Chapter 11: TROUBLE
Thursday, October 30th... Jess reckoned he'd never been so bored in his entire life. Hour after hour after hour... the scenery gliding by never changed. Endless thin strips of gravelly or sandy foreshore backed by flat expanses of stunted trees, gradually giving way to wildernesses of salt marshes with barely a bump in the terrain in sight. Every night the captain skillfully eeled the Jolie Rouge into a safe berth among the tall grasses. Jess couldn't see how anyone could sneak up on them unless they swam through alligator-infested waters... and in any case where would anyone be living out here? He hadn't seen a human habitation in days. The crew went on rotation in order to allow for night watchmen.
Whenever they pulled in early enough, most everyone went fishing. They shot scores of alligators for sport, butchering the smaller ones for the table. There was wildfowl aplenty but without retrievers, there wasn't any point in wasting ammunition on them. Even if they'd had water dogs, the alligators would've snatched them in a heartbeat.
Whenever they chanced on a cluster of huts, they stopped to see if the inhabitants needed any of the goods they were carrying or had anything to offer in the way of trade (usually nothing). Sometimes men got off or others got on. Jess learned all their names as well those of all the deckhands. Played endless hands of cards for matches (playing for money had been strictly forbidden by the captain, who didn't want any brawling on his patch). Whiled away many hours up in the wheelhouse, trading tall tales with Cap'n Booger. Almost every afternoon brought a rain shower that replenished the cisterns positioned at every runoff point, so potable water was in abundance.
The Jolie Rouge passed through Louisiana waters, approaching what seemed like thousands of islets in the Mississippi River delta. Jess spotted his second ever lighthouse on Gordon's Island at the mouth of the river's south pass. Dwellings began to appear—flimsy shanties teetering on stilts—and other lighthouses. Cap' Booger made sure to keep well away from the occasional freighter steaming by, in order to avoid the overwash of their wakes.
The captain showed Jess on the map how they'd made a sweeping loop around the delta and were about to enter Chandeleur Sound, after which they'd be sailing between barrier islands and the mainland all the way to Mobile Bay. There, they would have to sortie back out to open water to get around the Fort Morgan peninsula. Fifty miles on they would reenter the intracoastal waterway via Pensacola Sound, then parallel Santa Rosa island another forty-five miles before reaching their final destination.
"We'll be going right by where yer brother was held prisoner, Jess. It's still in use for political prisoners, if yer innerested."
Yeah... like a prisoner a war camp is real high on places I wanna visit.
They ate well, though by then Jess was heartily sick of seafood. Still, it was preferable to dried beef and salt pork, which was all they had left. Most all the tiny waterside settlements had fruits and vegetables to trade, but few eggs and no fresh meat.
The landscape began to change... less sandy beaches, more marshes, and beyond them stands of very tall trees—cypress swamps, so he was told. In some places pine barrens and scrub brush came right down to the shoreline. Settlements were more numerous, also—several had serviceable docks to which the Jolie Rouge could tie up for the night. Jess was surprised to learn that only a few miles inland were farms... with cattle and hogs and poultry—which meant fresh meat could be bought. To everyone's relief, onboard cuisine improved in variety, with no seafood appearing on the menu.
Friday, November 7th... In the early afternoon the dour engineer lumbered topside to inform Cap'n Booger, in lugubrious tones, of an impending mechanical difficulty.
"Rigged 'er best I could, Cap... but no tellin' how long she'll hold. We'll be needin' a machine shop."
Cap'n Booger pulled a face and dragged out another chart from the rack. Together they pored over it with Jess looking on, thanks to his recent navigational instruction pleased to be able to identify the landform they passing. Guarding the entrance to Mobile Bay, seventeen-mile-long Dauphine Island looked—on paper—like a tadpole with its bulbous head to the east and a whiplike tail to the west. The tail portion appeared to be nothing more than a sandy spine speckled with sea oats. As it widened out, however, saltgrass marshes dominated the shoreline while the slightly elevated interior held dense stands of pine and live oak, draped with shawls of grey-green air plant.
"Dya think she'll get us as far as the harbor, Scotty?"
"One can only hope, Cap. In any event, that's the closest we're likely to find a smith."
"I agree. Well... if she don't, she don't. We'll just hafta put in at the nearest inlet an' hoof it over to wharfside. 'Til then, proceed at dead slow."
"Aye, Cap'n."
As the engineer left the wheelhouse, Jess queried Cap'n Booger as to why he was looking so down in the mouth.
"It ain't like we're broke down out there somewhere." Jess waved a hand out toward the deeper water between the island and the mainland.
"It ain't that I'm worried about. It's where we're gonna have to moor the ole gal... right under the noses of the army garrison at Fort Gaines."
Jess' eyebrows drew together, surging upwards. "They ain't got cause to bother us, do they? Or... do they?"
"Depends on who's in command an' what he's heard about me... an' about my activities during the war. They was just changin' over, last time I came through. The last fellow was an obliging bloke—inclined to leave me an' my crew be long as we caused no trouble. The new one might be some Yank horse's arse what wants to inspect the papers... passenger manifest an' customs declarations an' the like..."
"You do have the right papers... don't you?"
"Oh indeed. Gobs of 'em. But if he insists on a visual inspection an' goes pokin' around..."
"Just how well hid is all that rum?"
"Let me put it this way... they'd have to shift tons of sugar an' salt to get at it. But there's another concern... you might've noticed many of our guests ain't what, on face value, you'd take fer God-fearin' law-abidin' citizens. Same might be said fer some a the crew."
"Now that you mention it..."
"You an' yer cousin are probably the only two travelin' under yer real names. Here... take a squizz at this..."
Cap'n Booger hauled out the passenger manifest and crew complement. Jess went down the lists—Brown, Jones, Green, Smith, White and so on.
"Not much imagination," Jess hooted.
"Lazy yobs!" the captain grunted.
The next two hours dragged by as the Jolie Rouge crept across Bayou Aloe, through Pass Chateague and into the grandly named Dauphin Island Bay. She passed through a narrow channel protected by an elongated dune to the northeast until popping out into a basin with a single low-lying quay and a stubby dock tucked in between marsh and a patch of pines. A dozen or so buildings constituted the commercial business district along the waterfront. In the distance, perhaps a half-mile away, loomed the brick walls of Fort Gaines. The only watercraft in sight were a military cutter, a dinghy and a couple of skiffs tied up at the dock.
Cap'n Booger gave the order to cut engines and the sternwheeler coasted the last few hundred feet to gently nose up to the quay. People streamed out of the few buildings to gawk, knots of off-duty soldiers among them. A few docksiders had the presence of mind to jump down and take the mooring lines thrown over to them by deckhands on the prow. The ladder was already crammed with passengers eager to disembark and wet their whistles at the nearest saloon.
A few crew bustled off on immediate business—the engineer and a helper to handcart the part requiring brazing to the one and only blacksmith, Alcide and two others to obtain provisions from the sole general store. Four other men were retained as first watch. The rest were granted recreational shore leave. Quietude descended on the Jolie Rouge and those left onboard as all human presence vanished from the quay area.
Though eight years had passed since the end of the war and most Southerners had adjusted to the heavy hand of Reconstruction, shreds of anxiety and resentment yet lingered in the souls of many—Jess Harper among them. Though too smart to ever publicly admit it, deep in his heart he still regarded 'the army' as an occupying force rather than the legal military arm of a victorious regime. True, he'd ridden dispatch for the Union Army toward the end... as a condition of survival rather than an urge to change sides. Sure, he'd since then worked with and for military establishments on the frontier, having learned you had to go along if you wanted to get along. Why, then, was he so bothered by the sight of boys in blue sizing up the boat and the men getting off her?
They ain't doin' nothin' but lookin'. Can't be much else for 'em to do, stuck on this dinky hunk a land in the middle a nowhere. Prob'ly not even any women. Why do I get the feelin' there's trouble comin'?
When Cap'n Booger mentioned he wouldn't mind going out to pay his respects to some old friends of his, the resident pilot and his wife, Jess promptly volunteered to mind the boat from the third tier command post.
"Won't be too far off if you need me... their house is just behind the general store," the captain counseled. " 'Course, I'll no doubt be invited to supper so it might be awhile 'fore I get back."
"Take your time. I need a minute to go down and have a word with the boy, though. Don't want him goin' ashore."
"I'm not a kid anymore!" Jay Dee pouted... only partly in jest.
"Don't make me have to pull rank on you."
"Who died and made you king?"
"I'll tell your mother," Jess warned.
"Oh... well... in that case..." Jay Dee flopped down on his bunk in disgust and picked up a book. He'd scavenged a small oil lamp from somewhere and rigged it to hang near the head of the bed.
"Stay here. I mean it," Jess reiterated before exiting the cabin.
Up in the wheelhouse, the sashes of all the awning windows were propped open to let in a crossbreeze. Lounging in the captain's chair with his bare feet propped against the instrument dash, Jess swatted a few hardy late-season mosquitoes and relished the solitude. It was getting harder and harder to recall those years when he'd ridden alone and slept alone, sometimes going days without seeing another human being. On the ranch there was always someone else within hailing distance. He and Slim usually worked together as a team, and when either worked alone it was hardly ever for more than a few hours.
Funny how your mind works... when you been around too many folks for too long, all you want is to get off by yourself somewheres. Then you get tired a bein' alone an' want company again. Kinda like a cat what can't decide if she wants to be inside or outside...
Strictly speaking, Jess wasn't alone. Behind him on the quarterdeck a sentry was silently prowling. Another was patrolling the promenade deck. Two guarded the main deck—one stationed near the gangplank while another circled the walkaround. There were a few not unwelcome interruptions. The engineer came aboard and passed through to leave a message for the captain—the part wouldn't be ready until tomorrow noon. Returning with his minions pulling a handcart laden with purchases, Alcide came up to inquire if he could interest Jess in some sandwiches and a bottle or two of ice-cold lager.
Cold beer? In bottles? Since when? Hell, yeah!
Jess happily consumed his sandwiches and beer as darkness encroached and lanterns were lit across the quayside, their golden glow reflected on the ripples. Peals of laughter and the syncopated plinking of a piano playing ragtime rolled out of the saloon. More and larger groups of soldiers came marching down the crushed shell road from the fort. In high-spirited anticipation, they funneled into a second saloon, separated by a modest grove of shrubby live oaks from the one inhabited by already overserved civilians. Jess observed that said grove was serving as public urinal for both establishments.
An astounding volume of beer was being recycled at a rapidly increasing rate, judging by the number of individuals stumbling out to relieve themselves. Adequate personal space to accomplish this was diminishing in direct proportion. Jess felt the first stirrings of premonition. Sooner or later there was going to be a close encounter of the most embarrassing kind...
It began with a single yell of indignation by an alleged pissee, clearly audible as far as the wheelhouse, followed by a loudly derisive comment by the alleged pisser. Rudely voiced accusations were exchanged and the fistfight was on. Sides were taken as fellow urinators concluded their business and buttoned up, if still able. The noise attracted the attention of celebrants in both saloons. Soon the curious were wandering out, mugs in hand, to see what was occasioning the commotion. Within minutes both establishments emptied as a full-scale altercation got underway between soldiers and civilians.
Aside from being thoroughly entertained, Jess began to worry that the fight might spill over onto the quay and from there to the vessel he was temporarily in charge of defending. Fortunately, he'd brought up with him his pistol and gunbelt, and the captain's shotgun, always loaded, lay on the console within easy reach. Buckling up and stepping out with the shotgun onto the deck, Jess was met by the afterdeck guard, a youngster whose name he recalled as Spike.
"Whatcha want us to do, boss?" Spike queried.
"Nothing for now... unless they get too close. Might have to shoot over their heads. Go down an' tell the others."
"Will do." The boy vanished down the companionway.
Hearing ascending footsteps, Jess assumed it was Spike returning, but it was Jay Dee, carrying his own gunbelt.
"What're you doin' up here? I told you to stay put," Jess barked.
"Like hell! I'm not hiding in a closet like a girl," Jay Dee defied him.
"Better put that damned thing on, then," Jess said. "That gun loaded?"
Jay Dee rolled his eyes. "Duh! I wasn't expecting to throw it at anyone."
It was inevitable that someone would cross the line and fire a weapon. There was a scream of pain, a second of shocked silence... and an immediate renewal of hostilities, but louder. More gunshots... mass confusion... more howls as bullets found their marks. People running, others taking refuge behind the nearest solid objects and returning fire. Jess and Jay Dee both hit the deck as a wheelhouse window exploded in a shower of glass. On the quay, a shattered lantern sprayed burning oil on the boardwalk in front of the general store, setting it on fire.
As feared, combatants rolled over onto the quay itself. Men not in uniform—presumably crew and passengers—were attempting to separate themselves from the fray and straggling towards the boat's gangplank. The deck guards below were returning fire... not over heads, as Jess had instructed, but at individuals. Three soldiers went down, arms and legs thrashing. Men seeking to escape to the boat encountered a bottleneck at the gangplank and were swiftly overtaken by their pursuers.
Hearing—but not able to see— the hand-to-hand combat taking place belowdecks, Jess felt he had no choice but to go down and assist. As his hand reached down for the boot knife that wasn't there, Jess realized he hadn't worn his boots since they'd left Galveston. Shit! The galley... plenty of knives in there…
"Jay Dee... don't follow. No... don't argue... you're more use to me up here. Take this." He handed over the shotgun. "First man you don't know sticks his head up them stairs, blow it off!"
The boy nodded in mute acquiescence, showing the whites of his eyes.
Slithering down the companionway, Jess raced through the saloon and down the passageway to the galley. Alcide had to be in there... the door was locked from the inside.
"Alcide... it's me, Jess... open up, goddammit! I need a knife... biggest, sharpest one ya got."
The door inched open and the Cajun wordlessly passed through a heavy bone-handled Bowie knife honed to razor sharpness—obviously not cutlery intended for slicing onions. Jess couldn't have chosen better himself... and in the nick of time. It wasn't his intent to skewer the bear of a uniformed man coming at him through the hatch... but it was unavoidable. Stepping over the body, he descended to the main deck and launched himself into the fighting.
Though losing momentum, the battle was still raging when a mounted detachment arrived from the fort. Everything stopped at the cease-fire bugle call. The troops fought their skittish horses to a standstill—evidently it'd been a while since either animals or riders had enjoyed any such excitement or smelled that much blood and gunpowder. Looking around and shaking his head in disgust, the captain called for all men still on their feet to separate into two groups—soldiers on one side, civilians on the other.
Calling for dismount, the leader identified himself as Captain Jinks. "And the first person who laughs gets thirty days in the guardhouse." No one emitted so much as a snicker.
"Now then... who's in charge here?" Then, when no one stepped forward, "Who can explain this travesty?"
A babble of voices breaking out on both sides was immediately snuffed by the captain's upraised hand.
"Stop! I want one man only... just one... to explain how this started."
A reedy voice piped up from among the civilians. "He pissed on my boots!"
"He... are you saying someone urinated on you?" The captain looked incredulous. "Come out where I can see you."
A mousy middle-aged man was shoved to the forefront. He had frowsy hair and thick spectacles with a cracked lens.
"Can you identify the individual responsible?"
"Nawsir... it were dark... but 'e were a soljer... I know that for sure."
"True 'nough, captain sir," another man volunteered. "I was right there. I seen that soljer laugh at Abner here after he pissed him... on purpose, I say... an' then shoved 'im. It were my duty ta come to 'is aid."
"He hit Private Bailey first... I'll swear to it!" came another voice from the uniformed ranks.
Captain Jinks ran a hand over his face. "Private Bailey, front and center!"
A big brute of a grinning private shuffled forward, easily twice the size of Abner Sizemore. A chuckle broke out in both groups.
Captain Jinks looked skyward, addressing no one in particular. "Why me?" Looking around again, he asked for the mayor and anyone else considered an authority figure to make their presence known. This resulted in Cap'n Baldwin and William Hayworth, the harbor pilot and mayor of the unincorporated community, also venturing into the light provided by several lantern-bearers.
"Gentlemen, if you will accompany me into yonder Sailor's Retreat, we will interview every single one of these idiots if it takes all night."
And it did. But before it was over, the fire at the general store had to be put out (the boardwalk was destroyed but the store survived), the injured had to be rounded up and escorted or carried into the Mermaid's Tale (the other saloon), and the army doctor and his coterie of medics summoned from the fort. The soldier Jess had laid low was manhandled with no small difficulty down the spiral companionway, carried across the gangplank by four stalwart individuals and plunked down on the quay. Sergeant Efrem Gideon, at first deemed deceased, turned out not to be. The substantial layer of blubber girding his midsection was enough to deflect Jess' knife thrust.
Captain Jinks declined to bring charges against Jess, in consideration of several factors not in the sergeant's favor: he was universally disliked by his fellow soldiers, he was trespassing on private property, and he was massively inebriated. Jess couldn't decide whether he was annoyed at his failure to dispatch his assailant... or thankful to have avoided incarceration. The commandant of the fort regretfully concurred with the captain of the boat that in this instance the army was at fault, having instigated the affair, and was responsible for damages.
Four passengers and two crew had disappeared in the brouhaha. The repaired part was restored to the engine compartment, replacement window glass would have to wait until a glazier could be found in a larger town, and other minor damage was repaired to the extent possible. Jolie Rouge backed away from the quay and out to the gulf through the channel separating the island from Alabama's Mobile Point peninsula. Cap'n Booger announced they would be making the entry into Pensacola Bay in two days.