structure, from which a great light might have radiated over the
scientific world, was deserted. A pale, ghostly gleam was visible
through the empty window frame. It might have been a phosphorescent
glow from one of the decaying wall-logs, or a faint spark from the
dream-fire that ever burns in the hearts of men.
IX
THE WINDING RIVER’S TREASURE
[Illustration: “Na’cissus Jackson”]
IX
THE WINDING RIVER’S TREASURE
There was much bustle and preparation around the fish shanty one August
morning. Hoarded on a shelf of the bluff were a lot of water-worn
boards, which had drifted in along the beach at various times, or been
thrown up by the storms, and gradually gathered.
The old shipmates had selected suitable pieces from the pile, and were
busily engaged, with hammer and saw, in building a cabin on the big
boat. It was a cumbrous and unwieldy craft, about twenty feet long,
with high sides and a broad beam. For years it had been used in the
work of installing the pound- and gill-nets in the lake, and for the
necessary visits to them when the surf was too high for the small
row-boat, which was kept for ordinary use.
The long oars, with which Sipes and Saunders had so often fought the
big waves, were not exactly mated, but when the detachable motor
on the wide stern failed to run, navigation was still possible. A
bowsprit had been added to the boat, and a mast protruded through the
partially completed cabin. Many rusty nails and odd pieces entered into
the building of the superstructure. A large square of soiled canvas
and some miscellaneous cordage lay scattered about on the sand. Some
scrawled lettering in red paint across the stern indicated that the
boat was henceforth to be the _Crawfish_.
“We’r’ goin’ on a v’yage,” explained Sipes. “We’r’ goin’ ’way off up
the lake, an’ we’ll touch at diff’nt ports fer some stores we gotta
have, an’ then we’r’ comin’ back, an’ we’r’ goin’ to a cert’n river you
know ’bout, an’ we’r’ goin’ up it. If you want to make pitchers, you
c’n come ’long. We’ll stop an’ take you aboard w’en we come by with the
stuff we gotta git.”
I had learned from experience that Sipes usually became reticent when
questioned too closely. It was better to let him volunteer whatever he
wanted to say about his own affairs. I was careful not to evince any
curiosity as to the object of the river trip, and gladly accepted the
invitation, as I had intended visiting the river during the fall.
The shanty was stripped of most of its small movable contents, which
were put on board when the additions were completed. The nets were
taken into the house and piled up. The small boat was laid on top of
them along the wall, and the door fastened with a rusty padlock.
Sipes remarked, as he put the key in his pocket, that “they was always
some bulgarious feller rubber’n round fer sump’n light an’ easy, that
’ud clean out that shanty if it wasn’t batt’n’d up an’ locked.”
The reincarnated craft was floated, and it sailed slowly away, with the
doughty mariners giving boisterous orders to each other.
A week later I heard a loud halloo, and cries of “Wot Oh!” down on
the beach opposite to my camp in the dunes. I looked over the edge of
the bluff and saw the _Crawfish_ riding proudly on the low swells.
The broad sail flapped idly in the breeze, and Saunders was ensconced
on top of the cabin, smoking his pipe. Sipes had waded ashore and was
waiting to help get my belongings on board.
A small tent, a supply of canned goods, sketching materials, a camera,
and other items were carefully stowed. My row-boat was connected with
a line, and we were ready to start. We had only about fifteen miles to
go, and expected to reach the mouth of the river about noon.
The cabin was characteristic of its builders. It was intended for use
and not as an ornament. Ordinarily two could sleep in it comfortably,
but the present cargo taxed its capacity. There was little ventilation
when the door was closed. What fresh air there was entered through a
pair of auger holes, which had evidently been bored for observation
purposes. I suggested that the air inside would be better if the holes
were larger, or if there were more of them, but Sipes claimed that they
were large enough.
“Air c’n come in now faster’n you c’n breath it. Jest notice how
much bigger them holes is than them in yer nose.” Such logic was
uncombatable and the subject was changed.
The motor worked spasmodically and we sailed most of the way. The
breeze died down when we were about half a mile from where the Winding
River came out of the dunes. After much cranking the motor started, but
would only run backwards. We turned the stern toward the river’s mouth
and made fair progress.
“That’s w’y we named ’er the _Crawfish_,” explained Sipes. “We know’d
we’d ’ave to do a lot o’ that kind o’ navigat’n’.”
We ran on to a small sand-bar, which delayed us for some time, but got
off with the oars. After a hard row against the current, we entered the
mouth of the river, which was not over fifty yards wide. We heard the
sound of music from among the decayed ruins of a pier that extended
into the lake. Seated on some chunks of broken limestone, between the
rotting piles, we saw a gray-haired colored man of about sixty. He
was playing “Money Musk” on a mouth organ. Near him a cane fish-pole
was stuck in among the rocks, and extended out over the water. He was
whiling away the time between bites with his music.
“I bet that feller ain’t no nigro,” remarked Sipes. “He looks like a
white man wot’s been smoked.”
The solitary fisherman regarded us with an expectant look, as we tied
up to one of the piles.
“Good mawnin’, gen’lemen! Does you-all happ’n to have sump’n to drink
in yo’ boat?”
“We ain’t got nothin’ wet but wot’s leaked in. You c’n ’ave some o’
that if you want it,” Sipes replied with some asperity. “Wot’s the
matter with the lake if you’r’ thirsty?”
“Ah beg yo’ pa’don, but you-all looked like gen’lemen that might have
sump’n with you. This ain’t thirst. Ah got a misery, an’ it ’curred to
me you might like to save ma life. Ah ain’t had no breakfus’, an Ah
feels weak.”
“Listen at that smoke,” said Sipes, in an undertone. “Wonder if ’e
thinks we’r’ a float’n’ s’loon?”
Evidently discouraged over his prospects with Sipes, the old darky
turned to me.
“Say, Boss, will you gimme a qua’tah, so Ah c’n go an’ git some
breakfus’?”
We thought it better to give him some “breakfus’” from the boat, and,
as it was lunch time, we passed part of our eatables over to him.
“Ah nevah had the pleas’ah of meet’n you gen’lemen befo’. Ma name’s
Na’cissus Jackson, an’ Ah’m up heah f’om the south. Ah ce’t’nly am
’bliged to you fo’ this li’l breakfus’.”
We talked with Narcissus for some time. Evidently he was a victim of
strong drink. He had drifted into prohibition territory, the extent of
which he did not know, and out of which he had no financial means of
escape.
“Ah’m on a dry island, Boss, an’ Ah don’t know how Ah’m goin’ to git
off it. Ah was cook at the place wheah Ah wo’ked, an’ Ah got fiahed
just ’cause Ah didn’t show up one mawnin’. They was goin’ to have me
’rested fo’ sump’n Ah didn’t have nuff’n to do with, an’ Ah come heah
fo’ a li’l vacation.”
Sipes suggested that we ought to have a pilot to take us up the river,
on account of its many sand-bars, that must have shifted since he was
on it after ducks years ago.
“We oughta have somebody sett’n on top o’ the cab’n to yell out, an’
keep us from butt’n into sump’n w’en we’r’ tear’n up stream. This
ain’t no canoe, an’ we got import’nt business an’ we don’t want to git
stuck,” declared the old man.
“Theah’s a man ovah in the village named Cap’n Peppehs, that knows all
about this rivah,” replied Narcissus. “S’pos’n you-all gimme a qua’tah,
an’ Ah’ll go up an’ git Cap’n Peppehs fo’ you.”
I agreed to furnish the coveted coin if “Cap’n Peppehs” was produced,
and our new-found friend took in his pole, climbed out over the rough
stone filling, and departed for the village, which was only a short
distance off. He soon reappeared, accompanied by a pompous, deep-voiced
old man, with a red nose and scraggly whiskers, who looked us over with
curiosity.
“My name’s Peppers. What can I do for you?” he asked in a friendly tone.
“We’r’ goin’ up the river an’ we don’t want to git messed up on no
sand-bars,” replied Saunders. “If you been navigat’n’ these waters,
we’d like to git you to go ’long ’til we git where we want to go.”
“If you’ll drop me off back o’ the third bend, I’ll git aboard,” said
the old man. “You won’t need no pilot after that. You c’n go on up an’
not hit anythin’ but float’n snags beyond that fer three miles in that
craft.”
He got into the boat. I handed Narcissus his “qua’tah,” and he picked
his way back over the rocks to his fish-pole, where, like his fabled
namesake, he may have found solace in the contemplation of his image in
the placid water.
“Cap’n Peppehs” examined the motor with interest. “Are you goin’ to run
’er up with that?” he asked.
“Yes, if she’ll go,” replied Saunders, “but I bet she won’t. A friend
of ours that peddles fish got it some’r’s ’round ’ere, an’ turned it
over to us. If we ever cetch the feller that shifted that cusséd thing
onto John, we’r’ goin’ to kill ’im. We got a gun in the cab’n wot’s
wait’n’ fer ’im.”
“I know sump’n ’bout them things,” said the Captain, “an’ mebbe I c’n
start ’er.” He fussed over the machine for some time, and finally got
it going. With the help of the oars we made fair progress against the
slow current.
“You c’n go on up now an’ camp in that bunch o’ timber beyond the
marsh, an’ you’ll be all right,” said the old man, when we reached the
point where he was to leave us. “You’ll find a mighty fine spring up
there.”
We thanked him warmly for his services. Sipes proffered the hospitality
of a two-gallon jug, which he extracted from the pile of stuff in the
cabin. It was eagerly accepted. He wished us good luck, and disappeared.
“That’ll make ’is nose bloom some more,” remarked Sipes. “He’s a nice
ol’ feller, but wot’s springs to him? It wasn’t no green peppers ’e was
named after.”
The river made many turns in its sinuous course through the marsh, and
it was nearly dark when we reached a hard bank at the edge of the
woods.
The _Crawfish_ was made fast to a venerable elm, and we went ashore.
“I’ll put a couple o’ extra hitches on ’er so she can’t back off in the
night, if the gas bug takes a notion to git busy,” said Saunders, as he
took another line ashore from the stern.
It was warm and pleasant, and we decided that no shelter would be
necessary that night. We built a small fire against the side of a log,
fried some bacon in a skillet, made coffee, and fared well, if not
sumptuously, with supplies from the boat.
We sat around and talked until quite late. The object of the expedition
was revealed by Saunders.
“They was a feller that come to the bogie-house one night w’en they was
a big storm that ’ad come up sudd’n. He’d come from the lake, an’ it
was blowin’ so hard that it ’ud take hair off a frog. He’d started on
a long trip with a little boat. He had one o’ them cusséd motors like
wot we got, an’ it went punk, an’ ’e had an awful time git’n’ in alive.
He seen my light an’ come up. I didn’t ’ear ’im til ’e knocked, so I
didn’t ’ave no chance to spring the ghost on ’im. W’en I seen the mess
’e was in, I took ’im in an’ fed ’im an’ dried ’im out ’fore the fire.
“He seemed to be a scientific feller, an’ ’e told me a lot about the
rivers all over the country. He said that durin’ the fall ’is business
was to go ’round an’ buy pearls wot fishers got out o’ them fresh-water
clams that’s all over the bottoms o’ the rivers. He’d pay ’em good
prices. He said the pearls ’ad thin layers on ’em, like onions, an’
sometimes one would look like it was no good. Then ’e’d take a steel
thing an’ peel off the outside skin, an’ sometimes ’e’d git one that
way that was wuth five hundred dollars. Then ’e said they was button
companies that ’ud buy all the shells o’ the clams, so they was a
lot o’ money in it, even if they wasn’t no pearls found. He had a
little pearl in ’is pocket that ’e’d peeled. It wasn’t a very good
one--prob’ly wuth three er four dollars. He gave it to me fer bein’
good to ’im, an’ ’ere it is.”
The old sailor carefully unrolled a small piece of paper, which he took
out of his tobacco pouch, and produced the pearl.
“This feller gimme a little book that didn’t ’ave no cover on, that’s
sent out by the gov’ment, an’ it tells all about clam fish’n’, an’ how
to make drag-hooks, an’ how to rig ’em, an’ drag ’em, an’ all about it.”
He brought out the interesting pamphlet, with the address of the giver
written in pencil on one of the margins.
“The next mornin’ I helped the feller put wot was left o’ his boat an’
motor up in the bogie-house, an’ ’e went off through the woods. He said
’e’d come back some day an’ git ’em.
“Invent’n’s no good. We gotta git sump’n we c’n git a big bunch o’
money out of. Fish’n’s git’n’ to be too hard work fer us. They’s slews
o’ wealth in this water, an’ we’r’ goin’ to git it out an’ we won’t
’ave to work no more. We didn’t say nothin’ to nobody. John come
’round an’ we told ’im, but ’e’s all right. This whole thing’s a dark
secret. It’s all right fer you to know, but we gotta keep still, er the
place’ll be full o’ flatboats an’ the pearls’ll be gone. Sipes an’ me’s
seen where the mushrats ’as been pilin’ the shells ’round them little
places where they got holes in the banks, an’ out’n the marsh where
their houses are, w’en we was down ’ere duck-shoot’n’. If them little
beasties c’n git ’em, we c’n mop out the whole river with all that
tackle that the book tells about.”
“The fust thing we gotta do, after we git a flatboat built, is to git
some heavy wire fer them clam drags,” said Sipes. “We c’n go back to
the railroad an’ git some out between them telegraph poles. The wire
don’t cost them fellers nothin’, an’ it’s better we should ’ave it.
Tomorrer we’ll rig up a reg’lar camp, an’ then we’ll go to work on all
the things we gotta git ready so we c’n begin devastat’n them clamsies.”
The old man then went over to the boat for the jug. He set it down and
began working the cork out with his knife.
“I don’t do much drink’n’, but me an’ Bill’s git’n’ old, an’ we’r’ in a
my-larious country, an’ we gotta have grog once an’ aw’ile.”
Just as the cork came out, we heard a rustle of dead leaves on the
ground back of us.
“Good evenin’, gen’lemen!” greeted Narcissus Jackson, as he appeared
out of the darkness, and walked deferentially up to the fire. “Fine
evenin’, ain’t it?”
“You _bet_ it’s a fine evenin’!” exclaimed Sipes, with freezing
politeness. “How fur off did you smell this jug from?”
“Ah just thought Ah’d drop ’round an’ see how you gen’lemen was get’n’
’long. Ah come up in a li’l boat I got offen Cap’n Peppehs. Ah saw
yo’ fiah, an’ Ah just come to pay ma respec’s. Is you-all well an’
puffec’ly comfo’ble up heah? How’s you feel’n’, Mr. Sipes? Seem’s like
you had a li’l cold this mawnin’.”
“I’m better, but ‘Ah feels weak,’” quoted Sipes, with biting sarcasm.
“Ah ce’t’nly am glad to heah yo’ voice again,” continued Narcissus.
“It’s a long tia’some row up heah, an Ah ce’t’nly am glad to find you
gen’lemen all sit’n’ so comfo’ble ’round yo’ li’l fiah.”
The veiled appeal was irresistible. Sipes handed over the jug and
cup, after he and Saunders had been “refreshed,” and he had pitied my
teetotalism with a patronizing glance.
“That’s a _nice_ li’l tin cup, an’ that’s an awful pretty shaped jug,”
observed our unexpected visitor, as he affectionately watched the red
liquid trickle out. “Pa’don me, but Ah always closes ma eyes when Ah
take ma li’l drink, ’cause if Ah don’t, ma mouth watahs so it weak’ns
ma whiskey.” The contents of the cup instantly vanished.
We were about ready to make our arrangements for the night when
Narcissus appeared. Fortunately my own supplies included a lot of
mosquito netting. I got it out and he promptly offered to help. He
deftly improvised an effective covering with the netting and some
sticks that excited the admiration of all of us.
“If you’d git toughed up, an’ raise a face o’ whiskers, them skeets
wouldn’t chase after you,” observed Sipes.
Narcissus sat on a log and did not seem inclined to go away.
“Say, Boss, will you lemme have a qua’tah to get ma breakfus’ with in
the mawnin’?” he asked humbly.
The request was cheerfully complied with. I really liked Narcissus. His
interesting face, winning personality, and happy-go-lucky ways appealed
to my sense of the picturesque. It occurred to me that if the jug could
be eliminated from the situation, he would be a valuable addition to
the camp. I invited him to stay all night and have breakfast with us in
the morning.
When Sipes heard the invitation accepted, he went down to the boat to
satisfy himself that Saunders had locked the door when he had returned
the jug to the cabin.
In the morning Narcissus volunteered to prepare our simple breakfast.
He did it with such skill that we realized that our own cooking was
crude and amateurish.
During the forenoon I had a long talk with him. He was stranded and
would like to stay with us if we were willing. For a moderate stipend
he agreed to do the cooking and make himself generally useful.
I did not wish to intrude too much on the old shipmates, and, as I
wanted to be alone much of the time, and do some sketching along
the river, I established my camp about a hundred yards further up
on the same side of the stream. This I judged to be near enough for
sociability, and far enough for privacy. Narcissus helped erect my
tent, and made many ingenious arrangements for my work and comfort.
The old sailors became so enthusiastic over his cooking that they were
glad to have him down with them most of the time. The sail had been
taken off the boat, and a “lean-to” tent rigged between two trees,
where they all slept.
“You jest watch that cookie coin pancakes!” exclaimed Sipes. “He jest
whisks up the dope in the pan, an’ gives ’em a couple o’ flops, an’
they all come to pieces in yer mouth ’fore ye begin chewin’.”
He seemed to anticipate all our wants. He had evidently overheard what
Sipes had said about telegraph wire, and the second morning afterward
there was about a hundred feet of it in camp, with a pair of heavy
wire-nippers, and other tools used by repair men on the lines, which he
said he had found. The next night he came in with a half-grown turkey,
which he claimed he had found dead in a fence, where it had caught
its neck on the barbed wire. The unfortunate bird was roasted to a
beautiful brown, and I noticed that the feathers were carefully burned.
The aspect of affairs was getting serious. I took Narcissus in hand
and subjected him to a thorough cross-examination. I told him that we
wanted to pay for anything we used, and that he positively must not
find any more young turkeys in wire fences. The telegraph wire incident
was perplexing. He declared that this stuff had been abandoned, and
was far from the railroad. The fact that the tools and wire were
somewhat rusty seemed to lend some slight color of truth to his
statement, but we finally understood each other as to the rule to be
followed in the future.
A cash allowance was made for the fresh vegetables, eggs, fruit, and
other supplies, which he was instructed to buy around in the back
country and along the river. I hoped later to discover the owner of the
ill-fated turkey.
The old shipmates worked industriously. They took the _Crawfish_ down
the river to the village twice, and returned with cargos of second-hand
lumber, with which they constructed a flatboat about ten feet long by
six wide. Supports were put at the four corners, and railings nailed to
the tops. They rigged a strong pole, the length of the platform, along
which they attached four-foot wires eight inches apart. At the ends of
these were the four-pronged clam-hooks. Lines ran from the ends of the
pole to a centre rope, by means of which the device was attached to
the flatboat and dragged in the river. When the hooks came in contact
with the unsuspecting mollusks, lying open on the bottom, they were
to close their shells on them tightly, and thus their fate would be
sealed. When the pole was pulled out sideways, with the big rope, the
bivalves would hang on its fringe of dangling wires, like grapes on
pendant vines.
Our “cookie” was assiduous in his camp duties. He procured some flat
stones, which he skilfully piled so as to confine his fire. Heavy
stakes were driven into the ground, and another laid across, with its
ends in the forked tops. The cross-piece supported the iron kettle,
with which he performed mysterious feats of cookery. He improvised a
broiler with some of the telegraph wire, and baked delicious bread and
biscuits in a reflecting oven, made of a piece of old sheet-iron. He
was very resourceful. From somewhere beyond the confines of the dark
forest he obtained materials for menus that exceeded our fondest hopes.
He spent a great deal of time off by himself, and would often drop
around where I happened to be sketching. We had many confidential
talks. He confessed that drink was his besetting sin. He had generally
been able to get good jobs, but invariably lost them when he drank.
Some day he was “goin’ to sweah off fo’ good.” The poor fellow was
floating wreckage on that poison stream of alcohol that our false
conception of economics permits to exist. It was battering another
derelict along the rocks that line its sinister shores.
He had attached himself to us like a stray dog. His moral sense had
been blunted by his infirmity, but, under proper influences, his
reclamation was possible. Narcissus was a strong argument in favor of
compulsory prohibition, for he was beyond his own help.
The old shipmates agreed with me that he ought to be kept away from
temptation as much as possible, “spesh’ly,” said Sipes, “as we ain’t
got none too much in the jug. It ain’t fit fer nobody that’s under
sixty-seven. Young fellers oughta let that stuff alone. They git filled
up with it an’ it runs down in their legs an’ floats their feet off.”
Narcissus’s ancestry was mixed. He had some white blood, and one of
his grandfathers was an Indian. Though the African characteristics
predominated, there were traces of both the white man and the Indian in
his face. It may have been a remnant of Indian instinct--a mysterious
call of the blood--that lured him to the dune country, where the red
men were once happy, when he got into trouble. Possibly it was the
sixth sense of the Indian that led him up the river to the jug, on the
night of our arrival, or, as Sipes remarked, “mebbe the perfumery got
out through the cork an’ drifted over ’im w’en ’e was roostin’ on them
rocks.”
He cooked some carp, which he had caught in the river, and was much
disappointed when we found them unpalatable. The following evening he
compounded a delicious sauce, with which he camouflaged the despised
fish almost beyond recognition, but their identity was unmistakable.
Sipes declared that “the dope on them carps is fine, but I don’t like
wot it’s mixed with.” He ate the sauce and threw his piece of fish out
among the trees. The next morning he saw a crow drop down and eat it.
“That ol’ bird’s been through enough to know better’n that,” he
remarked.
The fish that came to us from the land of the Hun, and now infests our
inland waters, has little to commend it. It is objectionable wherever
it exists. It breeds immoderately, eats the spawn of respectable fish,
and begrimes the pure waters with its hog-like rooting along the
weedy bottoms. It is of inferior food value and pernicious. No means
of exterminating these noxious aliens have been discovered. Like the
Huns, they have all of the instincts of marauding swine, without their
redeeming qualities.
“These heah cahp ah funny fish,” said Narcissus. “A gen’leman tol’ me a
few yeahs ago of a cahp that was caught in the Mississippi rivah that
was ve’y la’ge. They opened ’im an’ found a gold watch an’ chain that
’e’d swallowed, an’ the watch was tickin’ when they took it out, an’
theah was a cha’m on the chain, an’ inside the cha’m was a li’l pict’ah
of a young lady. The young man that caught the cahp found that young
lady an’ theah was a wedd’n. Of co’se Ah didn’t see the watch, er the
young man, but that was the tale Ah hea’d. Theah’s been some awful
wonde’ful things happened down on that Mississippi rivah.”