Passage to Natchez

by Cameron Judd

  Celinda was trapped where she was. It could be worse, she reminded herself. At least she was floating closer to Natchez every day. And better to be tied to Queen than to Jim Horton. Queen’s affection was warm and real, far different than Jim Horton’s declared love—love! The thought of him loving her was absurd and maddening. A man such as he could know nothing of real love. His kind of love was possessive, destructive, a mockery.

  Celinda looked toward the shelter ceiling and thanked God for Queen Fine. All her hope of safety was centered around that big, rough-cut woman, and all the trust Celinda had was thrown upon her and would have to remain there until they reached Natchez and her aunt Ida.

  How long would that take? Celinda wished they were there already.

  Unable to sleep, Celinda lay silently and listened to the sounds of the river—or what she could hear of them above the snores of the sleeping crew. Contradictory to what she would expect, she had developed an appreciation of the river during her time upon it, perhaps because it was the one thing in her world that moved along on its own, free and open, oblivious to all the things that she herself would like to be oblivious to. And it had filled her mind with scenes she would never forget.

  The river was like a great highway, filled with human traffic moving along on anything that could float. Since the flatboat had pulled out onto Mississippi waters, Celinda had seen watercraft of astonishing variety. She often distracted herself from her worries by looking for new and different kinds of boats as they went along. By now she had an impressive mental inventory of images.

  She had seen keelboats, rafts, ferries, arks, and many great broad-horn flatboats similar to the one she was upon. She had seen every imaginable kind of cargo: tobacco, whiskey, shingles, cotton, flour, lumber, horses, cattle, slaves. The Mississippi was a far greater artery of commerce than a simple Kentucky girl could have ever imagined.

  Sometimes, when the river was foggy and visibility was down, the other craft on the river could be heard rather than seen, which seemed eerie. Phantom voices, disembodied, would come floating through the mist, amplified by the water, and it would seem that surely ghosts were floating above the river only a few yards off the boat, when in fact the speakers were thoroughly human and ensconced on unseen keelboats or broad horns quite a long way off.

  Most of the boats, whatever their variety, were commercial vessels. Others carried both cargo and people, mostly emigrants traveling to new country down the river. On three occasions the flatboat came up alongside great fleets of flatboats traveling together both for company and safety, and Celinda marveled at what was for all purposes an entire floating town. Some of the flatboats were simply but nicely decorated by the hands of woman who saw no reason that a temporary, floating home shouldn’t be as comfortable and domestically appealing as possible.

  Some of the vessels they met in the river were dedicated to vice, such as the floating whiskey shop the crew had done business with today. Once, they met three barges strung together and filled with crude structures that served as liquor parlors and gambling halls. Lex Dunworth wouldn’t allow his crew to board that vessel, fearing he would not be able to persuade them back to work again.

  Most of the river traffic moved downstream with the current at a fairly fast and steady pace. The few craft coming upstream did so much more slowly, poling or “warping” against the flow. Warping involved tying hundred-yard rope cables, or warps, to riverside trees and coiling them in, pulling the boat with them at a rate that covered six or eight miles a day at best. “Yonder’s why most sell their boats in Natchez or New Orleans, and walk back on the old Nashville road,” Queen had explained to her the first time they encountered a barge warping its way upstream. “It takes months on end to make the journey back and down again, when you warp. Best to shuck off the boat for its lumber, once you’ve sold your load, and come back home on the hoof.”

  Sometimes, when Celinda had watched boats going past bearing families, she had fantasized about throwing herself into the river and swimming over to board. She would tell the good folk upon it that she had been kidnapped by those on the original flatboat and beg for rescue. But she was a poor swimmer and had never found the courage to really try it. And what if the people on the other boat didn’t believe her and sent her back?

  But if they did believe her … that would be wonderful. To escape this boat, to go on to Natchez in the company of some good, protective family—oh, God, if only you would make it so, if only you would give me the chance, and the courage, and the ability to swim … She was thinking along these lines when at last she fell asleep.

  The next morning, after the boat had pulled out from the island and found its channel in the river, Celinda came out of the shelter and saw Queen talking at length with Lex Dunworth. Their volume was low, but Dunworth seemed quiet astonished, and then animated, in reacting to what he heard. Wiping sleep from her eyes, Celinda wondered if Queen had just told him the truth about her, and maybe a few lies about Jim Horton to boot.

  Celinda had no opportunity to find out before Queen, with Dunworth at her side, mounted the shelter top. She declared: “Hear me! You see the mute boy George Ames, there? Well, he’s neither mute nor a boy! George Ames is Celinda Ames, a girl with her hair cut short to make her pass for a lad.”

  Celinda thought: God help me, she’s really doing it! She’s doing just what she said she would! Oh, Queen, I hope you know what you’re doing.…

  Queen went on: “It was all the notion of Junebug Horton, to protect her from being bothered back at the cave. Only problem is, it’s Junebug doing the bothering now, and threatening to tell the truth ’bout her to all of you, holding that over her head like an axe. Well, I’ve done blunted that axe. Now Junebug’s got nothing to threaten with—and I’m standing here to tell you, with Lex Dunworth to back me up, that there’ll be no hand laid on Celinda Ames, or I’ll chew it off with my own teeth! She’s a pure girl, hardly more than a child, and I’ll not see wrong done by her! You hear me?”

  No one answered. The entire crew was staring at Celinda in amazement, reorienting their perceptions of the “boy” that had been among them for so many days now. Celinda’s face grew red. She felt probed and exposed, and wanted to hide.

  She looked at Jim Horton. His face was red, too, and twisted in fury. He met her gaze and held it until she could stand it no more and turned away. Horton then looked at Queen, eyes boiling with hate. Queen looked back, and this time it was Horton who couldn’t hold the gaze. He turned his back on her with an oath.

  “Figured to keep her for yourself, eh, Junebug?” one of the crew asked.

  “Like your gals dressed up as boys, do you, Junebug?” another asked, evoking laughter that made Horton turn and fire a barrage of obscenities at the others.

  “Junebug!” Lex Dunworth called from the shelter top.

  “What?”

  “Off the boat. We’re done with you. Queen tells me you been making some threats ’gainst me ’mongst the others.”

  “What? That’s a lie! A damned lie!”

  “I’ve heard him!” Ajax McKee said. “Heard him with my own ears, just yesterday, saying he aimed to carve the gizzard from ye, Lex!” McKee grinned at the increasingly flustered Horton, and Celinda knew McKee was lying, backing up Queen and Dunworth either out of loyalty to them, dislike for Horton, or maybe just for the fun of it.

  “You want to come try and make that threat good here and now, Junebug?” Dunworth challenged.

  “Get up there, Junebug!” someone heckled. “Show old Lex who’s the true yaller flower of the wildwoods!”

  Other such calls began to arise. Horton swore and stormed into the shelter, gathered his possessions, and came out again. The laughter and hooting continued. Celinda, though feeling nervous and vulnerable because the secret of her sex was out, greatly enjoyed watching Horton suffer under the onslaught. He made for the skiff that was stored upside down at the rear of the flatboat.

  “You just get away from that, Junebug!” Dunwo
rth yelled. “You ain’t taking our skiff.”

  “Then how am I supposed to reach the shore?”

  “Swim.”

  “Swim? All the way to the bank? I ain’t a good swimmer, Lex.”

  “You’d best learn, and fast.”

  Horton didn’t look angry now. He looked scared. “But I ain’t a good swimmer, really. I’ll drown.”

  “I’d figure a junebug could just fly ashore!” one of the crew joked.

  “Lex, please …”

  Celinda was surprised to find herself pitying Horton. She despised the man, but did not want to see him drown. She climbed up on the decktop and went up to Dunworth. “Please, sir, have someone row him ashore.”

  Dunworth looked at her with great interest. “You can talk, can’t you! And you really are a girl.”

  Celinda pressed her plea. “Please, sir. I’m glad you’re putting him off the boat, but I don’t want anybody to drown because of me.”

  “I’d figure you’d be pleased to see him dead.”

  “She ain’t hard and mean like we are, Lex,” Queen said. “She ain’t been ruint yet. That’s what I like about her. She makes me think of me, back before I was ruint.”

  “Ah, well … very well, girl.” He called to McKee. “Ajax! Drop the skiff in the water there and row old Junebug ashore. Old George here—What’s your name? Celinda?—Celinda, she wants us to show him mercy.”

  The protests of this were feeble. Now that Celinda was up in better view, most of the crew was occupied with looking her over very closely, trying to see the female in the form they had perceived as male up until now.

  Celinda glanced quickly at Horton. He looked relieved until he realized she was looking at him. Then he glared. She dropped her head, grateful he was soon to be gone.

  “Get your pack and be gone, Junebug,” Dunworth ordered.

  “I’ll need a rifle, for protection.”

  “No rifle for you. You got a knife, you’ll make do with that.”

  Ajax McKee was rowing Horton away from the flatboat when one of the crew called out to Celinda. “Say something, girl! We want to hear better what you sound like!”

  Celinda felt shy, and ducked behind Queen.

  The men laughed. “Look at her! Hiding like a child behind its mammy! Hey, Queen, you going to be Mammy to that gal now?”

  “I’ll be the closest she’ll have to it,” Queen replied. “And to any man what dares touch my girl, I’ll be the very devil! I’ll geld the first scoundrel what even looks too long at this girl!”

  No one seemed to doubt Queen’s word. Celinda was glad Queen was there, and decided to remain close by her the rest of the day, while the others grew accustomed to her in what was to them a new light. When Ajax McKee returned with the skiff now empty, she felt relieved.

  Jim Horton was gone. He could no longer reach her, no longer be a threat. And if Queen really could keep the other men away from her, she had a chance of reaching Natchez and her aunt Ida Post unscathed.

  She was enjoying the hopefulness of those thoughts when she sensed someone was watching her. Turning, she found Ajax McKee studying her closely. He approached her. “Come here, girly.”

  “Why?”

  “I want to get to know ye, now that I know ye are what ye are.”

  “No … I don’t want to … no.”

  He stepped up to her and grabbed her shoulder. “Come on, now, girly! Ye know what the good Lord put girlies in the world for, don’t ye? So a man could have his sport, that’s why! Ye know about sporting, don’t ye? Ye ain’t no fresh little unplucked flower, are ye?”

  “Leave me alone!” His hands seemed to burn upon her, reviving in her all the terror of the time Jim Horton had almost succeeded in forcing himself upon her. She put out her nails like claws and raked them down the side of McKee’s face, drawing blood.

  “Why, ye little trollop, I’ll—”

  Suddenly he was no longer there, but thrashing in the water beside the boat. Queen Fine had come upon him unseen, hefted up her skirts, and kicked him over the side.

  “You touch my girl again, and I’ll have my knife in you thrice before you hit the water!” Queen bellowed at him. He flailed, treading water with difficulty because of his soaked clothes, intermixing curses at Queen Fine with calls for someone to throw out a rope or extend an oar. Queen put her hands on her hips, spit toward him in the water, and turned to the others. “Let that be your lesson!” she yelled at all of them. “This here girl ain’t to be touched! You hear me? Any what tried something like that again will get worse than a swim! That’s the word of Queen Fine, as solid as the ten commandments!”

  Someone at last tossed a line out to McKee and got him back into the boat, dripping and furious. He looked at Queen. “Ye’ll pay dear for that, damn ye!”

  “Don’t touch her no more, Ajax McKee. No more. You hear?”

  “Ye’ll pay,” he said, and turned away.

  CHAPTER 20

  That night, Celinda was jolted out of a dream of her old home in Kentucky by the sudden pressure of a hand across her mouth. Instantly she panicked, sure in one subrational moment that Jim Horton was back and that this time he would be far more furious than ever and lethally dangerous. Her eyes flashed open and she was poised to scream when a thumb expertly pressed at just the right point on her throat cut off her voice. She looked up not into Horton’s face, but that of Ajax McKee, intense, ugly, the overscarring, scabrous place where his nose tip had been so close it almost touched her.

  He whispered, “Hush now, quiet. Not a sound, not a peep. Get up and come with me.”

  She waited for him to remove the pressure on her throat so that she could breathe again—and scream, as loudly as she could. Seemingly sensing her intentions, he pushed his face even closer and whispered, “Ye make a noise, they’ll stop us, and ye’ll not be seeing Queen no more. She’ll be heartbroke.”

  Queen? Celinda turned her eyes and looked at Queen’s sleeping place by the light of the low and flickering hearth fire. Empty.

  “Ye’ll keep quiet, girly?”

  She nodded. He let go of her. Celinda gasped in much-needed air. The thought of screaming despite her promise rose but died promptly. The mention of Queen intrigued her; she would do nothing drastic for the moment.

  McKee’s voice was so low she could barely follow his words. “Get up, quiet. The skiff is in the water. We’re going to the far shore and will have ye off this foul boat at last. Ye’d like that, aye? Queen’s waiting for us. No, no time to gather possessions. Come now, and no shilly-shally!”

  She had time only to grab up the sack in which she had stored her original dress, coat, and shoes since Horton had forced the “George Ames” pseudoidentity upon her. To her good fortune, she had already been wearing her coat to keep her warm while she slept. Even though all on the boat now knew she was no male, she had continued to wear her bulky, unappealing male clothing, not only because it was warmer and more practical, but because earlier that day Queen had warned her of the foolishness of prettying herself before a cabal of lusty river pirates.

  McKee led her toward the door opening out onto the deck. Celinda, groggy from sleep and muddled over Queen’s involvement in this unexpected event, gingerly followed him on bare feet to and onto the skiff, heeding his gestured commands for silence. She quietly laid her pack at her feet. He slipped off the tie and gently pushed away from the flatboat, which had been tied up for the night against a big sawyer covered with glair and moss. Only after the skiff had drifted back from the boat as far as it would go on its own did he dip the oars in the water and begin rowing, very gently. Celinda realized at that moment she had been holding her breath in sheer tension.

  She drew in fresh air and asked in a whisper, “Where is Queen?”

  “On the shore. Now hush!” McKee whispered back. “Voices are louder on the river.”

  Rowing the half breadth of the wide river took a seeming eternity. As Celinda’s mind slowly cleared out the murk of sleep, she was reminded b
y the situation of her and her father’s eviction from that flatboat on the Ohio, and began to feel similar apprehensions. But under their stream flowed an undercurrent of confused but authentic hope because of McKee’s invocation of Queen’s name. Maybe Queen had somehow contrived this scenario as a way of saving her; perhaps all along there had been a secret collaborative companionship between Queen and McKee that she had not seen, or which had been deliberately concealed from all for prudence’s sake. Perhaps there had been more theater than reality in the brawl that had left McKee flouncing about in the river while Queen harped at him like a fishwife. At this moment all understanding was in limbo and anything seemed possible. Celinda delved into her pack for her shoes. As she put them on she squinted into the dark, trying to see the bank, and was thrilled with both fear and excitement when at last it came into view through the veiling night. She looked for Queen on the shore but saw no one.

  McKee lithely hopped out of the skiff and pulled it aground. Celinda rose and stepped forward. “Why are you doing this? Where is Queen?”

  “I believe I hear her coming now,” McKee replied. “Aye—that must be her.” He extended Celinda his hand. It was so dark she could hardly see it, and his face was fully shrouded. But he sounded cheery when he said, “Let me help ye from the skiff.”

  She opted not to touch him. “I can get out myself.” She paused, squinting through the dark down the bank as she came to her feet. There was indeed someone coming toward them. Celinda stepped out of the skiff and sank her feet into the shoreline shallows. “Queen? Is that you?”