The River's Children Part 11

"Heah, you take yo' sheer o' de load!" he laughed as he handed her one of the oars. "Better begin right. You tote half an' me half." And as she took the oar he added, "How is you to-night, anyhow, sugar-gal?"

While he put his right arm around her waist, having shifted the remaining oar to his left side, the girl instinctively bestowed the one she carried over her right shoulder, so that her left arm was free for reciprocity, to which it navely devoted itself.

"I tell yer, hit 's fine an' windy to-night, sho' enough," he said. "De breeze on de levee is fresh an' cool, an' de skift she's got a new yaller-buff frock, an' she--"

"Which skift? De _Malviny_? Is you give her a fresh coat o' paint? An'

dat's my favoryte color--yaller-buff!" This with a chuckle.

"No; dey ain't no _Malviny_ skift no mo'--not on dis plantation. I done changed her name."

"You is, is yer? What is you named her dis time?"

She was preparing to express surprise in the surely expected. Of course the boat was renamed the _Maria_. What else, in the circ.u.mstances?

"I painted her after a lady-frien's complexion, a bright, clair yaller; but as to de name--guess!" said the man, with a lunge toward the girl, as the oar he carried struck a tree--a lunge which brought him into position to touch her ear with his lips while he repeated: "What you reckon I named her, sweetenin'?"

"How should I know? I ain't in yo' heart!"

"You ain't, ain't yer? Ef you ain't, I'd like mighty well to know who is. You's a reg'lar risidenter, you is--an' you knows it, too! Guess along, gal. What you think de boat's named?"

"Well, ef you persises for me to guess, I'll say _Silv' Ann_. Dat 's a purty t.i.tle for a skift."

"_Silv' Ann!_" contemptuously. "I 'clare, M'ria, I b'lieve you 's jealous-hearted. No, indeedy! I know I run 'roun' wid Silv' Ann awhile back, jes to pa.s.s de time, but she can't name none o' my boats! No; ef you won't guess, I'll tell yer--dat is, I'll give you a hint. She named for my best gal! _Now guess!_"

"I never was no hand at guessin'." The girl laughed while she tossed her head. "Heah, take dis oah, man, an' lemme walk free. I ain't ingaged to tote no half-load _yit_--as I knows on. Lordy, but dat heavy paddle done put my whole arm to sleep. Ouch! boy. Hands off tell de pins an' needles draps out. I sho' is glad to go rowin' on de water to-night."

So sure was she now of her lover, and of the honor which he tossed as a ball in his hands, never letting her quite see it, that she whimsically put away the subject.

She had been to school several summers and could decipher a good many words, but most surely, from proud practice, she could spell her own name. As they presently climbed the levee together, she remarked, seeing the water: "Whar is de boat, anyhow--de What-you-may-call-it? She ain't in sight--not heah!"

"No; she's a little piece up de current--in de willer-clump. I didn't want n.o.body foolin' wid 'er--an' maybe readin' off my affairs. She got her new int.i.tlemint painted on her stern--every letter a different color, to match de way her namesake treats me--in a new light every day."

The girl giggled foolishly. She seemed to see the contour of her own name, a bouquet of color reaching across the boat, and it pleased her.

It would be a witness for her--to all who could read.

"I sho' does like boats an' water," she generalized, as they walked on.

"Me, too," agreed her lover; "but I likes anything--wid my chosen company. What is dat whizzin' past my face? Look like a honey-bee."

"'T is a honey-bee. Dey comes up heah on account o' de chiny-flowers.

But look out! Dat's another! You started 'em time you drug yo' oah in de mids' o' dem chiny-blossoms. Whenever de chiny-trees gits too sickenin'

sweet, look out for de bees!"

"Yas," chuckled de man; "an' dey's a lesson in dat, ef we'd study over it. Whenever life gits too sweet, look out for trouble! But we won't worry 'bout dat to-night. Is you 'feared o' stingin' bees?"

"No, not whilst dey getherin' honey--dey too busy. Hit 's de idlers dat I shun. An' I ain't afeared o' trouble, nuther. Yit an' still, ef happiness is a sign, I better look sharp."

"Is you so happy, my Sugar?"

The girl laughed.

"I don't know ef I is or not--I mus' see de name on dat skift befo' I can say. Take yo' han' off my wais', boy! Ef you don't I'll be 'feared o' stingin' bees, sho' enough! Don't make life _too_ sweet!"

They were both laughing when the girl dashed ahead into the willow-clump, Love close at her heels, and in a moment the _Maria_, in her gleaming dress of yellow, darted out into the sunset.

A boat or two had preceded them, and another followed presently, but it takes money to own a skiff, or even to build one of the driftwood, which is free to the captor. And so most of the couples who sought the river strolled for a short s.p.a.ce, finding secluded seats on the rough-hewn benches between the acacia-trees or on the drift-dogs which lined the water's edge. It was too warm for continued walking.

From some of the smaller vessels, easily recognizable as of the same family as the fruit-luggers which crowd around "Picayune Tier" at the French market, there issued sweet songs in the soft Italian tongue, often accompanied by the accordeon.

Young Love sang on the water in half a dozen tongues, as he sings there yet at every summer eventide.

The skiffs for the most part kept fairly close to the sh.o.r.e, skirting the strong current of the channel, avoiding, too, the large steamboats, whose pa.s.sage ever jeopardized the small craft which crossed in their wake.

Indeed, the pa.s.sage of one of these great "packets" generally cleared the midstream, although a few venturesome oarsmen would often dare fate in riding the billows in her wake. These great steamboats were known among the humble river folk more for their wave-making power than for the proud features which distinguished them in their personal relations.

There were those, for instance, who would watch for a certain great boat called the _Capitol_, just for the bravado of essaying the bubbling storm which followed her keel, while some who, enjoying their fun with less snap of danger, preferred to have their skiffs dance behind the _Laurel Hill_. Or perhaps it was the other way: it may have been the _Laurel Hill_, of the sphere-topped smoke-stacks, which made the more sensational pa.s.sage.

It all happened a long time ago, although only about thirteen years had pa.s.sed since the events last related, and both boats are dead. At least they are out of the world of action, and let us hope they have gone to their rest. An old hulk stranded ash.o.r.e and awaiting final dissolution is ever a pathetic sight, suggesting a patient paralytic in his chair, grimly biding fate--the waters of eternity at his feet.

At intervals, this evening, fishermen alongsh.o.r.e--old negroes mostly--pottered among the rafts, setting their lines, and if the oarsmen listened keenly, they might almost surely have caught from these gentle toilers short s.n.a.t.c.hes of low-pitched song, hymns mostly, of content or rejoicing.

There was no sense of the fitness of the words when an ancient fisher sang "Sweet fields beyan' de swelling flood," or of humor in "How firm a foundation," chanted by one standing boot-deep in suspicious sands.

The favorite hymn of several of the colored fishermen, however, seemed to be "Cometh our fount of every blessin'," frankly so p.r.o.nounced with reverent piety.

At a distant end of his raft, hidden from its owner by a jutting point from which they leaped, naked boys waded and swam, jeering the deaf singer as they jeered each pa.s.sing boat, while occasionally an adventurous fellow would dive quite under a skiff, seizing his opportunity while the oars were lifted.

None of the little rowboats carried sail as a rule, although sometimes a sloop would float by with an air of commanding a squadron of the spa.r.s.e fleet which extended along the length of the river.

The sun was fallen nearly to the levee-line this evening when one of the finest of the "river palaces" hove in sight.

The sky-hour for "dousing the great glim" was so near--and the actual setting of the sun is always sudden--that, while daylight still prevailed, all the steamer's lights were lit, and although the keen sun which struck her as a search-light robbed her thousand lamps of their value, the whole scene was greater for the full illumination.

The people along sh.o.r.e waved to the pa.s.sing boat--they always do it--and the more amiable of the pa.s.sengers answered with flying handkerchiefs.

As she loomed radiant before them, an aged negro, sitting mending his net, remarked to his companion:

"What do she look like to you, Br'er Jones?"

"'What she look like to me?'" The man addressed took his pipe from his lips at the question. "What she look like--to me?" he repeated again.

"Why, tell the trufe, I was jes' studyin' 'bout dat when you spoke. She 'minds me o' Heaven; dat what she signifies to my eyes--Heavenly mansions. What do she look like to _you_?"

"Well," the man shifted the quid in his mouth and lowered his shuttle as he said slowly, "well, to my observance, she don't answer for Heaven; I tell yer dat: not wid all dat black smoke risin' outen 'er 'bominable regions. She's mo' like de yether place to _me_. She may have Heavenly gyarments on, but she got a h.e.l.l breath, sho'. An' listen at de band o'

music playin' devil-dance time inside her! An' when she choose to let it out, she's got a-a-nawful snort--she sho' is!"

"Does you mean de cali-ope?"

"No; she ain't got no cali-ope. I means her clair whistle. Hit's got a jedgment-day sound in it to my ears."