Mississippi Jack

by L. A. Meyer

  Captain Allen's eyes go to the grisly bunches of hair and dried skin that hang at Lightfoot's middle and he says nothing. Lightfoot grins at the man's discomfort.

  "Draw that pigsticker and you're one dead Englishman," he says. "Remember, soldier boy, you're on Shawnee land here, and I am Shawnee and you sure as hell ain't."

  "She's a white girl. You have no right to keep her here," says the Captain. He is not smiling.

  "She's Shawnee, too, and you got no right to take her away from here." I reflect on the truth of this statement, in that I was made a member of the tribe just yesterday. Then I hear sounds of drumming coming from the direction of the village. Lightfoot puts up his gun and says, "You best go tend to yer lobsterbacks, soldier boy. Sounds like the great man's comin' in."

  With a final glare, Captain Allen turns and goes to form up his men for the arrival of Tecumseh.

  "I thank you, Lightfoot," I say, putting my hand on his arm and looking up at him gratefully.

  "Wah," he says, striding off. "Go sit with the women, girl."

  Meekly, I go do it. But before I do that, I go back to the tepee I share with Lightfoot and get the bundle of clothes that I wore here, pull out the drawers and, with my knife, cut them off just below the crotch. Then I put them on under my leather skirt. I reflect that I might have cut them a little bit farther down, but too late now.

  I join up with Tepeki and the other girls, and we watch the coming of the great Chief Tecumseh and his band of about twenty warriors. He's a tall man, almost six foot, with a fine, proud bearing. He has a long, thin nose and olive skin and hazel eyes that flash with determination and a certain cheerfulness. On his head he wears a red turbanlike headdress from which hangs a single feather on a string of wampum, and on his body buckskin leggings and a jacket of the same, bound around by a red sash. All in all, a splendid-looking man. I wish I could have Lightfoot by my side to translate what's being said by him and others as the welcome is made, but I can't. For one thing, he can't be caught hanging around with a girl, and for another, I can't draw any more attention to myself than I already have. So I'll just have to guess at things. One thing I don't have to guess at is the amount of esteem in which everyone here holds this man.

  After Tecumseh has settled into the largest tepee in the town, to hold court with all the other chiefs, and all the young warriors have been thoroughly checked out by us girls, we are of a mind to sneak off for another swim at the women's bathing place. There are some new girls with us, undoubtedly girls from other tribes. From their looks in my direction, I suspect my Shawnee friends wish to show me off, and that's all right. After all, I am a performer by trade.

  But it is not to be. Not now, anyhow, for when the mob of us, chattering away, are no more than halfway to the bend in the river, an older woman bursts upon us, waving a long ladle and pointing downstream, reminding me of nothing so much as good old Peg, back at the Lawson Peabody, scattering us serving girls back to our chores when we would grow lazy of a summer's afternoon.

  It becomes plain to me that we are to gather food, and we all change direction and head for a group of canoes tied up to the bank. The girls take this change of plans with good grace and run laughing and calling out yiyiyiyiyiyiyi! to the boats and clamber in. Tepeki chooses one and motions me to join her and I do, picking up a paddle and shoving us off into the water.

  When we head downstream, I find that there is a paddling song in which all the girls join and to which I try to add my voice, mainly in wordless harmony, and then when we pull into the marshes where the food grows, they fall into what I know are call-and-response songs—songs wherein one voice calls out a verse, mainly concerning another member of the party, like, say, what particular boy one particular girl has her eye on, and there are hoots of laughter and that particular girl gets to pick another girl or boy or whatever to comment on, and so on and so on.

  We come to a thicket of rushes, and Tepeki puts up her paddle and pulls the tall greenery over into the boat and begins shaking it, and wonder of wonders, black kernels of wild rice fall into the bottom of the canoe. It is early in the summer, so not all the rice is ripe, but some is and we gather what we can. We then move on to a growth of cattails, and the girls take both the brown-capped stalks and the roots of the plant.

  Satisfied that we have done enough, we head back to the village to prepare lunch. The rice is divided up by the women, the cattail roots are peeled and pounded to a pulp, and the cattails themselves are twisted from their stems to form a golden yellow powder that, when water is added, turns into another paste, which can be baked into a bread. Crafty people, these Shawnees, I reflect, biting into a hot cattail cake and again looking out on the festivities of the day.

  It is then that I finally spy the two English Special Agents. They have come out of their tepee and stand blinking in the sunlight, with an Indian man dressed in white man's clothing by their side. The older one, a disagreeable toadish-looking man with thick lips and a half-bald head, is dressed all in black, while the other one, a large and very handsome fellow, is dressed in navy blue, suggesting a possible naval officer. The younger man looks damned familiar, but I can't quite place him, and I can't stand there staring at him, that's for sure. I duck back out of sight behind a tepee and tuck the shawl tight about my face and peek out.

  The Indian man, whom I take to be their interpreter, says something to them and points down the row of tepees to one near where I am standing.

  Tepeki, her own chores done, has come to seek me out, and when I see her come up to me, I sign to her Quiet. I. Listen. Palefaces. and nod at the men entering the tepee. She glances over, then nods, and we go around the back and lie down on the ground such that we can put our ears to the opening below the hide covering of the tepee. This Tepeki doesn't lack for cheek, that's for sure. I grin at her and put my finger to my lips in the universal shush! sign and she grins back. I cock my ear to the conversation inside.

  "Please tell Blue Hand, Great Chief of the Cherokee, that His Majesty King George of England sends his fondest greetings." This from the older cove, I'm thinking.

  The translator speaks and Blue Hand says something in return.

  "He says he is happy to receive greetings from his brother King George and welcomes you gentlemen to his tepee."

  "Thank the Chief and tell him that King George sends his Cherokee brother this fine pistol as a token of his esteem. Lieutenant, if you would?"

  Lieutenant ... hmm...

  There is the sound of a case being opened and then an appreciative wah! from Blue Hand. I hear the hammer being cocked. Then the Chief speaks again.

  "He says many thanks for the pistol and asks what he can give his brother George in return."

  I hear the agent take a deep breath before he begins on what I feel will be the heart of the matter.

  "Chief Blue Hand, it has come to your brother King George's attention that the American settlers have been moving into the lands of the Cherokee, and this has filled his heart with sorrow..." Here he pauses to let the translator do his job. After the Chief hears it and gives an ugh! of agreement, the agent goes on.

  "This taking of the sacred land of the Cherokee has saddened him so much that he wishes that he could rise up and smite these settlers and free his Cherokee brothers from their transgressions, but, alas, he cannot do that, for he is too far away, across the great ocean from here." Again a pause, and then again he goes on.

  "But the great and noble Cherokee and their brothers the Shawnee, the Choctaw, the Creek, and the Chickasaw are here, and the King urges them to rise up and take the path of war against these invaders who, in their great numbers, will not stop coming on Indian land till the last red man and his woman and his child are thrown into the great waters to drown!"

  There is more translation, and angry sounds now from Chief Blue Hand. On the agent presses.

  "The King will help his Indian brothers in their rightful anger against these settlers," says the agent, "by putting in your hands five American do
llars for every white man's scalp, three dollars for every woman's, and two for every child's."

  I am barely able to suppress a gasp. This can't be true! Englishmen can't be doing this!

  As this is spoken in Cherokee, Tepeki, too, understands and looks at me in sorrow. Our happiness with our little adventure in eavesdropping is now gone. How can people be so cruel?

  Blue Hand responds that he will have to talk it over with his fellow chiefs, but he has taken the white man's words to heart and it has brought gladness to him.

  Farewells are said and the Special Agents take their leave.

  I stand up, fuming. Tepeki also gets up and signs sorrow to me, her eyes cast down. I take her to me and whisper, "Tepeki and Wah-chinga," and by putting both of my hands into fists and then crossing my arms on my chest, I make the sign affection. Then I take her by the shoulders and put a kiss on her forehead. She nods and I motion for her to follow me.

  We stride along the backs of the tepees, me intent on following these bastards back to their lodging to see what else they've got to say when they think no one else is listening. A very subdued Tepeki comes along with me and again we lie down with our ears to the bottom of a tepee.

  There is the sound of shuffling as the men make themselves comfortable. I hear a bottle being uncorked and the tink of a bottle laid against a glass and then the gurgle of liquid being poured, then...

  "Ah, that's much better," one of them sighs, the older one, I believe. "So what do you think? Will they go for it?"

  "I think it's all up to Tecumseh. If he goes for it, the rest of the bloody savages'll fall in line. At least we've gotten Half Red Face to sign on now—the rest of the malcontents from this bunch should fall into line with him even if Tecumseh refuses to sign on." This from the younger man, and it's plain their Indian translator is no longer with them, or else they don't care about insulting him. "When do we get to talk to the main man?"

  "Tonight, after they've all had a chance to powwow with him. That Blue Hand seemed ready to go on the warpath, though. You could see the greed in his eyes."

  "Maybe so, but I must tell you, Sir, that I don't like the sight of all those armed braves strutting around. And here we are, sitting on a box of money. They've all got guns, too. Hell, I thought they was all supposed to be carrying bows and arrows. Or spears. Damn! And where's that damned Allen, who's supposed to be providing for our safety? Off chasing some skirt, no doubt, the randy bastard!"

  "Sergeant Bailey did say something about there being a white girl in this camp."

  "Oh? And how old?"

  "Midteens, Bailey thinks. Small, but full-grown. Quite pretty, too, I hear. Doesn't speak English. Probably captured as a baby after her family was slaughtered."

  "Hmmm..."

  "Put that out of your mind. We are well acquainted with your own reputation as regards the ladies, Flashby."

  Flashby! That's why he looked so familiar! He's that cove what tried to drag my passed-out drunken body off to do me on that black day back at Dovecote! Of course he would end up in some dirty business like this!

  "If you want to keep your hair, I suggest that you'd best wait till we get back to the fleshpots of New Orleans."

  Now I'm really gonna have to stay out of sight! If he gets a glimpse of me...

  There is a growl of assent from Flashby. "Aye, aye, Mr. Moseley, but I hope she gives the arrogant son of a bitch a good dose of the clap."

  The older man laughs. "She might at that, we shall see. But right now I'm hungry. See if Private Quimby can whip us up some decent rations. I'll be damned if I'll eat that Indian slop—ain't hungry enough to eat stewed dog. Not yet, anyway."

  I've heard enough. I tap Tepeki on the shoulder and we quietly get up and go back to join the other girls. I've got a lot to think about.

  It turns out that the girls are now keen on having that swim that was denied us earlier, and so we all charge on down to the women's bathing place. After what I have just heard, I could use a good cleansing bath. Plus, the girls-only nature of the women's bathing spot makes it a good place for me to lay low and stay out of Flashby's sight.

  We strip down on the bank and hang our clothes on nearby branches. I am truly fond of the buckskin outfit the girls have given me, and I fold it over carefully, as I intend this to be my costume for the rest of the journey down the river.

  After getting some ooohs and ahhs over the nature of my skin, hair, and, of course, tattoo, I plunge into the water and join the frolic, putting the rest of the day out of my mind.

  We have a merry time of it, hooting and splashing about, and after a bit, my feet find that there's a quite deep channel next to a high part of the bank. Taking a deep breath, I dive under for a look.

  The water is quite clear, and I see no obstructions—roots, branches, or the like—in the deep under the bank. There are some holes in the underwater bank that are probably the entrances of some creature's den, but they ain't bothering me, so I shan't worry about them. I dive down further and see some clamlike things sticking upon the bottom. Hmm... I'll wager I ate some of those things in the last stew I had. I kick around the bottom a bit more, and when I've been down about a minute I shoot back up to the surface.

  I'm astounded to see Tepeki's worried face in front of me, her black hair streaming about her face. Hey, I was only down for a minute or so. I look downstream and see that some are combing the shallows for my drowned body. Tepeki's expression changes to one of anger. I sign sorry and then Sister. She looks stern and then forgives me, throwing her slippery arms about my neck in relief. I return the hug and then clamber out of the water and go up onto the high bank.

  I decide to give them my backflip first. Feet together, arms held out forward, I bend my knees and spring backward, legs overhead, and then feetfirst into the water. Not too bad, I'm thinking. Could use a little more height, though. When I come back to the surface, I get hoots and a few yiyiyiyiyis by way of applause. I climb back out, intending to treat them to my swan dive. This so reminds me of my time in my beautiful lagoon, back when I was marooned in South America.

  Gaining the bank, I put my toes over the edge, heels together, and arch my back and extend my arms gracefully out to the side.

  I see shocked looks from those below. What? This isn't that shocking? It's just a dive, and it's a lot easier one than the backflip ... But then I realize that it ain't me they're lookin' at. I smell the unmistakable odor of tobacco wafting from behind me and I look over my shoulder. There stands, smoking his usual cheroot, Captain Richard Allen, a broad smile on his face.

  "I think I was hasty before in naming you She-Is-Pretty-Thing. I now think that She-Has-Saucy-Tail would be much more appropriate. Or would Pretty-Bottom be more to your liking?"

  I can't let him see my tattoo! is my only thought and concern as I hastily dive into the water, much less elegantly than I had planned. I hit the water and go down to the bottom to think for a second. Did I stupidly speak in English when I was showing off before the girls? Had he been hiding in the bushes the whole time and spot my tattoo? I don't know, I only know I've got to go up for air eventually, and so I kick off the bottom and resurface, showing only the bridge of my nose and my furious eyes, which I fix on the arrogant Captain Allen.

  Matching me for fury is Tepeki who, with a fine string of what I assume are Shawnee curses, sends a little kid off to get someone to set this interloper straight, and then charges out of the water herself, picks up a handful of mud, and wings it at the officer, who steps aside to avoid the missile.

  "Now, now, Pocahontas, settle down. I'll be gone long before that old squaw you sent the little brown dumpling off for comes down and chases me off ... But you know, you're a right handsome one, too, Pocahontas ... Ah, yes, a man could have a real good time here. 'Tis a pity I can't tarry." He takes the cigar out of his mouth and points the slippery wet end at me. "You, I'll see later," and he turns and walks unhurriedly off.

  I rise up and watch him saunter away.

  The insufferabl
e cheek of that man!

  Chapter 50

  We are getting ready to leave. At breakfast, when I deliver their bowls to the men, Lightfoot looks up at me and says, "Stay."

  I look at him and raise my eyebrows in question.

  "That Katy girl," he begins, and I swear he looks embarrassed, shy, even. "I-I got her these." And he holds up a finely tooled and decorated leather quiver that is full of arrows. "Our best arrow-maker, old Sequi-tan, made these. Ain't none better. Think she'll like 'em?"

  I smile at his discomfort—the strong and brave mountain man Lightfoot, who could kill ten men without blinking, all fumble-mouthed when talking to a girl about another girl.

  "I think she'll like 'em just fine, Lightfoot," I answer. "But when it comes to girls..." I finger the collar of my fine buckskin shirt and the hem of my fine buckskin skirt.

  "Ah," he says, taking my meaning.

  "She's about the same size as Tako-hah-yoe," I say as I leave the tepee. He nods. She's a Shawnee girl I know from our swimming sessions whose name means Willow-tree, and she's probably the tallest girl in the camp.

  ***

  Had it not been for the fact that Lightfoot had to go hunt up the outfit he wished to give to Katy, we would have left right after breakfast, but as it was, I had time to go look up Tepeki to say good-bye. I found her looking for me in the center of the village.

  "Wah-ho-tay, Wah-chinga," she says by way of greeting, and I return the greeting, and we join hands, and I lead her toward the backs of the outlying tepees yet again. I intend to have one more listen to the agents to see if anything was decided last night in the big powwow. They were all at it far into the night, I know, but since Tecumseh's tepee was square in the center of the town, with people all about, I knew I couldn't just plop down and listen in as I did at Blue Hand's abode.

  I lie down for a last listen. If I find that Tecumseh agrees with the agents' fiendish scheme, we'll have to spread the alarm to warn settlers as we take the Belle down the river. Tepeki lies down beside me.