pushing the body down and swallowing water, but we gradually get closer.

  When we are only about ten feet from the door, I notice someone on the far side of it, a dark-haired man and a blonde girl. He is desperately trying to get her onto the door, but he’s too weak and the door keeps tipping up and sliding her off.

  “Help me,” the man says as we reach the door. “For pity’s sake, look after my daughter. I have to find my wife.”

  Billy grabs the edge of the door gratefully. It tips dangerously. I grab the daughter’s red nightdress and haul as the man pushes from the other side. The girl moves her arms, trying to help, but she’s too weak to be any use.

  At last we get her stable on the door. Everything is fine as long as she stays still and Billy doesn’t panic.

  “Look after her,” the man says. “I have to find my wife.”

  “Stay,” I say. There’s no chance of finding his wife, even if she’s still alive, in this chaos. The man ignores my plea, lets go of the door and swims off among the floating debris.

  The girl looks at me and smiles weakly. I doubt she has the strength to move. “Thank you,” she whispers. I look at the blonde hair and red nightdress and realize it’s the girl I saw in the cabin after the explosion. Her father succeeded in getting his family out. I hope he finds his wife.

  The door lurches wildly as Billy tries to climb onto it. The girl clings on and whimpers in fear.

  “Stop it,” I shout.

  “Got to get up,” Billy says. “Got to get out of the water.” At least he’s stopped clambering and the door is stable again.

  “It’s not big enough,” I explain. “If we try to get on, it’ll tip over and we’ll all drown.”

  “Then push the girl off,” Billy says. “She’s almost dead already, and I can’t swim.”

  I look at the girl. She’s eleven or twelve years old. Her eyes are wide with fear, and blue, like Nathaniel’s.

  “No,” I say, turning back to Billy. “She stays on the door.”

  “We’ve al’ays stuck together, Jake. Haven’t we?” Billy’s voice takes on a wheedling tone. “She ain’t gonna last the hour, and I can’t hold on much longer. You don’t want to see your pal Billy drowned for a stranger who’s dyin’ anyway. Do you?”

  “I don’t want to see you drown, Billy, but I’m not pushing that girl off. She has as much right to a chance to live as you or me. If we hold onto the door, we’ll be all right until help arrives.”

  Billy lunges at the girl. I’ve been half expecting it, and I grab his arm before he gets a hold of her.

  Pain shoots up my arm from my burned hand, but I pull Billy’s arm away. The girl tries to sit up and the door lurches wildly. Billy loses his grip and flails his arms frantically. I can’t hold him anymore; the pain in my hand is too much. I let go.

  The girl has managed to stay on the door, and I hook my elbows over the edge to help steady it. By the time I look around, Billy is four or five feet away. He’s waving his arms in a strange mockery of swimming, but all it’s doing is tiring him.

  “Billy!” I yell. “Calm down.”

  It’s no use. He’s shouting something, but he keeps swallowing mouthfuls of water, so I can’t make out more than a few words, “help,” “Jake,” “drown,” “pals.”

  I want to let go of the door, swim over to Billy, calm him down and bring him back, but I know I can’t. I could possibly reach him but I don’t have the strength to bring him back, and my hands aren’t much use anymore. Besides, the door is drifting faster than Billy, and the distance between us is increasing every moment that I hesitate.

  I shout advice to Billy. “Stop waving your arms.” “Kick your legs slowly.” But all I’m doing is trying to convince myself that I’m doing something useful.

  Eventually, Billy stops struggling. Only his face is above the water, and every small wave washes over it. I see his mouth moving, but I can’t hear him anymore. Then he’s gone.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  “And then one morning there were no guards. We just walked out the gates. Don’t know what we’d have done if the cavalry hadn’t showed up. Just wandered, I guess.”

  The girl in the red nightdress on the door hasn’t said anything for a long time, but I’m still talking to her. I’ve told her about Jim and the fishing hole; about Jim getting killed and me joining up; about Cold Harbor and Andersonville. Of course I haven’t told her everything; people who haven’t been to Hell shouldn’t have to know what goes on there.

  At first I talked to keep her spirits up and keep her awake, but since she passed out I’ve been talking for myself. It seems to help to say the story out loud.

  As far as I can tell, we’ve been in the water about an hour. The cold has numbed me so much my hands don’t even hurt anymore.

  We’ve drifted a long way. The Sultana, or what was left of her, ended up on one of the small islands we passed. She was still burning when we drifted round the bend in the river and I lost sight of her.

  There are not many people in the water now. Most of the bodies have sunk and many of the fittest have made it to shore or onto one of the islands. Occasionally I see a figure in the gloom clinging to something that floats, but they are just rough shapes.

  A wave tilts the door, and I grab the girl to stop her from sliding into the water. I don’t even know if she’s still alive. I hope so, otherwise none of this is worth it and she’ll just be another ghost to join Nathaniel, Sam, Billy and Jim in my dreams.

  “Here’s another.” It takes me a moment to realize that the voice isn’t in my mind. Very carefully, so as not to upset the door, I turn my head. The side of a ship rises like a wall frighteningly close, its rail lit by burning torches above my head. How did it get here without me noticing? I must be worse off than I think.

  Two sailors, attached to the ship by ropes, jump into the water and swim over.

  “You’ll be all right now,” one of them says.

  “The girl,” I wheeze.

  One of the sailors swims around the door and examines her.

  “Ain’t nothing we can do for her,” he says. “She’s dead. Let’s get you on board.”

  “No,” I say as loudly as I can. “Take her first.”

  “No point,” the sailor says. “She ain’t breathing.”

  “Take her first or I don’t go.” The effort of shouting at the sailor exhausts me, but it’s vitally important that I do everything I can. There have been too many deaths.

  “Another crazy one,”
the second sailor says. “If it’ll make him come easy, take her on board first.”

  I watch to see that they get the girl on board, and then I black out.

  The hospital bed is the most comfortable thing I have slept on since I left home. As I wake from my troubled dreams, I imagine that I am floating on feathers. I struggle awake and open my eyes. I see sunlight glaring off a white ceiling. Gingerly, I move my head to look around. I’m in a long ward with beds packed tightly down both sides. The man to my left is almost totally covered in bandages. Tall windows let in a low sun, but I can’t tell whether it’s morning or evening. I move my hands and gasp with the pain.

  “Good morning.” I turn my head to my right to where the voice is coming from.

  “You’ve been out for two days. Thought you were never going to wake up.” The speaker is the man in the bed to my left. He’s sitting, propped up on pillows, and smiling at me.

  “You from the riverboat that blew up?”

  “Yes,” I answer.

  “I saw them working on your hands. They burned?”

  “Yes.” Gently I lift my arms until I can see the huge bundles that are the bandages over my hands.

  “Lot of burns came in the last few days. Some a lot worse than hands.”

  “What’s wrong with you?” I ask. The man’s annoying me. I don’t want to talk. And he looks fine.

  “What’s left of me’s in good shape.” The man looks down his bed. My eyes follow and I notice for the first time that the bulge of his body under the blankets stops below the waist.

  “I’m sorry.”

  The man shrugs. “My own stupid fault. I was working in the rail yards back at the turn of the year. It’d been snowing and I slipped under a train. Took my legs off clean as you like. Still, I was lucky. There was a doctor on the train, knew how to stop the bleeding. Been up and down though with fevers and such. Given me up for dead more times than I like to think, but it ain’t my time yet, I reckon. Yours neither by the looks of things.

  “They say more than sixteen hundred went down with the Sultana and plenty others are dying every day in this very hospital. Fellow on the other side of you won’t last long either.”