| Original - No song

| Slow Movin'

 The morning air was crisp, a thin layer of fog hanging over the water. The sun highlighted the tips of the trees, making the leaves appear as if they were glowing. The flow of the Mississippi was steady, and the water was seemingly as calm as if it were a lake instead of a river. Though the experienced sailors that traveled along the Mississippi knew that what the murky waters hide was a strong current that carried thousands of boats down to New Orleans.

Speaking of boats, the harbor that sat on the edge of both the Mississippi and Memphis was buzzing with activity. Large steamboats were being packed with people who wanted an early morning passage down the river. Steamboats were coming up the river too, pulling behind them empty flatboats back to their starting places upstream. The steam that poured out of their tall chimneys painted the orange sherbert sky with cream clouds until it disappeared back into the humid air.

The harbor was filled with smaller ports too, crews of men loading cargo onto the flatboats tied to the wood poles on the docks. The cargo ranged from bags of flour and grain to even horses and cows needing to go downstream. Men were shouting, chickens were clucking and produce was rolling in its boxes. Even at dawn the Memphis harbor was full of life, people running about trying to get ready to sail down the river in time.

On the far end of the harbor, right at the mouth of the wolf river, was a lonely dock hidden by reeds and a stray willow tree. A medium-sized flatboat was tied to one of the poles, the rope getting caught on the reeds as the current tried to pull it away. A skinny dirt trail led away from the dock to the rest of the port, a trail that a young man was carrying a box of maize corn to the dock. Stopping at the edge of the wooden rickety boards, he haphazardly dropped the box at his feet and wiped the nonexistent sweat from his brow.

His name was Arthur Smith, and with one look at Arthur you could tell he had barely worked a day in his life. In fact, the hardest work he has ever done was walk to the other side of the tree when the sun shone on his sleeping face. The son of a wealthy plantation owner, his family suffered a great loss of both profits and a workforce, causing his father to force him to work. Which is why he was here, agreeing to be part of a flatboat crew to sail down the Mississippi. He wore his red cotton shirt (it was what his plantation grew), and a pair of cotton pants that seemed to have seen its first episode of being dirty, if the tiny bit of dust on the pant legs counted as being dirty.

"Is that the last of it?" That was one of his crewmates, a man named William-something from Pennsylvania who knew more about books than anything else. A girl could do more things than him, a little pale skinny thing who was probably afraid of both the sun and the clouds. If Arthur hadn't seen William walking in broad daylight to meet them down at the dock he'd be convinced the kid was a vampire.

Actually, Arthur's pretty sure he is a vampire. Most northerners are.

"Yeah," picking up the box of corn, he carefully stepped onto the flatboat and left the box by the door. A pair of black hands quickly dragged the box into the boat where the cargo was going to be held, and Arthur could hear the sound of a wooden box being placed onto another wooden box. The hands belonged to Jam, a runaway slave who staked out in New York until the Civil War was over. He claims to have been part of many sailor crews in New York, though Arthur is certain that he's bluffing. Despite this, he knows a lot more about sailing than the rest of them.

"Let the ship go, will ya?" Arthur yelled back an affirmative and began to unhook the flatboat from the pole on the dock. Once he had finally gotten the rope off of the wood the boat immediately started to travel down the river, the current carrying it past the very end of the peninsula where the harbor was located. Just as they were about to bend around Joe Curtis Point, Jam emerged from inside the boat.

"Where's the captain?" Arthur blinked, stupidly holding onto the rope as they entered the Mississippi.

"I thought he was inside." He replied.

"Well I thought he was with you," Jam shot back.

They stood there as the current began to take them downstream, the faint sound of songbirds coming from the banks. The murky waters seemed to stretch from sky to sky, almost as if a piece of the sky had fallen onto the earth. A piece that was broken by a wide arrange of ships and other floating things on the river.

"Oh no."

"We gotta turn around!" Arthur glanced up to the point to see the red face of the man who was going to lead the journey. An old galleon captain, he'd retired from sailing the dangerous Atlantic to instead relax on the calm Mississippi waters. Of course, he won't be able to relax if they didn't get the damn boat to turn around.

Jam had hopped onto the roof of the boat, grabbing a hold of the big oar that controlled the steering of the boat. Arthur watched as he struggled to turn the thing in the strong current, jumping when he was yelled at to come and help. Jogging past the pale face that peeked out from inside the cabin, he lifted himself with great difficulty onto the roof and aided Jam in trying to turn the boat. "We doing it!" Arthur felt his heart lift in relief as him and Jam managed to spin the thing in the water, the front end of the boat now facing the captain that was rapidly getting smaller. Now, however, the current seemed to have a lesser pull on the boat as steadied it to go straight ahead.

Then, they started moving again. Now they were sailing backwards, the shore disappearing just as fast as it did before.

"Aw, crap!" Jam hissed, throwing down the oar in a fit of frustration. Panic was clawing at Arthur's chest as he stumbled onto the deck and leaned over the side of the boat. He paddled at the water with his bare hands, hoping that maybe, just maybe, they'll be able to get back to the harbor. Jam seemed to get the same desperate idea, working at the water on the other side of the boat with his hands.

Despite their efforts they still moved downstream, Memphis slowly becoming smaller and smaller until their captain, and their paycheck, had disappeared.

Arthur sat back on his feet, dramatically sucking in gulps of air. On the other side of the boat Jam was leaning on the edge, running a hand through his dark brown hair. It was just then that William decided to make an entrance, timidly stepping out into the sunlight as if he was going to burn to a crisp if he didn't stay in the shade.

"We're screwed, aren't we?" His voice was quiet, almost as if he didn't want to break the silence that hung so heavily around them.

"You think?" Arthur hissed, causing the kid to glare at him. Jam was looking as if he wanted to shove everyone right off the boat. I'd like to see him try, he thought with a snicker.

Jam glanced up at him, rising slowly to his feet and dusting off his poorly made trousers. "You think this is funny? We jus' messed up our jobs, our careers!" He threw his hands up, pacing for a few seconds before whirling to angrily face Arthur. "Maybe if ya weren't so damn oblivious you would'a noticed there ain't no captain!"

Arthur jumped to his feet, stomping over to look Jam face to face, though it was more like face to chin. "How you blamin' it on me? You shoulda come out and made sure the captain was outside!"

Jam rolled his eyes. "Should I also make sure you ain't falling off the damn boat as well?" Arthur growled like some kind of sad excuse of a dog, his face red as a peach due to his panic-induced anger.

"O-Okay guys, let's uh-" Suddenly William was in between the two men, seemingly scared half out of his mind despite his sudden bout of bravery. "We-we don't need to fight-"

"Stay outta this!" The two snarled at William, causing him to back away into the shadows along the edge of the boat. Arthur and Jam both went back to their glaring contest, Arthur trying to stand on his very tippy toes in order to appear taller than the black giant that stood before him. Giving up, he dropped back down on his feet and whirled around to storm into the cabin like some kind of moody teenager.

"I'm gonna steer the boat," Jam muttered, climbing onto the roof and taking hold of the oar, slowly moving the giant paddle to the left to steer the thing around a steamboat that was coming upstream. William clambered up beside him, sitting himself down to watch them travel along the river. He could feel the sun beating down on his neck, making him feel as if he had been thrown into a fire, or an oven. William lifted his collar in a feeble attempt to protect his poor pale neck from the sunlight.

"Good riddance for that, huh?" He received silence, and William glanced out at the water as he felt the embarrassment from his feeble attempt at conversation begin to rise. They were drawing closer to the far bank, Jam steeling his grip on the handle to prepare to turn around a few bends that were up ahead. He could see the shadows from the giant swampy trees falling onto the bank, their black shapes distorted as the water flowed past.

"What are you implying?" Jam pushed against the oar, the boat turning to perform a U-turn before righting itself with the current.

"W-Well," William picked at a scab that resided on his forefinger. "We probably won't have to deal with that southern crap for a while." Jam glanced at William, who in his mind had become Willie to match the sheer innocence this man possessed, with a heated glare.

"Northern bias huh," he growled.

"What do you mean?" William asked, his head tilting like a confused puppy.

Jam shook his head, deciding to focus more on the Mississippi than on the clueless excuse of a man that sat beside him. Somehow taking the hint, William glanced briefly at the water before dropping down from the roof of the cabin and slipping inside.

They were moving swiftly, Arthur could feel it. The sun that flitted through the cracks in the wood provided just enough lighting so Arthur didn't have to strain his eyes to see. Dust flitted among the sunlight, floating around like tiny little fireflies that were the size of pins. He could hear distant creaking from somewhere up above, the crops rolling in their wooden beds, and the tentative footsteps that stopped in front of his feet.

Arthur peeked out from under the rim of his scraggly straw hat, seeing that William kid leaning against a few of the boxes of corn that was stacked all around them. He narrowed his eyes at him, pissed off that he'd dare interrupt his brooding. Huffing, he decided to remain angry and pulled the hat over his eyes. He could hear William sigh and straighten out the wrinkles in his shirt, then shuffle nervously on his feet.

"You gonna say somethin' or what?"

Wiliam jumped, then shook his head at his mousy actions. "Y-Yes, outside. Please." He quickly removed himself from the situation, darting outside to escape the awkward dust-filled air that was inside the cabin. Arthur, having nothing else to do, decided to heave himself to his feet and follow the timid kid outside. Blinking at the harsh sun, he glanced over to William who wore a surprised face as if he wasn't expecting Arthur to follow him. William clumsily clambered onto the roof, with Arthur following behind.

Jam didn't even spare them a glance, and Arthur gave him the same treatment, both deciding to focus on the wide expanse of water. The silence was deafening, William rocking on his feet as he tried not to go crazy from the tension.

Finally, William decided to speak. "Okay, look. We have to work together."

Jam scoffed, rolling his eyes without even looking at them. Arthur shook his head, crossing his arms like a toddler. William pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. The heat of the sun was making him irritated, and the two guys' quarrels weren't helping. "I know you hate each other, but we are sailing down the Mississippi and if we don't learn to put our differences aside us we're going to be 70 feet under!"

"You sound like my ma," Jam snickered, Arthur fighting back a smile because holy hell he did.

"And I'll continue to be your 'ma' if you two keep hating each other!" Arthur almost laughed at how William's voice cracked at the end of that sentence, chuckling under his breath at how pink his face was getting.

"I-hey-I'm gonna go inside, figure this out yourselves!" William turned around on his heel and ducked inside the cabin, closing the door shut.

The two stared at each other blankly, the distant buzzing of insects and the gentle sloshing of water against the side of the boat being the only sounds. Arthur reluctantly sat himself down next to Jam (though making sure there were a good two feet between them), quickly sitting criss-cross on the warm wooden planks. Jam glanced at Arthur's strange position before returning to the river, adjusting the oar slightly to stay in the current.

"A runaway, huh." Jam looked over again to see Arthur fiddling with his straw hat in his hands. It was old, very old, the thing looking as if it had gone through hell and back. The brim was mangled, little bits of straw sticking out in weird places, making it look like a pale yellow porcupine. There were holes on the top of the hat, some of them big enough for a field mouse to fit through. Jam thought it was impractical to keep the thing if it was so worn out, but the way Arthur was holding it made it seem as if it had some sentimental value. "Where'd you run from?"

"North Carolina." Arthur nodded, quickly putting the hat back on his head. "Railroad helped me."

"You was lucky," Arthur was quiet, and Jam glanced at him once more, his eyebrows furrowed.

"Sure was," he sighed. That pissed off Arthur was gone, replaced with this sad little thing next to him with a straw hat. "Why do ya' say that?"

Arthur leaned back on his hands, squinting at the sun before glancing down at the wooden boards once more. "Knew a slave who didn't make it." Now Jam was interested, he'd never heard a story about the runaways who had failed in making it to freedom. Back where he was from it was only the older ones who'd whisper about it in the cool of dusk, but they'd never talk loud enough for him to hear.

"Yeah, and?" Jam adjusted the oar.

Arthur sighed, eyes glued to the wood as he began to remember. "It was back when I was small.."

He'd been ten at the time.

Life was boring on the plantation, for Arthur there was only so much he could do. The next house with other children was a long walk away, and his sisters never wanted to play with him. Jacks and marbles does get dull after a while, and none of his other games were cutting it. So, with nothing else to do, he ventured out the back door of the house and wandered over to the fields beyond.

He'd always loved cotton, especially when it was ready to harvest. The long spiny branches would dance in the small wind, balls of cotton unable to weigh down the branches despite how small they were. The large grape-like leaves would make up the cotton plant's dress, blowing softly in the breeze in layers of green lace and fabric. All in all, the cotton plant was a beautiful marvel in Arthur's eyes, and he was glad they grew it on their plantation.

Stopping among the rows of plants, he reached up to try and pluck a ball of cotton from its flower. However, when it didn't budge he gave up, letting his hands fall to his side in defeat.

"Here, let me." Arthur glanced up to see one of the slaves stop behind him, clutching a woven basket to his chest. He was tall, as was all of them, wearing a simple cotton shirt and pants, though he was going barefoot. The man also sported a homemade straw hat that easily blocked the sun from his eyes.

He watched as the man expertly plucked the ball from the base of the flower, using a twisting motion that seemed to be second nature for him. The slave quickly picked any remaining plant from the ball of cotton, then handed it to Arthur who stared up at him in amazement.

"How-how did ya do that?" He stammered, staring at the soft fiber ball in his hand. The slave grinned, glancing around quickly before putting down the basket he held.

"Want me to show ya?" He asked, crouching down to meet Arthur's eye level. The kid nodded enthusiastically, stuffing his cotton in his pocket so he could learn how to get a new one. The slave then spent the next ten or so minutes teaching his master's son how to pick cotton, showing him how to hold it at the base then the twisting motion that would ensure that the cotton would come off clean of plant. He didn't know why he did it, talking with the kid was extremely dangerous for him, but seeing that happy grin as the ten-year-old picked his first cotton was worth it.

"What's your name?" Arthur asked, holding his two prizes in his hands; one in each palm.

The slave smiled, picking up his basket and holding it once again to his chest. "George."

And so it began, the day when Arthur made friends with a slave. He would visit him in the fields, following him around and even helping him pick the cotton. Arthur would talk about the things he did that day, and George would listen with a patient smile as he picked. When harvest-time was over, Arthur would wait for him to finish his days work among the cabins, where he would play with the younger slave children. When George had finished, the two would sit under a great oak tree that sat at the edge of the property, talking about a wide arrangement of things and sometimes Arthur would read to George since he was illiterate.

It was a great friendship. Ignored by most kids in school, bullied by his sisters and pushed away by his father who was too busy managing the slaves, it seemed that the only person he could talk to was his mother. But even she had duties to attend to, and Arthur felt utterly alone without his family. So having George was a Godsend to him, and Arthur could never be happier.

But then, his father found out.

In honor of Arthur's birthday, and in some sense his own, he had decided to carve a small wooden charm of an animal that he was told meant good luck. Specifically a frog, since Arthur had always had trouble with swimming and a frog charm may help him feel more safe in the water. He had spent many nights on it, staying an order or so late to slowly whittle away a small block of wood with his dull knife until a wooden frog was staring right at him.

When the day came the two were sitting under the large oak tree. It was the late afternoon, the golden hours of the day, and Arthur was looking through the book that was given to him by his parents.

"Arthur," he looked up to see George holding out a small wooden charm. "It's for you."

"Thank you," Arthur whispered, gingerly taking the thing out of his hand and examined it closely in his fingers. "It's-it's a frog, isn't it?"

George nodded, smiling. "Yeah, it'll bring ya' good luck. Maybe it'll help ya' swim better." Arthur sent him a glare, to which George laughed. Soon night had begun to fall and his mother had called him inside, so Arthur said his goodbyes and raced towards his house. He quickly ate his dinner and went up for bed. He was quite tired, so he placed the small frog on the nightstand and jumped into his bed.

When he awoke the next morning, the frog was gone.

Arthur dressed quickly, rushing down the stairs in a hurry. He had already checked every nook and cranny in his room for the charm, so he could only assume one of his sisters had taken it. Skidding to a stop at the foot of the stairs, he decomposed himself and walked into the kitchen.

"Mama, have you seen-" Arthur froze at the sight of his father standing in the middle of the kitchen, his shoulders squared with tension and his face red. Slowly he brought up his tightly wound fist, opening it to reveal the small wooden frog.

"Where did you get this?"

Arthur gulped, putting his shaking hands behind his back. "No-nowhere."

"I said, where did you get this!" His father bellowed, making Arthur flinch.

"A slave gave it to me, but-but it's just a charm-"

"Shut your mouth boy!" Arthur's mouth closed, his eyes widening at the way his father's nostrils flared in anger. "Acceptin' things from n**gers! I thought I raised ya' right!"

"But father, George isn't-"

"So it was him, eh?" A murderous look passed over his father's eyes, and Arthur could feel his heart reach for his stomach. "He's gonna get it for corruptin' my son! To ya' room, boy! You's gonna get it next!" Arthur opened his mouth to protest but quickly snapped it shut at the volcano face that looked ready to explode. He whipped around and scurried up the stairs again, looking back just in time to see his father toss the tiny wooden frog in the fire stove that sat in the corner of the tiled kitchen.

As soon as he heard the back door slam shut he raced down the stairs again and ducked under the thick-veiled curtains to peer out the living room window. He just glimpsed his father aggressively ripping the whip off its hook that was nailed into a wooden pole and disappear around the side of the house where the slave cabins were.

No, nonononono..

With a fearful cry Arthur stumbled out from under the curtains and to the hallway where the back door was located, ripping open the door without caring if it slammed against the wall. He raced outside, skidding in the dirt as he turned around the house but quickly gaining his footing and running towards the cabins. There was a crowd in what was considered the central square of four cabins, and Arthur pushed through as many legs and dresses as he could until he had breached the human wall and was able to see what was going on in the middle.

George was on the ground, his elbows and knees scraped as if he had been pushed down. His arms covered his head, obscuring his face from Arthur's view. His father stood over him, a white bear red with rage and a black rat's tail whip raised above his head.

"Stop!" Arthur couldn't bear to just stand there and watch his friend get whipped, he had seen the aftermath before and every time it was never pretty. His father froze, looking over to him and lowering his whip in surprise. Arthur took the chance to dart in front of George, holding out his arms as if he was trying to part a sea of men and women instead of a sea of water.

"Move boy," his father's voice was like a dog's growl, low and menacing.

"No," Arthur shot back, his voice wavering.

"I-It's okay, Arthur." George sounded from behind him, shaking in fear for both himself and the small boy. "I've-I've had lashins' before. I'll be okay, please, just-just go."

"I ain't movin'," Arthur hissed, raising his head to stare defiantly at his father who looked like he was about to spontaneously combust.

"Move," Arthur was more afraid of this lower voice than the yelling he usually used. "Or I'll whip ya." Arthur took in a sharp breath, but he didn't budge. He wasn't going to let George, the only real friend he had, get whipped because of something that didn't even matter.

It was dead silent. No breeze moved through the trees, no bird sang an early morning song, and the slaves didn't even dare to breathe. Then, a crack sounded in the air, something almost the equivalent of thunder, and Arthur felt a sharp pain on his cheek.

He felt tears drip down his left cheek and Arthur moved his hand to wipe them away. But instead of finding the salty clear water soaking his hand, he instead found red sticky blood staining his palm. It was then Arthur felt the pain, blossoming on his cheek and spreading to a throb on the left side of his face. A sob wracked his chest, and then another, then suddenly he was crying heavily at the monstrous pain on his face.

Everything after that was a blur. He caught a glimpse of George jumping up and pouncing onto his father like a cat, his fists a whirlwind as he pounded them into his father's face and chest, calling him names Arthur wouldn't ever want to repeat. Then he was pressed into the bosom of an old black woman who was considered everyone's mama, feeling a cloth being pressed against his bleeding cheek. He could hear his mother screaming for the slave to get off her husband, and looking up revealed a thrashing George being pulled away by two men as he tried to take a few more hits at the broken and bleeding man lying on the floor. Arthur was quickly ripped away from the scene by one of his sisters who was screaming for the dirty slaves to stay away from her brother.

George was kept inside one of the cabins that day, forbidden to go outside by the other slaves who worried for his safety. The doctor visited them as well, quickly patching up the skin hanging in ribbons on Arthur's cheek before rushing out of the room to tend to his father. Arthur would never forget the look of pure pity that the doctor gave him when he was wrapping the gauze to his head. He stayed inside all day as well, his mother fretting over his safety from the people who were the only real family he ever had.

Once night had fallen and the rest of the house had gone to bed Arthur slipped off of his mattress and onto the cold wooden floor. He crept silently down the hall, padding down the stairs being careful to not step on the creaky ones. Slipping into the kitchen, he quickly snatched some leftover rolls from the counter and a few oranges from the bowl near the edge. Stuffing them in a paper bag, he went to the back door and took care not to let it creak as he opened it.

The night was cool, as autumn was coming, but Arthur didn't dwell on that and instead hurried around the cotton fields to the back fence where the great oak tree was located. He stopped under the long branches, calling out a quiet greeting to George who stood on the other side of the fence.

"You're running, aren't you?" Arthur hurried to the fence, quickly handing the bag to George who took it after some hesitation.

"Yeah," he said softly. "Thank you." Arthur shrugged, quickly touching the gauze wrapped on his cheek. George sighed, looking pained as he bent over the fence to give the small boy a quick hug. "Maybe-maybe one day slavery'll be abolished. Maybe we'll be free. Til' then, I'll be in Springfield." He pulled back, thinking for a second before plopping the straw hat he always wore on Arthur's head. Then, he was gone, running off into the night.

George never made it out of the state.

A few days later, George was returned to his owners after being caught on the northern border of Mississippi. He was brought to the nearby town of Clarksdale, where he was put on trial for attempting to escape as a fugitive slave and assaulting a white man. The next day, bright and early morning where the birds were singing and the sun was just over the mountains, he was hanged. Arthur was forced to watch the whole thing by his parents, and nobody noticed the large tears streaming down his face.

Arthur had managed to keep the straw hat hidden all those years, making sure that the one gift he had from his friend stayed out of the clutches of his own father.

"Afta' that, my father thought whippin' was the only way to discipline me." Arthur sighed, glancing up at the sun which had reached its highest point and was now traveling down to the horizon. Jam was staring straight ahead at the water, his brain was buzzing slightly at the story he was just told. "Always did em' on my arms, and I always had to wear long sleeves. Still got them scars too, on both my arms and my cheek." Jam glanced over to Arthur and sure enough there was a long pale line that stretched from the left corner of his mouth to his temple.

"Some father you had," Jam mumbled, causing Arthur to let out a laugh.

"Yeah, got what he deserved though." Arthur grinned, cracking his stiff knuckles after having his fingers laced together for so long. "'Parently he was a big player in the confederate army. Was sentenced to hangin' by the same court that tried George."

Jam rolled his eyes, preparing to steer around a large bend that was coming up the river. "They oughta learn where their priorities are, huh. C'mere and help me with this." Arthur scooted over, taking hold of the oar with Jam and with the help of the other man successfully brought it around the bend, and then the other one up ahead. The Mississippi looked straight for a mile or so more, so Arthur let go and let the more experienced person on the boat take control once more.

He never moved back to his original spot.

William sat in the shade of the cabin, listening to the soft voices floating in from above. He couldn't hear what they were saying but by how calm the conversation seemed to be William hoped they were getting along. He knew for a fact most southerners hated the northerners and with some reason too, so William decided to stay inside and leave the two be.

One man stayed inside and read, while the other two grew sat in comfortable silence above.

***

Night had fallen, and Jam was staring worriedly at the sky. One would expect a whole galaxy of stars above the Mississippi, a beautiful painting that seemed to be entirely made of a black painted canvas and spilled crystals. Instead, the sky was a swirling pitch black with only a few stars managing to push through the murky clouds. Details aside, Jam knew that there was going to be a storm, and a big one at that.

When Jam had gone to the dock and began to load the cargo before dawn, he had stopped to stare worriedly at the red sky that began the start of the day. He'd been taught quite a few sailor phrases while in New York, one of which says to be careful if the sky is red in the morning. He'd hoped that it was simply an old saying without any value, but when the clouds began to climb over the hills and spill into the Mississippi valley Jam then prayed that the calm waters of Mississippi wouldn't be affected by some rain. But as he was sitting there, squinting through the twilight to just make out the distant bank and the other boats that were sailing with them, Jam wasn't sure if he'd get that lucky.

The water's current was calm, but instead of the gentle calm that the waters possessed during the day, it was a tense calm. It was as if the river was anticipating the storm just as much as the sailors, both sporting tense shoulders while one flows and the other flows with it. Jam was tense too, his hands having a tight grip on the oar in order to keep the boat steadily going straight ahead. His knuckles were turning white, a stark contrast against his dark skin that he noticed almost immediately and forced himself to loosen the tight grip his hands had on the long pole. Letting go of it for a brief moment to wring out his palms, he checked his fingers for splinters.

It was then that the rain started falling.

At first, it was just a drizzle. He felt it first on his hands, the light spray of water that just brushed his fingers. Then, he felt the mist-like rain land on his face, clogging up his eyelashes and dampening his hair. He could feel it in through the tiny holes that riddled his clothes, seeping into every nook and cranny in such a way that made Jam shiver. He was expecting this though, shifting in his seat to pull the worn wool jacket from underneath him and pulling it around his shoulders.

After that, the rain began to get worse. Tiny little droplets became bullets of water that fell in torrents, soaking poor Jam to the bone as he tried to get a grip on the now slippery oar. The once still surface of the Mississippi river was broken by craters that were formed by raindrops hitting the water's surface and disappeared just as fast they appeared. Jam could just feel that they were gaining speed, and now he didn't mind his white knuckles wrapped tightly around the oar.

"Good heavens," Jam turned his head to see Arthur poke his head out of the cabin door. He blinked rapidly as the rain pelted against his face, his hair soaked and dripping water like sweat onto his cheek. Jam turned back around as Arthur disappeared inside, but spun around again as Arthur clambered onto the slippery roof next to him. Jam noticed that the straw hat was missing, he probably just left it inside. "Do ya' need help with that?"

Jam nodded, and Arthur scooted over to grip the oar as well. He stared fretfully out into the gray in front of him, the rain making his body feel like ice that could fall over and crack at any moment. The water was growing restless, tossing and turning in its mud-lined bed that sent the flatboat rocking left to right like a strange swing. The two men were using their combined strength to keep the flatboat going straight ahead, keeping in their lane as best as they could.

That was when they heard it. A faint roar was coming from up ahead, growing louder and louder as if a lion was slowly stalking towards them. It was the tell-tale sign of a river sailor's worst nightmare, something that could wreck a ship (especially in the rain) in seconds.

Rapids.

Jam could feel the blood draining from his face, and one look at Arthur he knew that they were sharing the same fear. He could just imagine it, a sharp rock tearing through the water-soaked boards that made up the boat's floor, corn and other things being thrown into the water like bread, the flatboat itself parting like the red sea and all three of them being swallowed by the hungry river. Jam could feel the water pressing in on his head, pushing into his mouth and down his throat as the water tossed him around like a ragdoll until he finally hit his head on a rock and-

He felt a hand jab into his side and he winced, reaching down to quickly rub the soaked part of his ribs that was hurt. He glanced at Arthur angrily, who seemed unaffected by the heated glare. "Quit tryin' to think of every worst-case scenario and help us get through these rapids!" Arthur hissed, his nerves making him snappy and rightfully so. Jam rolled his eyes but didn't comment on it, instead opting to grip the oar even tighter.

William was hiding among the cabbage pressing a hand to his mouth and trying his best not to vomit from the rocking movement of the boat. When he had signed up for this job, he had expected a calm journey down the Mississippi instead of this sickening motion the trip was giving him. He could hear the rain pounding on all the sides of the boat, the almost rhythmic sound calming his rolling stomach just a tad.

"Ay Willie!" William jumped, glancing up at the ceiling and hoping that this wasn't the time his stomach decided to dump its contents. He could hear the creaking of footsteps above the rain, and that worried him. The fact that they had to step heavy meant something was going on, if the uncharacteristic waves and heavy rain wasn't enough. "Get 'yer carpetbaggin' behind out here!"

William jumped to get his coat on, slipping the wool over his shoulders and scrambling outside. Almost immediately he was soaked, the rain pushing him back against the wall of the cabin. But he was somehow able to overcome the power of the torrents and half-lept, half-pushed his way onto the roof. He felt himself slipping before a hand pulled him up by his shoulder, shoving him to the oar allowing William to grab onto it for support.

"Okay, okay." Jam was panting heavily, standing at the front of the men in order to get a clear view of what lay ahead. He could see the hills in the water where the rocks rested just underneath the surface. The water was rushing around them, twisting and turning as it did it's best to dodge the stones and get back to flowing naturally. Squinting ahead, he caught sight of another flatboat slipping elegantly between the rocks, followed the route of the main current before being sent further down the river. "When I say left, everyone push to the left, a'right? Same with right, yeah?" The other two nodded, getting ready to follow Jam's commands.

"Left!" They all pushed left, the boat turning and just missing a sharp rock that protruded from the river. The rain seemed to pelt even harder, now stinging their skin but the adrenaline pumping through their veins made the sharp pain seem nonexistent. "Right!" They all pushed right, the boat turning once more and narrowly missing a group of rocks that the water rushed around. The Mississippi stretched from horizon to horizon, the rain making the waters rise and flood the plains that bordered the bank. The murky water was a dark grey, the sky an even darker black that hungrily swallowed the river's banks. It was as if they were nearing the end of the world, soon to travel forward and fall off the Earth herself into the abyss of space.

They traveled over a few bumps, the crew making sure that the boat went straight ahead and praying to God that they would survive. Then a wall of rock appeared from the fog, stretching seemingly from end to end and sporting nasty spires that looked as if they had claimed many victims, boat and human alike. The water was desperately trying to slip through the cracks between the rocks, pulling any sticks, leaves, and bark that the river had managed to snag along with it. The wall's main attraction, however, was the gap just in the middle of the wall. There, the water poured out into the river like a train station at rush hour, abandoning its quest of making it through the cracks and instead taking the easy way out. The roaring sound was deafening, rising above the rain and everything else as if it was trying to drown out the water with sound.

"We're on our side!" Arthur yelled over the rain, and it was true. In trying to turn around the first bends and then immediately going straight they had to keep the boat's side turned towards the rapids. But now they only had a small window of time to turn back to the front before each end of the boat is destroyed by the rocks and they all become new decorations for the Mississippi's bottom.

"Left!" All three pushed left, their feet slipping on the slick wooden boards soaked with rain. The boat spun, the roaring of rushing water began to drown out the beating of their own hearts as they neared the final rapid, the final divine test that chose whether they lived or died. "Now right!" Just as the front faced the edge of the world, the oar pushed right and quickly steadied them forward. The boat suddenly surged ahead, the narrower side of the thing allowing the current to quickly push it forward. It almost made the trio tumble off the edge, but they all held on tightly to the oar for dear life. The flatboat almost soared as it tumbled through the rock wall and back out into the river, making it almost scratch-free except for a long scar on the right side of the boat.

The boat spun a few times in the whirlpool beneath the rapids before escaping the trap and letting itself be carried away from danger by the current. As the boat traveled further down the river, the waters slowly calmed down until it was moving at a crawl. All around them the rain pelted down onto the grey surface of the river, the Earth slowly returning in the form of distant silhouettes of trees and even buildings. The Mississippi was slowly calming down from the furious beast it was before, returning to the gentle giant it was known for.

Once Jam was sure that the boat would be safe without them, he ushered his crewmates back inside the cabin. Many of the produce was scattered across the floor, grain slipping in between the cracks of the wood and corn rolling around like marbles. He paid no attention to this however, instead going for the three blankets he had found in a wooden chest when he first got on the boat.

"Y'all got new clothes?" The two nodded, and Jam tossed the blankets to them and began to put on his other set of clothes. Arthur and William did the same, wrapping their blankets around their shivering shoulders. The three curled up against the far wall, huddled among each other in an attempt to feel some warmth. The rain pelted against the roof, a few droplets slipping into the cabin but not enough for it to be a burden to them. There they stayed for the rest of the night, one by one falling asleep to the now soothing sound of raindrops and thunder from outside.

*

Arthur and William had just finished cleaning up the mess in the cabin when Jam had called them up, saying he had spotted New Orleans. After racing outside in a totally competition free way, Arthur remained the victor and held onto his hat as he jumped onto the roof of the cabin, William following behind. All around them a variety of boats peppered the final stretch of the Mississippi river, ranging from giant steamboats that paddled at the water to little Indian style canoes that slipped between the boats like mice. The sun was falling to the swampy horizon when they floated into port, Arthur snagging a dock with his rope and knotting it tightly.

Jam stood, stretching his arms high into the sky when he noticed an old man storming angrily down the dock. He stopped, squinting in the sun in an attempt to make out who it might be. Only when the man stopped at the edge of the dock did Jam recognize him as their captain.

"Nice to see my boat made it out in one piece," he growled. "Well, almost." He glanced heatedly at the wound that the left side of the boat sported. William began to pale, his face becoming a ghostly white that looked like only a northerner could pull off. Arthur didn't look as bad, his face a bit red but other than that he was fine. Jam jumped down to join the two men as they stepped onto the dock to stand before their captain. The man quickly slapped a five and a one in each of their hands before jumping onto the boat, disappearing inside the cabin to inspect the damage that they may have caused.

The three men stood there, surrounded by the sounds of the New Orleans Port. Bells were chiming, men were shouting, and cargo was being loaded onto ships of many different shapes and sizes. William shuffled his feet, uncomfortable from the silence but deciding to speak anyways.

"Well, I'll be going then. I have a few trains to catch." He gave a nervous grin before stuffing his six dollars in his pocket and hurrying down the dock to join the endless mob of people with places to be. Jam and Arthur stood there, silently observing the busy edge of the large city that stood before them.

"So," Arthur adjusted his straw hat. "Where you going afta' this?"

Jam blinked, staring ahead at the weather-worn wood underneath his feet. "I dunno. Maybe I'll try to find my family, but I don' know where they are." He sighed, glancing up to stare at Arthur who had a thoughtful look on his face. "You don' wanna go back home, do ya?" Jam continued to stare until Arthur nodded his head, letting his gaze fall to the ground. That small gesture was enough for him, so Jam began to walk down the dock.

He stopped when he realized that Arthur wasn't following, and turned around to face him. "Well? You comin' or not?" Arthur jumped, glancing up at Jam before jogging down the dock to stand beside him.

"Don't you leave me behind," Arthur grinned up at him, Jam only rolling his eyes in response as they walked together into the city of New Orleans.

The end

| 7933 words

|This took forever to make, and was also my second longest story so far. So, question for you all: would you like me to expand on these characters? Let me know!