Far From Home (31 page)

Edward looked up as the captain shouted below deck. So there is some other crew! When he’d first come on board he’d glanced around for an implement that he could use if he was set upon, and had spied a rusty spanner. It was just out of reach, but he could dash for it should he need to. But I wouldn’t stand a chance against two men, he pondered, not if the other is as muscular as Cap’n Mac.

But Jo wasn’t muscular. Jo was nicely rounded with a small waist, long dark hair and a pretty, though sullen, grubby face.

‘Don’t get any ideas, mister,’ Cap’n Mac shouted to Edward. ‘You so much as look dirty at her and you’re overboard!’

‘Wouldn’t think of it,’ Edward said, nodding towards her. Even if I was so inclined, which I am not, it would be difficult to pay one’s respects in the state I am in. What I desire more than anything is a soak in a hot tub and a change of clothes. I will not become embroiled with a woman again, he resolved.

‘Get to the fore,’ Cap’n Mac ordered the girl. ‘Look out for the lumber. And you,’ he bellowed to Edward, ‘when she rings the bell, take that stave and push the timber away from the hull.’

Edward looked around. A long wooden pole was lying on the deck. He’d noticed it before and wondered what its use was. Now he knew. It was to keep any logs, branches or floating weed away from the paddles.

Jo positioned herself at the head of the boat with her back to Edward. At her side was a large brass bell which she rang regularly. They were coming now into a wide stretch of the river littered with fallen trees whose branches lay above the water and drifted with its movement, their roots submerged beneath the surface. Other craft, mainly flatboats and freight-carrying steam packets, were moving slowly to avoid the obstacles.

‘Watch out fer that sawyer,’ Jo called to Edward. ‘He’s a big fella.’ She pointed to a huge tree still with green leaves on its branches, which swayed menacingly towards them. ‘Git that fella sucked under the paddles and we’re done fer.’

Edward heaved with the pole, pushing with all his strength to keep the trunk of the tree away from the boat. ‘Stop engines,’ the girl cried. ‘You’ll have to come up, Pa,’ she called to the captain. ‘This fella’s not used to hard work. Bin a gen’leman, have you?’ she scoffed.

Edward was about to reply that, yes, as a matter of fact that was what he was, when he remembered who he was supposed to be, or rather not to be. I must remember that I am not Edward Newmarch.

‘No,’ he replied. ‘I was a servant, but I didn’t do heavy work.’

The girl pealed with laughter. ‘Oh,
la-di-da
! A
sarvant
! Is that right? Well in that case you can git below, mister, and make some coffee.’

Cap’n Mac took the pole from him. ‘Yip, get below whilst we’re stationary. Coffee’s on the shelf.’

Whilst Edward felt some degree of relief that the captain had his daughter on board and was therefore unlikely to use violence on him, he was still uneasy as to how he would get back to New Orleans. Though their passage was slow he reckoned that they had travelled several miles. The land beyond the banks seemed swampy and inhospitable. Narrow creeks and rivulets ran off the main artery and dozens of small islands, thick moss and strangling weed had to be negotiated. Frogs croaked incessantly and several times he had seen slithering movements on the banks and rippling eddies in the water. It was also blisteringly hot in spite of the rain, and there was a stench of rotting vegetation.

‘I’ve found the coffee,’ he called up from below. ‘But where’s the water?’

He heard the girl’s peal of laughter again and Cap’n Mac’s muttered oath. ‘Come up here, mister,’ the captain called. ‘Bring the pan. Look down there.’ He pointed into the river. ‘What d’you see?’ He spoke in a slow derisory tone as if Edward was dim-witted.

Edward gazed down into the water. It was green and slimy and covered with river weed. Mosquitoes hovered over it. ‘You’re not suggesting we drink that!’

‘Ain’t nuthin’ else,’ he replied. ‘If you’re particular there’s a filter somewhere below, but this water is good and wholesome, mister. Ain’t done me or my daugher any harm. Why, she was weaned on it, ain’t that right, Jo?’

Edward stared at them both in disgust, then lowered the long-handled vessel into the river and brought up a panful of green water. Well,
nothing
will induce me to drink this, he vowed. I’d have to be dying first!

Nevertheless, he was very hot and thirsty, and looked around in the cramped galley for something in which to catch rainwater. He found another pan and also a rusty sieve. He put it to his nose and sniffed. It had an unmistakable reek of engine oil.

An evil-smelling stove was in the galley and after scooping off the weed from the pan of water, he heated it and made the coffee. He felt quite virtuous, as this was the first time in his life that he had done such a thing. He took the other pan on deck to catch rainwater, placing it away from the chimney, which was spurting black soot and smoke.

He handed the chipped coffee beakers to Jo and her father. She took a drink and immediately spat it out. ‘Cold! Didn’t you boil the water?’

‘Well, it’s fairly hot,’ he began.

‘Some
sarvant
you are,’ she said scathingly. ‘You’ve got to boil the water to kill off the mozzies! Here.’ She handed it back to him and her father did likewise. ‘Try agin.’

He glanced in the pan that was catching the rainwater. It was half full already, but had soot and mosquitoes floating in it. He kicked it viciously, knocking it over. I’ll do without, he decided.

There were two small cabins and, when darkness fell, Cap’n Mac ordered him below to one of them. It was not much bigger than a cupboard with a narrow shelf, which turned out to be his sleeping bunk. A thin mattress lay upon it and he found that he couldn’t stretch out, only lie with his knees tucked up.

There was little chance of sleep, for all night there were bumpings and jarrings as the timber in the river hit the boat and on one occasion he was almost thrown out of his bunk. To add insult to hopelessness he was dripped on by rain coming through the cracks in the timbers.

As day dawned he sat with his head in his hands and pondered on his situation. How was he to get off the boat and back to New Orleans? There hadn’t been any opportunity the previous day, and as evening had drawn on they moved into a wider, rolling, rushing stretch of river. Right now, he thought, the prospect of Rodriguez searching me out seems preferable to being stuck here in the middle of a swamp with a boat-steering rogue and his bad-tempered daughter.

He put on his shirt, trousers and jacket, which he had draped over a rickety chair and which were still very damp. He shivered, though the air was muggy. ‘I’ll probably die of pneumonia,’ he muttered. ‘And no-one will know.’ Or care, he reflected. No-one knows where I am. Not Allen, he’ll be expecting me back. Two weeks, I told him. And if I die out here on the boat, this blackguard will throw me overboard. He felt very sorry for himself. He didn’t deserve this misery, he thought, quite forgetting that he had brought on his misfortune entirely unaided.

‘Hey, mister.’ The girl, Jo, shouted down to him. ‘You gonna stay in bed all morning?’

‘I’m coming.’ He roused himself and shuffled up the few steps to the deck. There was a smell of coffee and he licked his dry mouth. Should he risk trying it? If he was going to die it wouldn’t matter if he died of pneumonia, malaria or dysentery, though the latter might be the worst, he decided.

‘Coffee?’ Jo asked, holding up a jug. She looked more presentable this morning. Her face was clean and her hands relatively so, though she was wearing the same mud-spattered dress.

‘Yes. Please.’ He took the beaker from her and sipped, closing his eyes so that he was spared further sight of the thick soupy liquid which was the colour of the river itself. It tasted surprisingly good if rather gritty. He took another gulp and felt better for it.

‘Sorry I was so shrewish yesterday,’ Jo said. ‘I was feeling outa sorts. You know how it is sometimes with wimmin?’

‘Ah, yes,’ he said vaguely.

‘You married?’

He was caught unawares by her question. Last time he had falsely claimed to be a widower he had almost become a bigamist by promising to marry Elena. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I am.’

‘So who you running from? Your wife?’

‘Erm – no. I owe money,’ he lied. ‘To a moneylender.’

‘You son of a bitch! You left your wife holdin’ the baby?’

‘No. No. We don’t have any children,’ he said hastily.

She grimaced at him. ‘I didn’t mean that, you dolt! I meant holding the can, going to jail ’stead of you?’

‘Oh, no. No fear of that.’ He was quick to deny it. ‘She’s not there – she’s away, visiting her sister.’

‘Yeah, yeah!’

She was unconvinced, he could see that. ‘So I mustn’t be away too long,’ he said. ‘She’ll start worrying. When shall we be arriving at wherever it is we’re going?’

She hunched her shoulders. ‘Depends,’ she said. ‘On what Pa has planned. Two or three days anyway afore we turn around.’

‘I thought your father said he couldn’t turn this boat around?’

She rolled her eyes at his stupidity. ‘Nor he can when the river’s narrow. But once we git to a wider stretch, then he can.’

He heaved a deep breath. Things were looking up. ‘So, we can expect to be back in New Orleans in a week or so?’

‘What makes you think we’ll take you, mister?’ Cap’n Mac appeared at the top of the galley steps. ‘You said you’d lost your money!’

‘Stolen!’ Edward said vehemently. ‘That fellow who said he was a friend of yours. But I’ll pay you for the return trip,’ he added quickly. ‘I have money back at the hotel.’

‘Which belongs to the moneylender?’ Jo queried, a cynical smile on her lips.

Edward closed his eyes for a second. How was it that whenever he lied, he seemed to dig a deeper hole for himself?

‘I promise you—’ he began, but the captain was turning away. ‘I need some help,’ he barked. ‘Get up on deck.’

It was very hot on deck and the mosquitoes constantly buzzed and bit until Edward’s face was covered in itchy red weals. There was no need to bail as the rain had stopped, but he was told to ‘stay up front and keep lookout’.

The current was strong and faster here. The river rushed and whirled and great globs of crusty yellow foam attached themselves to the floating timber like a frilly hem on a young girl’s skirts. They stopped once and took on wood for the fire. The bank was low and the wood was thrown down onto the deck by someone who was obviously waiting for the boat, and who caught the packet that Cap’n Mac threw to him.

Edward looked keenly at the landscape with a view to getting off, but the river was wide and the land was marshy. As he gazed into the distance the swamp seemed to extend as far as he could see, with a few stumpy decaying cottonwood trees and no sign of habitation.

They chugged and wheezed along for two more days and tempers grew short. On the third morning Edward rose and realized they were going much more slowly. When he came up on deck he saw that they were no longer on the river, but had run off it at some point during the night and were moving along a winding sluggish creek with overhanging branches and swampy banks. There were no other boats.

‘What place is this?’ he exclaimed. ‘Dante’s Inferno?’ It was hot and sticky and foul-smelling. The mosquitoes were alive and hungry, the frogs croaked in deafening cacophony, yet there was no other sound. Everything else was silent in that humid, desolate atmosphere, save for the creak and groan of their paddles.

Cap’n Mac didn’t answer him, but only indicated that he should watch out for weed and timber.

Edward ducked his head as a low branch threatened to decapitate him. He felt queasy. There hadn’t been much food and what there was he carefully looked over before venturing to eat. Jo had cooked soup, the base of which he couldn’t begin to guess at, which lay heavy and greasily on his stomach along with the stale bread which they had consumed. This is a disease-ridden hellhole! I can’t think that I’ll get out alive.

On the following morning Edward awoke as the boat shuddered and the engine died. He could hear Cap’n Mac cursing. He went up on deck and found him leaning over the side, trying to prise a tree branch from under one of the paddles.

‘Pesky river,’ he grunted. ‘Jo!’ he yelled. ‘You should have been up here watching out, gal. I just didn’t see this coming.’

Jo appeared from below. She was dressed in only her shift but she didn’t seem at all concerned about it. ‘Will you have to go over?’ she asked, peering down.

‘Reckon so. Can’t shift it from up here.’

Edward looked about him. They had come into fairly clear water and it was running fast. In the distance beyond the levee he could see a shack and behind it a sparse wood. ‘I’ll go over if you like,’ he offered. ‘If you force it from the top, I’ll try to move it from below.’

‘Can you swim? It’s pretty deep.’

‘Yes.’ As a boy he had occasionally swum in the Humber, though he had been in trouble from his parents when they found out. The Humber estuary was fast and treacherous but, unlike the Mississippi, it didn’t have the hazard of trees floating down it. The only debris there was what people threw into it.

He took off his jacket and lowered himself into the water. If I can pull this out, he thought, and whilst Cap’n Mac is starting the engine, I could swim to shore. He’s not going to take me back with him, that I know, so I might as well chance my luck here.

It was cool in the water. Slimy strands of weed attached themselves to him as he heaved and tugged at the branch that had become entwined in the paddles.

‘That’s it,’ he shouted as it eventually came free. ‘Start the engine.’ He trod water away from the paddles. I’ll let it start moving and then head for the shore.

‘Look out!’ Jo, who had been leaning over the side, watching, suddenly screamed out. ‘Croc! There’s a croc coming up behind!’

Edward glanced over his shoulder. Slithering down the muddy bank and into the water was the grey scaly body of a crocodile, and it was coming straight towards him.

Getting out of the boat had been easy enough, he’d simply lowered himself over the side. But getting back in was a different matter altogether. There was nothing to hold onto, no ledge where he could heave himself up. He swam to the fore of the boat away from the ripples in the water, where he could see the scaly body of the oncoming reptile just below the surface. He shouted, ‘The stave! Get the stave!’