River Queen

by Gilbert, Morris

  He disappeared, and soon Dallas came in. He too was completely black, and his grin looked a mile wide, with big shining teeth. “Evening, Miss Ashby. Are we keeping you awake?”

  “No, not at all,” she said hastily. “I just was curious and wanted to see how the work is going.”

  He nodded. “Why don’t you come outside with me for a minute. I’d like to breathe something besides soot and oil for a change.”

  He kept his distance, so he wouldn’t brush up against her and soil her dress. They walked out to the railing on the main deck and Dallas took a deep breath. “She’s fine tonight, isn’t she?”

  Julienne understood that he meant the river, and she looked around. It was a warm night, with a light haze that softened all the lights on the boat and make them look like round fuzzy globes. The river was serene, with only occasional gleams of starlight on the quiet waters.

  “You love this river, don’t you?” she asked.

  “I do. Always have. It was the best thing that ever happened to me, when I realized I could be a pilot and live on this river. It’s all the home I’ve ever really wanted.” He turned to her. “What about you, Miss Ashby? Can you ever love this old river, after everything that happened?”

  “I don’t love it as you do, but I am beginning to understand how you can. No, I don’t fear the river, and I certainly don’t hate it. I guess you might say I’m learning to like it a little.”

  “Like me,” he said with a half-smile.

  “Maybe,” she said. “Maybe a little. No joking now, though, Mr. Bronte. I want to thank you, for all my family. Words don’t seem enough—”

  He put up a hand to stop her. “You and your mother and your aunt have thanked me so much, it makes me want to crawl under a rock. I want you to understand something. You gave me a job, as a pilot. I just told you how much that means to me. And no one else would give me a chance. I owe you as much gratitude, if not more, than you could ever owe me.”

  “A pilot,” she sighed. “Of a grounded boat.”

  “Not for long,” he said happily. “Miss Ashby, in two days we’re going for a ride. We’re going for a ride on the River Queen!”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Julienne, Roseann, and Aunt Leah were seated on the “lazy bench,” the bench in every pilothouse where everyone sat except the pilot, who never sat. Carley was supposed to be sitting with them, but she was so excited that she kept hopping up to yank on Dallas’s arm and ask questions. Even Darcy lounged in the doorway, the interest plain on his face. Dallas had been overly optimistic; it had taken the crew five days to get the River Queen ready. By now they were all nervous and eager, watching as the first thin streams of smoke started threading from the smokestacks.

  Carley was so keyed up she started jumping up and down, pointing, and demanding, “What’s that? What’s this thing over here? Can I pull this rope? Can I turn the wheel?”

  The last request was funny, because it was absurd. The River Queen’s wheel was midsized; it was ten feet in diameter. They could range up to thirteen feet. So that a man could even reach the top of the wheel, the floor directly underneath the wheel was countersunk four feet. The top of the wheel reached Dallas’s shoulders. The pins were eight inches high, and about three inches thick. When a pilot had to make a hard turn, or if the ship were going downstream and a current pushed the rudder hard up against the hull, the pilot may have to stand on a pin or one of the spokes to get her to turn. Little Carley could have hung from a spoke all day long and the wheel would never have moved.

  “Can’t turn the wheel, Miss Carley Jeanne, that’s my job, and I wouldn’t want you to steal my job away from me,” Dallas said gravely.

  “But I want to be on the crew,” she said, propping her tiny—and for once, clean—hands on her hips. “Ring said you have a skinny crew, and you need some deck hands, and he said a word that Mama told me never to say.”

  “He did, did he?” Dallas asked, his eyes glinting. “Well, he was telling the truth, even if he did say that word. I’ll have to have a word with him about that. Sorry, Mrs. Ashby.”

  Roseann sighed. “I’m sure Carley was hiding and Mr. Macklin didn’t know she was listening. She does that a lot.”

  “But I want to be on the crew,” Carley insisted again.

  “Tell you what,” Dallas said. “How about if I make you second mate?”

  Suspiciously Carley said, “I know Ring is first mate, Jesse’s the fireman, and Willem’s the engineer. What does a second mate do?”

  “She does whatever the first mate and the pilot tell her to do,” Dallas said. Then, to her delight, he scooped her up and held her high underneath a big golden ring suspended by a cord from the ceiling. It was next to a trumpet-like tube that ran into the floor. “Okay, mate, pull that ring for me. That’s an order.”

  “How many times?” Carley asked. Her face was lit with perfect bliss.

  “As many as you want.”

  Carley pulled hard on the bell pull three times, and very faintly below they could hear it ring. After a moment, Ring Macklin’s deep voice sounded through the tube. “Here, sir.”

  Dallas held Carley over the tube, because at four feet tall she couldn’t speak into it. “Ask him if we’re fired up and ready to go.”

  In her shrill little voice she yelled, “This is Second Mate Carley! Pilot Dallas wants to know if we’re fired up and ready to go!”

  “Ready, Miss Carley,” Ring answered.

  “No, it’s Second Mate Carley!”

  “Oh, sorry. Tell the pilot we’ve got plenty of steam, mate!”

  “Okay. ’Bye, Ring.”

  Now Dallas held her under another brass ring and said, “Now, pull that one time.”

  “Is that another one that only Ring and Jesse and Willem are going to hear?” she demanded.

  “That’s right, it’s called the backing bell, so they’ll know to start backing us out.”

  “Can’t I pull that one?” she pleaded, pointing to the largest ring, just above the wheel. “That’s the huge outside bell, isn’t it?”

  “You’re right, Second Mate. Sure, we need to alert the crew that orders are coming. When we ring the big bell, we call it ‘tapping.’ So give it two taps, mate.”

  Carley reached up and pulled the ring twice. It was hard for her, so Dallas had to help. They all heard the great two-hundred-fifty-pound brass bell out on the fore of the hurricane deck sound its grand gong.

  “Now ring the backing bell,” Dallas said, watching her.

  “You have to put me over there,” she said impatiently, pointing to it. “I can’t reach it from here.”

  “You remembered which bell pull, that’s good, Second Mate,” he said, moving to the left, or port side, of the pilothouse.

  “That’s my job,” she said gravely, and pulled it one time.

  They felt the ship begin to tremble, and Dallas set Carley down to take the wheel. Immediately she ran out the door, to the stern, and looked over to watch. They heard her high, excited voice, the words unintelligible, but they knew she was watching the big paddle wheel start to turn.

  Very slowly the River Queen started backing in a mild curve. The movement of the boat seemed choppy and hesitant to Julienne. Finally the ship was pointed almost straight downstream, and Dallas reached up and pulled another bell cord. Heavily she waded to a sluggish stop, then, almost by inches, she started moving forward.

  “Now we’ll see,” Dallas muttered. “If we do have a queen, or if we’ve got a mud crawler.”

  She gathered speed, the paddle wheel beginning to make a solid rhythmic beat of a drum. Underneath their feet they heard the engines, a low cadenced hum. Her gait smoothed out, and within minutes she was moving smoothly and effortlessly down the old river. Carley came running back in, breathless. “She’s going! The River Queen is going! HOOORAAAAY
YY!!”

  The others got excited and stood up to line the windows. Carley said, “I can’t see, I can’t see.” Darcy picked her up and held her so she could watch out the starboard windows. The deep forests and rust-red clay banks slid by.

  Julienne went to stand by Dallas. “Well, Pilot, what’s the verdict?”

  He grinned down at her. “Oh, we’ve got a queen, all right. She may not look like it on the outside, but she’s got heart, and she travels like a dream. Light, smooth, and graceful. A real river queen.”

  JULIENNE HAD BOUGHT A big old rectangular pine table with indifferent varnishwork, and twelve mismatched armless straight chairs, and this served as their dining table. During the first few crazy days on the River Queen, they had no place to sit and eat, and Julienne, Carley, and Darcy had sat on the floor in Roseann’s stateroom while she and Leah sat in straight chairs with wooden trays to hold their meal. A dining room table had been one of at least a hundred things that Julienne had never thought she would have to go out and buy. Finally she had found the table and chairs in a junky, filthy little shop on the boardwalk and put it in the ballroom, close to the galley door. She also used it as a desk, struggling with the myriads of papers that had become her most burdensome daily chore. She hated it even worse than scrubbing.

  After the River Queen had steamed for about an hour, they had returned to Natchez-Under-the-Hill, and to Julienne’s surprise they had pulled in right in the middle of the docks, instead of a half-mile downriver. “Surprise,” Dallas said to them, grinning. “New berth. I talked the harbormaster into charging us the same fee as down there in the wilderness.” Julienne was elated, until she looked up at the boardwalk. They were docked right in front of the Blue Moon Saloon.

  After their cruise Julienne had asked Leah to help her with the accounts. To her surprise, her mother had said she would join them. All of them, even Darcy, had been immensely cheered up from the River Queen’s maiden voyage.

  Now she and Leah and her mother sat at one end of the old scarred table, going over the details of running their home—a steamship, with a crew. “We can’t afford to keep buying all the kinds of food we’re eating right now,” Julienne was saying. “I’ve decided it would be best if we made out separate weekly menus and two shopping lists, one for us and one for the crew. They eat like ravening wolves, and it’s just impossible for us to keep buying meat for them.”

  “What do you mean, Julienne?” Leah asked, frowning.

  “It’s simple. We can’t afford as much meat as we’ve been buying, and such things as butter and sugar and fresh fruits and vegetables are expensive too, and we have to cut back. I think we should supply the crew with hardtack, rice, and potatoes—they’re pretty cheap—and eggs, though we’ll have to limit them, because I’ve seen Jesse eat six eggs at one sitting. Libby could make stews with our leftover vegetables, and maybe add tripe or chitlings. She told me that aside from being a bread or cracker or whatever hardtack is, it thickens stews nicely. And she said that sometimes the butcher has oxtails, and they’re cheap. Maybe every once in awhile the crew could have oxtail stew.”

  Leah was staring at her incredulously, and even Roseann had dropped the embroidery hoop she was working to listen to her. Julienne grew uncomfortable. “What’s the matter? Both of you know what kind of shape we’re in. All of the things Mr. Bronte has had to buy for the Queen have cut way into our ready cash. We’re ready to haul freight, but we don’t have anything to haul yet, and he doesn’t know when we might get a load. Right now we have to skimp everywhere we can.”

  “If I understand what you’re saying, the only ones skimping here are going to be the crew,” Leah said stiffly.

  “Well, yes, Aunt Leah,” Julienne said, obviously mystified at her aunt’s testiness. “They work for us. They’re like our servants.”

  “And so you’re putting Caesar and Libby on this hardtack stew diet too?” Leah demanded.

  “No, of course not. They’re practically family,” Julienne replied impatiently. “But this steamboat crew is not. Mother, I apologize, I don’t really want to burden you with these things. But surely you agree that those men are not like us. Willem goes to the saloons or gambling or I-don’t-know-what every night. Ring’s not quite as bad, but it’s only because I don’t think he actually goes every single night.”

  “But Jesse is a good Christian man,” Roseann put in gently.

  “But he’s still not on our social level, and I don’t just mean because he’s black. I’m talking about the entire crew. They’ve been brought up in a world that we have nothing to do with, their lives are completely different, and their understanding of what life is. They know they can never be like people of our social status.”

  Impatiently Leah made a wide circle with her hand, indicating the still-filthy empty ballroom, the broken windows, the scarred and rickety old table. “Do you really have any idea how ludicrous you sound, Julienne? Look at us! We’re not wealthy any more. We have to depend on the Lord for our daily bread, just like most everyone in the world.”

  “But we’re different,” she protested. “People like us are different.”

  To her surprise, her mother said strongly, “No, Julienne, we are not better than anyone else. I know that Charles and I brought you up encouraging that sort of thinking, but we were very wrong. I’ve been so sheltered all of my life, and it made me ignorant. I had no idea what the real world was like, and I knew nothing of people beyond my own small, insular circle. But those days are over for us, Julienne. We must stop being so criminally ignorant, and let the Lord teach us how to live with grace and charity toward others.”

  Julienne fell silent, her mind whirling.

  Leah spoke up, “And what about Mr. Bronte? After all he’s done for us, and in his behavior toward us, he has definitely shown that he is a gentleman and honorable, even though he’s not of our exalted circle of Splendid Persons. Are we putting him on bread and water, too?”

  Julienne’s eyes narrowed and she started fidgeting with the stub of a pencil she held. “You don’t know him, Aunt Leah, not really. Besides, our deal was that we offered him a wage and room and board. Evidently he’s not boarding here, and I’m assuming he’s getting other—necessities—wherever it is he’s living.”

  “Mr. Bronte certainly is living here, and he eats what we provide,” Leah said vehemently. “I’m surprised you know so little about him, and the crew. Do you know where he sleeps? Down on the main deck, behind the engine room, in the stifling hot crew quarters, in one of those narrow bunks. Have you even seen that horrible cranny they call their quarters? And he eats down there with them, on a board set on two sawhorses, and they pull up old empty crates to sit on.”

  Julienne’s eyebrows winged upward, and her dark eyes widened. “What? But we offered him the captain’s cabin, across from Mother’s stateroom, and he turned it down! I thought—I thought—” She stammered into silence.

  Roseann looked confused and upset, but Leah was watching Julienne knowingly, and asked, “You do know why Mr. Bronte turned down the stateroom, don’t you? Because he doesn’t have the money to buy a bed. And no, he didn’t tell me that. It only makes sense, because I know what we’re paying him. And I know what he does with that money too. He’s bought a fishing pole and hooks for Carley, and he bought a couple of extra lanterns for the crew so they could have more lights in the quarters at night, and maybe it escaped your attention but he’s the one that bought those peaches yesterday.”

  Julienne stared at her. He’s not been staying at the Blue Moon? But I was so sure! What’s wrong with me? Do I always want to think the worst of him because he—he—No! I’m not even going to think about that again! I’ve just got to forget about that awful night we were together. It’s making me act like a crazy woman!

  Finally she shook her head a little to clear it, then said in a subdued voice, “No, I didn’t know all of that. But
still, Aunt Leah, everything I’ve said about trying to figure out the food budget is true. We really do have to cut back.”

  Roseann said, “I understand what you’re saying, Julienne, but I believe we can figure out menus that we can all share. I know I may not have much practical experience, but you and Leah are smart. You can think of how we can all have good, nourishing food. Including the crew.”

  “But how? I don’t see how we can afford good food for eleven people, not with the amount of money we have to spend,” she grumbled.

  “That’s because you know about as much about a kitchen and cooking as I do about flapping my wings and flying,” Leah said tartly. “You and I will work together to get a figure to spend weekly on food, and then Libby and I will work on the menus and do the shopping.”

  Picking up her embroidery hoop again, Roseann said sweetly, “I think Leah’s right, dear. Just think of it as one less thing that you’ll have to worry about.”

  Oh, good, Julienne thought with bitter sarcasm. Now I’ll have much more time to worry about what Dallas Bronte is doing.

  THE NEXT DAY NO one knew where Carley was at dinnertime, so Julienne went looking for her. She found her sitting at the back of the main deck, fishing. Julienne went to sit beside her. Carley’s feet were bare, and she dangled them over the side. “Aren’t you hungry?” Julienne asked. “We’ve got some soup and some ham.”

  Carley made a face. “Yech, pea soup. It’s green. I don’t like it. Ham’s okay, but I decided to catch some catfish. I’m real hungry for catfish.”

  “I see,” Julienne said gravely. “But since it may be awhile before you catch your fish and Libby gets it fried, how about if I go make you a ham sandwich? You can stay here and fish and eat.”

  “Did Libby make some tomato catsup today?”

  “I’m sure she did, since you ask for it no matter what we’re eating.”