Passing the Narrows by Frank Tuttle Read Free Book Online Page A

Swain. "Commandeerin' stern-
wheelers without no notion of how to steer one. How far you
reckon you'd get before you found a sand-bar or a snag?"
     
    "Vicksburg," snapped the sorceress.
     
    "Hell," said Swain. "In pieces, you might." Swain scooted
himself sideways on his bench, grinning as he saw the sorceress
look down at the stumps of his legs and then look quickly away.
     
    Another steam whistle rang out, and another. "Hear that?"
asked Swain. "Two more boats puttin' in at Float. Probably
twenty there, maybe more, every one of 'em losin' time and money
by stoppin' for the night." Swain cackled. "Ain't many things
tighter than a Mississippi river-boat master's fist, wand-waver,
and there's some that would steer for Hell itself if they thought
the devil had a penny in his britches. But not a one of 'em will
pass the Yazoo Narrows without a moon, and that's a fact."
     
    "One will tonight," said the sorceress. "Or he'll get off
and watch me take his craft. I don't care which." Papers
rustled. "This is a Presidential writ, Captain," she said.
"This craft and my cargo are going on to Vicksburg. Tonight.
Any further obstruction will be met with force. Is that clear?"
     
    "Go to Hell," said the Captain, not turning. "Go to Hell
and take Lincoln with you."
     
    Paddle-wheels churned. Tiny flickers of light played over
the backs of the sorceress's hands.
     
    "We'll need half a hour at Float to unload the passengers
and such of the crew that ain't eager to die, ma'am," said Swain.
"Course, since Yer Mightyness is in a hurry, we could just throw
the women an' babies off now."
     
    The sorceress let out her breath in a long weary sigh. The
glow at her fingers vanished. "You may have half an hour at
Float," she said. "No more."
     
    The Captain was silent. The sorceress turned and stepped
through the open door and then turned again to fix the Captain's
back with a glare. "I will forget your insubordination if there
are no further difficulties between us, Captain," she said. "And
I may have neglected to mention that you will be reimbursed for
any losses you incur if passengers remain behind." The Captain
didn't stir.
     
    "The War is over," muttered the Sorceress. "Why can't you
people accept the peace?"
     
    "I reckon," said Swain, nodding toward the haunted night
beyond the pilothouse, "because it ain't any too peaceful south
of Memphis these days, yer Yankeeship."
     
    The door slammed. The sorceress's heavy footfalls faded,
buried under the Yocona 's steady throbbing.
     
    "Well, Captain," said Swain quietly, "Guess I just saved
your ass from the Yankees. Again."
     
    The Captain shook his head and lit a cigar. Purple-grey
smoke drifted wraithlike through the pilothouse. "You believe
the stories about the Narrows, Swain?" asked the Captain.
"Because if you do, you just sent us all to Hell."
     
    Swain pulled himself back into the darkness behind the map
table. "Bound for it anyway, ain't we?" he said. "This way,
maybe we get to take a Yankee wand-waver with us."
     
    The Captain took a long draw of the cigar and watched the
shadows tumble all the way to Float.
    * * *
     
     
     
    The River turned. The Yocona followed, and the
lights blazing at Float vanished, one by one. As the lamp lights
failed, a chorus of steam-whistle blasts rang out, hanging in the
thick, moist night air until they, too, were swallowed up by the
river and the night.
     
    "At least we got a proper send-off," muttered Swain. "We
bein' doomed heroes and all."
     
    "Quiet, Swain," said the Captain.
     
    "They'll be talkin' about us for years to come, they will,"
said Swain. "We'll be the ones that dared the Narrows on a
moonless night. Vanished without a trace -- 'cept some nights,
you can still hear the Yocona 's pistons, throbbin' and
thrashin' deep down in the river -- "
     
    "Swain!"
     
    Boots