A Middle-Aged Negro Woman Projected Her Head
Through A Broken Pane And Shouted (Very Willing That The Neighbors
Should
Hear and envy), 'You Mary Ann, come in de house dis minute!
Stannin' out dah foolin' 'long wid dat low
Trash, an' heah's de barber
offn de "Gran' Turk" wants to conwerse wid you!'
My reference, a moment ago, to the fact that a pilot's peculiar official
position placed him out of the reach of criticism or command, brings
Stephen W - - naturally to my mind. He was a gifted pilot, a good
fellow, a tireless talker, and had both wit and humor in him. He had a
most irreverent independence, too, and was deliciously easy-going and
comfortable in the presence of age, official dignity, and even the most
august wealth. He always had work, he never saved a penny, he was a
most persuasive borrower, he was in debt to every pilot on the river,
and to the majority of the captains. He could throw a sort of splendor
around a bit of harum-scarum, devil-may-care piloting, that made it
almost fascinating - but not to everybody. He made a trip with good old
Captain Y - - once, and was 'relieved' from duty when the boat got to New
Orleans. Somebody expressed surprise at the discharge. Captain Y - -
shuddered at the mere mention of Stephen. Then his poor, thin old voice
piped out something like this: -
'Why, bless me! I wouldn't have such a wild creature on my boat for the
world - not for the whole world! He swears, he sings, he whistles, he
yells - I never saw such an Injun to yell. All times of the night - it
never made any difference to him. He would just yell that way, not for
anything in particular, but merely on account of a kind of devilish
comfort he got out of it. I never could get into a sound sleep but he
would fetch me out of bed, all in a cold sweat, with one of those
dreadful war-whoops. A queer being - very queer being; no respect for
anything or anybody. Sometimes he called me "Johnny." And he kept a
fiddle, and a cat. He played execrably. This seemed to distress the
cat, and so the cat would howl. Nobody could sleep where that man - and
his family - was. And reckless. There never was anything like it. Now
you may believe it or not, but as sure as I am sitting here, he brought
my boat a-tilting down through those awful snags at Chicot under a
rattling head of steam, and the wind a-blowing like the very nation, at
that! My officers will tell you so. They saw it. And, sir, while he
was a-tearing right down through those snags, and I a-shaking in my
shoes and praying, I wish I may never speak again if he didn't pucker up
his mouth and go to WHISTLING! Yes, sir; whistling "Buffalo gals, can't
you come out tonight, can't you come out to-night, can't you come out
to-night;" and doing it as calmly as if we were attending a funeral and
weren't related to the corpse.
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