Chapter 15: THE RIVER
Friday, November 21st... Back on Boggy Bayou... sailing south straight down the main channel rather than trying to adhere to the crooked shoreline. Buoyed by renewed determination to finish what he'd started—one way or another—Jess was slowly overcoming his anxiety about being too far from land. Attermore Cove marked the farthest outskirts of Boggy... after that nothing but a fringe of marsh decorating a dense forest of live oaks and pines. At the entrance to Shirk Bayou, Jolie Rouge took a straight heading directly across relatively open water to Shirk Point and then to White Point, bypassing the entrance to Rocky Bayou.
Jess'd taken to roosting in the wheelhouse whenever he wasn't eating or sleeping. Noting that his stress was best managed by keeping him informed as to their location at any given moment, Cap'n Booger made a point of vocally correlating landmarks to charts as they churned along. He kept to hand the composite map of the entire bay, so he could identify for Jess' benefit where they were in relation to where they were headed. Their objective was an enormous watershed estimated to encompass some five thousand plus square miles.
"That's a helluva lot a swamp, me boy!" the captain commented, rather unnecessarily. "Findin' one man in there is shapin' up to be a Herculean task."
"A what?"
"A big job that's gonna take awhile."
"Sooner we get there, sooner we get started," Jess retorted, grimly studying the veritable tapestry of rivers and tributaries forming the estuary of a primeval, watery forest at the far eastern corner of the bay.
"Now we could continue following the shore... or..." The captain's finger slid across the oiled surface of the chart. "We could cut across from here, Stake Point, an' not bother with Alaqau an' LaGrange bayous... right into Jolly Bay at the north edge a the swamp. There's an established settlement there, Freeport... with a good dock at Four Mile Creek."
"Why stop there?"
Cap'n Booger shook his head. "Resupply. We can only go as far as what we got onboard, before havin' to come out again. We'll tie up there overnight then head in first thing in the morning. An' we'll be needin' a couple a canoes."
Saturday, November 22nd... Examining that chart as if expecting it to yield directions to the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, Jess was disconcerted when Cap'n Booger calmly rolled it up and returned it to the rack. "Won't be needin' this 'un for a spell." Extracting another one, he unrolled it on the chart table and distributed the felt-backed brass weights that kept it flat.
"Two other rivers besides the Choctawhatchee flow into the bay. This here's a corps of engineers chart for the first twenty-mile section a the Mitchell River."
"Thought we were goin' up the Choca... dadgum that's a mouthful."
"The Choctawhatchee runs for a hunnert an' forty miles right up inta Alabama, to Newton... an' she's navigable all the way so there's a sizeable amount a traffic... includin' government. Them swamp folks ain't goin' anywheres near it. We're gonna do Mitchell first, then the Indian River if we got to."
Jess commented, uncomfortably, that the water seemed choppier than what they'd been experiencing so far. Cap'n Booger explained that, although there wasn't much tide differential in the bay itself, they were fighting the current produced by the influx of water from those three rivers... and would continue to do so as they worked their way upstream.
"It'll ease up some the farther away we move from the bay."
Executing a wide sweep around a cluster of small sandy islands fringed with marsh and topped with scrub pines, the captain guided his vessel to an opening Jess identified on the chart as the mouth of the Mitchell River. At a wooden sign atop a creosoted piling displaying the number '0'—designating the starting point of the river—Cap'n Booger cut the engines to dead slow. The watercourse became more defined as marsh gave way to expanses of solid ground on which grew live oaks. The captain pointed out the occasional beech, magnolia, holly, basswood and maple. At intervals sandy fingers jutted out into the channel. Jess marveled at how adroitly Cap'n Booger managed to steer around them without crashing into the opposite bank—at times they were close enough to gently scrape against overhanging vegetation. Jess was positive that any moment they were going to run aground... but they didn't.
They passed landmarks noted on the chart as Black Creek Cutoff and Nancy's Cutoff, after which the terrain began yielding to hummocks with decidedly more tropical foliage such as palmettos and taller palms. The river narrowed and began making great tortuous loops through what had undeniably become swamp—amber-colored water stretched on both sides of the channel. The canopies of knobby-kneed cypress trees intersected overhead, shutting out all but a few rays of sunlight. No breeze penetrated the watery tunnel to disturb the immense draperies of moss and masses of creeping vines.
At Rushing Cutoff, the captain cut the engines, allowing the Jolie Rouge to drift up against the north bank with her bow adjacent to a sand spit. Agile and sure-footed as frogs, deckhands leaped out and shortly had the boat secured with lines to the nearest cypress.
"Why are we stoppin'? It ain't even noon!" Jess complained, slapping at mosquitoes.
"Now we wait." Which explained nothing.
Cap'n Booger leisurely filled, tamped and lit his meerschaum. "Patience, me boy. They know we're here. They're givin' us the once-over to decide if it's safe to come outta hidin'."
The hairs on the back of Jess' neck stood to attention. More than hating the feeling he was being watched was knowing that he was. Every instinct was screaming to get himself under cover... to hide until he could ascertain where the watchers were lurking. And there was Cap'n Booger, totally unconcerned and wreathed in layers of rank tobacco smoke, regarding him tranquilly.
The captain spoke quietly. "If I might make a suggestion or two...?"
"About what?"
"You might wanna change into somethin' a bit less... conspicuous? More in keepin' with what my crew... an' the locals... wear?"
"What's wrong with what I got on?" Jess grumbled. "I don't have any other clothes." Unlike Jay Dee, Jess had continued dressing himself in his usual and customary attire... denims and pale blue cotton chambray shirt—tucked in. Basically his only deviation were those dadblamed comfortable canvas shoes, having found out the hard way that high-heeled cowboy boots were incompatible with slippery boat decks and ladders.
"No problem. Alcide keeps a cupboard with extry duds fer emergencies. Go below an' tell 'im I said you need to look like a deckhand. Oh... an' I see you didn't shave this morning... good! Let 'er grow. An' yer hair's too tidy. You wanna look a little on the grubby an' shady side."
"I ain't plannin' on goin' native like Jay Dee."
"Son, ya got 'outsider' writ all over ya. Do like I say if ya want these folks to open up to ya. Savvy?"
"Savvy," Jess grunted unhappily.
Alcide was filleting one of four largemouth bass on his prep table as Jess made his request. "Gimme five minute, feex you good." The razor sharp filet knife flashed and eight perfect filets were immersed in a pan of cold water. Offal went into a bucket on the floor. Jess reached for it.
"I'll dump this overboard for you."
The little man waved him off, shrieking. "Non! Non! You crazy? Make gator come! Boys need for pig bait tonight."
"Pig bait? Pigs eat fish?"
"Dem piggy... dey eats anytin!" Alcide rinsed his hands in another bucket of water and dried them on a grimy gray hand towel. "Come wit me."
In the adjacent cubicle that served as the cook/steward's private quarters, he dragged a battered trunk from under the bed and began pulling out items of clothing that at first glance appeared to be little more than rags. When he'd accumulated what he felt was an adequate selection, he arose stiffly. One by one he held up each piece for Jess' perusal, twittering and fussing as he were a Saville Row tailor about to outfit a London gentleman. All were of an indeterminate drab grayish-brownish color with rips and/or crude patched repairs. All were wrinkled and stained—mostly with oil but some might've been blood. None were clean and all smelled of cooking grease with a delicate overlay of fish.
Jess was glad there wasn't a full-length mirror onboard, trying to put aside the knowledge of pre-worn, unwashed cloth next to his skin. Heat and humidity had forced him to relinquish his ubiquitous longjohns weeks ago. When he reported back topside, Cap'n Booger nodded his approval at the raggedy khaki trousers, chopped off below the knee and a collarless, sleeveless undervest of woven cotton. Alcide had added a finishing touch to Jess' chin and jaws with a dainty smudging of lampblack, thereby turning his noon stubble into a full-blown five o'clock shadow.
"Maybe at night they won't notice yer fishbelly white legs," the captain commented.
Jess had to admit, grudgingly, that all this unfamiliar exposed flesh felt a lot cooler. Unfortunately, it also afforded extra unprotected territory for the voracious mosquitoes to feed on. Observing the renewed frenzy of slapping and dancing, Cap'n Booger took pity on the man, handing him an open tin.
"Rub some a this on everythin' ya can reach an' them skeeters'll hightail it."
Taking a tentative sniff, Jess reeled backwards, gagging at a fragrance only a mother polecat could love. Earlier, he'd been thinking the captain sure could use a bath but was too polite to remark on it.
"I ain't puttin' none a this on me. It'd make a buzzard fall outta the sky."
"That's the general idea. But suit yourself."
Jess lasted fifteen more minutes before he accepted defeat and started smearing it on. To his amazement, it worked.
"What's in this stuff?"
"You really wanna know?"
The unguent turned out to be a blend of pulverized goldenseal root, oils of juniper and citronella, and pine pitch with a grain alcohol base—all of which smelled quite pleasant until the addition of the binding agent: rancid alligator fat. Jess wished he hadn't asked.
"By now all the lads... includin' your young cousin... has anointed theirselves. Everyone stinks just as bad. You won't even notice after a bit."
"What about... visitors... if we get any?"
"Worse. Don't worry about it. How 'bout a game a checkers? Alcide'll be bringing us up some lunch pretty soon."
"Sure."
The afternoon rolled on uninterrupted. With no passengers onboard, the crew—reduced to ten individuals other than Alcide—washed down decks and performed other minor daily maintenance until dusk. Jess and the captain went below to join the others for supper in the saloon—fried fish with collard greens and cornbread. Using trotlines baited with dough balls, Alcide had hauled in a nice mess of catfish to supplement the bass. Conversation at table was uncommonly reserved, as if everyone sensed unseen eyes on the boat and its inhabitants.
Plans were afoot for an evening pig hunt. Evidently two of the men had sloped off sometime during the afternoon and located a game trail. When Cap'n Booger sternly advised that no guns were to be discharged, Jess hooted.
"What they gonna use? Bows and arrows?"
"As a matter of fact, yes. But not the kind you're probably thinking of... like your Western Indians use. These boys use crossbows. You ever seen one?"
"No... I ain't."
"Remy... go and get one to show Jess here."
Remy left the table and returned with the oddest contraption Jess'd ever seen, along with a handful of short steel-tipped arrows.
"Take it outside an' show him how it works. Be mindful to aim away from the trees. Don't wanna accidently shoot any a the spies."
As it was now getting on full dark, Jess highly doubted they be receiving visitors this evening. Fascinated with the crossbow, he would've liked to have played with it a little longer but the hunting expedition was getting underway and Remy was their best arbalist. Two of them carried lanterns and one the bait bucket of reeking fish guts. Two of the men carried spears instead of crossbows and one of those was Jay Dee.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Jess stepped in front of him.
"Pig-huntin'. What's it look like?"
"When've you ever hunted pigs?"
"Never. But I'm fixing to learn."
"No you ain't. Listen... I have hunted wild hogs... when I was a kid in Texas. From a distance, with a rifle... an' on horseback. They're dangerous animals. You could get hurt real bad."
"I'll be careful."
"I ain't lettin' ya go."
"I'm not asking permission, Jess."
Right that moment, standing toe to toe with Jay Dee, Jess experienced an epiphany of sorts—he wasn't going to be able to make this young man do anything he didn't want to do... nor was he going to be able to prevent him from doing what he wanted. Not by brute force, anyway. It wasn't like holding a gun on someone and giving orders.
The youngster had changed a lot in just a few short weeks. Working in the hot sun without headgear had bleached his hair and beard to wheat-straw blondness—how come Jess only now noticed that the kid had quit shaving? The hard physical labor involved in crewing a boat had rendered away the last remnants of puppy fat—Jay Dee was as wiry lean as Jess himself had been at that age and to some extent still was, with sharply delineated muscles under a darkly tanned pelt. And... he'd shot up another inch, which put him at slightly above eye level with Jess. Although he spoke civilly enough in that rich baritone voice so much like Jess' own, there was no longer any trace of the reticence or deference he'd displayed at the cow camp.
Jess sighed and stepped back, acknowledging he had no authority here. "Even if I ask nice—please don't... for your parents' sake?"
Dear Lord... is this what it's like, bein' a parent? What if he was MY kid... or worse... a GIRL? No wonder Pa took to drinkin' an' Ma just plumb give up on livin'. I ain't NEVER havin' no young 'uns…
Jay Dee grinned. "I promise I won't be leading the charge. Already gave my word to Remy that I'll stand back until he gives the word the pig's disabled enough for me to try my hand with the spear. Gotta go... they're waitin' on me."
Cap'n Booger had called for two volunteers to stay with the boat. He'd asked Jess, politely but firmly, to surrender his and Jay Dee's gunbelts to the locker where all the other weapons were stowed. Not surprisingly, Jess had vehemently resisted.
"What if...?"
"No what ifs. What you got to understand, Jess... these folks're cautious. They have to be. Most of 'em's wanted for one reason or another. When they come, they're first gonna search the boat to be sure there ain't no militia or bounty hunters on 'er."
"You'll let 'em... just like that?"
"Dern tootin'. Don't forget... nobody knows where we are outside a Miss Pettus. If they get too nervous, we could easily get ourselves disappeared... just like that."
"They can't hide a boat big as this 'un."
"They'd take 'er back out to the bay under cover of night an' scuttle 'er. No one'd ever know. You keep yer trap shut an' let me do the talkin'."
"But if they got guns an' we don't..."
The captain rolled his eyes with impatience. "They don't. Guns an' ammo cost money an' they don't have any. Gunfire attracts attention an' gives away their positions. Believe you me... these people don't need guns to survive... they get by just fine with what they got."
"I take your point," Jess said, still believing they were on a wild goose chase. "Whadda we do now?"
"Wait some more. Right here."
The captain sent Etienne and Georges to the cargo hold to bring out a pair of folding chairs, then above to light a couple of lanterns on the upper decks. A row of hanging lanterns completely illuminated the maindeck at the prow of the boat, drawing in flights of moths and bats. Cap'n Booger and Jess each made themselves comfortable in a chair. The other two sat cross-legged on the deck off to one side, along with Alcide who'd come below with a wicker basket covered with a checked cloth. The captain stoked his pipe and the three crewmen lit cigars. Jess abstained. No one spoke.
The night was far from silent—croaking frogs, whirring and chirping insects, the mellow hoots of barred owls, the occasional splash of some aquatic creature breaking the surface of the placid black water or slithering off the bank into it. The overall effect was so hypnotic that Jess was startled when, without forewarning, two pirogues quietly glided up to the sandy spit.