The River Is Home. Patrick D. Smith
heard a faint moan to his right. It sounded as if it was about twenty yards from the skiff.
“Skeeter,” he cried aloud, “kin you hear me?” Still no answer. Oh my Lord! he thought to himself, Skeeter’s done bin kilt.
But then a second moan came, and now he heard it clearly. He took the pole and edged the skiff in the direction of the sounds. The moans became louder, and he cried out again. This time Skeeter answered him in a low voice: “Jeff! Air that you? Is the frogs still in the skiff?”
“Dern fool,” said Jeff, “you askin’ ’bout them frogs and me worried sick that ’gator done kilt you. Where is you? You better git in here afore them snakes finish you fer sure.”
“Jest hold the skiff still and keep talkin’, and I’ll come to you,” said Skeeter.
“Well, if’n you don’t git here afore long, I’m shore goin’ to be shoutin’ so loud them folks in the hills will hear me.”
Jeff felt a pull at the side of the skiff and knew that Skeeter had reached him. “Wait jest a minute and let me git up there and help you in,” he said. “We don’t want to turn this thing over.”
Jeff crawled to the bow of the skiff and grabbed Skeeter by the arms. He slowly pulled him forward until he felt his body roll into the bottom of the skiff. Then he inched his way back to the rear. They sat in silence for a minute, trying to get their eyes accustomed to the darkness.
“Now ain’t you done got us in a hell uv a mess!” said Jeff. “How you think we is ever goin’ to get home without no light? And I done tole you to let that damned ’gator alone.”
“We kin git home,” said Skeeter, “if’n we kin jest holler loud enough to git Pa to hear us. Then he kin holler back and we kin go to his voice.”
“Yeah, and have them moccasins drappin’ all over our shoulders. I’ll swear, Skeeter, I shore ought to whop the stuffin’ out’n you if’n we ever git out’n this.”
Skeeter and Jeff stood up in the skiff and shouted as loud and as long as they could, but they received no answer.
“Hit’s only about nine o’clock,” said Skeeter. “If’n we jest sit still a few more minutes till the stars come out I kin shore git us home. I know one star that lies right over the house. I’ve laid awake plenty of nights and looked up and seed it. And onced when I were in the swamp a ’gator tole me that if’n I ever git lost at night jest to make fer that star, and I would shore git home again.”
“Well, I hope to the good Lord that this air one time when yore tales makes some sense,” said Jeff.
Jeff stuck his pole deep into the muck to keep the skiff from drifting, and they sat waiting for the stars to come out to show them the way home. Even after so much time had passed, their eyes still could not penetrate the dark of the swamp. They heard noises that they knew to be frogs and ’gators, and other noises that they had never heard before. Once they heard an awful scream that Jeff said was a panther, deep in the swamp. They could feel the flesh creeping along their bones as the swamp became more murky and mysterious. Finally the stars came out, and the moon broke through the seemingly impassable barrier of blackness.
“You see that big star at the end of the Big Dipper?” asked Skeeter. “Well, you jest count six stars to the left and four to the right in a straight line, and you’ll come to a star that air a whole lot brighter than the ones around hit, and hit seems to turn to red and blue and green all the time. You see it now, Jeff?”
“Yeah, I sees hit. So you sit down in the middle and I’ll start polin’ towards it. And for God’s sake, if’n I drap a snake off’n one of these vines on yore neck, don’t turn the skiff over.”
“You better be the one to worry about that,” said Skeeter. “I wished you would drap one of them critters in here so’es I could show you how to ketch him. Then you wouldn’t be afeered of him no more.”
Jeff poled the skiff steadily in the direction of the star that Skeeter had pointed out to him, and before long they came out at the head of the bayou. “From now on,” said Jeff, “I think I’d believe you if’n you tole me Ma was a wildcat. I shore am proud that you weren’t tellin’ no big tale this time.”
They glided down the bayou to the landing at the clearing, and Skeeter slipped into the kitchen to get a lighted stick to clean the frog legs by, while Jeff secured the boat and put up the pole and the one gig they had left. After they had cleaned the frogs, they pulled off their overalls and slipped into bed.
Pa stirred in his bed and asked: “Air that you boys comin’ in now?”
“Yeah, hits us, Pa,” said Jeff.
“Well, you boys ought not be galavantin’ around in the swamp havin’ a good time til this time of night. Hit worries yore ma and me to know you air frolickin’ round in them swamps.”
“Yeah, Pa,” said Jeff, and they pulled the covers over their heads and went to sleep.
TWO
WHEN THE FIRST RAYS of the sun were beginning to penetrate the darkness, the Corey household showed some signs of life. Theresa, who was always the first one up, was in the kitchen stoking up the coals with fresh sticks to get the fire started. By the time the sun had sprung to life, Ma Corey was pouring fresh water into the old coffee grounds and getting out the pans to prepare breakfast. Pa was standing on the front porch stretching his arms and yawning loudly. Jeff and Skeeter were still in bed with the covers pulled over their heads. Pa came into the room and shook them.
“You boys git on out of there so’es we kin go and run them traps afore some nigger beats us to ’em. The way the air smells this mornin’ I’d near abouts bet a coon that them traps is plum full of fish. I kin smell ’em clear to the house here.”
Jeff and Skeeter slowly arose from the bed, and made their way to the back of the house and the washstand. They took turns dousing cold water on their faces and rubbing the sleep from their eyes with the towel. Skeeter was a little sore from last night’s ordeal in the swamps.
“For the love of God,” said Ma, “you boys git back in there and put on them overhalls. Hit jest ain’t decent runnin’ aroun’ here naked as a couple of jaybirds.”
They hurriedly left the room and returned shortly, fully dressed. “I guess we jest didn’t realize that we wasn’t dressed, Ma,” said Skeeter.
“Well, you be shore and examine yoreself afore you come runnin’ aroun’ here like that no more,” said Ma. “Now you take this here bucket and go git me some fresh water so’es I kin boil this com mush.”
Skeeter took the bucket and started to the bayou, while Jeff went to bring in a supply of wood to be used during the morning. The fire was never allowed to go out in the Corey house. Pa went to the back stoop and brought in the frog legs that the boys had hung there after their return the night before.
“Jest look at the size of these legs, Ma,” he said. “Them shore air goin’ to be some good eatin’ soon as you git ’em fried.”
“They’ll be good if’n I kin jest keep ’em in the fryin’ pan long enough to git ’em cooked. You’d think that when them things hit that hot grease they was goin’ to git up and walk right back into the swamp.”
“Skeeter tole me onced that he had seed a snake swoller one of them small frogs,” said Theresa, “and after a while that frog jumped plum back out uv that snake’s belly.”
“Well, when I git him in my belly, he shore ain’t goin’ to jump back again,” said Pa, “and I tole you afore not to pay no mind to what Skeeter has done tole you.”
In a few minutes Skeeter returned with the water, and Ma put the corn meal mush on to boil. When Jeff came in, they all sat down at the table and began their breakfast of mush, frog legs,