Read Online Mississippi Jack: Being an Account of the Further Waterborne Adventures of Jacky Faber, Midshipman, Fine Lady, and Lily of the West by L. A. Meyer - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: L. A. Meyer
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stand,
Bear me away on your Silver Wings
To my Eternal Home.
I'm surprised to hear the normally quiet Katy humming along with the tune as it goes into the next verse.
I'm going there to meet my mother,
She'll meet me on the way,
To take me up on Silver Wings,
To my Eternal Home.
They go back to the first verse and then do the second one, except they substitute "father" for "mother." And so on, through "brother" and "sister." I'm surprised that they don't go all the way through "friend," or "nephew" or "cousin" or even "mother-in-law," but they don't. They eventually bring it to a halt, and the preacher is right on top of them with more preachin,' and I see the collection plates goin' out.
Aha!
Every fiber of my being wants to be down there working that crowd with any of at least ten scams that I know, but instead I say, "Let's head off. Night's comin' on."
We leave and press onward, but I am glad we stopped. I learned a lot from that man.
Another mean tavern tonight, but we are grateful for what comfort it offers. Horses are put up, dinner is downed, and so to bed.
Good night, Jaimy. I hope and pray that all is well with you.
Chapter 8
Good-bye forever, Jacky,
No, I will not catch up with you on this day, nor the next, nor the one after. I will never catch up with you, because I am a fool. This will be my last spiritual message to you, as I will be dead very shortly.
No, I am not writing this down on paper, as I have none. I have no paper and no hope. In fact, I have very little sense left to me. No, I am composing this in what is left of my mind, in order to preserve what scraps of consciousness and sanity I may have left in this world before I depart for another.
I try to rise to my knees but am unable to do so, since one of them clubs me back down. I am dimly aware that my clothing is being stripped from me, but I cannot stop them. I swim in and out of consciousness, but in one moment of clarity I hear "Someone's coming. Finish him off."
I sense one of them straddling me and I hear the cocking of a pistol's hammer.
Good-bye, Jacky. You are the very best of girls and I wish you the best of lives, I'm sorry, Iâ
I hear the explosion of the pistol and feel a deep burning in my head and then I know ... nothing.
PART II
Chapter 9
And so we traveled across this American landscapeâclimbing up mountains and down into lush valleys, fording streams that we were told flowed into the Allegheny, fighting off the fearsome mosquitoesâon roads that grew ever narrower and rougher. The towns became villages, then hamlets, then clusters of forlorn buildings at crosses in the road. The inns petered out and lodgings became what we could find in the common dwellings of the people, those who would take us in and feed and shelter us in exchange for what we could give. We paid in kind, what money we could spare, but we were getting out to places where money was less common than barter, so I bartered some musical entertainment on my part, playing fiddle, pennywhistle, and concertina, with funny songs and storytelling for the kids. "Froggy Went a-Courtin'" was always a hit. There were many warm evenings spent around a family's table in a simple but friendly home.
I also did miniature portrait paintingsâstern chin-whiskered fathers, more gentle mothers, rambunctious kids, young loversâI did them all, and all pronounced themselves satisfied with my skill. And yes, I did some mourning portraits, too, those of young children who had died and who were dressed up in their best clothes so that I could come with my paints and ivory disks to paint them, so that the grieving parents would have something to remember their beloved child by, after they put them in the ground. It seemed the children, so perfect and quiet, were merely sleeping, but I knew they were not. Most often it was the poor young mother who had to comfort me, rather than the other way around, so as to get me in shape to do the work. It was sad,
Bear me away on your Silver Wings
To my Eternal Home.
I'm surprised to hear the normally quiet Katy humming along with the tune as it goes into the next verse.
I'm going there to meet my mother,
She'll meet me on the way,
To take me up on Silver Wings,
To my Eternal Home.
They go back to the first verse and then do the second one, except they substitute "father" for "mother." And so on, through "brother" and "sister." I'm surprised that they don't go all the way through "friend," or "nephew" or "cousin" or even "mother-in-law," but they don't. They eventually bring it to a halt, and the preacher is right on top of them with more preachin,' and I see the collection plates goin' out.
Aha!
Every fiber of my being wants to be down there working that crowd with any of at least ten scams that I know, but instead I say, "Let's head off. Night's comin' on."
We leave and press onward, but I am glad we stopped. I learned a lot from that man.
Another mean tavern tonight, but we are grateful for what comfort it offers. Horses are put up, dinner is downed, and so to bed.
Good night, Jaimy. I hope and pray that all is well with you.
Chapter 8
Good-bye forever, Jacky,
No, I will not catch up with you on this day, nor the next, nor the one after. I will never catch up with you, because I am a fool. This will be my last spiritual message to you, as I will be dead very shortly.
No, I am not writing this down on paper, as I have none. I have no paper and no hope. In fact, I have very little sense left to me. No, I am composing this in what is left of my mind, in order to preserve what scraps of consciousness and sanity I may have left in this world before I depart for another.
I try to rise to my knees but am unable to do so, since one of them clubs me back down. I am dimly aware that my clothing is being stripped from me, but I cannot stop them. I swim in and out of consciousness, but in one moment of clarity I hear "Someone's coming. Finish him off."
I sense one of them straddling me and I hear the cocking of a pistol's hammer.
Good-bye, Jacky. You are the very best of girls and I wish you the best of lives, I'm sorry, Iâ
I hear the explosion of the pistol and feel a deep burning in my head and then I know ... nothing.
PART II
Chapter 9
And so we traveled across this American landscapeâclimbing up mountains and down into lush valleys, fording streams that we were told flowed into the Allegheny, fighting off the fearsome mosquitoesâon roads that grew ever narrower and rougher. The towns became villages, then hamlets, then clusters of forlorn buildings at crosses in the road. The inns petered out and lodgings became what we could find in the common dwellings of the people, those who would take us in and feed and shelter us in exchange for what we could give. We paid in kind, what money we could spare, but we were getting out to places where money was less common than barter, so I bartered some musical entertainment on my part, playing fiddle, pennywhistle, and concertina, with funny songs and storytelling for the kids. "Froggy Went a-Courtin'" was always a hit. There were many warm evenings spent around a family's table in a simple but friendly home.
I also did miniature portrait paintingsâstern chin-whiskered fathers, more gentle mothers, rambunctious kids, young loversâI did them all, and all pronounced themselves satisfied with my skill. And yes, I did some mourning portraits, too, those of young children who had died and who were dressed up in their best clothes so that I could come with my paints and ivory disks to paint them, so that the grieving parents would have something to remember their beloved child by, after they put them in the ground. It seemed the children, so perfect and quiet, were merely sleeping, but I knew they were not. Most often it was the poor young mother who had to comfort me, rather than the other way around, so as to get me in shape to do the work. It was sad,
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