by John Wilson
“Cap’n Mason.” An oil-stained sailor jogs down the gangway. “Engineer says that crack in boiler number three needs cutting out and a new patch welded in.”
Mason turns to the man. “How long does he say it’ll take?”
“Two, maybe three days.” The man shrugs.
“We can’t wait that long,” Billy interrupts.
Mason looks uncertain.
“You want to see them soldiers board other boats?” Billy asks, waving his arms at the smaller steamboats lined along the docks.
Mason takes a deep breath. “Tell him to weld a patch over the crack.”
“It won’t be as strong,” the man says.
“Then we’ll repair it proper when we get up to St. Louis,” Mason snaps. “Now go tell the engineer to fix it and be quick.”
“Is it safe?” I ask as the man returns to the Sultana.
“’Course it is,” Billy says confidently. “The patch’ll hold easy to St. Louis. Right, Cap’n Mason?”
Mason nods, but he looks worried. “Here’s Heath,” he says, looking over my shoulder.
Billy, Sam and I salute as Heath, in a clean perfectly pressed uniform, strides up.
Heath nods a curt acknowledgment.
“Now, Mason.” Heath turns to the captain. “How many men can the Sultana take?”
“Well, sir, we’ve got seventy-three paying passengers, eighty-five crew and the Sultana’s rated to carry 376. So—”
“Three hundred and seventy six!” Heath shouts. “With your damned passengers and crew,” he hesitates a moment, calculating, “that only leaves 218 spaces. What in hell’s going on, Sharp? Two hundred’s barely worth our while. You promised a lot more than that.”
“It’s all under control,” Billy explains. “Them boys’re strengthening the decks so we can take more.”
“How many?”
“Maybe a thousand.” Billy glances at Mason who shrugs unhappily. “Maybe more.”
“That’s more like it,” Heath says. “I want at least a thousand. Force in as many as you can.”
Heath pulls a gold pocket watch out and consults it. “It’s past ten now. The trains are on their way to Camp Fisk. I want this vessel out of here by dark tonight, so I suggest, Mr. Sharp, that you and your partners hurry back to the camp and organize loading the trains. If anyone questions you, refer them to me. And remember, the more men on board, the happier I shall be.”
“Yes, sir,” Billy says as Heath turns and strides away.
“Cap’n Mason, the first train’ll be here by two this afternoon,” Billy says. “You’ll be ready to load?”
Mason looks uncertain, but he nods.
“Excellent. Come on, boys. We got work to do.”
As I follow Billy and Sam back to the wagon, my mind is reeling with questions, but I’ll ask later. Right now, I’m happy. Whatever Billy, Sam, Mason and Heath have planned, it means I am going home and the journey will begin tonight. A few days on the river up to Cairo in Illinois and then a couple more on the train. I could be at the fishing hole on the farm in a week.
TWENTY-ONE
“Goddamn. It’s too many. Do you want us all to end up at the bottom of the river?” Every deck of the Sultana is dark blue with men, and Mason isn’t happy.
“Everything’s fine.” Billy’s at his smoothest and most persuasive. “This is the last chance. Camp Fisk’s empty now. There ain’t goin’ to be any more shiploads goin’ north. Think of it this way. All you got to do is get this boat up to Cairo, Illinois, and we’ll all be rich. Five dollars a head’s nothin’ to be sneezed at.”
“More like three after you and Heath’s taken your cut,” Mason says sullenly.
“Look.” Billy’s voice becomes harder. “You can take it or leave it. We spent the day bringin’ three trainloads of these boys down here from Fisk and we ain’t about to take them back. Ain’t no problem findin’ other cap’ns who’ll be more’n happy to take the government’s money. Your choice: get the men off this boat or fire up the boilers and let’s make some money.”
Mason hesitates, glancing nervously round at the mass of men standing almost shoulder-to-shoulder on the upper deck. Most of them are painfully thin, and there’s barely enough room for them to lie down to sleep, but every one has a smile on his face—they’re going home.
“Very well, but it’ll be slow going against the current, and I don’t want to strain the boilers.”
“Take all the time you want.” Billy’s smiling again. “Just get us to Cairo.”
Mason grunts and heads toward the bridge to give orders for setting off. Billy and I thread our way back through the mass of men to join Sam at the stern rail.
“You know, Jake,” Billy says with a laugh when we’re settled, “sometimes I think money’s a more powerful persuader than the old blade.”
The afternoon, loading and unloading the trains, has been so busy I haven’t had a chance to think about all the things that are worrying me. Now I have something new to think about.
“What did Mason mean about your cut?” I ask.
“Oh, that.” Billy waves his hand dismissively. “It ain’t much compared to what Mason and Heath is gettin’, but if the government’s throwin’ money around, I don’t see why I shouldn’t have some. And you and Sam too, of course.”
“That’s why you want to cram as many men onto the Sultana as possible, it means more money for you?”
“And fer you,” Billy says. “And Sam, of course. Sam here’s goin’ to spend his share on a set of wooden toes and a new pair of shoes, right, Sam?”
Sam laughs. “Right, Billy. Mind you, I might just save a few dollars for whisky and the ladies.”
“And so you should,” Billy agrees. “We earned a bit of recreation, I reckon. What’ll you spend your cut on, Jake?”
“I don’t want a cut,” I blurt out.
Billy looks at me hard. “You’re entitled,” he says. “We’re partners.”
“Not anymore,” I say. I haven’t thought out a speech; I’m just saying what comes into my mind. “As you said, we aren’t in Andersonville anymore. I’m not proud of what you—we—did in there to survive, but that’s past now. I appreciate all you did for me in Andersonville, but I want to get back to my old life without stealing and killing.”
I fall silent. Billy continues to stare at me, and Sam looks from one of us to the other, to see where this will go.
“I al’ays knew we was from different worlds, Jake, boy. I reckon we needed each other in Hell, but we ain’t there anymore.”
Billy laughs suddenly and slaps me on the shoulder. “We had some times though, didn’t we?”
I nod. Sam relaxes visibly.
“Well, I know what I’m doin’ with my money,” Billy says. “I aim to head for the city, find myself a little place and get a regular job.”
“Regular job?” Sam asks. “I can’t see you tending store.”
“Why not?” Billy asks. “I reckon I’d make a fine storekeep.”
“You have your hand in the pickle jar too much to make any money,” Sam jokes.
“You might be right there,” Billy says. “But I ain’t thinking on keepin’ store. Man in Vicksburg told me the Pinkertons are movin’ out of spyin’ now that the war’s over. Settin’ themselves up in law enforcement, I hear. Huntin’ down all them boys as figure to use what they learned in the war to relieve banks and trains of a little extra cash. Now there’s somethin’ I know about, least one side of it. Reckon that’d be useful learnin’ in that line of work.”
I nod tiredly. I’m glad I’ve made the break with Billy, but I’m exhausted. It’s been a hectic day. Fortunately, everybody is so keen to go home they did exactly what they were told. The only complaints were from some men on the third train when they saw how crowded the Sultana already was. But they went on board anyway. The urge to get home and leave the war behind is too strong. Still, I’m nervous.
“Do you think Mason is right about the overcrowding?” I ask.
“But the Sultana’s got six times as many passengers as she’s licensed for.”
“Look, Jake, you just lost the right to question me. Sultana’s still floatin’. It’ll be a slow journey, but’s not like we’re headin’ out to sea. We’re on the Mississippi River.”
“I guess so.”
“I know so. Now let’s get us as comfortable as we can.”
In any case, it’s too late to do anything about it. Dark smoke is belching out of the Sultana’s huge funnels, and amidst a chorus of shouted orders, lines are being untied and gangplanks pulled in. The giant paddle wheels begin to grind around and the Sultana edges away from the dock.
“Hey!” A voice shouts from the dockside rail. “There’s one of them photographer fellas, wants to take picture of all us returning heroes.”
A ripple passes across the packed deck as men push to the rail to see what’s going on. The Sultana lurches sickeningly over. Above us, in the middle of the boat, Mason hurls the bridge door open and screams at the crowd, “Get back, you idiots. Do you want to capsize us?”
No one listens. Billy laughs. There’s too much excitement. We’re like a bunch of children returning from a day out.
I’m excited too. But I can’t ignore the knot of foreboding that’s settling in the pit of my stomach.
TWENTY-TWO
“You worry too much, Jake. I told you everything would be fine. We’ve been two days and nights on the river and, apart from the lurches when everyone rushes to rubberneck at the passin’ sights, it’s bin a breeze.”
Billy’s right. It’s been uncomfortable and slow, but nothing has gone wrong. We’ve even had a chance to stretch our legs in Memphis before we left at midnight, a full two hours ago. I’ve almost got used to the lurches. Not all are due to the passengers moving from side to side. The current against us is strong and sometimes, when we are rounding a bend in the river, it catches us sideways and we tilt over quite dramatically.
Since we left Vicksburg and I told Billy we weren’t partners anymore, I haven’t seen much of either him or Sam. Earlier today in Memphis, they went ashore together and arrived back just as the gangplank was being pulled in. Billy came running from town and had to shout at the sailors to keep the gangplank in place while Sam hobbled down the street. They were both laughing uproariously.
I wouldn’t be talking to Billy now, except there was something worrying me and I could think of no one else to talk to.
“I was talking to a crewman this afternoon when we docked at Memphis,” I went on.
“And he told you the Sultana’s overloaded,” Billy scoffed. “Everybody says that, but here we are, near two hours past Memphis.”
“Well, yes, but he said something else. The overcrowding on the top decks makes the Sultana top heavy.”
“Yeah,” Billy says dismissively. There was not even a pretense that we were friends in his tone of voice. “That’s why she lurches so. I know that.”
“But,” I doggedly keep going, “he also said that these steamboats aren’t designed to lean over like the Sultana does. The four boilers are connected, so when she leans to the right, the water from the two left-hand boilers pours into the right-hand boilers.”
“So?”
“That means that the bottoms of the partly empty left boilers heat up too much. He says you can see the plates glowing red hot.”
“You’re gettin’ a bit technical for me here. What’re you tryin’ to say?”
“When the Sultana rights herself again,” I continue patiently, “the water pours back to the left, hits the overheated boiler plates and boils.”
“Ain’t that what’s supposed to happen in boilers?” Billy asks sarcastically.
“Yes,” I say with as much patience as I can muster. “But with the plates being too hot, the water boils too fast. That increases the pressure in the boilers. The opposite happens when she lurches to the other side.”
“You talk to a sailor for ten minutes and suddenly you’re an expert on ship’s boilers.” Billy sounds annoyed.
“But the boilers aren’t in good shape. They were repaired in Vicksburg, and they’ve got weak patches on them. You heard the man report to Mason on the dock before we sailed. The sailor told me that he would give all his pay for this journey just to make it to Cairo.”
“Well, he can give it to me when we get there,” Billy snaps. “I’m becomin’ a might tired of your whinin’, Jake. Like I said, we been on the river for two days and nothin’s gone wrong. Nothin’s gonna go wrong in the next two. You want no part of this riverboat deal, so be it, but don’t come complainin’ to me. You got a problem, go see Mason and leave me alone. I aim to get me a few hours sleep.”
Billy turns his back on me and stretches out on the deck.
I don’t feel like sleeping. Picking my way between the snoring bodies, I work my way forward until I am just back of the smokestacks. I lean on the rail and look out over the water. Should I go and talk to Mason? What good would it do? He’s the captain; he must know what’s going on at least as well as any sailor. Either the boilers are not the problem the sailor suggested or Mason is ignoring it. Whichever it is, I won’t change his mind.
It’s a beautiful night with a clear sky and the sliver of a new moon. We are passing the low black shapes of some small islands and entering a long sweeping curve. We’re making heavy going against the strong current; below me I can hear the thump of the engines straining to turn the giant paddle wheels.
I envy Billy. He doesn’t care about anything or anybody. That must make life easy. I worry about the boilers, and Nathaniel’s ghost still haunts my dreams. Not as often as before, but when I least expect him, there he is, asking me why I didn’t save his life. Why should I care? He’d be dead by now whatever I had done.
I shake my head and curse quietly into the darkness. Perhaps the problem isn’t Nathaniel. Perhaps it’s my brother Jim.
I volunteered for the army to take Jim’s place, to be like him. Jim would never have allowed Billy to stab Nathaniel. He always protected the weak, and he would have fought to save the poor fool, even if it was pointless. But more than that, I can’t help thinking that my relationship to Jim was very like Nathaniel’s relationship to me. I must have seemed weak and annoying to Jim, but he never showed it, and he helped, protected and taught me whenever he could. Nathaniel followed me around just like I did with Jim, but I just pushed him away and, at best, let him die.
I curse again. Half of me wants to be uncaring, like Billy. The other half wants to care too much, like Jim. Why does it have to be so damned complicated?
“Admiring the view?” Sam steps up and leans on the rail beside me.
“Something like that,” I say.
Sam belches loudly, and I smell the sour odor of cheap liquor on his breath. I remember he was carrying a jug when he and Billy came back on board.
“Shoulda come ’shore with us,” Sam slurs. “Good t’get solid ground ’neath your feet. No pickin’s though. Not like Vickshburg.”
“Pickings?”
“Shure. Memphish’s not like Vickshburg. That woman was easy. Tap on the back of the head and whoosh, off comes the necklash. Had to hit the fella harder though. Nice watsh. Good pickin’s.”
I realize that Sam’s telling me about the necklace that Billy bribed Heath with. “Did you kill them?” I ask.
“Naw. Don’t think so, any rate. Shouldn’ta bin walkin’ ’lone at night. Own fault. Hada good stack o’ cash on ’im though. Heath never saw that. I’m gonna go sleep now.”
Sam turns away but I grab his arm. “You robbed those people in Vicksburg to get us on the Sultana?”
Sam looks suddenly worried. “Ain’t gonna tell Billy I told you, are you? He said fer me not to say. Says that you was lily-livered and not up to doin’ the work proper.”
I’m suddenly angry. Billy’s been playing me for the fool ever since I first met him. On some level I realized that, but in Andersonville I had persuaded myself that the normal rules didn’t count, that I had to do whatever was necessary to survive. Well, I’d survived and now I face a choice. Do I go on turning a blind eye to Billy, Sam and their kind, or do I do something about it?
I push Sam away and head toward the back of the boat. I don’t know what I’m going to say when I find Billy, but I’m certain I have to do something.
Sam stumbles along behind me. “Your not gonna tell Billy, are you?” he whines pathetically. I ignore him.
TWENTY-THREE
“Dammit, watch where you’re going.”
The Sultana is leaning over as she struggles around the bend, making me stagger and trip over the tightly packed sleeping bodies. Even though I am now farther from the paddle wheels, the noise of the engines sounds louder, as if they are straining extra hard. I imagine the water sloshing into the boilers on the low side of the boat, just like the sailor told me.
With startling speed, the Sultana rolls back onto an even keel. I lose my footing completely, kicking another sleeping figure who curses loudly. I only manage to keep my feet by wrapping my arms around a vent that rises from the deck. I glimpse Sam waving his arms about as he tries to keep his drunken balance on the tilting deck.
The first explosion is more of a dull roar. It originates deep within the Sultana and rises somewhere back where Sam and I were standing. The roar gains volume until I am deaf from the tortured sounds of twisting metal and shattering wood.
Then there’s an almost uncanny silence that seems to last forever but can be no more than a second or two. I cling to the vent and am vaguely aware of figures moving around me. Sam is nearby. “What’n hell?” he says.
The second explosion is much louder than the first. It begins with a boom, like a large cannon firing nearby, and is followed by the wail of tearing metal. A ball of fire leaps into the air, turning night into day. I look up and see black shapes, some recognizably human, twisting in the red glow.
