Chapter 12: ARRIVAL

Tuesday, November 11th... Once again Jess was laid up in his bunk—not due to malaise this time, but the aftereffects of the fight on the main deck. Not the only one with a knife, he'd sustained a number of lacerations and a fairly deep cut on the torso above his right hipbone that had required stitching by the army doctor. He was also sporting a notable collection of bruises. And he ached all over. Hated to admit it but he just wasn't as agile as he used to be. Nor were his recuperative powers as swift. Felt a little guilty about wallowing in bed instead of making himself useful... but not guilty enough to dissuade Alcide from fussing over him and waiting on him. Cap'n Booger, looking in, advised him to enjoy the rest while he could. Soon enough he'd be dealing with a lot worse than men with fists and knives. Like what? Jess wondered.

Having offered up his services as replacement crew, Jay Dee'd taken to going about barefoot and shirtless, wearing nothing but tattered denim britches cut off above the knee. Blessed with an olive complexion that didn't burn, he'd rapidly acquired a deep brown tan and sun-bleached highlights in his hair. Whenever they stopped at a settlement, whatever women happened to be around stopped and stared longingly. The California boy was oblivious, having the time of his life. Not that he wanted to live here permanently. But maybe someday, after college, he'd might like to get himself a sailboat.

Reaching the pass at the tip of the next barrier island—Perdido Key, Cap'n Booger turned the boat into Bayou Saint John then east into the narrow channel called Old River between Perdido and Ono Island. They had to hold for high tide in order to navigate the shallow cut over to Big Lagoon and barely made it through Pensacola Pass on the ebb tide. The captain called Jess topside to view—as they traversed the entrance to Pensacola Bay—the fortifications of Fort Pickens on the southernmost reach of Santa Rosa Island, where his brother had been held prisoner.

Jess regarded the barren sandy spit thoughtfully. "Don't look all that big to me. If he's livin' there—like the Pinkertons said he might be—shouldn't be too hard to find 'im."

"Was I lookin' to keep meself ta meself, that'd the last place I'd set up shop. That piece a real estate's only three quarters of a mile at its widest point—some places only a few hundred yards, an' nearly fifty miles long. Mostly nothin' but sand dunes an' sea oats. Bushes an' trees too stunted to hide a billy goat in. Nah... if he's anywhere it'll be on the other side a the bay... in the cypress swamps."

"Oh," Jess said, clearly disappointed, turning to leave.

"Hold on, son... whyn't ya make yerself comfortable? We're followin' Santa Rosa Sound now an' we'll be there in a little over an hour."

"Be... where?"

"Walton's Landing... where the search begins."

"Guess we'll be partin' company then, huh?"

Figures... just when I'm startin' to feel at home, it's time to get off the boat...

The captain continued as if he hadn't heard. "These days there's only a skeleton force on duty an' a small tradin' post with a floatin' dock. Not enough shippin' goin' through to justify a customs office. A fair number a settlements strung out along the bay an' plenty more back along the bayous."

"What do folks do for a livin', this far away from civilization?" Jess asked, curious.

"Why, cattle, my boy. Away from the water, most a the state's flat grasslands. Grass that stays green year 'round, no hard winters, dependable water. Durin' the war, Florida shipped more beef north to supply the troops than Texas."

"I didn't know that." Jess was surprised.

" 'Course, they hadda be drove to the nearest railheads, just like anywheres else."

Jess tried to picture cattle ranching in a place with no snow or desperate winters—where forage didn't have to be supplemented with hay and waterholes didn't dry up in scorching summers. On the other hand, unrelieved flat landscape in every direction. No soaring mountain ranges whose snow-capped beauty took your breath away in the pink and rose of dawn or the gold and purple of sunset. Would he want to live out his life here? No. Home was where he'd rather be. Not the home of his Texas childhood but that of his adopted land—Wyoming.

Other than the waterway through which they were currently traveling, Choctawhatchee Bay had only one direct access to the Gulf of Mexico... a pass between the eastern terminus of Santa Rosa Island and the western tip of a peninsula called Moreno Point. Reaching the end of the sound, Jolie Rouge steamed through a pinchpoint between mainland and island so narrow that a man could easily jump overboard and paddle to dry land on either side. Here Cap'n Booger called for a reduction in speed in order to execute a sweeping left turn to the settlement informally known as Walton's Landing.

Above a ferry landing could be seen the crumbling remains of a fortified guard post—only two of the buildings in habitable repair. According to the captain, the camp had been established by Walton County's Florida Volunteer Infantry and manned by the 'Walton Guards' with a view toward protecting the bay from incursion by Union forces. It had been in operation only a year before being abandoned. The federal government currently maintained a detachment at 'Camp Walton', mainly as an ongoing reminder to the vanquished inhabitants of the region as to who was in charge these days.

Several soldiers turned out to watch the boat pull up to a primitive dock where two civilians—guides for hire—waited to catch the lines. An assemblage of pirogues, rowboats and square-nosed punts nestled on the opposite side of the dock, jostling one another in the wake of the sternwheeler.

Here at Walton's Landing there were no saloons to entice thirsty travelers. A lone trading post offered only the most basic of goods and liquor was served at a crude plank bar resting on wooden barrels. Cap'n Jack announced that, although this was the end of the line, anyone needing overnight accommodation was welcome to sleep onboard... at a day rate, of course. And meals were payable upon service. Four of the passengers besides Jess and Jay Dee elected to stay. Carrying their possessions, the rest disembarked, some hiking off down a dirt road and others dickering with the guides for passage elsewhere. The remaining four apparently were waiting to make connections later that day or the next, according to how swiftly bush telegraph worked in this part of the world.

"How long before you shove off?" Jess and the captain were taking late lunch in the saloon.

"Two, three days. Long as it takes to offload most a the cargo."

"Been meanin' to ask... how you aim ta sell that much salt an' sugar when there ain't hardly no folks around?"

Cap'n Booger chortled. "Oh... just 'cause you don't see 'em don't mean they ain't there. Word gets out we're here, they'll come. Wait 'n see." He went on to explain that settlers hereabouts were pretty much self-sufficient except for items such as salt, sugar, tobacco and rum. Part of the hold was reserved for what he called 'peddler goods'... tools and ammunition for the men, household items for the women.

Why court the dangers of running contraband, Jess wanted to know? Why not engage in legitimate trade? Because, according to the captain, the financial gain far outweighed the consequences of being caught. The crippling tariffs levied on imported goods by the various governments—federal, state and local, contributed to the popularity and prevalence of smuggling. Out and out open-sea piracy had mostly gone out of style, being too public and inviting retaliation by authorities.

Besides, Cap'n Booger reasoned, there was a humanitarian aspect to be considered. All them damned taxes meant merchants had to jack up retail prices far beyond what the lower strata of society could afford to pay. And there were a lot of poor people in coastal Florida. He called it the 'Robin Hood Theory of Applied Economics'. While Jess didn't know about this economics business, he did know about the legendary outlaw and had no difficulty understanding taking from those who had more than they needed and sharing with those who had little or nothing.

"If these folks don't have any money, whadda they pay you with?"

"Hides, mostly. Some furs. Gator hides command high prices up north, places like New York City... for boots an' suitcases an' such. But it's gotta be tanned afore it can be shipped. That's why them swamp hunters need so much salt."

Jess flinched, recalling all those casually slaughtered alligators that had sunk out of reach on the trip here. What a waste! But that had nothing to do with his current situation...

"I was hopin' you was gonna help me out, findin' a reliable guide an' a boat an' whatnot..." Jess ventured. "Maybe give me some pointers on where to start?"

"Well... that was the original plan," the captain said, "but me and my business partner talked it over an' decided it wouldn't hurt to visit settlements around the bay an' up some a the larger bayous far as Jolie can go. Two frogs with one gig, ya know?"

"I don't unnerstand. Why would he wanna help out a stranger? How would that benefit his share?" Jess was mystified... at the same time relieved.

Cap'n Booger smiled beatifically. " 'Cause she wants to... an' we'll maybe drum up some new business on the side. You never know."

Illumination blossomed. SHE. Of course. I shoulda figured that out long before this—Missus Rosalie Mount, lady of mysterious means.

"I'm grateful, Cap'n. What happens next?"

The captain stood up and stretched as Alcide appeared to whisk away their dishes. "I'd recommend you go over an' see the commandant at the fort. Pick his brains for whatever good that might do. I got customers to attend."

Following the captain's pointed finger, Jess observed two vehicles and a wheelbarrow approaching on the dirt road from the woods. The two-wheeled carts, one drawn by a mule and the other by a pair of yoked bullocks, reminded him of the Red River carts used by the Métis fur traders up in Montana.

The 'commandant', one Sergeant Gerald Laughlin, was delighted to have company... particularly as the caller presented two bottles of imported rum—compliments of the sternwheeler captain. The grizzled veteran shrewdly neglected to question how said captain had happened to come by such a fine product. After listening to Jess' explanation of his quest, the man summoned his detachment—all six of them—and popped corks, sharing all around. None of the men were under forty. All had been relegated to this pestiferous stinking outhouse of an army post due to various—and oft repeated—infractions. None were in complete uniform, including the sergeant who invited Jess to call him 'Gerry', informality being the order of the day.

None of the seven soldiers had been there when the Pinkertons had come to call and were unable to contribute any solid information in addition to what Jess already had in his possession. However, they weren't lacking in local folklore and tall tales of hermits... men more feral than human who communicated in grunts and gestures, dressed in skins and subsisted almost entirely off the land. Crazier than shithouse rats, most of 'em. Women, too. Evidently there were tribes of pseudo-natives breeding deep in the swamps.

Every settlement reported instances of these anonymous wildlings coming in once or twice a year to barter alligator hides and nutria pelts for items they couldn't grow, hunt or make for themselves. Declining—or unable—to offer formal identification, many were assigned cognomens by settlers. As the soldiers bandied known nicknames back and forth, one in particular caught Jess' attention—'Carp'. Perhaps a contraction of 'Carlton Harper'? Seemed awfully farfetched but Jess was eager to grasp at any straw, no matter how fragile. Unfortunately, as 'Carp' hadn't been seen in this area, no physical description was available. Jess was advised to try settlements further north on the bay's shoreline.

Thursday, November 13th... The Jolie Rouge was cruising the fingers of sinuous Cinco Bayou and making brief stopovers at settlements with undeservedly descriptive names such as Sleepy Oaks Point, Wisteria Inlet, Sunset Slough, Lafitte Inlet, Cinco Point and Pocahontas Landing. The undulating shoreline was an unrelieved ribbon of sawgrass marsh backed by live oaks and tall pines. Each successive 'settlement' looked exactly like the previous one... two or three huts in varying stages of construction or dilapidation, a handful of colorless adults in colorless, much-patched clothing, half-naked malnourished children, a skinny pig or two, a few molting chickens. Cap'n Booger left each one with a selection of provisions worth far more than these sad people's meager barter goods.

Next came Dons, Chula Vista and Garnier bayous, with a hard turn east at Paradise Point into Hand Cove and Poquito Bayou. Same scenery, different bodies of water.

Why folks would choose to live this way was beyond Jess. Of course, in retrospect he had to acknowledge his own upbringing wasn't any better—same grinding poverty, but without the water and green vegetation.

A curve westward and south took them around Shalimar Point and past Snug Harbor back to the main body of the bay. Rounding Harbor Point, things started to look up. Instead of 'sloughs', the next two inlets were identified on the chart as lakes Clyde and Vivian. The terrain ended abruptly at steep grassy banks. More substantial dwellings appeared in clusters under canopies of tall graceful pines, with proper fencing and gardens. Beyond the houses could be seen open fields with grazing livestock. Cap'n Booger didn't stop at any of these but tooted the boat's whistle at children waving from the docks.

Checking the chart, Jess was appalled to find they'd covered only a tiny portion of this enormous bay—almost forty miles long and anywhere from seven to fifteen miles wide. At the rate they were going it would take weeks to work all the way around. Before he could complain, the captain advised that—until they reached Boggy—they were going to bypass all landings exhibiting signs of prosperity and stop only at the poorer settlements to take on wood and potable water. It was his feeling that what they were searching for would most likely be found in the snake- and alligator-infested brackish sloughs. After the next two bayous—Bowles and Weekley—came Toms and Boggy. Remembering that Boggy was the name Captain Carlton Harper had given as his home base, Jess appealed to the captain to make directly for the town, but the latter insisted on adhering to his itinerary.

Sunday, November 16th... Despite its unattractive name, Boggy proved anything but. Instead, it was a gracious community of wide shell-paved streets and avenues on solid, sandy terrain shaded by ancient live oaks. Palm trees and tall pines abounded. There was a surprising variety of shopping venues, services of all types and numerous well-maintained private residences—in all respects an unexpected oasis of civilization compared to what Jess had experienced since leaving Galveston. The reason for this, he later learned, was its proximity to the military highway to the north linking Pensacola and Tallahassee, the state capital, and an anticipated railway connection within the next decade. Also underfoot were plans by the federal corps of engineers to dredge the two entrances to Choctawhatchee Bay to allow for passage of ocean-going freighters, which would boost the economy of every single hamlet along its shores and Boggy's in particular. Boggy aimed to be at the forefront of the future shipping industry.

The foreshore had already been dredged and fortified against erosion by a coquina-mortared seawall, with a small-craft marina at one end and a commercial wharf at the other. Presently there were no other vessels moored at the wharf—Julie Rouge had it all to herself, attracting the attention of après-church strollers. Jess hadn't realized it was Sunday, having completely lost track of time.

As Boggy had its own police force, there was no need for a guard. Cap'n Booger granted shore leave to the entire crew.

"Do we stay onboard or what?" Jess asked.

"Can if you want," the captain shrugged. "I got other fish to fry. Alcide won't be cooking tonight so you're on your own."

"Meant, do we sleep here... or can you recommend a good hotel? I sure could use a haircut an' a hot bath."

"Ah... that would be the Lafayette on Cozette Drive. Private bathrooms. Barbershop and restaurant across the street. I'll be stayin' there meself."

"Good enough for me. You wanna meet up for supper?"

"Six o'clock would suit me fine."

"See ya then..."

Left to his own devices, Jess was unaccountably at loose ends. Jay Dee was nowhere to be found—in fact, he'd hardly been seen at all lately... and when he was, it was always in nothing but those brief britches. He'd quit shaving and his hair brushed his shoulders. How was Jess gonna explain to Missus Kelly that her baby boy had gone bush—a term Jess'd learned from Cap'n Booger. Hiking down a coquina-and-cement sidewalk (now there was an interesting innovation... cement instead of wood), Jess came to a dead halt in the realization that he wasn't looking much like his usual self either... with two days' worth of stubble, thick dark curls tickling his shirt collar, feet encased in those ridiculous canvas shoes (when was the last time he'd worn his boots?), untucked tail of his white cotton shirt billowing in the breeze, faded-out denims worn to a smooth satiny finish.

How long since he'd worn his Stetson? Rode a horse? Tossed back a whiskey in a real saloon? Been with a woman? This was not his world. He felt like an alien. And he was terribly, terribly homesick.

Somehow, his feet had taken him right to the front door of the Lafayette Hotel. Should he go in and register and get that bath? Or should he try to get a fix on that errant cousin of his? In the end personal comfort won out. He wondered if the concierge might take exception to his less than presentable appearance but that personage didn't flicker an eyelash.

"Would you prefer a room on the same floor as Captain Baldwin, sir?"

"How d'ya know I'm with him?"

"We heard he was in town as soon as the boat docked, sir… and that he had an important guest. The captain always stays in the same room."

"Yeah... good. Same floor... oh... an' I'll be needin' two rooms or one with two beds... got a teenage cousin runnin' loose that I need to round up."

"Very good, sir. Numbers three-oh-two and three-oh-three are connecting rooms. The captain has the corner suite... three-oh-one."

"What about a hot bath?"

"Private bathing facilities are located here on the first floor—at the end of that corridor near the boiler room. Hot water is available any time of the day or night, sir. You're welcome to go on back right now if you wish. The attendant's name is Jonas."

"Yeah… thanks. I'd sure like that." A hot bath never sounded so good.

The 'bathing facilities' turned out to be one large room with six oversize copper tubs, each in a partitioned cubby—much like stalls in a stable. The attendant was solicitous but not obnoxiously so. When he saw his patron wincing with a hand to his side as he sank into the tub, Jonas automatically added Epsom salts to the steaming water. He couldn't help noticing the stitches.

"Suh, dey wants comin' out, you don't mind my sayin'."

"Where'm I gonna find a doctor on a Sunday, Jonas?"

"Doan need no doctuh foah dat, no suh. Ah kin fix dat for you. Mought sting a bit."

"I'd appreciate it."

"No problem, suh. You come out, we takes care o' dat den."

"Thanks, Jonas. Hey... if I doze off, can you wake me up in an hour?"

"Certainly, suh."

Jonas kept the hot water coming. Little by little, Jess' anxieties melted away. He felt refreshed and motivated by the time he got out. As promised, removal of the stitches was quick and mostly pain-free. Jonas gave him a vial of carbolic solution and some gauze to daub it with, admonishing him not to scratch.

Drying off, it suddenly occurred to Jess that he'd checked in without his luggage… or a change of clothing. Upon mentioning that to Jonas, the latter advised that while he'd been lounging in the bath, Captain Baldwin had arranged to have his and his cousin's belongings sent along to the hotel, where they'd already been taken upstairs.

Dressed in clean clothes, Jess was ready to take on the next stage of the search. While shaving, he'd tried to visualize what Tony might look like now. He'd been four and his two older brothers, Carlton and Jonathan, had been sixteen and fifteen, respectively, when they'd run away from home. He couldn't quite remember their faces, only that they'd had blue eyes the same hue as his. Jon was confirmed dead in the war, of course. If Tony were still alive, would he even be recognizable at forty-one?

Francie… would he even know her if he found her now? When he'd last seen her—at the end of the war and then only briefly—she'd been nineteen and two years married to Gil Brady. She'd have been twenty-one when she'd gone missing in the epidemic—twenty-seven now, if still living. If so, was she aware of Gil's death three years ago? Was she perhaps remarried… with the children Gil couldn't give her but a new husband could?

So many questions…

Over excellent fire-grilled steaks and baked potatoes drenched in butter, sour cream and shaved sharp cheddar cheese, Cap'n Booger and Jess discussed plans for the next day.

"Soon's the courthouse opens for business we'll go over the records—census, plats, property taxes," the captain said.

"Pinks already done that."

"So... we'll go over 'em again. They ain't infallible. They make mistakes. They miss things... an' they don't always know what to look for."

"Like what?"

"When a man don't wanna be found, first thing he does is change 'is name."

"Then what good...?"

"Son... pay attention. When yer choosin' an alias you 'spect you'll be livin' with for a spell, it's always best not to stray too far from the original. It can be as simple as reversin' what ya got... Harper Carlton, fr'instance."

"Well... he didn't do that. He enlisted under his real name."

"True... but he may not a been livin' under it here. Another thing people do is use their mother's maiden name..."

"She was a Rudd, Elizabeth Anne..."

"So when yer lookin' over these records," the captain continued, "keep yer eye peeled for any name what seems familiar..."

"I see..."

"Now... for whatever reason, he mighta done the changin' after gettin' home from the war... so the years we need ta be checkin' ain't just afore he enlisted, but after he were discharged from prison."

"Okay. An' after that?"

"Newspaper office... archives for the same time periods."

"Did they even have a newspaper here back then?"

"Town was young then... nothin' like what it is now, but they managed to crank out a single sheeter once a week."

They stopped talking while the waitress presented dessert options.

"Don't you have some stuff to take care of with the boat?" Jess asked. "I mean, I'm obliged for the help an' all but..."

"Done an' dusted. Contracted with the warehouse manager on the wharf to unload everythin' an' lock it up. Him an' me's old mates. He'll have buyers in tomorrow an' take care a everythin' for me... for a cut, natcherly. Crew's paid up to date an' I offered 'em a bonus if they show up three days from now an' sign back on. That includes yer cousin. He earned it, this past week."

"Speakin' a Jay Dee," Jess ventured, "You seen him today? I'm gettin' kinda worried he's took up with questionable company... an' now that the boy's got jingle in his pockets..."

Cap'n Booger gave Jess a sly sideways glance. "If yer referrin' to my crew, I hate ta be the one ta tell ya but..."

"But what? Is he all right? Nothin's happened to him, has it?"

"Oh... he's fine as frog hair. My boys're lookin' after 'im proper. Don't forget... they got money in their pockets, too, an' they know just where an' how they wanna spend it."

"Oh no..." Jess bleated, pale-faced. "You don't mean...?"

"I do mean. But don't you fret none. Sunset House's real discreet an' the gals're clean. Miss Susie sees to that. She don't allow no drunkenness, rowdy behavior or loiterin', neither. The lad'll be snug in his bed next door to yers by midnight."

She gets wind a this, Missus Kelly's gonna kill me an' then consign me to the everlastin' flames…