The River's Children Part 1

The River's Children.

by Ruth McEnery Stuart.

PART FIRST

The Mississippi was flaunting itself in the face of opposition along its southern banks. It had carried much before it in its downward path ere it reached New Orleans. A plantation here, a low-lying settlement there, a cotton-field in bloom under its brim, had challenged its waters and been taken in, and there was desolation in its wake.

In certain weak places above and below the city, gangs of men--negroes mostly--worked day and night, reinforcing suspicious danger-points with pickax and spade. At one place an imminent creva.s.se threatened life and property to such a degree that the workers were conscripted and held to their posts by promises of high wages, abetted by periodical pa.s.sage along the line of a bucket and gourd dipper.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Gangs of men, reinforcing suspicious danger points with pickax and spade"]

There was apparently nothing worse than mirth and song in the bucket.

Concocted to appeal to the festive instinct of the dark laborers as much as to steady their hands and sustain courage, it was colored a fine pink and floated ice lumps and bits of lemon when served. Yet there was a quality in it which warmed as it went, and spurred pickax and spade to do their best--spurred their wielders often to jest and song, too, for there was scarcely a secure place even along the br.i.m.m.i.n.g bank where one might not, by listening, catch the sound of laughter or of rhythmic voices:

"Sing, n.i.g.g.e.r, sing! Sing yo' hymn!

De river, she's a-boomin'--she's a-comin _che-bim_!

Swim, n.i.g.g.e.r, swim!

"Sing, n.i.g.g.e.r, sing! Sing yo' rhyme!

De waters is a-floodin'--dey's a-roarin' on time!

Climb, squirrel, climb!"

At this particular danger-spot just below the city, a number of cotton-bales, contributed by planters whose fortunes were at stake, were placed in line against a threatening break as primary support, staked securely down and chained together.

Over these were cast everything available, to raise their height. It was said that even barrels of sugar and mola.s.ses were used, and s.h.i.+ploads of pig-iron, with sections of street railways ripped from their ties. Then barrels of boiling tar, tarpaulins, and more chains. And then--

And then there were prayers--and messages to the priests up at the old St. Louis Cathedral, where many of the wives were kneeling--and reckless gifts of money to the poor.

A few of the men who had not entered church for years were seen to cross themselves covertly; and one, a convivial creole of a rather racy reputation, was even observed, through the sudden turn of a lantern one night, to take from his pocket a miniature statue of St. Joseph, and to hold it between his eyes and the sky while he, too, crossed himself. And the boon companion who smiled at the sight did himself make upon his own breast a tiny sign of the cross in the dark, even as he moved toward his friend to chaff him. And when, in turning, he dimly descried the outline of a distant spire surmounted by a cross against the stars, he did reverently lift his hat.

"It can't do any harm, anyhow," he apologized to himself; but when he had reached his friend, he remarked dryly:

"You don't mean to tell me, Felix, dat you pray to St. Joseph yet, you old sinner! Excuse me, but dose pa.s.sing lantern, dey give you away."

"Pray to St. Joseph? I would pray to de devil to-night, me, Adolphe, if I believed he would drive de river down."

"s.h.!.+ Don't make comparison between St. Joseph an' de devil, Felix. Not to-night, anyhow."

"I di'n' done dat, Adolphe. No! _Pas du tout_. Not at all. H'only, I say, me, I _would_ pray to de devil _if_ he could help us out."

He laughed and shrugged his shoulders as he added recklessly:

"Yas, I would be one mud-catfish caught on his forked tail--just for to-night--an' let him drag me behind him in de river, if--"

"But you mus' ricollec', de devil he don't play wid water, Felix. Fire is his--fire an' brimstone--"

"Ah-h-h! Bah, Adolphe! Who is trying to talk sense to-night? Dose row of warehouse yonder, dey are _all full_, an' on my one pair shoulder. _My_ li'l' crop is not'ing. I got in doze warehouse, waiting for a _sure_ rise in de market--all on my ob_stin_ate judgment--everyt'ing of _my brudder_, _my t'ree cousin_, _my wife_, _my mud'-in-law_,--just t'ink!--not to speak about t'irty-five or forty small consignment. Sure!

I would pray to _anyt'ing_ to-night--to save dem. I would pray to one _crawfish_ not to work dis way. Dem crawfish hole is de devil.

"But dat St. Joseph in my pocket! My mudder, I am sure she put it dere.

She an' my sisters, dey will all kneel many hours at deir _prie-dieux_ to-night--po' t'ings!"

"An' yo' wife--she also, of co'se--"

"My wife?" The man chuckled. "Pff! Ah, no! She is at de opera. She knows I am watching de river. She believe it cannot run over so long I watch it. I married her yo'ng. Dat's de bes' way.

"_Mais_, tell de trut', Adolphe, I am going to church, me, after dis.

Dere's not'ing, after all, like G.o.d to stand in wid you! You hear me, I tell you to-night de rizzen our women keep good an' happy--_it is faith_. You know da's true."

"Yas, I believe you, Felix. An' me, I t'ink I will go, too. _Any_'ow, I'll show up at Easter communion. An' dat's a soon promise, too. T'ree week las' Sunday it will be here.

"All my yard is w'ite wid dem Easter lilies already. Dis soon spring compel dem. Wen you smell doze Bermudas above de roses in your garden in de middle of Lent, look out for Old Lady Mississippi. She is getting ready to spread her flounces over yo' fields--"

"Yas, an' to dance on yo' family graves. You may say w'at you like, Adolphe--de ruling lady of dis low valley country, it is not de Carnival Queen; it is not de first lady at de Governor's Mansion. It is--let us raise our hats--it is Old Lady Mississippi! _She is_ de ruling lady of de Gulf country--old _mais_ forever yo'ng.

"In my _ril_igion I have no superst.i.tion. I swallow it whole--even w'en I mus' shut my nose--I mean hol' my eyes. W'at is de matter wid me? I cannot talk straight to-night. _Mais_ to speak of de river, I mus'

confess to you dat even w'en it is midsummer an' she masquerade like common dirty waters, I _pro_pitiate her.

"Once, I can tell you, I was rowing one skiff across by de red church, an' suddenly--for w'y I di' n' see immediately--_mais_ out of de still water, mixed into bubbles only by my oars, over my hand came one _big wave_. I looked quick, but I could see only de sun to blind my eyes.

_Mais_ you know w'at I did?

"Dat bright sun, it _re_flect a small stone in my ring, one diamond, an'

quick I slip it off an' drop it. It was de river's _pet_ition, an' w'at is a sixty-five-dollar diamond to a man w'en--"

"Dey ain' got no _in_sanity in yo' family, I don't t'ink, Felix?

Otherwise--excuse me--I would be oneasy for you."

Adolphe was smiling, and he mischievously lifted one brow and drew up his lips as if to whistle.

Felix smiled, too, as he replied:

"You needn't fear for me, Adolphe. _Mais_ strong-headed ancestors, dey are not'ing. Me, I could _start_ a crazy line just as well as my great-gran'fodder. Everyt'ing mus' _begin somewhere_."

But he added more seriously:

"_Non_, I would do it again--_if_ I was on _such a trip_. I tell you w'at time it was; it was--"

He dropped his voice and looked over his shoulder.

"You want to know w'at, precisely, I was doing at de moment de river demand my ring? _I was praying to her! Sure!_" (This last in a whisper.)

"Oh-h-h!" Adolphe's face lit. "Yas, I understand. I ricollec'. You mean about five year pas'--dat time yo' sister los' 'er firs' 'usband, w'en--?"

"Yas, _ex_ac'ly. So you see dat _pred_icament in w'ich I was placed wid de river. I never liked po' Jacques Renault--" He shrugged his shoulders. "I never _prof_ess to like him, _mais_ he was my brud'-in-law; an' my po' sister--you know Felicite--she is my _twin_.

She done not'ing but cry, cry, cry for fo' days an' nights, an' pay all 'er money in de poor-box _to find him_. An' dey tried every way to bring him up. So me, I say not'ing, _mais_ w'en de fif day is come I loan from my cousin Achilles his wide skiff, an' I start out, an' I row two mile below w'ere dey foun' 'is clo'es an' hat, an' den I pull up again--an'

wid every stroke I pray to de river to grant me dat satisfaction to find po' Jacques an' to lay him in his grave.