by Val Wood
Edward heaved with the pole, pushing with all his strength to keep the trunk of the tree away from the boat. ‘Stop engines,’ the girl cried. ‘You’ll have to come up, Pa,’ she called to the captain. ‘This fella’s not used to hard work. Bin a gen’leman, have you?’ she scoffed.
Edward was about to reply that, yes, as a matter of fact that was what he was, when he remembered who he was supposed to be, or rather not to be. I must remember that I am not Edward Newmarch.
‘No,’ he replied. ‘I was a servant, but I didn’t do heavy work.’
The girl pealed with laughter. ‘Oh, la-di-da! A sarvant! Is that right? Well in that case you can git below, mister, and make some coffee.’
Cap’n Mac took the pole from him. ‘Yip, get below whilst we’re stationary. Coffee’s on the shelf.’
Whilst Edward felt some degree of relief that the captain had his daughter on board and was therefore unlikely to use violence on him, he was still uneasy as to how he would get back to New Orleans. Though their passage was slow he reckoned that they had travelled several miles. The land beyond the banks seemed swampy and inhospitable. Narrow creeks and rivulets ran off the main artery and dozens of small islands, thick moss and strangling weed had to be negotiated. Frogs croaked incessantly and several times he had seen slithering movements on the banks and rippling eddies in the water. It was also blisteringly hot in spite of the rain, and there was a stench of rotting vegetation.
‘I’ve found the coffee,’ he called up from below. ‘But where’s the water?’
He heard the girl’s peal of laughter again and Cap’n Mac’s muttered oath. ‘Come up here, mister,’ the captain called. ‘Bring the pan. Look down there.’ He pointed into the river. ‘What d’you see?’ He spoke in a slow derisory tone as if Edward was dim-witted.
Edward gazed down into the water. It was green and slimy and covered with river weed. Mosquitoes hovered over it. ‘You’re not suggesting we drink that!’
‘Ain’t nuthin’ else,’ he replied. ‘If you’re particular there’s a filter somewhere below, but this water is good and wholesome, mister. Ain’t done me or my daugher any harm. Why, she was weaned on it, ain’t that right, Jo?’
Edward stared at them both in disgust, then lowered the long-handled vessel into the river and brought up a panful of green water. Well, nothing will induce me to drink this, he vowed. I’d have to be dying first!
Nevertheless, he was very hot and thirsty, and looked around in the cramped galley for something in which to catch rainwater. He found another pan and also a rusty sieve. He put it to his nose and sniffed. It had an unmistakable reek of engine oil.
An evil-smelling stove was in the galley and after scooping off the weed from the pan of water, he heated it and made the coffee. He felt quite virtuous, as this was the first time in his life that he had done such a thing. He took the other pan on deck to catch rainwater, placing it away from the chimney, which was spurting black soot and smoke.
He handed the chipped coffee beakers to Jo and her father. She took a drink and immediately spat it out. ‘Cold! Didn’t you boil the water?’
‘Well, it’s fairly hot,’ he began.
‘Some sarvant you are,’ she said scathingly. ‘You’ve got to boil the water to kill off the mozzies! Here.’ She handed it back to him and her father did likewise. ‘Try agin.’
He glanced in the pan that was catching the rainwater. It was half full already, but had soot and mosquitoes floating in it. He kicked it viciously, knocking it over. I’ll do without, he decided.
There were two small cabins and, when darkness fell, Cap’n Mac ordered him below to one of them. It was not much bigger than a cupboard with a narrow shelf, which turned out to be his sleeping bunk. A thin mattress lay upon it and he found that he couldn’t stretch out, only lie with his knees tucked up.
There was little chance of sleep, for all night there were bumpings and jarrings as the timber in the river hit the boat and on one occasion he was almost thrown out of his bunk. To add insult to hopelessness he was dripped on by rain coming through the cracks in the timbers.
As day dawned he sat with his head in his hands and pondered on his situation. How was he to get off the boat and back to New Orleans? There hadn’t been any opportunity the previous day, and as evening had drawn on they moved into a wider, rolling, rushing stretch of river. Right now, he thought, the prospect of Rodriguez searching me out seems preferable to being stuck here in the middle of a swamp with a boat-steering rogue and his bad-tempered daughter.
He put on his shirt, trousers and jacket, which he had draped over a rickety chair and which were still very damp. He shivered, though the air was muggy. ‘I’ll probably die of pneumonia,’ he muttered. ‘And no-one will know.’ Or care, he reflected. No-one knows where I am. Not Allen, he’ll be expecting me back. Two weeks, I told him. And if I die out here on the boat, this blackguard will throw me overboard. He felt very sorry for himself. He didn’t deserve this misery, he thought, quite forgetting that he had brought on his misfortune entirely unaided.
‘Hey, mister.’ The girl, Jo, shouted down to him. ‘You gonna stay in bed all morning?’
‘I’m coming.’ He roused himself and shuffled up the few steps to the deck. There was a smell of coffee and he licked his dry mouth. Should he risk trying it? If he was going to die it wouldn’t matter if he died of pneumonia, malaria or dysentery, though the latter might be the worst, he decided.
‘Coffee?’ Jo asked, holding up a jug. She looked more presentable this morning. Her face was clean and her hands relatively so, though she was wearing the same mud-spattered dress.
‘Yes. Please.’ He took the beaker from her and sipped, closing his eyes so that he was spared further sight of the thick soupy liquid which was the colour of the river itself. It tasted surprisingly good if rather gritty. He took another gulp and felt better for it.
‘Sorry I was so shrewish yesterday,’ Jo said. ‘I was feeling outa sorts. You know how it is sometimes with wimmin?’
‘Ah, yes,’ he said vaguely.
‘You married?’
He was caught unawares by her question. Last time he had falsely claimed to be a widower he had almost become a bigamist by promising to marry Elena. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I am.’
‘So who you running from? Your wife?’
‘Erm – no. I owe money,’ he lied. ‘To a moneylender.’
‘You son of a bitch! You left your wife holdin’ the baby?’
‘No. No. We don’t have any children,’ he said hastily.
She grimaced at him. ‘I didn’t mean that, you dolt! I meant holding the can, going to jail ’stead of you?’
‘Oh, no. No fear of that.’ He was quick to deny it. ‘She’s not there – she’s away, visiting her sister.’
‘Yeah, yeah!’
She was unconvinced, he could see that. ‘So I mustn’t be away too long,’ he said. ‘She’ll start worrying. When shall we be arriving at wherever it is we’re going?’
She hunched her shoulders. ‘Depends,’ she said. ‘On what Pa has planned. Two or three days anyway afore we turn around.’
‘I thought your father said he couldn’t turn this boat around?’
She rolled her eyes at his stupidity. ‘Nor he can when the river’s narrow. But once we git to a wider stretch, then he can.’
He heaved a deep breath. Things were looking up. ‘So, we can expect to be back in New Orleans in a week or so?’
‘What makes you think we’ll take you, mister?’ Cap’n Mac appeared at the top of the galley steps. ‘You said you’d lost your money!’
‘Stolen!’ Edward said vehemently. ‘That fellow who said he was a friend of yours. But I’ll pay you for the return trip,’ he added quickly. ‘I have money back at the hotel.’
‘Which belongs to the moneylender?’ Jo queried, a cynical smile on her lips.
Edward closed his eyes for a second. How was it that whenever he lied, he seemed to dig a deeper hole for himself?
> ‘I promise you—’ he began, but the captain was turning away. ‘I need some help,’ he barked. ‘Get up on deck.’
It was very hot on deck and the mosquitoes constantly buzzed and bit until Edward’s face was covered in itchy red weals. There was no need to bail as the rain had stopped, but he was told to ‘stay up front and keep lookout’.
The current was strong and faster here. The river rushed and whirled and great globs of crusty yellow foam attached themselves to the floating timber like a frilly hem on a young girl’s skirts. They stopped once and took on wood for the fire. The bank was low and the wood was thrown down onto the deck by someone who was obviously waiting for the boat, and who caught the packet that Cap’n Mac threw to him.
Edward looked keenly at the landscape with a view to getting off, but the river was wide and the land was marshy. As he gazed into the distance the swamp seemed to extend as far as he could see, with a few stumpy decaying cottonwood trees and no sign of habitation.
They chugged and wheezed along for two more days and tempers grew short. On the third morning Edward rose and realized they were going much more slowly. When he came up on deck he saw that they were no longer on the river, but had run off it at some point during the night and were moving along a winding sluggish creek with overhanging branches and swampy banks. There were no other boats.
‘What place is this?’ he exclaimed. ‘Dante’s Inferno?’ It was hot and sticky and foul-smelling. The mosquitoes were alive and hungry, the frogs croaked in deafening cacophony, yet there was no other sound. Everything else was silent in that humid, desolate atmosphere, save for the creak and groan of their paddles.
Cap’n Mac didn’t answer him, but only indicated that he should watch out for weed and timber.
Edward ducked his head as a low branch threatened to decapitate him. He felt queasy. There hadn’t been much food and what there was he carefully looked over before venturing to eat. Jo had cooked soup, the base of which he couldn’t begin to guess at, which lay heavy and greasily on his stomach along with the stale bread which they had consumed. This is a disease-ridden hellhole! I can’t think that I’ll get out alive.
On the following morning Edward awoke as the boat shuddered and the engine died. He could hear Cap’n Mac cursing. He went up on deck and found him leaning over the side, trying to prise a tree branch from under one of the paddles.
‘Pesky river,’ he grunted. ‘Jo!’ he yelled. ‘You should have been up here watching out, gal. I just didn’t see this coming.’
Jo appeared from below. She was dressed in only her shift but she didn’t seem at all concerned about it. ‘Will you have to go over?’ she asked, peering down.
‘Reckon so. Can’t shift it from up here.’
Edward looked about him. They had come into fairly clear water and it was running fast. In the distance beyond the levee he could see a shack and behind it a sparse wood. ‘I’ll go over if you like,’ he offered. ‘If you force it from the top, I’ll try to move it from below.’
‘Can you swim? It’s pretty deep.’
‘Yes.’ As a boy he had occasionally swum in the Humber, though he had been in trouble from his parents when they found out. The Humber estuary was fast and treacherous but, unlike the Mississippi, it didn’t have the hazard of trees floating down it. The only debris there was what people threw into it.
He took off his jacket and lowered himself into the water. If I can pull this out, he thought, and whilst Cap’n Mac is starting the engine, I could swim to shore. He’s not going to take me back with him, that I know, so I might as well chance my luck here.
It was cool in the water. Slimy strands of weed attached themselves to him as he heaved and tugged at the branch that had become entwined in the paddles.
‘That’s it,’ he shouted as it eventually came free. ‘Start the engine.’ He trod water away from the paddles. I’ll let it start moving and then head for the shore.
‘Look out!’ Jo, who had been leaning over the side, watching, suddenly screamed out. ‘Croc! There’s a croc coming up behind!’
Edward glanced over his shoulder. Slithering down the muddy bank and into the water was the grey scaly body of a crocodile, and it was coming straight towards him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Getting out of the boat had been easy enough, he’d simply lowered himself over the side. But getting back in was a different matter altogether. There was nothing to hold onto, no ledge where he could heave himself up. He swam to the fore of the boat away from the ripples in the water, where he could see the scaly body of the oncoming reptile just below the surface. He shouted, ‘The stave! Get the stave!’
Jo rushed to fetch the pole they had been using to ward off the floating timber, but her father appeared with a rope, one end of which he threw over, hitting Edward on the head. He grabbed it and heaved and it slipped out of Cap’n Mac’s hands. ‘For God’s sake!’ Edward shouted. ‘Hurry up and get another rope!’
Cap’n Mac disappeared and Jo called to Edward, ‘Watch out, I’m going to throw this over,’ and she pushed the stave into the water.
‘Stupid girl,’ he yelled. ‘I wanted you to pull me in by it!’
‘Can’t,’ she yelled back. ‘You’d be too heavy. Hit him with it when he comes at you.’
Edward seized the stave and held it in front of him. When the crocodile was near enough for him to see its long body and powerful propelling tail, he lifted the stave and whammed it on its long snout.
‘C’mon,’ Cap’n Mac shouted from the deck. ‘I’ve got another rope. It’s fast. Climb up.’
Edward took another swipe at the reptile and then jumped towards the rope. Clinging tightly and praying it would hold, he pushed upwards with his feet against the hull of the boat, only glancing for a second at the snapping jaws of the crocodile. He fell onto the deck on his knees, gasping and shaking his head.
‘You all right?’ Jo asked, bending down to look at him.
‘Yes,’ he breathed. ‘I’m just wondering what I did to deserve all this trouble.’
‘Trouble!’ Cap’n Mac said scornfully. ‘You ain’t seen no trouble yet, mister.’
‘Look,’ Jo pointed down at the water. ‘It’s biting at the stave.’
Edward staggered to his feet and followed her gaze. The crocodile was attacking the stave with its huge sharp teeth, its wide jaws spanning the width of the wood.
‘It’s only a baby,’ she remarked as she watched it. ‘It ain’t full size. These fellas grow to fifteen feet easy. He’s only six feet or so.’ She shrugged. ‘Course, he could’ve taken your leg off, which would’ve been a real problem for you as there’s no doctor hereabouts.’
Edward stared at Jo. She’s mad! Cap’n Mac was bemoaning the loss of his rope, which was floating downriver, and muttering about the price he’d have to pay for another. They’re both mad! The sooner I’m off this boat the better I shall like it.
The next day they came into narrow water where a tangle of weed, branches and slimy sludge matted the surface. Willow trees lined the banks, their slender branches bending low over the creek. Here and there through the undergrowth, Edward spied an occasional broken-down cabin and sometimes a figure or dog beside it. By midday they reached a gap in the trees and Cap’n Mac steered towards it. The land was low-lying, with stagnant weed and thin saplings growing on it, and there was no sign of habitation.
‘Are we getting off?’ Edward asked.
The captain nodded. ‘For supplies. I’ll need a hand.’
For supplies? he thought. But there’s nothing here. Is he meeting someone? ‘Then are we heading back?’ he asked.
Cap’n Mac lifted his chin and viewed Edward through narrowed eyes. ‘Mebbe! Mebbe not. Depends.’
I could be on this damned boat for ever, Edward thought, and retorted sharply, ‘Depends! You keep saying that! Depends on what? I need to get back. I have to be in New Orleans. This is kidnapping.’ He angrily jabbed a finger. ‘In England you would be put in jail for this!�
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‘In England? You English then?’ Cap’n Mac pushed back his cap and scratched his head. ‘I guessed there was sump’n odd about you.’
‘Something odd about me!’ Edward screeched. ‘I’ve been robbed. Forced onto a leaky old tub that I wouldn’t sail on a garden pond. Poisoned by noxious coffee, been nearly eaten alive by crocodiles and mosquitoes, and you say there’s something odd about me.’
Jo had come on deck and was listening to the discourse. ‘You could always walk back if you don’t want to stay.’ She waved a hand in the direction of the bank. ‘There ain’t nobody stopping you.’
‘You’re absolutely right,’ he said. ‘I can!’ He swung his leg over the side and then the other and slid into the green water. ‘Goodbye!’
‘So long,’ Jo cried. ‘Been nice meetin’ you. Watch out fer the crocs.’ She had a laugh in her voice, and as Edward struck out the short distance to the land he glanced back and saw them watching him from the deck. He hauled himself out and shook like a dog to be rid of the excess water and weed, then splashed across the quaggy land. He turned back only once to look towards the creek which lay murmuring below the low banks. There was nothing there. No smoking chimney to show where the boat had been. They’d gone.
They didn’t even wait to see if I changed my mind! He was swathed in weed and mud, his boots were squelching and tendrils of green hung from his hair. Ahead of him was waterlogged land with gnarled and twisted trees and garlands of moss hanging from them.
He straightened his shoulders and heaved out a breath. No point in hanging around here. I might as well start walking.
He was exhausted by the time he reached a shelter belt of trees. The miry swamp sucked and pulled at his boots and he wondered what venomous creatures might be waiting beneath the surface. The air was humid and sticky and at times he found himself almost up to his waist in stagnant water. The shelter belt which he had pushed towards was little more than a few stringy cottonwood trees, but the land was slightly higher and drier and he plunged into the middle of it and dropped down thankfully beneath the shade.