Bartleby of the Big Bad Bayou

by Phyllis Shalant

  Old Stump whipped his tail at Grub. “Stay out of this, you gutless gator—or you’ll be next,” he hissed through his teeth.

  “Not unless you release my bro’!” Grub grabbed the end of the big beast’s tail and sank his jaws into it.

  Old Stump writhed, and wriggled, and whirled in the water, but he still didn’t release Seezer.

  Bartleby took a deep breath and dove in again. Once more he found Old Stump’s sensitive hind toe and chomped down on it.

  Old Stump’s jaws flew open. “Owwwwwooooo, my tail! Owwwwwooooo, my toe! Owwwwooooo—OLD STUMP GIVES UP!”

  Bartleby released his grip on the long, revolting toe. “My friends and I are leaving this bayou. Don’t try to stop us, or next time I may swallow your toe,” he said, although his stomach turned at the thought.

  “Good riddance,” Old Stump snarled. “You weren’t a very good present, anyway.”

  8

  The Flooded Forest

  Before Old Stump could change his mind again, Bartleby, Seezer, and Grub crawled up the mud bank and slipped away into the woods. As he rode on Seezer’s back, Bartleby inspected the tooth marks on his friend’s neck.

  “Do your wounds hurt much?” he asked.

  “Sssertainly not. That old ssscoundrel’s teeth were too rotten to ssstab my ssscaly hide very deeply. But I was getting awfully tired of ssstruggling with that ssselfish bully. It’s good you and Grub joined the ssscuffle.”

  Grrruhhhh! Grub let out a proud bellow. “In the morning Old Stump is going to have a big tail ache. I wouldn’t want to be around him then.”

  But there was no time to celebrate their victory. The thought of the enraged bull gator made them press on even faster through the thick tangle of vines and bushes.

  Whoosh, whoosh!

  “Did you hear that?” Bartleby asked from atop Seezer’s back.

  Seezer stopped and listened. “What did it sssound like?”

  Bartleby’s webs trembled. “Like the sweeping of a great tail across the forest floor.”

  “Like this, little bro’?” Grub whisked his tail back and forth.

  “Yes—only with a much bigger tail.”

  “It could have been the sssound of mice rustling the leaves—or of a bird of prey ssspreading its wings,” Seezer suggested. “But if sssomeone is ssstalking us, it’s sssafer to keep moving.”

  Staying very close together, the little band scuttled around the trees, over logs and rocks, and through piles of brush. The deeper they went, the darker it got. After a while, they could hardly see one another.

  Whoosh, whoosh.

  “I hear it now, little bro’,” Grub hissed.

  “Ssso do I,” Seezer agreed. “Sssomeone is trailing us. We must find a sssecure place to sssettle before it catches up.” He swung his head toward Grub. “Which way ssshould we go?”

  “I don’t know, bro’. I’ve never been farther than the mud bank before.”

  “I know a swamp not far from here,” whispered a familiar voice.

  Bartleby stretched out his neck and looked around. “Quickfoot—is that you?”

  “Yes,” the voice answered.

  “Who’s Quickfoot, little bro’?”

  “A new friend. She asked the egrets to bring fish to the bayou so the guard gators would eat while I swam ahead of them.”

  “Sssplendidly done!” Seezer looked around. “Ssshow yourself ssso we can thank you for sssaving Bartleby.”

  There was no answer—no crackling in the brush or soft, careful footsteps.

  Seezer flicked his tail. “Come on, don’t be ssshy. Time is ssshort.”

  “Quickfoot is a swamp rabbit,” Bartleby explained. “Old Stump devoured her entire family. She is not fond of alligators. You must agree not to harm her.”

  “Why, I’m very fond of swamp rabbits,” Grub crooned.

  “Control yourself!” Seezer growled. He looked toward the thicket where the voice had come from. “You have my promise. If you ssshow us where to ssseek ssshelter, you will be sssafe with us.”

  Whoosh, whoosh. Everyone fell silent when they heard the powerful sweeping. It was getting closer.

  “You can trust me, too, swamp bunny,” Grub whispered. “Just let’s get going. Please!”

  “All right. Follow me.” The silhouette of a plump rabbit emerged from behind a thorny bush. Before the gators could get a good look, it took off hopping.

  The alligators had to scramble to keep up with the nimble creature. Atop Seezer’s back, Bartleby was bounced and rocked. His poor head was starting to spin when he heard Seezer’s webs make sucking sounds. “The ground is growing muddy,” he told himself. “There must be water nearby.” A bubble of hope rose above his plastron.

  Just as the sun began to rise, they came upon the strangest water place Bartleby had ever seen. It looked like a forest. But instead of being rooted in solid ground, the trees were standing in dark, glossy water. Bartleby studied the quiet surface. More than anything, he was hoping to meet other red-eared turtles at this new water place. But he didn’t see a single creature floating or basking.

  “Doesn’t anyone live here?” he asked.

  Quickfoot flexed a soft, brown ear. “Oh, yes, the swamp is full of creatures. They’re hiding because of Seezer and Grub. There haven’t been any alligators in this swamp for a while. The last ones left during the dry spell.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A terrible time of great heat and no rain that makes the water disappear.”

  Standing at the edge of the flooded forest, Bartleby couldn’t imagine how the water could disappear. It was everywhere he looked. Dry land seemed to be the thing that had vanished.

  Suddenly a fish leaped up and splashed down.

  “Sssweet Ssswampland, what a fat, frisky creature! I had better ssseize it before it disappears!” Seezer dove into the water.

  “Save some for me, bro’,” Grub exclaimed as he followed after him.

  Bartleby was too anxious to be hungry. “I’d like to look for red-eared turtles. Do you have any idea where they might be?” he asked Quickfoot.

  The swamp rabbit wiggled her fluffy tail. “Let’s try the water-lettuce patch first. They often breakfast there.” To Bartleby’s surprise, she jumped right in.

  “I’ve never seen a rabbit swim,” he exclaimed as he slipped in after her.

  She flashed a paw above the surface. “That’s because we swampers are the only rabbits with webs between our toes”—she dove underwater and came up quickly—“and coats thick enough to keep us dry.”

  Bartleby took a good look at her dun-colored fur. Sure enough, water trailed off it in little streams, just like water off a duck’s back.

  In and out of the weird, swamped trees, Bartleby followed Quickfoot. Once, when he turned his head toward a splashing sound, he bumped into one of the woody bumps that surrounded a tall trunk.

  “Ugh!” A soft grunt escaped from his throat. “Better watch out for those cypress knees,” Quickfoot warned. “They’re all over the swamp.”

  Bartleby’s insides clenched up tightly. The trees here had knees. Rabbits could swim. And a watery forest could disappear. Everything in bayou country seemed so strange. Maybe the red-ears would be different, too. He looked around for Seezer and Grub, but there was no sign of his friends. There was nothing to do but follow Quickfoot. He began paddling faster so he wouldn’t fall behind.

  9

  Swamp Sense

  The water lettuce was floating in the center of a large cluster of cypress trees with many woody knees. Bartleby’s spirits lifted a bit at the sight of the big leafy plants. Each lettuce was shaped like a giant flower with lots of overlapping petals. He couldn’t resist trying a bite. The thick, soft leaf was tender and succulent, and slightly hairy. It tickled the roof of his mouth.

  “Oh, this is even better than the lettuce where I used to live,” he exclaimed.

  “Where is that?”

  Bartleby paddled around. In among a patch of duckweed, thre
e red-ears popped up their heads. The way they stared made him feel as if he’d suddenly grown wings or long, floppy ears. “I’m Bartleby. I came from a place in the north called New York. But bayou country is my true home.”

  “Well, I am Digger and this swamp is my home,” one of the turtles snapped. His ear patches were the dark red color of leaves in the fall.

  “I’m Baskin and it’s my home, too,” a second turtle said. “Did you bring those two gators with you?” His voice was slow and deep, and his red ear patches seemed faded.

  “Yes, those gators are my friends. The one with the shortened tail is Seezer. Without him, I could never have made the journey. We met Grub, the skinny one, at Old Stump’s bayou on the other side of the woods. He was practically starving and—”

  “Don’t you have any swamp sense? Turtles and alligators can’t be friends,” Baskin interrupted. “You shouldn’t have brought them here. Tell them to go away.”

  “I couldn’t do that,” Bartleby protested. “Besides—Seezer and Grub won’t harm you. There are plenty of fish in the water for them to eat. And this swamp looks big enough for everyone.”

  Digger paddled closer. He stuck his snout in Bartleby’s. “Baskin is right. We’ve lived here all our lives. We know. Alligators can’t be trusted.”

  Bartleby edged his head in a bit. “But my friends and I don’t know where else to go.”

  “Well, I’m not afraid of gators!” the third turtle declared. She was about the same size as Bartleby. Her carapace was a dark, glossy green, and its flared sides were decorated with a delicate pattern of green and yellow swirls. Her ear patches were the orangey red color of fire. Bartleby couldn’t help staring at them.

  “I’m Lucky Gal,” she said. “I got my name because an otter called Fishguts caught my right rear web—but I got away from him.” She paddled around and poked her web in his face. It was missing two toes.

  Bartleby stared at the wounded foot. His throat quivered. “I’ve never seen an otter,” he admitted. “It must be a very dangerous creature.”

  “Oh, yes, especially to a turtle. Otters love to eat anything in a shell.” In the time it took Bartleby to blink, Lucky Gal disappeared under the water. In another second, she reappeared on the other side of a lettuce plant. “To escape, you have to be quick and clever—and very, very lucky,” she declared.

  “Bartleby is quick and clever,” Quickfoot said. She’d been so quiet Bartleby had nearly forgotten she was there. “He outswam four alligators in a race.”

  “Harrumph! You expect anyone to believe that?” a voice croaked. “No turtle could swim so fast.”

  Bartleby squinted into the floating lettuce patch. A large bullfrog was drifting among the plants. “You don’t have to believe it, but it’s true.”

  “Quag-quog. Quag-quog. Don’t mind Big-Big,” called a voice from overhead.

  “Quag-quog. Quag-quog. Yes, that quarrelsome frog would doubt anyone—even his own reflection,” added another voice.

  Bartleby looked up. Two great white birds with crooked necks and long beaks were perched on a branch overhead. He flapped his webs with excitement. “You’re Plume and Billy, aren’t you?”

  “Glad to see you made it,” the larger bird said. “Plume and I enjoyed helping you outwit those racing gators.”

  “Yes,” Plume agreed. “We were tickled to have a chance to spoil Old Stump’s plan.”

  Bartleby gazed at her huge wings and skinny legs. He’d never seen a more unusual bird. “Thank you. Without you, I would never have succeeded.”

  “What?” Big-Big leaped onto a plant in front of Bartleby. He stuck his puffed-up chest into the red-ear’s snout. “You didn’t say you had help.”

  “I didn’t have a chance. I—”

  “Harrumph! You said you swam here from up north. You said you beat four gators. I think you’re just a big bragger.”

  Bartleby held his head up high. “Of all the swamp creatures I know, bullfrogs are the biggest braggers.”

  Big-Big’s chest swelled up even further. “Why thank you very much.”

  “But we red-ears are braver,” Bartleby finished. He turned to the turtles. More than anything, he wanted to be friends with them. “If you would just meet Seezer and Grub, you’d see they mean no harm,” he pleaded.

  “I’m willing!” Lucky Gal paddled around to face the others. “And I have an idea. Let’s have a swamp meet tonight.”

  “That’s exactly what I was thinking.” Big-Big hopped up and down on the lettuce plant. “Since we bullfrogs are the most hospitable creatures here, we’ll be the hosts.”

  “I suppose a little competition might be fun,” Digger said.

  “As long as we don’t have to work too hard,” Baskin drawled.

  “I’ll ask Seezer and Grub to come,” Bartleby said before the others changed their minds. “Er, what shall I tell them we’re going to do at the swamp meet?”

  “Why, croaking, leaping, and fly-eating, of course.” Big-Big dove into the water and began kicking away with his powerful flippers. “We’ll soon find out who are the real champs of this swamp!”

  10

  The Swamp Meet

  Lazy as drifting logs, Seezer and Grub were floating beneath a giant willow when Bartleby found them.

  “A ssswamp meet? That’s sssilly!” Seezer snorted at the news. “We already know who the champs of the ssswamp are. No creatures are ssstronger than alligators.”

  “He’s right, little bro’,” Grub agreed. “Croaking, leaping, and fly-catching? Those things are for frogs. Who cares about them? A real swamp meet should have wrestling and tail splashing.”

  Bartleby squeezed between them and floated, too. “But if you don’t come, they might think you’re afraid to lose.” He didn’t mention that he wanted to show Digger and Baskin that they’d been wrong—alligators and turtles could be friends.

  “Ssscared to lose? Alligators against frogs and turtles? That’s sssenseless!”

  “Maybe, but there’s a bullfrog named Big-Big who thinks he can make a bigger splash than an alligator. And there’s a red-ear named Lucky Gal who won a fight with an otter.” Bartleby told himself it was all right to exaggerate a little, as long as it was for a good cause.

  Seezer roared with glee. “Then they can sssplash and sssmash each other. That ssshould be very amusing.”

  “That’s a good one, bro’,” Grub said, whacking the water with his tail.

  Silently, Bartleby drifted away. He didn’t see anything funny. A wave of homesickness washed over him. He wished he were back in the pond up north with friends that didn’t treat him like he was silly or dinky. Bayou country was full of rude, unfriendly creatures. It seemed as if Seezer was becoming one of them.

  Later, when the moon rose, Bartleby paddled toward the ring of cypress trees alone. The water reverberated with the sound of the bullfrogs singing their boastful songs.

  “We bullfrogs leap on super legs.

  Our gals can lay ten thousand eggs.

  From the air we snap up prey,

  Or catch it if it swims our way.

  “Be you dragonfly or lizard

  you could end up in our gizzard.

  Come and play!

  Come and play!”

  “I thought you’d decided to forfeit the meet,” Big-Big called as Bartleby swam into the water-lettuce patch.

  “We turtles don’t give up.” Bartleby hoped he sounded more confident than he felt.

  “That’s right—we’re ready to play.” Lucky Gal paddled out from behind a plant with Digger and Baskin behind her. In the moonlight, Bartleby thought her ear patches looked even more fiery.

  Big-Big rotated his bulgy eyes. “What about your gator pals?”

  Bartleby looked down at the surface. “I don’t think they’re coming.”

  “Harrumph! So their bellows are bigger than their bravery!”

  “Rrrum . . . rrrum ... rrrum!’ The water began to sway as bullfrogs all over the swamp croaked with laughter.
r />   Big-Big leaped up onto a big bouncy lettuce. “Well, don’t worry. We’ll start with something easy. The croaking contest.”

  “Rrrum . . . rrrum ... rrrum! Never heard a turtle croak,” the bullfrogs roared.

  Splash! An alligator suddenly exploded into the center of the gathering. “Did I hear sssomeone sssuggest that alligators are poor sssports?”

  Splash! Another alligator popped up. “I heard it, too, bro’.”

  “Seezer! Grub! You’re here!” Bartleby exclaimed.

  “Sssertainly, I am,” Seezer replied.

  “Wouldn’t miss it, little bro’.” Grub waved his tail at Bartleby.

  Big-Big’s eyes looked as if they might pop out of his head. “You’re too late! We’ve already begun.”

  With the tip of his snout, Seezer splashed water at him. “You’re not ssscared you’ll lose, are you, bullfrog?”

  Big-Big’s wide mouth opened and closed, opened and closed. “Lose a croaking contest?” he said finally. “Harrumph! Of course not! I’ll go first.” He took a deep breath. A bubble began to form under his chin. It grew from the size of a berry, to an acorn, to a dandelion puff. Big-Big strained and the bubble grew larger. Now it was almost the size of his head, and then, a wasp’s nest!

  Just as it looked as if Big-Big might burst, he let out a croak: “Rrrum . . . rrrum ... rrrum ... rrrum ... RRRUMMM!”

  The earsplitting sound shook the water. It drummed against Bartleby’s shell. He pulled in his head, squinched his eyes shut, and hid. When it was quiet again, he peered out at Big-Big. The frog looked as shriveled as an old leaf.

  “Your turn,” Big-Big wheezed.

  Seezer sank lower in the water. Only his tail and head were raised. As he took a deep breath, his throat began to swell. Bartleby heard a low, threatening rumble. The water trembled. Then came a roar. It was as loud as the sound of one of the giant metal birds that sometimes flew overhead.

  “Grruh ... grruh ... grruh ... grruh ... GRRUH! GRRUH! GRRUHHHHHHH!”

  The trees above the swamp shook. The birds flew out of their nests. Bullfrogs everywhere jumped out of the water and hid in the grass on the bank.