pursue ’em instid o’ clams,” remarked Sipes. “Them carps c’n live on
land pretty near as well as they do in water. They’r’ like mudturkles.
Bill an’ me seen a big one once’t, that was in a little puddle on some
land that ’ad been flowed over. We thought prob’ly the water’d gone
down an’ left ’im stranded. His back stuck out o’ the puddle an’ was
all dry an’ caked with mud. Mebbe he’d been out devastat’n’ the country
fer watches an’ jools, er sump’n, in the night, an’ ’ad jest stopped at
that hole fer a little rest on ’is way back.”
We spent many interesting evenings around the old shipmates’ camp fire.
Sipes and Saunders related marvellous tales of the sea. Narcissus told
many ornate yarns that he had picked up during his checkered life, and
sang negro revival songs and plantation melodies. The bleached skeleton
of some animal in the woods had provided him with material for two
pairs of “bones,” with which he was an adept. His mouth organ was a
source of much entertainment. Sipes’s favorite was “Money Musk,” the
merry jingle that came over the water when we entered the river, and he
often asked Narcissus to “play that cash-money tune some more.”
When the clam-boat was completed, and fully rigged with its
paraphernalia, it was pushed out into the slow current. It was
controlled with the oars from the _Crawfish_. The pole, with its
pendant wires, was dropped over the side, and actual operations began.
A bench had been erected in the middle of the rude craft, before which
Sipes stood, flourishing a stubby knife, ready to open the mollusks and
remove their precious contents. He had a small red tin tobacco box,
with a hinged cover, which he intended to fill with pearls the first
day.
“Let’s pull ’er up now,” he suggested, after the flatboat had drifted
about a hundred feet downstream. Saunders lifted in the tackle. Two
victims dangled on the wires.
“Gosh, this is easy! Gimme them clams!” They were eagerly opened, but
careful scrutiny revealed no pearls. “I guess them damn Dutch fish ’ave
got ’em, like they did that watch Cookie told about. Heave ’er over an’
we’ll try ’er ag’in, Bill.”
The first day’s work was fruitless, as were many that followed. The
clam-hooks frequently got snagged, and seemed to bring up everything
but pearls. Once an angry snapping-turtle was thrown back. An enormous
catfish, whose meditations on the bottom had been violently disturbed,
was pulled to the surface, but escaped.
“Mebbe we’ll cetch a billy-goat if this keeps up,” remarked Sipes.
The old men toiled on with dogged persistence. One Sunday morning an
aged bivalve was pulled up and a pearl, over three-eighths of an inch
in diameter, fell out on the bench when Sipes’s knife struck the inside
of the shell.
“Hoo-_ray_!!! Here she is!” he yelled.
“Be quiet, y’ol’ miser! Gimme that,” commanded Saunders.
He examined it closely and compared it with the one the wrecked
pearl-buyer had given him.
“How much d’ye think that onion-skinner’d give us fer that?” asked
Sipes, anxiously.
“It’s about three times as big, an’ it’s rounder. It oughta be wuth
fifteen er twenty dollars,” replied Saunders, as he put it with the
other specimen and rolled it up in the soiled paper.
“Here, Bill, you can’t do that! Gimme that jool. It’s gotta go in the
box.” Saunders surrendered the pearl, and Sipes carefully put it where
it belonged.
“We ain’t goin’ to fuss with no button companies, w’en we c’n find
them things,” declared Sipes, as he kicked the pile of empty shells
overboard. “That ain’t no money fer a jool like that. Wot are you
talk’n’ about? You don’t know nothin’ ’bout pearls. I bet it’s wuth a
thousand dollars right now, an’ mebbe it’ll be wuth two thousand if we
git that feller to peel it. I bet all them jools has to be peeled.”
That part of the pearl-buyer’s talk with Saunders that related to
the removal of the layers, and the comparison of a pearl’s structure
with that of an onion, had strongly impressed Sipes, and he generally
referred to him as “the onion-skinner.”
During the rest of the day he shook the box frequently to assure
himself that the pearl was still there.
Various “slugs,” pearls of irregular shape and of little value, were
found during the next week, and the increasing spoil was gloated over
at night.
Narcissus was sometimes added to the working force on the flatboat,
which was taken up stream as far as the depth permitted, for a fresh
start.
“We’r’ goin’ to drag this ol’ river from stem to gudgeon,” declared
Sipes. “W’en we git through the mushrats’ll have a tough time hustl’n’
fer food. We’ll git back in the marsh where the big clams stay in them
open places ’mong the splatter-docks, where all them lily-flowers grow,
an’ we’ll git some jools that it won’t do to drop on yer foot. I seen a
clam in the marsh once’t that was over eight inches long, an’ I bet ’e
was a hundred years old.”
One night Narcissus tied his little boat to a tree near the spring. He
left some fresh vegetables in it, which he had procured up the river.
In the morning it was discovered that the boat had been visited. The
unknown caller had eaten most of the supplies. Fragments were scattered
about, but no tracks were visible. A pile of green corn and some melons
met the same fate a few nights afterward, and Sipes decided to ambush
the visitor.
He lay on his stomach in the dark, with his gun beside him, and
waited. About midnight he heard splashing in the shallow water along
the bank, and, a moment later, the dim light revealed a spotted cow
helping herself liberally to the contents of the boat. Evidently she
had forded the river somewhere up stream, and had accidentally found a
welcome base of supplies.
“Come ’ere, Spotty!” Sipes called softly, as he cautiously advanced.
The friendly marauder did not seem at all alarmed, and submitted
peacefully to the coil of anchor rope that was taken from the bottom
of the boat and gently slipped over her horns. She was led out of the
water and tied to a tree. Sipes procured a tin pail at the camp, and
“Spotty” yielded of her abundance.
There was cream for our coffee the next day. Spotty was nowhere
visible. The old man had conducted her into the woods and “anchored
’er,” with a stake and a long rope, in a hidden glade, where there was
plenty of grass.
The following evening we were enjoying our pipes, while Narcissus was
cleaning up after a delicious dinner. An old man with a heavy hickory
cane hobbled into camp. His unkempt white beard nearly reached his
waist. His shoulders were bent with age. He appeared to be over eighty.
“Hello, Ancient!” was Sipes’s cheery greeting, as the patriarch came up
to the fire.
“Good evenin’!” responded the visitor. “How’s the clam fish’n’?”
“Jest so-so,” replied Saunders. “Have a seat.”
He gave the old man a box, with an improvised back, to sit on, and,
after a few remarks about the weather, our caller explained that he had
lost a cow, and wondered if we had seen anything of her.
“Wot kind of a look’n’ anamile was she?” inquired Sipes.
“Gray, with a lot o’ black spots on ’er. One horn bent out forrads,
an’ the other was twisted back, an’ she had a short tail. She’s been
roamin’ in the woods a good deal lately, an’ last night she didn’t come
home. I thought I’d come down this way an’ see if I could locate ’er.”
“I seen a cow like that yisterd’y,” replied the culprit. “She was over
on the other side o’ the river, an’ come down to drink. She prob’ly
mosies ’round nights like that ’cause she’s restluss. Her tail’s bobbed
an’ she can’t switch away the skeets. She’ll prob’ly show up all right.”
“Yes, I s’pose she will. Guess I won’t worry about ’er.” The visitor’s
eyes wandered about the camp. I had noticed a small brown turkey
feather on the ground, near where Sipes sat, but that wily strategist
had deftly slipped it into his side pocket.
Evidently the industry on the river had been duly observed by the
scattered dwellers in the back country, for our caller seemed to know
all about us. He understood that I was “drawin’ scenes ’round ’ere.”
Possibly some unknown observer had, at some time, come near enough to
see what I was doing, and noislessly retreated.
Sipes went down to the cabin of the _Crawfish_, and returned with the
jug. “Wouldn’t ye like to ’ave a little sump’n, after yer long walk?”
he asked.
“B’lieve I would!”
“Say w’en,” said Sipes, as he tilted the jug over the cup.
“Jest a _lee_tle, not more’n a thimbleful!”
“Some thimbles is bigger’n others,” observed the old sailor, as he half
filled the cup.
While protesting against the liberal offering, the old man disposed of
the “little sump’n” with much relish.
Narcissus watched the proceedings from behind his kitchen bench with
appealing eyes.
“How long you been liv’n’ ’round ’ere, Ancient?” asked Sipes.
“I come here in the fall o’ forty-eight. It was all open water whar
that slough is then. It’s weeded up sence. We used to chase deer out
all over the ice thar in the winter. They’d slip down an’ couldn’t git
up, an’ we got slews of ’em that way. In the fall we’d find ’em on the
beach ’long the big lake. We’d shoo ’em out in the water, an’ then stay
’long the shore an’ yell at ’em an’ keep ’em from comin’ in. They’d
swim ’round fer a couple of hours, an’ they’d git so tired the waves
’ud wash ’em in, an’ we’d cetch ’em. We’d lay up enough meat to last
all winter.
“We had to save amminition, fer we had to go twenty miles to the
trading post fer wot we used. The Injuns was thicker’n hair on a dog
’round ’ere then. Many’s the time, in the summer, I’ve looked down the
marsh an’ seen ’em set’n’ on the mushrat houses suckin’ wild duck eggs
wot they’d found ’round in the slough.”
“I bet them was big pearls wot they was munchin’ on,” observed Sipes.
Not noticing the interruption the Ancient continued.
“They was so many wild ducks an’ geese ’round ’ere in the fall, that
you didn’t ’ave to shoot ’em at all. You c’d go down on that sand-spit
whar the river runs out o’ the marsh, jest ’fore daylight, w’en they
was comin’ out, an’ knock ’em down with a stick. They’d fly so low, an’
they was so thick you couldn’t miss ’em, an’ you c’d git all you c’d
carry.”
“Gosh! Let’s give ’im another drink!” whispered Sipes.
“Them days is all gone. Sometimes you see ducks hereabouts, but the
sky’s never black with ’em like it used to be. Thar was millions o’
wild pigeons ’ere too. They’d set on the dead trees so thick that the
branches busted off, an’ thar was eagles ’ere that used to fly off with
the young pigs, an’ I’ve killed rattlesnakes over in the hills as thick
as yer arm, an’ eight feet long, but they’ve been gone fer years.
“Thar was tall pine all through this country then, but it’s been
cut out. Pretty near ev’ry mile ’long the big lake thar’s old piles
stick’n’ up. Them was piers that the logs was hauled to with oxen an’
bob-sleds. The logs was loaded from the piers onto schooners that
carried ’em off on the lake. I used to work at the loggin’ in the
winter.
“Ev’ry now an’ then we’d git a b’ar, an’ we used to find lots o’ wild
honey. The wolves used to chase us w’en they was in packs, but w’en one
was alone ’e’d always run. Thar’s been some awful big fires through
’ere. Once it was all burnt over fer fifty miles.”
“That ol’ mossback knows a lot, don’t ’e?” whispered Sipes to me, as
the narrator paused to light his pipe.
“Them pearls you fellers er fish’n’ fer reminds me of a story. Thar
was a lot o’ Injuns lived ’ere at this end o’ the marsh long about
sixty-three. Thar was an’ ol’ medicine-man that ’ad gathered about a
peck o’ them things, big an’ little, an’ kep’ ’em in a skin bag. Thar
was a bad Injun ’ere named Tom Skunk, an’ ’e stole ev’rything ’e c’d
lay ’is hands on. He didn’t know the bag had much value, but ’e carried
it off one day w’en the old man was gone. The Injuns got so mad ’bout
all the meat an’ skins this feller kep’ takin’ that they fixed it up
to drill ’im out o’ the country. They caught ’im an’ made ’im give the
ol’ Injun back ’is bag. Then they told ’im to vamoose. He stuck ’round
fer a few days, an’ one night ’e paddled down the river in ’is canoe.
The ol’ Injun was pretty mad. He peeked out of ’is wigwam an’ seen ’im
comin’. He got ’is ol’ smooth-bore rifle out an’ rammed a handful o’
them little pearls on top o’ the powder. [Groan from Sipes.] W’en Tom
Skunk come by ’e let loose an’ filled ’im full of ’em. Tom got away
somehow, an’ that was the last seen of ’im in these parts. We heard
afterward that ’e went to a govament post, an’ the surgeon spent a week
pick’n’ out the pearls an’ sold ’em fer a big price.
“We used to have snapp’n’ turtles in this river that was two feet
across, an’ they’d come out in the night after the hens. We cut the
head off o’ one once, an’ ’e lived a week after that. He had a date,
seventeen hundred and sump’n, on ’is back. He was all caked up with
moss an’ crusted shell, so we couldn’t quite make out the year.
Somebody must ’a’ burnt it on with a hot iron.
“All the ol’ settlers in these parts are dead now, ’ceptin’ me, an’
I’m git’n’ pretty feeble, an’ don’t git ’round like I used to. I’m
eighty-four an’, damn ’em, I’ve buried ’em all!”
He reached for his hickory cane and rose painfully.
“I guess I gotta be goin’ ’long now, fer it’s git’n’ late. If you see
anything o’ my cow, I wish you’d let me know.”
We loaned him a lantern and bade him good-night, as he limped away
through the woods.
After the departure of our entertaining visitor, we took Sipes to task
about the cow. Under gentle pressure, he reluctantly agreed to release
the animal, and left for the glade, where Spotty was secreted. I
noticed that he took a pail with him.
Spotty visited the camp several times during the next week, and
the menus were enriched with dishes that would have been otherwise
impossible. I suggested that something ought to be done for the Ancient
to even things up.
“All right,” said Sipes, “we’ll have Cookie take ’im up a big bunch o’
carps, so ’e c’n ’av’ some fish. Gosh! We gotta have milk.”
By the use of delicate diplomacy and confidential explanation, I
amicably adjusted the milk difficulty with Spotty’s owner, and arranged
that the faithful animal should furnish us with two quarts a day. The
old settler was very tolerant and reasonable, and I had no trouble
about the matter at all. He often came to see us, and brought welcome
additions to our food supplies.
The golden fall days and the cool nights came. The pearl hunting and
the genial gatherings at the camp fire continued. The destruction of
the unios in the river went on with unabated zeal. Many hundreds of
them were opened and thrown away. Man, the wisest, and yet the most
ignorant of living creatures, lays waste the land of plenty that
prodigal nature has spread before him.
The tin box was nearly full of specimens, varying in size, shape, and
color. The attrition which Sipes caused by frequently shaking the
box dulled the lustre on many of the pearls. Saunders discovered the
damage, and afterwards they were properly protected. He suggested that
we get a baby-rattle and a rubber teething ring for Sipes, so he would
not “have to amoose ’imself shakin’ the shine offen them pearls.”
The dauntless toilers refused to be driven in by unfavorable weather.
One morning dawned with a cold drizzly rain, but it was the day of days
on the flatboat.
“Whoop! Whoop! Holy jumpin’ wild-cats!” shrieked Sipes, hysterically.
A resplendent oval form, as large as a filbert, iridescent with subtle
light and flashing hues of rose and green, rolled out of a bivalve
which he had partially opened. Its satiny sheen gleamed softly in the
palm of the old man’s gnarled and dirty hand--a pearl that might glow
on the bosom of a houri, or mingle in the splendor of a diadem.
“Avast there, you ol’ money-bags! You’ll founder the ship!” yelled
Saunders, as they danced with delirious joy in each other’s arms.
Work was suspended for the day. The prize was proudly and tenderly
carried to camp, with great rejoicing.
“Come ’ere, you Jack o’ Clubs, an’ see wot a million dollars looks
like!” shouted Sipes to Narcissus, who was hurrying to meet them.
Saunders told me, when we met that night, that “Cookie’s eyes stuck out
like grapes, an’ you c’d ’a’ brushed ’em off with a stick w’en ’e seen
wot we had.”
Unfortunately the jug was much in evidence. Narcissus responded many
times to Sipes’s insistent demands for “that cash-money tune.” The old
shipmates danced in the flickering firelight. Vociferous songs awoke
the echoes in the surrounding gloom of the damp forest. The big pearl
was repeatedly examined, and much speculation was indulged in as to its
value, which was considered almost fabulous. The hilarity extended far
into the night, until the revellers fell asleep from sheer exhaustion.
The jug was left on the grass, and Narcissus fondled it between drinks,
while the magnates slumbered.
“It’s only the rich an’ fuzzy that enjoys this life,” observed Sipes
with a prolonged yawn, when I came over and woke him in the morning.
“Think o’ them val’able clams wot sleeps out there in the bottom o’ the
river. The little runts can’t swim ’round, an’ they can’t chase food.
They ’ave to take wot’s fed ’em by the current. They can’t smoke ’er
talk, an’ they can’t ’ave nothin’ but water to drink. They jest lay
there an’ make them little jools fer me an’ Bill. That big feller’d
prob’ly been wait’n’ fer us all summer to come ’long an’ save ’im from
them mushrats.”
The happy old sailor’s remarks suggested the thought that most of the
great intellectual pearls in the world have come from the minds of
those who have pondered long in silent and secluded places.
“Hi there, Bill, you ol’ lobster, wake up. I want some breakfast.
Where’s that cusséd cookie?” he demanded.
We found poor Narcissus reclining against a tree--a pitiful picture.
The jug sat near him. The cup, mouth organ, and his tattered cap were
lying about on the grass. A primitive human animal had found satiety in
what he craved.
“Gosh! Look at that id’jut!” exclaimed Sipes, as he picked up the jug.
“They was two gallons in ’ere w’en we started out, an’ they was about
two quarts last night. This soak’s spilt it all into ’im ’cept about a
pint, an’ we gotta save it fer snake-bites.”
“Say, Boss, lemme off!” pleaded the culprit, weakly. In his confused
brain there was a sense of trouble that he could not quite comprehend.
We got our own breakfast. Narcissus watched us helplessly from under
his tree. He appeared quite sick.
“That cookie’s blue ’round the gills,” remarked Sipes. “He’d jest as
lief ’ave a pestilence come now as to see whiskey. His stummick’s gone
punk. His eyes looks like holes burnt in a blanket, an’ ’is head don’t
fit ’im. He needs a few kind words, an’ I’m goin’ to take ’im over a
little piece o’ the dog that bit ’im.”
He filled the cup to the brim and offered it to the sufferer.
“Here, Cookie, cheer up! Here’s some nice little meddy. You swallow it
an’ you’ll feel fine!”
Pathos and misery were written on Narcissus’s doleful face, as he
mutely protested against the cup being held where he could smell its
contents. Sipes, with refined cruelty, sprinkled some of the liquid
on the penitent’s coat, so that the odor would remain with him, and
chuckled, as he returned the unused portion to the jug, which he locked
in the boat’s cabin.
One night there was a light frost. When morning dawned there was a
crispness in the air. A spirit of foreboding was in the forest, and
a sadness in the tones of the wind that rustled the weakly clinging
leaves. The wood odors had changed. Dashes of color brilliance were
scattered along the edges of the timber on the river banks. The deep
green of tamaracks, and flaming scarlet of vines and dogwoods, relieved
by backgrounds of subtle and delicate minor hues, swept along the
borders of the great marsh, and stole away into veils of purple haze
beyond. Fruition and fulfilment had passed over the hills and through
the low places, and it was time for sleep.
[Illustration: THE REQUIEM OF THE LEAVES
(_From the Author’s Etching_)]
The tired grasses in the marsh were bent and gray. Among their dull
masses the current of the open stream crept in a maze of silvery lines,
that wound back in many retreating loops, and then moved slowly on,
seemingly reluctant to enter into the oblivion of the depths beyond the
passage through the dunes.
Wedges of wild geese trailed across the great clouds--valiant voyagers
along the unseen paths of the sky. In the darkness their turbulent
cries came out of the regions of the upper air, faint echoes of the
Song of Life from the vault of the Infinite.
“Them winds ’as got an edge on ’em. I guess we gotta git out o’ here,
Bill,” declared Sipes, as he warmed his numbed hands before the fire.
“The news o’ that jool’ll git ’round, an’ the fust thing we know this
country’ll be full o’ robbers. They’ll swipe it, an’ you an’ me’ll ’ave
to work the rest of our lives, an’ mebbe eat carps, instid o’ set’n’ on
soft cushions an’ smok’n’. The clams is ’bout all cleaned out an’ we
got a fort’n’. Wot’s the use o’ try’n’ to grab it all? We got plenty
to last us, an’ we can’t take no cash-money to the graveyard with us.
We’ll git hold o’ that onion-skinnin’ feller, an’ mebbe ’e c’n peel
some o’ them other jools, an’ make ’em wuth a lot more.
“We c’n do anything we want to now. Mebbe we’ll buy a big red church
fer Holy Zeke, so ’e c’n git in it an’ spout damnation up the chimbly
all by ’imself, an’ not come ’round us. I wonder wot that ol’ cuss
is doin’ nowdays? Anyway, we’ll buy ’im a new hard hat, an’ a ticket
that’ll carry ’im way off.”
The pearls were carefully concealed on the _Crawfish_. The sail, which
had done duty as a shelter on shore, was put back in its place, and
everything was snugly stowed on board. The boat that Narcissus had
borrowed “offen Cap’n Peppehs” was attached, with my own, to the stern
of the larger craft, and we were ready to push out into the current,
when we saw Spotty contemplating us with mild eyes from among the trees.
“Gosh! I gotta bid that ol’ girl good-by,” exclaimed Sipes, as he
seized a pail and nimbly hopped ashore. When he returned the homeward
voyage began.
We threaded the sinuous channel for hours before we came to the
sand-hills.
“This big dump’s full o’ jools,” remarked Sipes, as he indicated the
marsh with a broad sweep of his hand. “Next year we’ll come down ’ere
an’ bag the whole bunch.”
Narcissus, who had stuck by us faithfully, was anxious to go and spend
the winter at the fish shanty. The old men were immensely pleased both
with him and his cooking, and cheerfully consented.
The current took us through the hills, and we tied up at the
dilapidated pier. We were out of tobacco, and other small necessities,
and needed some gasoline, as Sipes wanted to “tune up” the motor, in
case we found no wind on the lake. Narcissus was provided with a list,
some funds, and the gasoline can, and he went ashore. Sipes considered
that he was perfectly reliable up to five dollars in prohibition
territory. We saw him swinging his can gayly, as he walked up the
little path that led to the village and disappeared around a bend. We
had had a wonderful trip, and everybody was in high spirits.
We waited nearly an hour for Narcissus, but he did not return. We
got ashore and went up to the general store, where he was to do his
shopping, but he had not been seen. Further search around the village
was fruitless. Thinking that he might have returned to the boat by
another route, we retraced our steps, and found the can in some weeds
near the bend where we last saw him.
With sudden inspiration, Sipes ran to the boat. He dived into the
cabin, and we heard an angry yell.
“Holy Mike! He’s frisked the jools!”
We hurried on board. The tin box had disappeared.
“We put ’em between them boards back o’ that little cuddy-hole. He
swiped ’em an’ ’e’s lit out! Hold on a minute!” cried the distracted
old man, as, with a glimmer of hope on his pale face, he again ducked
into the cabin.
“Gosh! We’r’ saved!” he exclaimed, as he emerged with the big pearl.
“Bully fer us! I stuck this in a crack with some paper, an’ ’e missed
it.”
Saunders had been too much overcome by the sudden misfortune to say
much. He appeared crushed. His face lighted up when it was found that
the disaster was not complete.
The question now was to catch Narcissus Jackson. He had had about two
hours’ start.
“Gimme that gun!” commanded Sipes. “I’ll pot that nigger, if I git ’im
inside o’ fifty yards. This gun ain’t loaded with no jools like that
Injun’s was!”
Adjectives are weapons of temperament. Sipes had a plentiful supply of
both. The past, present, and future of Narcissus Jackson was completely
covered by a torrent of scarifying invective.