Читать книгу The Long Chance - Frederick Schiller Faust - Страница 8

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There was a great deal going on along the wharf, especially the loading of the last of the cargo into the hold of a ship. The cargo, of course, was chiefly bales of buffalo skins; tons and tons of them still had to be worked in. Sailing time was close at hand; the baggage of the passengers was being brought aboard; and the passengers themselves were going up the gangplank, now and then.

Every once in a while, a red-faced man with an officer’s cap would come to the rail and shout down to the dock: “Rogers! Rogers! Where’s that Rogers?”

And then, from somewhere in the knot of toiling Negroes and half-breeds who were doing the labor, a great voice would bellow: “Aye, aye, sir! Here!”

“Rogers, confound you, why do you let those lazy hounds go to sleep like this?”

And Rogers would call back, “Sorry, sir, but I’m trying to do my best!”

“Your best ain’t good enough!” the captain would thunder back. “I won’t stand for this, Rogers! Stir up those rascals!”

And the mate would turn and berate the men with the most terrible words.

And what a vocabulary he had! I had heard some of the most eloquent cursing in the world done in the open plain, where the language was as free as the men; but I had never, I am sure, heard such talk as flowed from the lips of the mate of that Mississippi steamer. He had a word for every shade of rage and disgust, and an intonation that made his oaths ring far and wide through the confusion. The lash of his tongue whipped every one of those panting workers. I watched, and laughed, and watched again. And suddenly the mate rushed from the turmoil and bellowed to the line of onlookers, “Will any of you men lend a hand here, for Heaven’s sake? A dollar for one hour’s work from any of you!”

There was a mere shrugging of shoulders in answer, for those were “free” plainsmen, and they were not apt to mix with Negroes and half-breeds in such labor as this.

But I remembered that my purse was empty, and I could not help starting forward. “I’m willing,” I told the mate.

“Bear a hand, then!” he shouted and, turning his back to me, he hurried away.

Afterward, when I came to know matters in the South and the whole slave territory better, I could see that I had done a thing sufficient to brand me in the eyes of the upper order of society forever. But at that moment, I was thinking only of the fun and the dollar.

I plunged into the work with all my heart. And soon I was getting such results that even the mate bellowed a word of approval, as he saw me go steaming by in a gang of Negroes, all grunting with their task.

The last of the cargo was rapidly cleared from the dock. In the meantime the passengers had gathered and lined the deck to watch; and, as I went aboard under a staggering burden, I heard a man say, “You have poor white trash even this far up the river, captain?”

I glanced aside and saw a tall young fellow of my own height and age, but a bit slenderer, I thought. A small mustache and a bit of pointed beard, glistening black, gave him an air of distinction. I was too hard worked to hate him even with a glance; but still I felt in him the presence of a new civilization. Now and then, I had had glimpses of the gentry of the South at Fort Bostwick but, on the whole, they had been pretty thoroughly reduced to Western ways and habits before I had an opportunity to grow acquainted with them. This tall and splendid youth, with all his white stock wrapped up almost to his ears, his fine coat, and his languid, haughty manner, made me feel that I was a rough barbarian.

However, I lost sight of him in the press of the work. I was enjoying the tussle with the great bales of robes. God had given me muscles, Uncle Steve had seen the developing of them; and, as a result, I was clad from head to foot in a tangle of power which was a joy to use.

One bale stood on the dock.

“Confound you, Rogers!” shouted the captain, “you’ve held up these gentlemen and ladies for forty-five minutes!”

No doubt the captain was throwing as much blame as he could on his mate in public, in order to apologize to him in private. But he had been rubbing Rogers the wrong way too long, and finally the mate shouted back: “I’ve done two men’s work in handling the crew of loafers that you hired for me!”

“Proper handling gets results!” answered the captain. “I’ve seen a five-hundred pound bale carried by one man!”

“Nonsense!” cried the mate. “A bale of skins?”

“The same!”

“Can’t possibly be done!” the mate declared.

“Guard your language, Mr. Rogers!” called the captain. “There’s a man there that ought to have carried in a bale each trip, if he had the proper handling! I would have had him do it!”

Mr. Rogers glared and snorted and turned purple with rage.

“By heaven, sir,” he called, “there’s one bale left, and there’s the man, and you just step down here and make him handle it, now!”

“I have half a mind to!” answered the captain.

“I’ll lay you five hundred dollars, captain, that the man can’t budge the bale,” cut in a voice perfectly cool and good-natured.

It came from one of the black-coated, somber-mannered gentry of the passenger list.

“I’ll add another five hundred on my own account,” said the mate, “if he can pick up that bale and put it on his back!”

“Wait one minute!” cried the captain. “I’ll see about this.”

He hurried down from the deck. There was no talk about delay, now. Not a soul among the passengers demurred, because in those days there was something sacred about a contest that carried bets. It had a measure of precedence given it such as people to-day will hardly believe.

Approaching the bale of buffalo robes, the captain laid hold of a corner of it and gave a tug. There was hardly a stagger of the bale in response, though the captain was no stripling.

“I suppose that’s about enough for you, captain?” asked the gambler.

And a little chuckle followed.

The captain glared at them. His blood was up. He was from Alabama, where blood is easily heated; and, in such a moment as this, with the eyes of his crew and his passengers upon him, with money ready to be wagered, he was half desperate.

He glared at me.

“Speak up!” said he. “Can you shift that bale?”

I shook my head.

“Try, man, try!” said he.

It made me smile to hear such language. Back in Fort Bostwick, where they had called me the safety killer for so many years, certainly no one would have talked quite so freely to me; but, here on the dock, I didn’t mind. I gripped the bale and pulled, and it heeled a bit under my grasp.

“I don’t know,” I said to the captain. “I could lift this bale. But, as for getting it on my back and carrying it into the boat, that’s quite another—”

He didn’t wait for me to finish. He turned and roared, “Rogers! I’ll take your bet. And you, sir. That five hundred of yours is covered!”

There was a little bustle of excitement. In half a minute every soul was rushing from the boat onto the dock to watch the contest. And a thrill of weakness went through me when I thought that I could hardly hope to accomplish this thing. Little things are sometimes strangely greater in importance than in significance. I felt that I wanted to win that wager for the captain more than anything I had wanted in my life since I knelt by the bed of my dead mother.

As for the captain, he was made of good stuff, for now he came to me and said quietly, “Let the crowd gather, lad. Let them come around and see the fun. Take your time, now. You’re a bit shaky with the idea. And whether you win or not, there’s twenty dollars for you. You get a hundred if you take the bale on board.”

I pushed back the twenty.

“I’m trying this for the game,” I told him.

His critical eyes flickered up and down my face.

“Have it your own way,” he said. “You’re a cut above what I thought.”

He turned back to the others. “I have another thousand dollars free to bet on this friend of mine,” he said to the crowd. “Is that money covered?”

Two more of those black-clothed gamblers hefted the bale and covered the captain’s money instantly.

“You were in a hurry to get started, captain,” said the mate. “But don’t let’s hurry you now!”

A little chuckle greeted this sally, but the captain barked, “That’ll do from you, Rogers. Are you ready to try your hand, sir?”

“Ready,” said I.

There was another whisper at the captain’s use of the word “sir”; but I overheard him explain an instant later, “This gentleman will not take a penny. It’s a game, to him. And if I had another thousand, I would bet it. But I haven’t.”

I wanted to protest and tell him that he was mad to wager so rashly, but somehow, I knew that no argument would help. Besides, the money had been placed. And it would have taken a strong hand to get a cent of it back from one of the professional gamblers.

I gave word that I was ready, a way was cleared to the gangplank, and I tested my strength on the bale, I heeled it easily over and that brought a shout from the crowd. Then I got a careful grip and brought the bale up hip-high before it slipped and fell back.

After that, I sized it up with more care. It was heavy enough, of course. But any one who has seen expert piano movers at work has seen men bear fully as great a burden as the one I wanted to carry that day. It was simply the clumsy bulk of the thing that made it so hard to carry.

The fall of the bale had brought a groan from those who sympathized with me; and I heard the tall, pale-faced youth with the mustache and short beard saying, “I’d like to place a wager against that man. Will anybody take me?”

I didn’t wait for the answer. The calm and haughty superiority of this soft-handed youngster angered me so much that I swore to myself that I would open his eyes that moment. I leaned, took a new grip, and swung up the edge of the bale with all my might.

There is a knack to the handling of anything; and at Fort Bostwick, in the store, I had grown accustomed to the shifting of great weights in skins. I got the bale up hip-high, rested it there until I had my breath and the ache had gone out of my shoulders; and then, with a twist of my body, I brought my shoulders under the edge of the mass.

It slipped and, once down, I knew that I could never raise it again; but I managed to take a finger hold on the edge of the bale that projected over my shoulders. And, by doubling far forward, I was able to keep the bale balanced. It brought a crushing burden on my hips and behind my shoulders. My wind was fairly pressed out of me, but the yelling of the crowd gave me strength, as did the hoarse, triumphant voice of the captain, yelling. “I told you so! Who’s betting against him now?”

I went on to the ship well enough until I got to the gangplank; and there the sharp upward slant threw an agonizing strain on the muscles of my legs with every step.

Besides, that gangplank was a slender affair; and each time I stepped forward it sagged with a great groaning. You must understand that the freight gangplank had been drawn in before this! Half way to the edge of the boat, I paused and got my breath back. My legs were beginning to shake crazily under the terrible strain, and there was a sense of numbness from the knees down.

“He’s finished!” shouted some one as I paused.

“Shut up!” called the captain. “Give him a chance.” And then he added, as I made another painful, sinking step forward, “Lad, don’t kill yourself for a bit of foolish money! You’re worth more than this bet. Let the bale drop!”

His words gave me a sudden strength. I made the four or five steps that were necessary to reach the edge of the boat and, turning a bit, I tumbled the great bale onward. It fell with a heavy thud, and a little cloud of dust rose from it. Relieved from the burden, I gripped the rail and stood with hanging head, wondering if the blood would burst through my temple—such was the thundering of my pulses!