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Read Ebook: The Life and Adventures of Guzman D'Alfarache or the Spanish Rogue vol. 2/3 by Alem N Mateo Brady John Henry Translator Le Sage Alain Ren Translator
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Ebook has 122 lines and 5171 words, and 3 pages
Illustrator: Barry C. Edwards
THE RIVER'S CHILDREN
AN IDYL OF THE MISSISSIPPI
With Pictures by Barry C. Edwards
NEW YORK THE CENTURY CO. 1904
THE DE VINNE PRESS
Upon the brow of the levee
Gangs of men, reinforcing suspicious danger points with pickax and spade
Sipped iced orange syrup or claret sangaree
The brave, unthinking fellow, after embracing his beloved, dashed to the front
Her arms were about his knees
THE RIVER'S CHILDREN
AN IDYL OF THE MISSISSIPPI
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 crevasse 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 passage along the line of a bucket and gourd dipper.
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 brimming bank where one might not, by listening, catch the sound of laughter or of rhythmic voices:
"Sing, nigger, 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 molasses were used, and shiploads 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 passing 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."
"Sh! Don't make comparison between St. Joseph an' de devil, Felix. Not to-night, anyhow."
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--"
"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.
"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--"
Adolphe was smiling, and he mischievously lifted one brow and drew up his lips as if to whistle.
Felix smiled, too, as he replied:
But he added more seriously:
He dropped his voice and looked over his shoulder.
"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--?"
"You said jus' now you saw only de glare of de sun--"
"So, like I say, w'at consideration was one small diamond ring for such a pleasure?
"A widow widout a grave is like a wind in Feb'uary--crying always forever aroun' de house, wid nowhere to go, an' in her eyes are all kinds of weather. Bff!
"It is great consolation, a grave. It is a half-way station between de home an' de church; an' a widow she need dat--for a w'ile.
"'Ow much chillen you got now, Felix? You go too fas' for my 'rit'metic."
"Ah, my friend, you have plenty occasion to be one good man."
A bell had rung, and a voice was calling out the depth of the water as shown upon a graduated scale marked low down against the pier. The announcement was half-hourly now.
"W'at he say? T'irteen inches an' a--Dat's a half-inch fall. T'ank God! Maybe St. Joseph an' our women dey save us yet, Adolphe."
In finding his match-box Felix's fingers came in contact with the tiny statue of St. Joseph in his pocket, but he was only half sensible of the fact in his nervous joy over the slight decline in the river.
"Hello! Here is Harold Le Duc!" he exclaimed, as, by the light of his match, he chanced to catch the presentment of a distant face in the darkness.
"Hello! Come along, Harry, an' smoke one cigar. We mus' celebrate dat insinuation dat de river is falling. Less dan one inch, it does not count, except to prove she is hesitating; an' you know de ol' saying, 'She who hesitate'--'Hello, young man! You are good for sore eyes!"
The person addressed had come forward with extended hand.
When another match, lighting Adolphe's cigar, revealed the young man's face again, there was something so startling in its wonderful solemnity and beauty that both men were impressed.
"You won't smoke? An'w'y? Come! It is one great comfort, a li'l' smoke. Here, let me--"
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