II

Down by the Riverside

I

EACH STEP he took made the old house creak as though the earth beneath the foundations were soggy. He wondered how long the logs which supported the house could stand against the water. But what really worried him were the steps; they might wash away at any moment, and then they would be trapped. He had spent all that morning trying to make them secure with frayed rope, but he did not have much faith. He walked to the window and the half-rotten planks sagged under his feet. He had never realized they were that shaky. He pulled back a tattered curtain, wishing the dull ache would leave his head. Ah been feverish all day. Feels like Ah got the flu. Through a dingy pane he saw yellow water swirling around a corner of the barn. A steady drone filled his ears. In the morning the water was a deep brown. In the afternoon it was a clayey yellow. And at night it was black, like a restless tide of liquid tar. It was about six feet deep and still rising; it had risen two feet that day. He squinted at a tiny ridge of foam where the yellow current struck a side of the barn and veered sharply. For three days he had been watching that tiny ridge of foam. When it shortened he had hopes of seeing the ground soon; but when it lengthened he knew that the current was flowing strong again. All the seeds for spring planting were wet now. They gonna rot, he thought with despair. The morning before he had seen his only cow, Sally, lowing, wagging her head, rolling her eyes, and pushing through three feet of water for the hills. It was then that Sister Jeff had said that a man who would not follow a cow was a fool. Well, he had not figured it that way. This was his home. But now he would have to leave, for the water was rising and there was no telling when or where it would stop.

Two days ago he had told Bob to take the old mule to Bowman’s plantation and sell it, or swap it for a boat, any kind of a boat. N Bob ain back here yit. Ef it ain one thing its ernother. When it rains it pos. But, Lawd, ef only tha old levee don break. Ef only tha ol levee don break…

He turned away from the window, rubbing his forehead. A good dose of quinine would kill that fever. But he had no quinine. Lawd, have mercy!

And worst of all there was Lulu flat on her back these four days, sick with a child she could not deliver. His lips parted in silent agony. It just did not seem fair that one man should be hit so hard and on so many sides at once. He shifted the weight of his body from his right foot to his left, listening for sounds from the front room, wondering how Lulu was. Ef she don have tha baby soon Ahma have t git her outta here, some way…

He leaned against a damp wall. Whut in the worls keepin Bob so long? Well, in a way all of this was his own fault. He had had a chance to get away and he had acted like a fool and had not taken it. He had figured that the water would soon go down. He had thought if he stayed he would be the first to get back to the fields and start spring plowing. But now even the mule was gone. Yes, he should have cleared-out when the Government offered him the boat. Now he had no money for a boat, and Bob had said that he could not even get near that Red Cross.

He took a gourd from the wall and dipped some muddy water out of a bucket. It tasted thick and bitter and he could not swallow it. He hung the gourd back and spat the water into a corner. He cocked his head, listening. It seemed he had heard the sound of a shot. There it was again. Something happenin in town, he thought. Over the yellow water he heard another shot, thin, dry, far away. Mus be trouble, mus be trouble somewhere. He had heard that the white folks were threatening to conscript all Negroes they could lay their hands on to pile sand- and cement-bags on the levee. And they were talking about bringing in soldiers, too. They were afraid of stores and homes being looted. Yes, it was hard to tell just what was happening in town. Shucks, in times like these theyll shoota nigger down jus lika dog n think nothin of it. Tha shootin might mean anything. But likely as not its jus some po black man gone…

He faced the window again, thinking, Ahma git mah pistol outta tha dresser drawer when Ah go inter Lulus room. He rolled the tattered curtain up as far as it would go; a brackish light seeped into the kitchen. He looked out; his house was about twelve feet above the water. And water was everywhere. Yellow water. Swirling water. Droning water. For four long days and nights it had been there, flowing past. For a moment he had the illusion that that water had always been there, and would always be there. Yes, it seemed that the water had always been there and this was just the first time he had noticed it. Mabbe somebody jus dropped them houses n trees down inter tha watah… He felt giddy and a nervous shudder went through him. He rubbed his eyes. Lawd, Ah got fever. His head ached and felt heavy; he wanted sleep and rest.

The view opposite his window was clear for half a mile. Most of the houses had already washed away. Nearby a few trees stood, casting black shadows into the yellow water. The sky was grey with the threat of rain. Suddenly every muscle in his body stretched taut as a low rumble of thunder rose and died away. He shook his head. Nothin could be worsen rain right now. A heavy rainll carry tha ol levee erway sho as hell…

“Brother Mann!”

He turned and saw Sister Jeff standing in the hall door.

“How Lulu?” he asked.

The old woman shook her head.

“She poly.”

“Yuh reckon shell have it soon?”

“Cant say, Brother Mann. Mabbe she will n mabbe she wont. She havin the time of her life.”

“Cant we do nothin fer her?”

“Naw. We jus have t wait, thas all. Lawd, Ahm scared shell never have tha baby widout a doctah. Her hips is jus too little.”

“There ain no way t git a doctah now.”

“But yuh gotta do something, Brother Mann.”

“Ah don know whut t do,” he sighed. “Where Peewee?”

“He sleep, in Lulus room.”

She came close to him and looked hard into his face.

“Brother Mann, there ain nothin t eat in the house. Yuh gotta do something.”

He turned from her, back to the window.

“Ah sent Bob wid the mule t try t git a boat,” he said.

She sighed. He swallowed with effort, hearing the whisper of her soft shoes die away down the hall. No boat. No money. No doctah. Nothin t eat. N Bob ain back here yit. Lulu could not last much longer this way. If Bob came with a boat he would pile Lulu in and row her over to that Red Cross Hospital, no matter what. The white folks would take her in. They would have to take her in. They would not let a woman die just because she was black; they would not let a baby kill a woman. They would not. He grew rigid, looking out of the window, straining to listen. He thought he had heard another shot. But the only sound was the drone of swirling water. The water was darkening. In the open stretches it was a muddy yellow; but near the houses and trees it was growing black. Its gittin night, he thought. Then came the sound of shots, thin, dry, distant. Wun… Tuh… Three…

“Brother Mann! Its Bob!”

He hurried to the front door walking heavily on the heels of his big shoes. He saw Bob standing far down on the long steps near the water, bending over and fumbling with a coil of rope. Behind him a white rowboat trembled in the current.

“How yuh come out, Bob?”

Bob looked up and flashed a white grin.

“See?” he said, pointing to the white boat.

Mann’s whole body glowed. Thank Gawd, we gotta boat! Now we kin git erway…

“Who yuh git it from?”

Bob did not answer. He drew the rope tight and came up the steps.

“Ahm one tired soul,” Bob said.

They went into the hall. Mann watched Bob pull out a pocket handkerchief and mop his black face. Peewee came in, rubbing his eyes and looking at Bob.

“Yuh git a boat, Uncle Bob?”

“Keep quiet, Peewee,” said Mann.

Sister Jeff and Grannie came and stood behind Peewee. They looked from Bob to Mann. Bob tucked his handkerchief away, taking his time to do it, laughing a little.

“Lawd, Ahm one tired soul,” he said again.

“Who bought the mule?” asked Mann.

“Ol man Bowman bought the mule, but he didnt wanna pay me much.” Bob paused and pulled out a crumpled wad of one-dollar bills. “He gimme fifteen dollahs…”

“Is tha all he give yuh?”

“Ever penny, so hep me Gawd! N tha ol stingy white ape didnt wanna gimme tha, neither. Lawd, ol man Bowman hada pila dough on im big ernuff t choka cow! Ah swear t Gawd Ah never wanted t rob a man so much in all mah life…”

“Don yuh go thinkin sin, Bob!” said Grannie. “Wes got ernuff trouble here now widout yuh thinkin sin!”

Bob looked at her.

“Its a boat!” cried Peewee, running from the front door.

Mann stood fingering the bills.

“But how yuh git tha boat, Bob?” he asked.

“Is it our boat?” Peewee asked.

“Hush, Peewee!” Grannie said.

“Don worry! Yuhll git a chance t ride in tha boat, Peewee,” said Bob. He laughed and caught Peewee up in his arms. He looked around, then dropped into a chair. “When Ah lef Bowmans place Ah caughta ride downtown in a motorboat wid Brother Hall. Ah went everwheres, lookin high n low fer a boat. Some wanted forty dollahs. Some fifty. Ah met one man whut wanted a hundred. Ah couldnt buy a boat nowheres, so Ah ups n steals a boat when nobody wuz lookin…”

“Yuh stole the boat?” asked Mann.

“There wouldnt be no boat out there now ef Ah hadnt.”

“Son, yuh a fool t go stealin them white folks boats in times like these,” said Grannie.

Bob slapped his thigh and laughed.

“Awright, Ma. Ahll take the boat back. Hows tha? Wan me t take it back?”

Grannie turned away.

“Ah ain gonna ride in it,” she said.

“Awright. Stay here n drown in the watah,” said Bob.

Mann sighed.

“Bob, Ah sho wished yuh hadnt stole it.”

“Aw,” said Bob with an impatient wave of his hand. “Whut yuh so scared fer? Ain nobody gonna see yuh wid it. All yuh gotta do is git in n make fer the hills n make fer em quick. Ef Ah hadnt stole tha boat yuh all woulda had t stay here till the watah washed yuh erway…” He pushed Peewee off his knee and looked up seriously. “How Lulu?”

“She poly,” said Sister Jeff.

Grannie came forward.

“Whutcha gonna do, Mann? Yuh gonna take Lulu in the boat Bob done stole? Yuh know them white folks is gonna be lookin fer tha boat. Sistah James boy got killed in a flood jus like this…”

“She cant stay here in the fix she in,” said Mann.

“Is Ah goin, Pa?” asked Peewee.

“Shut up fo Ah slaps yuh!” said Grannie.

“Whutcha gonna do, Brother Mann?” asked Sister Jeff.

Mann hesitated.

“Wrap her up,” he said. “Ahma row her over t the Red Cross Hospital…”

Bob stood up.

“Red Cross Hospital? Ah thought yuh said yuh wuz gonna make fer the hills?”

“We gotta git Lulu t a doctah,” said Mann.

“Yuh mean t take her in the boat Ah stole?”

“There ain nothin else t do.”

Bob scratched his head.

“Mann, Ahm mighty scared yuhll git in trouble takin tha boat thu town. Ah stole tha boat from the Pos Office. Its ol man Heartfiels, n yuh know how he hates niggers. Everbody knows his boat when they see it; its white n yuh couldnt git erway wid it. N lissen, theres trouble a-startin in town, too. Tha levees still overflowin in the Noth, n theys spectin the one by the cement plant t go any minute. They done put ever nigger they could fin on the levee by the railroad, pilin san n cement bags. They drivin em like slaves. Ah heard they done killed two-three awready whut tried t run erway. N ef anything happened t yuh, yuh just couldnt git erway, cause two mo bridges done washed erway this mawnin n ain no trains runnin. Things awful bad there in town. A lotta them white folks done took down wid typhoid, n tha Red Cross is vaxinatin everbody, black n white. Everwhere Ah looked wuznt nothin but white men wid guns. They wuz a-waiting fer the soljers when Ah lef, n yuh know whut tha means…”

Bob’s voice died away and they could hear Lulu groaning in the front room.

“Is yuh gonna take her, Brother Mann?” asked Sister Jeff.

“There ain nothin else t do,” said Mann. “Ahll try t take tha boat back t the white folks aftah Ah git Lulu t the hospital. But Ah sho wish yuh hadnt stole tha boat, Bob. But we gotta use it now. Ah don like t rile them white folks…”

“Ah ain goin in tha boat!” said Grannie. “Ah ain goin outta here t meet mah death today!”

“Stay here n drown, then!” said Mann. “Ahm takin Lulu t the hospital!”

Grannie cried and went into the front room. Sister Jeff followed.

“Pa, is Ah goin?” asked Peewee.

“Yeah. Git yo cloes. N tell Grannie t git hers ef she don wanna stay here, cause Ahm gittin ready t leave!”

Bob was restless. He pursed his lips and looked at the floor.

“Yuh gotta hard job, rowin tha boat from here t the hospital. Yuhll be rowin ergin the current ever inch, n wid a boat full itll be the Devil t pay. The watahs twelve foot deep n flowing strong n tricky.”

“There ain nothin else t do,” sighed Mann.

“Yuh bettah take something wid yuh. Tha ain nobodys plaything there in town.”

“Ahma take mah gun,” said Mann. “But Ahm sho sorry yuh had t steal them white folks boat…”

Like a far away echo a voice floated over the water.

“Brother Mann! Yuh there, Brother Mann!”

“Thas Elder Murray,” said Bob.

Mann opened the door. It was pitch black outside. A tall man was standing in a rowboat, his hand holding onto a rope by the steps.

“Tha yuh, Brother Mann?”

“How yuh, Elder?”

“Yuh all ain gone yit?”

“We jus fixin t go. Won’t yuh come up?”

“Jus fer a minute.”

Murray came up the steps and stood in the doorway, rubbing his hands.

“How Sistah Lulu?”

“We aimin t take her t the Red Cross…”

“Yuh mean t say she ain had tha baby yit?”

“She too little t have it widout a doctah, Elder.”

“Lawd, have mercy! Kin Ah see her?”

Mann led the way into Lulu’s room where a smoking pine-knot made shadows blink on the walls. Bob, Peewee, Sister Jeff, Grannie, Murray and Mann stood about the bed. Lulu lay on top of the bed-covers, wrapped in a heavy quilt. Her hair was disordered and her face was wet. Her breath came fast.

“How yuh feelin, Sistah Lulu?” asked Murray.

Lulu looked at him weakly. She was a small woman with large shining eyes. Her arms were stretched out at her sides and her hands clutched the quilt.

“How yuh feelin?” asked Murray again.

“She awful weak,” said Grannie.

Murray turned to Mann.

“Lissen, yuh bettah be mighty careful takin tha boat thu town. Them white folks is makin trouble n that currents strong.”

Mann turned from the bed to the dresser, eased his pistol out of the top drawer and slipped it into his pocket.

“Pa, whuts that?” asked Peewee.

“Hush!” said Mann.

“Brothers n Sistahs, les all kneel n pray,” said Murray.

They all got to their knees. Lulu groaned. For a split second a blue sheet of lightning lit up the room, then a hard clap of thunder seemed to rock the earth. No one spoke until the last rumble had rolled away.

“Lawd Gawd Awmighty in Heaven, wes a-bowin befo Yuh once ergin, humble in Yo sight, a-pleadin fer fergiveness n mercy! Hear us today, Lawd! Hear us today ef Yuh ain never heard us befo! We needs Yuh now t hep us n guide us! N hep these po folks, Lawd! Deys Yo chillun! Yuh made em n Yuh made em in Yo own image! Open up their hearts n hep em t have faith in Yo word! N hep this po woman, Lawd! Ease her labor, fer Yuh said, Lawd, she has t bring foth her chillun in pain…”

Mann closed his eyes and rested his hands on his hips. That slow dull ache had come back to his head. He wished with all his heart that Elder Murray would hurry up and get through with the prayer, for he wanted to be in that boat. He would not feel safe until he was in that boat. It was too bad Bob had to steal it. But there was no help for that now. The quicker wes in tha boat the bettah, he thought. Ef them white folks come by here n take it back well all be jus where we wuz befo. Yeah, Ahma take tha boat back t the white folks aftah Ah git Lulu t the hospital. Oh, yeah! Mabbe the Elderll take mah boat n lemme have his since hes on his way t the hills? Lawd, yeah! Thall be a good way t dodge them white folks! Ahma ast im…

“…Lawd, Yuh said call on Yo name n Yuhd answer! Yuh said seek n fin! Today wes callin on Yuh n wes seekin Yuh, Lawd! Yuh said blieve in the blooda Yo son Jesus, n today wes blievin n waitin fer Yuh t hep us! N soften the hard hearts of them white folks there in town, Lawd! Purify their hearts! Fer Yuh said, Lawd, only clean hearts kin come t Yuh fer mercy…”

Mann rubbed his eyes and cleared his throat. Naw, he thought, ain no use astin the Elder t take mah boat. Hell wanna know why n then Ahll have t tell im Bob stole it. N the Elder ain gonna hep nobody he thinks ain doin right. Mabbe ef Ah tol ol man Heartfiel jus why Bob stole his boat mabbe he wont hol it ergin me? Yeah, he oughta be glad ef Ah brings im his boat back. N yeah, mabbe the Elder kin take Sistah Jeff n Bob t the hills in his boat? Thad hep a lots…

“…n save our souls for Jesus sake! Ahmen!”

Murray stood up and began to sing. The others chimed in softly.

Ahm gonna lay down mah sword n shiel

Down by the riverside

Down by the riverside

Down by the riverside

Ahm gonna lay down mah sword n shiel

Down by the riverside

Ah ain gonna study war no mo…

Ah ain gonna study war no mo

Ah ain gonna study war no mo

Ah ain gonna study war no mo

Ah ain gonna study war no mo

Ah ain gonna study war no mo

Ah ain gonna study war no mo…

Murray wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and fumbled with his hat.

“Waal, Brothers n Sistahs. Ahm gittin on t the hills. Mah folks is there awready. Ah gotta boatloada stuff outside, but theres room fer two-three mo ef anybody wanna go.”

“Kin yuh take Sistah Jeff n Bob erlong?” asked Mann.

“Sho!”

Grannie was crying; she pulled on her coat and went into the hall. Bob came from the kitchen with a bundle. Mann lifted Lulu in his arms. Murray held the door for him. Peewee followed, holding a ragged teddy bear. Sister Jeff put out the pine-knot. They all paused in the front doorway.

“Bob, yuh bettah go down n steady tha boat,” said Mann.

“Lemme go wid yuh!” said Peewee.

“Yuh c mere!” said Grannie, grabbing his arm.

Bob pulled the boat close to the steps. Mann went down sideways, slowly.

“Take it easy, Brother Mann!” called Murray.

Mann stepped into the boat and rested Lulu in the back seat. Bob held her by the shoulders.

“C mon, yuh all!” Mann called to Grannie and Peewee.

They came, stepping gingerly. Murray helped them down.

“Ahll see yuh all at the hills!” he said.

Bob and Sister Jeff got into Murray’s boat. Murray was first to shove off.

“Ahm gone, folks! Good-bye n Gawd bless yuh!”

“Good-bye!”

Mann grasped the oars, wet the handles to prevent creaking, dipped, pulled, and the boat glided outward, over the darkening flood.

II

To all sides of Mann the flood rustled, gurgled, droned, glistening blackly like an ocean of bubbling oil. Above his head the sky was streaked with faint grey light. The air was warm, humid, blowing in fitful gusts. All around he was ringed in by walls of solid darkness. He knew that houses and trees were hidden by those walls and he knew he had to be careful. As he rowed he could feel the force of the current tugging at his left. With each sweep of the oars he weighed the bulk of the boat in his back, his neck, his shoulders. And fear flowed under everything. Lawd, ef only tha ol levee don break! An oak tree loomed ghostily, its leaves whispering. He remembered it had stood at the fork of a road. His mind weaved about the clue of the tree a quick image of cornfield in sunshine. He would have to turn here at a sharp angle and make for the railroad. With one oar resting, he turned by paddling with the other. The boat struck the current full, and spun. He bent to with the oars, straining, sweeping hard, feeling that now he must fight. He would have to keep the boat moving at a steady pace if he wanted to row in a straight line. And the strokes of the oars would have to be timed, not a second apart. He bent to, lifting the oars; he leaned back, dipping them; then he pulled with tight fingers, feeling the glide of the boat over the water in darkness. Lawd, ef only tha ol levee don break!

He began to look for the cotton-seed mill that stood to the left of the railroad. He peered, longing to see black stack-pipes. They were along here somewhere. Mabbe Ah done passed it? He turned to the right, bending low, looking. Then he twisted about and squinted his eyes. He stopped the boat; the oars dangled. He felt a sudden swerve that tilted him.

“Peewee, keep still!” Grannie whispered.

Lulu groaned. Mann felt wild panic. Quickly he retraced in his mind the route over which he thought he had come, and wondered what could be on the ground, what landmarks the water hid. He looked again, to the right, to the left, and over his shoulder. Then he looked straight upward. Two tall, black stack-pipes loomed seemingly a foot from his eyes. Ah wuznt lookin high ernuff, he thought. Westward would be houses. And straight down would be Pikes’ Road. That would be the shortest way.

“Pa, is we there?” asked Peewee.

“Hush!”

He rowed from the stack-pipes, rowed with the houses in his mind, yearning for something to come out of the darkness to match an inner vision. Every six or seven strokes he twisted around to look. The current became stiff and the darkness thickened. For awhile he had the feeling that the boat was not moving. He set his heels, bent to as far as he could go, and made his sweeps with the oars as long as his arms could reach. His back was getting tired. His fingers burned; he paused a second and dipped them into the cold black water. That helped some. But there was only darkness ahead of him each time he turned to look for the houses on Pikes’ Road. He wondered if he were on the wrong side of the mill! Mabbe Ahm headin the wrong way? He could not tell. And with each yard forward the current grew stiffer. He thought of the levee. Suddenly the boat swerved and spun. He caught his breath and plied the oars, losing all sense of direction. Is tha ol levee done broke? He heard Grannie cry: “Mann!” The boat leaped: his head hit something: stars danced in the darkness: the boat crashed with a bang: he clung to the oars, one was loose: but the other was jammed and would not move. The boat was still save for a hollow banging against a wall he could not see. He dropped the oars and groped his hands ahead in the darkness. Wood. Ridged wood. Is these them houses? He sensed that he was drifting backwards and clutched with his fingers, wincing from the sharp entry of splinters. Then he grabbed something round, cold, smooth, wet… It was wood. He clung tightly and stopped the boat. He could feel the tugging and trembling of the current vibrating through his body as his heart gave soft, steady throbs. He breathed hard, trying to build in his mind something familiar around the cold, wet, smooth pieces of wood. A series of pictures flashed through his mind, but none fitted. He groped higher, thinking with his fingers. Then suddenly he saw the whole street: sunshine, wagons and buggies tied to a water trough. This is old man Toms sto. And these were the railings that went around the front porch he was holding in his hands. Pikes’ Road was around the house, in front of him. He thought a moment before picking up the oars, wondering if he could make it in that wild current.

“Whuts the mattah, Mann?” Grannie asked.

“Its awright,” he said.

He wanted to reassure them, but he did not know what to say. Instead he grabbed the oars and placed one of them against an invisible wall. He set himself, flexed his body, and gave a shove that sent the boat spinning into the middle of the current. He righted it, striving to keep away from the houses, seeking for the street. He strained his eyes till they ached; but all he could see were dark bulks threatening on either side. Yet, that was enough to steer him clear of them. And he rowed, giving his strength to the right oar and then to the left, trying to keep in the middle.

“Look, Pa!”

“Whut?”

“Hush, Peewee!” said Grannie.

“Theres lights, see?”

“Where?”

“See? Right there, over yonder!”

Mann looked, his chin over his shoulder. There were two squares of dim, yellow light. For a moment Mann was puzzled. He plied the oars and steadied the boat. Those lights seemed too high up. He could not associate them. But they were on Pikes’ Road and they seemed about a hundred yards away. Wondah whut kin tha be? Maybe he could get some help there. He rowed again, his back to the lights; but their soft, yellow glow was in his mind. They helped him, those lights. For awhile he rowed without effort. Where there were lights there were people, and where there were people there was help. Wondah whose house is tha? Is they white folks? Fear dimmed the lights for a moment; but he rowed on and they glowed again, their soft sheen helping him to sweep the oars.

“Pa, cant we go there?”

“Hush, Peewee!”

The closer the lights came the lower they were. His mind groped frantically in the past, sought for other times on Pikes’ Road and for other nights to tell him who lived where those yellow lights gleamed. But the lights remained alone, and the past would tell him nothing. Mabbe they kin phone t town n git a boat t come n git Lulu? Mabbe she kin res some there. The lights were close now. Square yellow lights framed in darkness. They were windows. He steered for the lights, feeling hunger, fatigue, thirst. The dull ache came back to his head: the oars were heavy, almost too heavy to hold: the boat glided beneath the windows: he looked up, sighing.

“Is this the hospital, Pa?” asked Peewee.

“We goin in there, Mann?” asked Grannie.

“Ahma call,” said Mann.

He cupped his hands to his mouth.

“Hello!”

He waited and looked at the windows; he heard the droning water swallow his voice.

“Hello!” he hollered again.

A window went up with a rasping noise. A white face came into the light. Lawd! Its a white man…

“Whos there?”

“Mann!”

“Who?”

“Mann! Mah wifes sick! Shes in birth! Ahm takin her t the hospital! Yuh gotta phone in there?”

“Wait a minute!”

The window was empty. There was silence; he waited, his face turned upward. He plied the oars and steadied the boat in the swift current. Again a white face came through. A pencil of light shot out into the darkness; a spot of yellow caught the boat. He blinked, blinded.

“Yuh gotta phone there, Mistah?” he called again, dodging the glare of the flash-light.

Silence.

“Mah wifes sick! Yuh gotta phone!”

A voice came, cold, angry.

“Nigger, where you steal that boat?”

The window became filled with white faces. Mann saw a white woman with red hair. He fumbled for the oars in fear. He blinked his eyes as the light jumped to and fro over his face.

“Where you steal that boat, nigger! Thats my boat!”

Then Mann heard softer voices.

“Thats our boat, Father! Its white!”

“Thats our boat, Henry! Thats our boat…”

“Dont you hear me, nigger! Bring that boat back here!”

There were two pistol shots. Grannie screamed. Mann swept the oars blindly; the boat spun. Lawd, thas Heartfiel! N hes gotta gun! Mann felt the water rocking him away.

“Nigger, dont you take that boat! Ill kill you!”

He heard two more shots: loudly the boat banged against wood: he was thrown flat on his back. He jerked up and tried to keep the yellow windows in sight. For a moment he thought the windows were dark, but only the flash-light had gone out. He held his breath and felt the boat skidding along a wall, shaking with the current. Then it was still: it seemed it had become wedged between two walls: he touched a solid bulk and tried to shove away: the boat lurched: a shower of cold water sprayed him: the boat became wedged again: he looked for the windows: a third square of light burst out: he watched a white man with a hard, red face come out onto a narrow second-story porch and stand framed in a light-flooded doorway. The man was wearing a white shirt and was playing the yellow flare over the black water. In his right hand a gun gleamed. The man walked slowly down an outside stairway and stopped, crouching, at the water’s edge. A throaty voice bawled:

“Nigger, bring that boat here! You nigger!”

Mann held still, frozen. He stared at the gun in the white man’s hand. A cold lump forced its way up out of his stomach into his throat. He saw the disc of yellow sweep over the side of a house. The white man stooped, aimed and shot. He thinks Ahm over there! Lawd! Mann’s mouth hung open and his lips dried as he breathed.

“You sonofabitch! Bring my boat here!”

“Mann!” Grannie whispered.

Mann fumbled in his pocket for his gun and held it ready. His hand trembled. He watched the yellow disc jump fitfully over the black water some fifty feet from him. It zig-zagged, pausing for instants only, searching every inch of the water. As it crept closer Mann raised his gun. The flare flickered to and fro. His throat tightened and he aimed. Then the flare hovered some five feet from him. He fired, twice. The white man fell backwards on the steps and slipped with an abrupt splash into the water. The flash-light went with him, its one eye swooping downward, leaving a sudden darkness. There was a scream. Mann dropped the gun into the bottom of the boat, grabbed the oars, threw his weight desperately, shoved out from the wall and paddled against the current.

“Henry! Henry!”

Mann rowed: he heard Grannie crying: he felt weak from fear: he had a choking impulse to stop: he felt he was lost because he had shot a white man: he felt there was no use in his rowing any longer: but the current fought the boat and he fought back with the oars.

“Henry! Henry!”

It was a woman’s voice, pleading; then a younger voice, shrill, adolescent, insistent.

“The nigger killed im! The nigger killed father!”

Mann rowed on into the darkness, over the black water. He could not see the lights now; he was on the other side of the building. But the screams came clearly.

“Stop, nigger! Stop! You killed my father! You bastard! You nigger!”

“Henry! Henry!”

Mann heard Grannie and Peewee crying. But their weeping came to him from a long way off, as though it were as far away as the voices that were screaming. It was difficult for him to get his breath as he bent on the left oar, then the right, keeping the boat in the middle of the bulks of darkness. Then all at once he was limp, nerveless; he felt that getting the boat to the hospital now meant nothing. Two voices twined themselves in his ears: Stop, nigger! Stop, nigger! Henry! Henry! They echoed and re-echoed even after he was long out of earshot.

Then suddenly the rowing became a little easier. He was in the clear again, away from the houses. He did not worry about directions now, for he knew exactly where he was. Only one half mile across Barrett’s Pasture, and he would strike streets and maybe lights. He rowed on, hearing Grannie’s crying and seeing Heartfield coming down the narrow steps with the flash-light and the gun. But he shot at me fo Ah shot im… Another thought made him drop the oars. Spose Heartfiels folks phone to town n tel em Ah shot im? He looked around hopelessly in the darkness. Lawd, Ah don wanna ride mah folks right inter death! The boat drifted sideways, shaking with the tug of the current.

“Lulu,” Grannie was whispering.

“How Lulu?” Mann asked.

“She sleep, Ah reckon,” sighed Grannie.

Naw, Ahm goin on, no mattah whut! He could not turn back now for the hills, not with Lulu in this boat. Not with Lulu in the fix she was in. He gritted his teeth, caught the oars, and rowed. High over his head a plane zoomed; he looked up and saw a triangle of red and green lights winging through the darkness. His fingers were hot and loose, as though all the feeling in his hands had turned into fire. But his body was cool; a listless wind was drying the sweat on him.

“There the lights o town, Mann!” Grannie spoke.

He twisted about. Sure enough, there they were. Shining, barely shining. Dim specks of yellow buried in a mass of blackness. Lawd only knows whut wes ridin inter… If he could only get Lulu to the hospital, if he could only get Grannie and Peewee safely out of this water, then he would take a chance on getting away. He knew that that was what they would want him to do. He swept the oars, remembering hearing tales of whole black families being killed because some relative had done something wrong.

A quick, blue fork of lightning lit up the waste of desolate and tumbling waters. Then thunder exploded, loud and long, like the sound of a mountain falling. It began to rain. A sudden, sharp rain. Water trickled down the back of his neck. He felt Grannie moving; she was covering Lulu with her coat. He rowed faster, peering into the rain, wanting to reach safety before the boat caught too much water. Another fifty yards or so and he would be among the houses. Yeah, ef they ast me erbout Heartfiel Ahma tell em the truth… But he knew he did not want to do that. He knew that that would not help him. But what else was there for him to do? Yes, he would have to tell the truth and trust God. Nobody but God could see him through this. Bob shouldna stole this boat… But here Ah am in it now… He sighed, rowing. N this rain! Tha ol levee might go wid this rain… Lawd, have mercy! He lowered his chin and determined not to think. He would have to trust God and keep on and go through with it, that was all. His feet and clothes were wet. The current stiffened and brought the boat almost to a standstill. Yeah, he thought, theres Rose Street. He headed the boat between two rows of houses.

“Halt! Who goes there?”

He pulled the oars. A glare of light shot from a second-story porch and made him blink. Two white soldiers in khaki uniforms leaned over the bannisters. Their faces were like square blocks of red and he could see the dull glint of steel on the tips of their rifles. Well, he would know now. Mabbe they done foun out erbout Heartfiel?

“Where you going, nigger?”

“Ahm takin mah wife t the hospital, suh. Shes in birth, suh!”

“What?”

“Mah wifes in birth, suh! Ahm takin her t the Red Cross!”

“Pull up to the steps!”

“Yessuh!”

He turned the boat and paddled toward steps that led down to the water. The two soldiers loomed over him.

“Whats your name?”

“Mann, suh.”

“You got a pass?”

“Nawsuh.”

“Don’t you know youre violating curfew?”

“Nawsuh.”

“What was all that shooting back there a little while ago?”

“Ah don know, suh.”

“Didnt you hear it?”

“Nawsuh.”

“Frisk im, Mac,” said one of the soldiers.

“O.K. Stand up, nigger!”

One of the soldiers patted Mann’s hips. Lawd, Ah hope they don see tha gun in the boat…

“Hes awright.”

“What you say your name was?”

“Mann, suh.”

“Where you from?”

“The South En, suh.”

“I mean where you bring that boat from?”

“The South En, suh.”

“You rowed here?”

“Yessuh.”

“In that boat?”

“Yessuh.”

The soldiers looked at each other.

“You aint lying, are you, nigger?”

“Oh, nawsuh,” said Mann.

“What wrong with your woman?”

“She’s in birth, suh.”

One of the soldiers laughed.

“Well, Ill be Goddamned! Nigger, you take the prize! I always heard that a niggerd do anything, but I never thought anybody was fool enough to row a boat against that current…”

“But Mistah, mah wifes sick! She been sick fo days!”

“O.K. Stay here. Ill phone for a boat to take you in.”

“Yessuh.”

One of the soldiers ran up the steps and the other hooked Mann’s boat to a rope.

“Nigger, you dont know how lucky you are,” he said. “Six men were drowned today trying to make it to town in rowboats. And here you come, rowing three people…”

The soldier who had gone to telephone came back.

“Mistah, please!” said Mann. “Kin Ah take mah wife in there, outta the rain?”

The soldier shook his head.

“Im sorry, boy. Orders is that nobody but soldiers can be in these houses. Youll have to wait for the boat. Its just around the corner; it wont be long. But I dont see how in hell you rowed that boat between those houses without drowning! It mustve been tough, hunh?”

“Yessuh.”

Mann saw a motorboat swing around a curve, its head-light sweeping a wide arc, its motor yammering. It glided up swiftly in a churn of foam. It was manned by two soldiers whose slickers gleamed with rain.

“Whats the rush?”

“Boy,” said one of the soldiers, “I got a nigger here who beat everybody. He rowed in from the South End, against the current. Can you beat that?”

The soldiers in the boat looked at Mann.

“Says you!” said one, with a scornful wave of his white palm.

“Im telling the truth!” said the soldier. “Didn’t you, boy?”

“Yessuh.”

“Well, what you want us to do about it? Give im a medal?”

“Naw; his bitch is sick. Having a picaninny. Shoot em over to the Red Cross Hospital.”

The soldiers in the boat looked at Mann again.

“They crowded out over there, boy…”

“Lawd, have mercy!” Grannie cried, holding Lulu’s head on her lap.

“Mistah, please! Mah wife cant las much longer like this,” said Mann.

“Awright! Hitch your boat, nigger, and lets ride!”

Mann grabbed the rope that was thrown at him and looped it to a hook on the end of his boat. He was standing when one of the soldiers yelled:

“Watch yourself, nigger!”

The motor roared and the boat shot forward; he fell back against Grannie, Lulu and Peewee. He straightened just as they made the turn. His boat leaned, scooping water, wetting him; then it righted itself. The rest of the drive was straight ahead, into darkness. He had hardly wiped the water out of his eyes before they slowed to a stop. His fingers groped nervously in the bottom of the boat for the gun; he found it and slipped it into his pocket.

“Awright, nigger, unload!”

He stood up and fronted a row of wide steps.

“Is this the hospital, suh?”

“Yeah; straight up!”

He lifted Lulu and stepped out. Grannie followed, leading Peewee by the hand. When he reached the top of the steps the door was opened by another white soldier.

“Where you going?”

“Ah got mah wife, suh. She sick…”

“Straight on to the back, till you see the sign.”

“Yessuh.”

He walked down a dim-lit hall. Grannie and Peewee shuffled behind. He smelled the warm scent of ether and disinfectant and it made him dizzy. Finally, he saw the sign:

FOR COLORED

He pushed open a door with his shoulder and stood blinking in a blaze of bright lights. A white nurse came.

“What you want?”

“Please, Mam… Mah wife… She sick!”

The nurse threw back the quilt and felt Lulu’s pulse. She looked searchingly at Mann, then turned quickly, calling:

“Doctor Burrows!”

A white doctor came. He looked at Lulu’s face. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was open.

“Bring her here, to the table,” said the doctor.

Mann stretched Lulu out. Her face, her hair, and her clothes were soaking wet. Her left arm fell from the table and hung limp. The doctor bent over and pushed back the lids of her eyes.

“This your woman?”

“Yessuh.”

“How long was she in birth?”

“Bout fo days, suh.”

“Why didnt you bring her sooner?”

“Ah didnt hava boat n the watah had me trapped, suh.”

The doctor lifted his eyes, rubbed his chin, and looked at Mann quizzically.

“Well, boy, shes dead.”

“Suh?”

Grannie screamed and grabbed Peewee. The doctor straightened and laid the stethoscope on a white, marble-topped table. Lightning flicked through the room and thunder rolled rumblingly away, leaving a silence filled with the drone of hard, driving rain.

“Suh!” said Mann.

III

“Well, boy, its all over,” said the doctor. “Maybe if you could have gotten her here a little sooner we could have saved her. The baby, anyway. But its all over now, and the best thing for you to do is get your folks to the hills.”

Mann stared at the thin, black face; at the wet clothes; at the arm hanging still and limp. His lips moved, but he could not speak. Two more white nurses and another white doctor came and stood. Grannie ran to the table.

“Lulu!”

“Its awright, Aunty,” said the doctor, pulling her away.

Grannie sank to the floor, her head on her knees.

“Lawd…”

Mann stood like stone now. Lulu dead? He seemed not to see the white doctors and nurses gathering around, looking at him. He sighed and the lids of his eyes drooped half-way down over the pupils.

“Poor nigger,” said a white nurse.

Blankly, Mann stared at her. He wet his lips and swallowed. Something pressed against his knee and he looked down. Peewee was clinging to him, his little black face tense with fear. He caught Peewee by the hand, went over to the wall and stood above Grannie, hesitating. His fingers touched her shoulders.

“Awright,” said the doctor. “Roll her out.”

Mann turned and saw two white nurses rolling Lulu through a door. His throat tightened. Grannie struggled up and tried to follow the body. Mann pulled her back and she dropped to the floor again, crying.

“Its awright, Grannie,” said Mann.

“You got a boat, boy?” asked the doctor.

“Yessuh,” said Mann.

“Youre lucky. You ought to start out right now for the hills, before that current gets stronger.”

“Yessuh.”

Again Mann looked at Grannie and twice his hands moved toward her and stopped. It seemed that he wanted ever so much to say something, to do something, but he did not know what.

“C mon, Grannie,” he said.

She did not move. A white nurse giggled, nervously. Mann stood squeezing his blistered palms, taking out of the intense pain a sort of consolation, a sort of forgetfulness. A clock began to tick. He could hear Grannie’s breath catching softly in her throat; he could hear the doctors and nurses breathing; and beyond the walls of the room was the beat of sweeping rain. Somewhere a bell tolled, faint and far off.

Crash!

Everybody jumped. One of the nurses gave a short scream.

“Whats that?”

“Aw, just a chair fell over. Thats all…”

“Oh!”

The doctors looked at the nurses and the nurses looked at the doctors. Then all of them laughed, uneasily. There was another silence. The doctor spoke.

“Is that your mother there, boy?”

“Yessuh. Mah ma-in-law.”

“Youll have to get her out of here.”

“C mon, Grannie,” he said again.

She did not move. He stooped and picked her up.

“C mon, Peewee.”

He went through the door and down the hall with Peewee pulling at the tail of his coat.

“Hey, you!”

He stopped. A white soldier came up.

“Where you going?”

“Ahm gittin mah boat t take mah family t the hills…”

“Your boat was commandeered. Come over here and wait awhile.”

“Comman…”

“We were short of boats and the boys had to take yours. But Ill get a motorboat to take you and your family to the hills. Wait right here a minute…”

“Yessuh.”

He waited with Grannie in his arms. Lawd, they got me now! They knowed that was Heartfiel’s boat! Mabbe they fixin t take me erway? What would they do to a black man who had killed a white man in a flood? He did not know. But whatever it was must be something far more terrible than at other times. He shifted his weight from foot to foot. He was more tired than he could ever remember having been. He saw Lulu lying on the table; he heard the doctor say: Well, boy, shes dead. His eyes burned. Lawd, Ah don care whut they do t me! Ah don care…

“Pa, where ma?”

“She gone, Peewee.”

“Ain she comin wid us?”

“Naw, Peewee.”

“How come, Pa?”

“She gonna stay wid Gawd now, Peewee.”

“Awways?”

“Awways, Peewee.”

Peewee cried.

“Hush, Peewee! Be a good boy, now! Don cry! Ahm here! N Grannies here…”

The white soldier came back with the colonel.

“Is this the nigger?”

“Thats him.”

“Was that your rowboat outside?”

Mann hesitated.

“Yessuh, Capm.”

“A white boat?”

“Yessuh.”

“Are you sure it was yours?”

Mann swallowed and hesitated again.

“Yessuh.”

“What was it worth?”

“Ah don know, Capm.”

“What did you pay for it?”

“Bout f-fifty dollahs, Ah reckon.”

“Here, sign this,” said the colonel, extending a piece of paper and a pencil. “We can give you thirty-five dollars as soon as things are straightened out. We had to take your boat. We were short of boats. But Ive phoned for a motorboat to take you and your family to the hills. Youll be safer in that anyway.”

“Yessuh.”

He sat Grannie on the floor and sighed.

“Is that your mother there?”

“Yessuh. Mah ma-in-law.”

“Whats wrong with her?”

“She jus ol, Capm. Her gal jus died n she takes it hard.”

“When did she die?”

“Jus now, suh.”

“Oh, I see… But whats wrong with you? Are you sick?”

“Nawsuh.”

“Well, you dont have to go to the hills. Your folksll go on to the hills and you can stay here and help on the levee…”

“Capm, please! Ahm tired!”

“This is martial law,” said the colonel, turning to the white soldier. “Put this woman and boy into a boat and ship them to the hills. Give this nigger some boots and a raincoat and ship him to the levee!”

The soldier saluted.

“Yessir, Colonel!”

“CAPM, PLEASE! HAVE MERCY ON ME, CAPM!”

The colonel turned on his heels and walked away.

“AHM TIRED! LEMME GO WID MAH FOLKS, PLEASE!”

The soldier glared at Mann.

“Aw, c mon, nigger! What in hells wrong with you? All the rest of the niggers are out there, how come you dont want to go?”

Mann watched the soldier go to the door, open it and look out into the rain.

“Mann!” Grannie whispered.

He leaned to her, his hands on his knees.

“Yuh go on t the levee! Mabbe them Heartfiel folks is out t the hills by now. Git over t where our folks is n mabbe yuh kin git erway…”

“C mon!” called the soldier. “Heres your boat!”

“Here, Grannie,” whispered Mann. He slipped the fifteen dollars he had gotten from Bob into her hands.

“Naw,” she said. “Yuh keep it!”

“Naw, take it!” said Mann. He pushed the money into the pocket of her coat.

“C MON, NIGGER! THIS BOAT CANT WAIT ALL NIGHT FOR YOU!”

He picked Grannie up again and carried her down the steps. Peewee followed, crying. It was raining hard. After he had helped them into the boat he stood on the steps. Lawd, Ah wished Ah could go!

“All set?”

“All set!”

The motor droned and the boat shot out over the water, its spotlight cutting ahead into the rain.

“Good-bye!” Peewee called.

“Good-bye!” Mann was not sure that Peewee had heard and he called again. “Good-bye!”

“C mon, boy! Lets get your boots and raincoat. Youre going to the levee.”

“Yessuh.”

He followed the soldier into the office.

“Jack, get some hip-boots and a raincoat for this nigger and call for a boat to take him to the levee,” the soldier spoke to another soldier sitting behind a desk.

“O.K. Heres some boots. And heres a raincoat.”

The first soldier went out. Mann hoisted the boots high on his legs and put on the raincoat.

“Tired, nigger?” asked the soldier.

“Yessuh.”

“Well, youve got a hard night ahead of you, and thats no lie.”

“Yessuh.”

Mann sat down, rested his head against a wall, and closed his eyes. Lawd… He heard the soldier talking over the telephone.

“Yeah. Yeah.”

“…”

“The Red Cross Hospital.”

“…”

“The niggers here now, waiting.”

“…”

“O.K.”

Mann heard the receiver click.

“The boatll be along any minute,” said the soldier. “And while youre resting, unpack those boxes and lay the stuff on the floor.”

“Yessuh.”

Mann stood up and shook his head. A sharp pain stabbed at the front of his eyes and would not leave. He went to the back of the room where a pile of wooden boxes was stacked and got a crowbar. He pried open the top of a box and began to pull out raincoats and rubber boots. He worked mechanically, slowly, leaning against boxes, smelling fresh rubber and stale tobacco smoke. He felt the pistol in his pocket and remembered Heart-field. Ah got t git outta here some way. Go where they cant fin me. Lawd, take care Grannie! Take care Peewee, Lawd! Take care Bob! N hep me, Lawd. He thought of Lulu lying stretched out on the marble table with her arm hanging limp. He dropped the bundle of raincoats he was holding and bent over, sobbing.

“Whats the matter, nigger?”

“Ahm tired, Capm! Gawd knows Ahm tired!”

He slipped to the floor.

“What you crying about?”

“Capm, mah wifes dead! Dead!”

“Shucks, nigger! You ought to be glad youre not dead in a flood like this,” said the soldier.

Mann stared at the blurred boots and raincoats. Naw, Lawd! Ah cant break down now! Theyll know somethings wrong ef Ah keep acting like this… Ah cant cry bout Lulu now… He wiped tears from his eyes with his fingers.

“Kin Ah have some watah, Capm?”

“Theres no water anywhere. You hungry?”

He was not hungry, but he wanted to reassure the soldier.

“Yessuh.”

“Heres a sandwich you can have.”

“Thank yuh, suh.”

He took the sandwich and bit it. The dry bread balled in his mouth. He chewed and tried to wet it. Ef only that ol soljerd quit lookin at me… He swallowed and the hard lump went down slowly, choking him.

“Thatll make you feel better,” said the soldier.

“Yessuh.”

The door swung in.

“Awright, boy! Heres your boat! Lets go!”

“Yessuh.”

He put the sandwich in his pocket and followed the soldier to the steps.

“Is this the nigger?”

“Yeah!”

“O.K. Pile in, boy!”

He got in; the boat turned; rain whipped his face. He bent low, holding onto the sides of the boat as it sped through water. He closed his eyes and again saw Heart-field come out on the narrow porch and down the steps. He heard again the two shots of his gun. But he shot at me fo Ah shot im! Then again he saw Lulu lying on the table with her arm hanging limp. Then he heard Peewee calling. Good-bye! Hate welled up in him; he saw the two soldiers in the front seat. Their heads were bent low. They might fin out any minute now… His gun nestled close to his thigh. Spose Ah shot em n took the boat? Naw! Naw! It would be better to wait till he got to the levee. He would know somebody there. And they would help him. He knew they would. N them white folks might be too busy botherin wid tha levee t think erbout jus one po black man… Mabbe Ah kin slip thu…

The boat slowed. Ahead loomed the dark stack-pipe of the cement plant. Above his head a hundred spotlights etched a wide fan of yellow against the rain. As the boat swerved through a gate entrance and pulled to a platform, he saw lights and soldiers, heard voices calling. Black men stood on the edges of the platforms and loaded bags of sand and cement into boats. Long lines of boats were running to and fro between the levee and the cement plant. He felt giddy; the boat rocked. Soldiers yelled commands. An officer stepped forward and bawled:

“You get im!”

“Yeah!”

“O.K.! We got another one here! C mon, boy, hop in!”

A black boy moved forward.

“Mistah, kin Ah hava drinka watah?” asked the boy.

“Hell, naw! Theres no water anywhere! Get in the boat!”

“Yessuh.”

Mann moved over to make room. He felt better already. He was with his people now. Maybe he could get away yet. He heard the officer talking to the soldiers.

“Hows things?”

“Pretty bad!”

“Hows it going?”

“Still overflowing from the North!”

“You think itll hold?”

“Im scared it wont!”

“Any cracks yet?”

“Shes cracking in two places!”

One of the soldiers whistled.

“Awright, let her go!”

“O.K.!”

The boat started out, churning water.

“Yuh gotta cigarette, Mistah?”

Mann turned and looked at the boy sitting at his side.

“Naw; Ah don smoke.”

“Shucks, Ah sho wish theyd lemme handle one of these boats,” said the boy.

As they neared the levee Mann could see long, black lines of men weaving snake-fashion about the levee-top. In front of him he could feel the river as though it were a live, cold hand touching his face. The levee was a ridge of dry land between two stretches of black water. The men on the levee-top moved slowly, like dim shadows. They were carrying heavy bags on their shoulders and when they reached a certain point the bags were dumped down. Then they turned around, slowly, with bent backs, going to get more bags. Yellow lanterns swung jerkily, blinking out and then coming back on when someone passed in front of them. At the water’s edge men unloaded boats; behind them stood soldiers with rifles. Mann held still, looking; the boat stopped and waited for its turn to dock at the levee.

Suddenly a wild commotion broke out. A siren screamed. On the levee-top the long lines of men merged into one whirling black mass. Shouts rose in a mighty roar. There came a vague, sonorous drone, like the far away buzzing in a sea-shell. Each second it grew louder. Lawd! thought Mann. That levees gone! He saw boats filling with men. There was a thunder-like clatter as their motors started up. The soldiers in the front seat were yelling at each other.

“You better turn around, Jim!”

The boat turned and started back.

“Wait for that boat and see whats happened!”

They slowed and a boat caught up with them.

“Whats happened?”

“The levees gone!”

“Step on it, Jim!”

Mann held his breath; behind him were shouts, and over the shouts was the siren’s scream, and under the siren’s scream was the loud roar of loosened waters.

IV

The boat shot back. The siren shrieked at needle-pitch, high, thin, shrill, quivering in his ears; and yellow flares turned restlessly in the sky. The boat slowed for the platform. There was a loud clamor and men rushed about. An officer bawled:

“Line up the boats for rescue work!”

“Its risin! Cant yuh see it risin?” The boy at Mann’s side was nudging him. Mann looked at the water; a series of slow, heaving swells was rocking the boat. He remembered that the water had been some inches below the level of the platform when he had first come; now it was rising above it. As the men worked their boots splashed in the water.

“Who can handle a boat?” the officer asked.

“Ah kin, Mistah!” yelled the boy.

“Get a partner and come on!”

The boy turned to Mann.

“Yuh wanna go?”

Mann hesitated.

“Yeah. Ahll go.”

“C mon!”

He climbed out and followed the boy to the end of the platform.

“Where are we sending em, General?” the officer asked.

“Shoot the first twenty to the Red Cross Hospital!”

“O.K.!” said the officer. “Whos the driver here?”

“Ahm the driver!” said the boy.

“Can you really handle a boat?”

“Yessuh!”

“Is he all right?” asked the general.

“Ah works fer Mistah Bridges,” said the boy.

“We dont want too many niggers handling these boats,” said the general.

“We havent enough drivers,” said the officer.

“All right; let him go! Whos next?”

“Yours is the Red Cross Hospital, boy! Get there as fast as you can and get as many people out as you can and take em to the hills, see?”

“Yessuh!”

“You know the way?”

“Yessuh!”

“Whats your name?”

“Brinkley, suh!”

“All right! Get going!”

They ran to a boat and scrambled in. Brinkley fussed over the motor a minute, then raced it.

“All set!”

“O.K.!”

The boat swung out of the wide gate entrance; they were the first to go. They went fast, against the current, fronting the rain. They were back among the houses before Mann realized it. As they neared the hospital Mann wondered about the boy at his side. Would he help him to get away? Could he trust him enough to tell? If he could only stay in the boat until they carried the first load to the hills, he could slip off. He tried to see Brinkley’s face, but the rain and darkness would not let him. Behind him the siren still screamed and it seemed that a thousand bells were tolling. Then the boat stopped short; Mann looked around, tense, puzzled.

“This ain the hospital,” he said.

“Yeah, tis,” said Brinkley.

Then he understood. He had been watching for the steps up which he had carried Lulu. But the water had already covered the steps and was making for the first floor. He looked up. The same white soldier who had let him in before was standing guard.

“C mon in!”

They went in. The hospital was in an uproar. Down the hall a line of soldiers pushed the crowds back, using their rifles long-wise. The colonel came running out; he carried an axe in his hand.

“How many boats are coming?”

“Bout twenty, suh,” said Brinkley.

“Are they on the way?”

“Yessuh.”

“Theyll have to hurry. That water is rising at the rate of five feet an hour!”

The colonel turned to Mann.

“Come here, boy!”

“Yessuh!”

Mann followed the colonel up a flight of stairs. They stopped in a hall.

“Listen,” began the colonel. “I want you…”

The lights went out, plunging them in darkness.

“Goddamn!”

Mann could hear the colonel breathing in heavy gasps. Then a circle of yellow light played over a wall. The colonel was standing in front of him with a flashlight.

“Get two of those tables from back there and pile one on top of the other, right here,” said the colonel, indicating a spot just left of the stairway.

“Yessuh!”

When the tables were up the colonel gave Mann the axe.

“Get up there and knock a hole through that ceiling!”

“Yessuh!”

He scampered up and fumbled for a hold on the rickety tables. When he was on top the colonel set the beam of the flash-light on the ceiling.

“Work fast, boy! Youve got to cut a hole through there so we can take people out if that water beats the boats!”

“Yessuh!”

He whacked upward; with each blow the axe stuck in the wood; he set his feet wide apart on the tables and jerked downward to pull it out. He forgot everything but that he must cut a hole through this ceiling to save people. Even the memory of Lulu and Heartfield was gone from him. Then the lights came back just as suddenly as they had gone. He knew that that meant that the electric plant at the South End was threatened by water. As he swung the axe he felt sweat breaking out all over his body. He heard the colonel below him, fidgeting. The lights dimmed and flared again.

“Keep tha light on me, Capm!”

“Awright; but hurry!”

He had six planks out of the ceiling now. He used his hands and broke them off; his fingers caught splinters. He heard someone running up the steps. He looked down; a soldier was talking to the colonel.

“Its above the steps, Colonel! Its traveling for the first floor!”

“Any boats here yet?”

“Just three, sir!”

“Order everybody to this floor, and keep them quiet even if you have to shoot!”

“Yessir!”

Mann heard the soldier running down the steps.

“C mon, boy! Get that hole bigger than that! Youve got to cut a hole through that roof yet!”

“Yessuh!”

When the hole was big enough he pushed the axe through and pulled himself into the loft. It was dark and he could hear the rain pounding. Suddenly the siren stopped. He had been hearing it all along and had grown used to it; but now that he could hear it no longer the silence it left in his mind was terrifying.

“Ah need some light up here, Capm!”

“Keep cutting! Ill get somebody to bring the flashlight up!”

The roof was easier to cut than the ceiling. He heard someone climbing up behind him. It was a white soldier with a flash-light.

“Where you want it, boy?”

“Right here, suh!”

Quickly he tore a wide hole: he felt a rush of air: rain came into his face: droning water filled his ears: he climbed onto the roof and looked below. Opposite the hospital a bunch of motorboats danced in the current. He stiffened. There was a loud cracking noise, as of timber breaking. He stretched flat on the roof and clung to the wet shingles. Moving into one of the paths of yellow light was a small house, turning like a spool in the wild waters. Unblinkingly he watched it whirl out of sight. Mabbe Ah’ll never git outta here… More boats were roaring up, rocking. Then he stared at the water rising; he could see it rising. Across from him the roofs of one-story houses were barely visible.

“Here, give a lift!”

Mann caught hold of a white hand and helped to pull a soldier through. He heard the colonel hollering.

“All set?”

“Yessuh!”

“Send the boats to the side of the hospital! We are taking em from the roof!”

Boats roared and came slowly to the wall of the hospital.

“Awright! Coming through!”

On all fours Mann helped a white woman struggle through. She was wrapped in sheets and blankets. The soldier whipped the rope around the woman’s body, high under her arms. She whimpered. Lawd, Lulu down there somewhere, Mann thought. Dead! She gonna be lef here in the flood…

“C mon, nigger, n give me a hand!”

“Yessuh!”

Mann caught hold of the woman and they took her to the edge of the roof. She screamed and pulled back.

“Let her go!”

They shoved her over and eased her down with the rope. She screamed again and hung limp. They took another, tied the rope, and eased her over. One woman’s face was bleeding; she had scratched herself climbing through the hole. Mann could hear the soldier’s breath coming in short gasps as he worked. When six had been let down a motor roared. A boat, loaded to capacity, crawled slowly away. The water was full of floating things now. Objects swirled past, were sucked out of sight. The second boat was filled. The third. Then the fourth. The fifth. Sixth. When the women and children were gone they began to ease the men over. The work went easier and faster with the men. Mann heard them cursing grimly. Now and then he remembered Lulu and Heartfield and he felt dizzy; but he would urge himself and it would pass.

“How many more, Colonel?” asked a soldier.

“About twelve! You got enough boats?”

“Just enough!”

Mann knew they had gotten them all out safely when he saw the colonel climb through. Brinkley came through last.

“Heres one more boat, without a driver!” a soldier called.

“Thas mah boat!” said Brinkley.

“Then you go next!” said the colonel.

Mann looped one end of the rope around a chimney and tied it. Brinkley caught hold and slid down, monkey-like. The colonel crawled over to Mann and caught his shoulder.

“You did well! I wont forget you! If you get out of this, come and see me, hear?”

“Yessuh!”

“Here, take this!”

Mann felt a piece of wet paper in his fingers. He tried to read it, but it was too dark.

“Thats the address of a woman with two children who called in for help,” said the colonel. “If you and that boy think you can save em, then do what you can. If you cant, then try to make it to the hills…”

“Yessuh!”

The colonel went down. Mann was alone. For a moment a sense of what he would have to face if he was saved from the flood came to him. Would it not be better to stay here alone like this and go down into the flood with Lulu? Would not that be better than having to answer for killing a white man?

“Yuh comin?” Brinkley called.

Mann fumbled over the roof for the axe, found it, and stuck it in his belt. He put the piece of paper in his pocket, caught hold of the rope, and crawled to the edge. Rain peppered his face as he braced his feet against the walls of the house. He held still for a second and tried to see the boat.

“C mon!”

He slumped into the seat; the boat lurched. He sighed and shed a tension which had gripped him for hours. The boat was sailing against the current.

“Heres somebody callin fer hep,” said Mann, holding the piece of paper in front of Brinkley.

“Take the flash-light! Switch it on n lemme see ef Ah kin read it!”

Mann held the flash-light.

“Its Pikes Road!” said Brinkley. “Its the Pos Office! Its Miz Heartfiel…”

Mann stared at Brinkley, open-mouthed; the flashlight dropped into the bottom of the boat. His fingers trembled and the wind blew the piece of paper away.

“Heartfiel?”

“Ahma try t make it!” said Brinkley.

The boat slowed, turned; they shot in the opposite direction, with the current. Mann watched the headlight cut a path through the rain. Heartfiel?

V

“Watch it!”

Mann threw his hands before his eyes as though to ward off a blow. Brinkley jerked the boat to the right and shut off the motor. The current swept them backwards. In front the head-light lit a yellow circle of wet wood, showing the side of a house. The house was floating down the middle of the street. The motor raced, the boat turned and sailed down the street, going back over the route they had come. Behind them the house followed, revolving slowly, looming large. They stopped at a telegraph pole and Mann stood up and held the boat steady by clinging to a strand of cable wire that stretched above his head in the dark. All about him the torrent tumbled, droned, surged. Then the spot of light caught the house full; it seemed like a living thing, spinning slowly with a long, indrawn, sucking noise; its doors, its windows, its porch turning to the light and then going into the darkness. It passed. Brinkley swung the boat around and they went back down the street, cautiously this time, keeping in the middle of the current. Something struck. They looked. A chair veered, spinning, and was sucked away. An uprooted tree loomed. They dodged it. They heard noises, but could not tell the direction from which they came. When they reached Barrett’s Pasture they went slower. The rain had slackened and they could see better.

“Reckon we kin make it?” asked Brinkley.

“Ah don know,” whispered Mann.

They swung a curve and headed for Pikes’ Road. Mann thought of Heartfield. He saw the woman with red hair standing in the lighted window. He heard her scream, Thats our boat, Henry! Thats our boat! The boat slowed, swerving for Pikes’ Road. Mann had the feeling that he was in a dream. Spose Ah tol the boy? The boat rushed on into the darkness. Ef we take tha woman t the hills Ahm caught! Ahead he saw a box bob up out of water and shoot under again. But mabbe they didn’t see me good? He could not be sure of that. The light had been on him a long time while he was under that window. And they knew his name; he had called it out to them, twice. He ought to tell Brinkley. Ahm black like he is. He oughta be willin t hep me fo he would them… He tried to look into Brinkley’s face; the boy was bent forward, straining his eyes, searching the surface of the black water. Lawd, Ah got t tell im! The boat lurched and dodged something. Its mah life ergin theirs! The boat slid on over the water. Mann swallowed; then he felt that there would not be any use in his telling; he had waited too long. Even if he spoke now Brinkley would not turn back; they had come too far. Wild-eyed, he gazed around in the watery darkness, hearing the white boy yell, You nigger! You bastard! Naw, Lawd! Ah got t tell im! He leaned forward to speak and touched Brinkley’s arm. The boat veered again, dodging an object that spun away. Mann held tense, waiting, looking; the boat slid on over the black water. Then he sighed and wished with all his life that he had thrown that piece of paper away.

“Yuh know the place?” asked Brinkley.

“Ah reckon so,” whispered Mann.

Mann looked at the houses, feeling that he did not want to look, but looking anyway. All he could see of the one-story houses were their roofs. There were wide gaps between them; some had washed away. But most of the two-story houses were still standing. Mann craned his neck, looking for Mrs. Heartfield’s house, yet dreading to see it.

“Its erlong here somewhere,” said Brinkley.

Brinkley turned the boat sideways and let the spotlight play over the fronts of the two-story houses. Mann wanted to tell him to turn around, to go back, to make for the hills. But he looked, his throat tight; he looked, gripping the sides of the boat; he looked for Mrs. Heartfield’s house, seeing her hair framed in the lighted window.

“There it is!” yelled Brinkley.

At first Mann did not believe it was Mrs. Heartfield’s house. It was dark. And he had been watching for two squares of yellow light, two lighted windows. And now, there it was, all dark. Mabbe they ain there? A hot wish rose in his blood, a wish that they were gone. Just gone anywhere, as long as they were not there to see him. He wished that their white bodies were at the bottom of the black waters. They were now ten feet from the house; the boat slowed.

“Mabbe they ain there,” whispered Mann.

“We bettah call,” said Brinkley.

Brinkley cupped his hand to his mouth and hollered:

“Miz Heartfiel!”

They waited, listening, looking at the dark, shut windows. Brinkley must have thought that his voice had not carried, for he hollered again:

“Miz Heartfiel!”

“They ain there,” whispered Mann.

“Look! Somebody’s there! See?” breathed Brinkley. “Look!”

The window was opening; Brinkley centered the spot of light on it; a red head came through. Mann sat with parted lips, looking. He leaned over the side of the boat and waited for Mrs. Heartfield to call, Henry! Henry!

“Miz Heartfiel!” Brinkley called again.

“Can you get us? Can you get us?” she was calling.

“We comin! Wait a…”

A deafening noise cut out his voice. It was long, vibrant, like the sound of trees falling in storm. A tide of water swept the boat backwards. Mann heard Mrs. Heartfield scream. He could not see the house now; the spot-light lit a path of swirling black water. Brinkley raced the motor and jerked the boat around, playing the light again on the window. It was empty. There was another scream, but it was muffled.

“The watahs got em!” said Brinkley.

Again the boat headed into the middle of the current. The light was on the empty window. The house was moving down the street. Mann held his breath, feeling himself suspended over a black void. The house reached the center of the street and turned violently. It floated away from them, amid a sucking rush of water and the sound of splitting timber. It floundered; it shook in a trembling grip; then it whirled sharply to the left and crashed, jamming itself between two smaller houses. Mann heard the motor race; he was gliding slowly over the water, going toward the house.

“Yuh reckon yuh kin make it? Reckon we kin save em?” asked Brinkley.

Mann did not answer. Again they were ten feet from the house. The current speeding between the cracks emitted a thunderous roar. The outside walls tilted at an angle of thirty degrees. Brinkley carried the boat directly under the window and held it steady by clinging to a piece of jutting timber. Mann sat frozen, staring: in his mind he saw Mrs. Heartfield: something tickled his throat: he saw her red hair: he saw her white face: then he heard Brinkley speaking:

“Ahll hol the boat! Try t git in the windah!”

As though he were outside of himself watching himself, Mann felt himself stand up. He saw his hands reaching for the window ledge.

“Kin yuh make it? Here… Take the flash-light!”

Mann put the flash-light in his pocket and reached again. He could not make it. He tip-toed, standing on the top of the boat, hearing the rush of water below. His legs trembled; he stretched his arms higher.

“Kin yuh make it?”

“Naw…”

He rested a moment, looking at the window, wondering how he could reach it. Then he took the axe from his belt and thrust it into the window; he twisted the handle sideways and jerked. The blade caught. He leaned his weight against it. It held. He pulled up into the window and sat poised for a moment on his toes. He eased his feet to the floor. He stood a second in the droning darkness and something traveled over the entire surface of his body; it was cold, like the touch of wet feathers. He brought out the flash-light and focused it on the floor. He tried to call out Mrs. Heartfield’s name, but could not. He swept the light: he saw a broken chair: a crumpled rug: strewn clothing: a smashed dresser: a tumbled bed: then a circle of red hair and a white face. Mrs. Heartfield sat against a wall, her arms about her two children. Her eyes were closed. Her little girl’s head lay on her lap. Her little boy sat at her side on the floor, blinking in the light.

“Take my mother!” he whimpered.

The voice startled Mann; he stiffened. It was the same voice that had yelled, You nigger! You bastard! The same wild fear he had known when he was in the boat rowing against the current caught him. He wanted to run from the room and tell Brinkley that he could find no one; he wanted to leave them here for the black waters to swallow.

“Take my mother! Take my mother!”

Mann saw the boy’s fingers fumbling; a match flared. The boy’s eyes grew big. His jaw moved up and down. The flame flickered out.

“Its the nigger! Its the nigger!” the boy screamed.

Mann gripped the axe. He crouched, staring at the boy, holding the axe stiffly in his right fist. Something hard began to press against the back of his head and he saw it all in a flash while staring at the white boy and hearing him scream, “Its the nigger!” Yes, now, if he could swing that axe they would never tell on him and the black waters of the flood would cover them forever and he could tell Brinkley he had not been able to find them and the whites would never know he had killed a white man… His body grew taut with indecision. Yes, now, he would swing that axe and they would never tell and he had his gun and if Brinkley found out he would point the gun at Brinkley’s head. He saw himself in the boat with Brinkley; he saw himself pointing the gun at Brinkley’s head; he saw himself in the boat going away; he saw himself in the boat, alone, going away… His muscles flexed and the axe was over his head and he heard the white boy screaming, “Its the nigger! Its the nigger!” Then he felt himself being lifted violently up and swung around as though by gravity of the earth itself and flung face downward into black space. A loud commotion filled his ears: his body rolled over and over and he saw the flash-light for an instant, its one eye whirling: then he lay flat, stunned: he turned over, pulled to his knees, dazed, surprised, shocked. He crawled to the flash-light and picked it up with numbed fingers. A voice whispered over and over in his ears, Ah gotta git outta here… He sensed he was at an incline. He swayed to his feet and held onto a wall. He heard the sound of rushing water. He swept the spot of yellow. Mrs. Heartfield was lying face downward in a V-trough to his right, where the floor joined the wall at a slant. The boy was crawling in the dark, whimpering “Mother! Mother!” Mann saw the axe, but seemed not to realize that he had been about to use it. He knew what had happened now; the house had tilted, had tilted in the rushing black water. He saw himself as he had stood a moment before, saw himself standing with the axe raised high over Mrs. Heartfield and her two children…

“Yuh fin em? Say, yuh fin em?”

Mann flinched, jerking his head around, trembling. Brinkley was calling. A chill went over Mann. He turned the spot on the window and saw a black face and beyond the face a path of light shooting out over the water. Naw …Naw… He could not kill now; he could not kill if someone were looking. He stood as though turned to steel. Then he sighed, heavily, as though giving up his last breath, as though giving up the world.

Brinkley was clinging to the window, still calling:

“C mon! Bring em out! The boats at the windah! C mon, Ah kin hep t take em out!”

Like a sleepwalker, Mann moved over to the white boy and grabbed his arm. The boy shrank and screamed:

“Leave me alone, you nigger!”

Mann stood over him, his shoulders slumped, his lips moving.

“Git in the boat,” he mumbled.

The boy stared; then he seemed to understand.

“Get my mother…”

Like a little child, Mann obeyed and dragged Mrs. Heartfield to the window. He saw white hands helping.

“Get my sister!”

He brought the little girl next. Then the boy went. Mann climbed through last.

He was again in the boat, beside Brinkley. Mrs. Heartfield and her two children were in the back. The little girl was crying, sleepily. The boat rocked. Mann looked at the house; it was slanting down to the water; the window through which he had just crawled was about a foot from the level of the rushing current. The motor raced, but the roar came to him from a long ways off, from out of a deep silence, from out of a time long gone by. The boat slid over the water and he was in it; but it was a far away boat, and it was someone else sitting in that boat; not he. He saw the light plunging ahead into the darkness and felt the lurch of the boat as it plowed through water. But none of it really touched him; he was beyond it all now; it simply passed in front of his eyes like silent, moving shadows; like dim figures in a sick dream. He felt nothing; he sat, looking and seeing nothing.

“Yuh hardly made it,” said Brinkley.

He looked at Brinkley as though surprised to see someone at his side.

“Ah thought yuh wuz gone when tha ol house went over,” said Brinkley.

The boat was in the clear now, speeding against the current. It had stopped raining.

“Its gittin daylight,” said Brinkley.

The darkness was thinning to a light haze.

“Mother? Mother…”

“Hush!” whispered Mrs. Heartfield.

Yes, Mann knew they were behind him. He felt them all over his body, and especially like something hard and cold weighing on top of his head; weighing so heavily that it seemed to blot out everything but one hard, tight thought: They got me now…

“Theres the hills!” said Brinkley.

Green slopes lay before him in the blurred dawn. The boat sped on and he saw jagged outlines of tents. Smoke drifted upward. Soldiers moved. Out of the depths of his tired body a prayer rose up in him, a silent prayer. Lawd, save me now! Save me now…

VI

It was broad daylight. The boat had stopped. The motor had stopped. And when Mann could no longer feel the lurch or hear the drone he grew hysterically tense.

“Waal, wes here,” said Brinkley.

With fear Mann saw the soldiers running down the slopes. He felt the people in the seat behind him, felt their eyes on his back, his head. He knew that the white boy back there was hating him to death for having killed his father. He knew the white boy was waiting to scream, “You nigger! You bastard!” The soldiers closed in. Mann grabbed the side of the boat; Brinkley was climbing out.

“C mon,” said Brinkley.

Mann stood up, swaying a little. They got me now, he thought. He stumbled on dry land. He took a step and a twig snapped. He looked around and tried to fight off a feeling of unreality. Mrs. Heartfield was crying.

“Here, take this blanket, Mrs. Heartfield,” said one of the soldiers.

Mann walked right past them, waiting as he walked to hear the word that would make him stop. The landscape lay before his eyes with a surprising and fateful solidity. It was like a picture which might break. He walked on in blind faith. He reached level ground and went on past white people who stared sullenly. He wanted to look around, but could not turn his head. His body seemed encased in a tight vise, in a narrow black coffin that moved with him as he moved. He wondered if the white boy was telling the soldiers now. He was glad when he reached the tents. At least the tents would keep them from seeing him.

“Hey, you! Halt, there!”

He caught his breath, turning slowly. A white soldier walked toward him with a rifle. Lawd, this is it…

“Awright, you can take off that stuff now!”

“Suh?”

“You can take off that stuff, I say!”

“Suh? Suh?”

“Take off those boots and that raincoat, Goddammit!”

“Yessuh.”

He pulled off the raincoat. He was trembling. He pushed the boots as far down his legs as they would go; then he stooped on his right knee while he pulled off the left boot, and on his left knee while he pulled off the right.

“Throw em over there in that tent!”

“Yessuh.”

He walked on again, feeling the soldier’s eyes on his back. Ahead, across a grassy square, were black people, his people. He quickened his pace. Mabbe Ah kin fin Bob. Er Elder Murray… Lawd, Ah wondah whuts become of Peewee? N Grannie? He thought of Lulu and his eyes blurred. He elbowed into a crowd of black men gathered around a kitchen tent. He sighed and a weight seemed to go from him. He looked into black faces, looked for hope. He had to get away from here before that white boy had the soldiers running him to the ground. He thought of the white boats he had seen tied down at the water’s edge. Lawd, ef Ah kin git inter one of em…

“Yuh had some cawfee?”

A small black woman stood in front of him holding a tin cup. He smelt steam curling up from it.

“Yuh had yo cawfee yit?” the woman asked again. “There ain nothin here but cawfee.”

“Nom.”

“Here.”

He took the extended cup and stood watching the steam curl. The woman turned to walk away.

“Mam, yuh seen a man by the name of Bob Cobb?”

“Lawd knows, Mistah. We don know whos here n who ain. Why don yuh ast over t the Red Cross Station? Thas where everybodys signin in at.”

No, he could not go to the Red Cross. They would catch him there surely. He walked a few steps, sipping the coffee, watching for white faces over the brim of his cup. Then suddenly he felt confused, as though all that had happened a few hours ago was but a dream. He had no need to be afraid now, had he? Just to imagine that it was all a dream made him feel better. Lawd. Ahm sho tired! He finished the cup and looked over to the tent. Heat was expanding in his stomach. He looked around again. There were no white faces. Black men stood, eating, talking, Ahma ast some of em t hep me… He went over and extended his cup for another helping. The black woman stared, her eyes looking beyond him, wide with fear. He heard her give a short, stifled scream. Then he was jerked violently from behind; he heard the soft clink of tin as the cup bounded from his fingers. The back of his head hit the mud.

“Is this the nigger?”

“Yeah; thats the one! Thats the nigger!”

He was on his back and he looked up into the faces of four white soldiers. Muzzles of rifles pointed at his chest. The white boy was standing, pointing into his face.

“Thats the nigger that killed father!”

They caught his arms and yanked him to his feet. Hunched, he looked up out of the corners of his eyes, his hands shielding his head.

“Get your hands up, nigger!”

He straightened.

“Move on!”

He walked slowly, vaguely, his hands high in the air. Two of the soldiers were in front of him, leading the way. He felt a hard prod on his backbone.

“Walk up, nigger, and dont turn rabbit!”

They led him among the tents. He marched, staring straight, hearing his shoes and the soldiers’ shoes sucking in the mud. And he heard the quick steps of the white boy keeping pace. The black faces he passed were blurred and merged one into the other. And he heard tense talk, whispers. For a split second he was there among those blunt and hazy black faces looking silently and fearfully at the white folks take some poor black man away. Why don they hep me? Yet he knew that they would not and could not help him, even as he in times past had not helped other black men being taken by the white folks to their death… Then he was back among the soldiers again, feeling the sharp prod of the muzzle on his backbone. He was led across the grassy square that separated the white tents from the black. There were only white faces now. He could hardly breathe.

“Look! They caughta coon!”

“C mon, they gotta nigger!”

He was between the soldiers, being pushed along, stumbling. Each step he took he felt his pistol jostling gently against his thigh. A thought circled round and round in his mind, circled so tightly he could hardly think it! They goin t kill me… They goin t kill me…

“This way!”

He turned. Behind him were voices; he knew a crowd was gathering. He saw Mrs. Heartfield looking at him; he saw her red hair. The soldiers stopped him in front of her. He looked at the ground.

“Is this the nigger, Mrs. Heartfield?”

“Yes, hes the one.”

More white faces gathered around. The crowd blurred and wavered before his eyes. There was a rising mutter of talk. Then he could not move; they were pressing in.

“What did he do?”

“Did he bother a white woman?”

“She says he did something!”

He heard the soldiers protesting.

“Get back now and behave! Get back!”

The crowd closed in tightly; the soldiers stood next to him, between him and the yelling faces. He grabbed a soldier, clinging, surging with the crowd. They were screaming in his ears.

“Lynch im!”

“Kill the black bastard!”

The soldiers struggled.

“Get back! You cant do that!”

“Let us have im!”

He was lifted off his feet in a tight circle of livid faces. A blow came to his mouth. The crowd loosened a bit and he fell to all fours. He felt a dull pain in his thigh and he knew he had been kicked. Out of the corners of his eyes he saw a moving tangle of feet and legs.

“Kill the sonofabitch!”

“GET BACK! GET BACK OR WE WILL SHOOT!”

They were away from him now. Blood dripped from his mouth.

“The general says bring him in his tent!”

He was snatched up and pushed into a tent. Two soldiers held his arms. A red face behind a table looked at him. He saw Mrs. Heartfield, her boy, her little girl. He heard a clamor of voices.

“Keep those people back from this tent!”

“Yessir!”

It grew quiet. He felt faint and grabbed his knees to keep from falling. The soldiers were shaking him. He felt warm blood splashing on his hands.

“Cant you talk, you black bastard! Cant you talk!”

“Yessuh.”

“Whats your name?”

“Mann, suh.”

“Whats the charge against this nigger?”

“Looting and murder, General.”

“Whom did he kill?”

“Heartfield, the Post Master, sir.”

“Heartfield?”

“Yessir.”

“He stole our boat and killed father!” said the boy.

“Do you confess that, nigger?”

“Capm, he shot at me fo Ah shot im! He shot at me…”

“He stole our boat!” yelled the boy. “He stole our boat and killed father when he told him to bring it back!”

“Are you sure this is the man?”

“Hes the one, General! His name is Mann and I saw him under our window!”

“When was this?”

“Last night, at the Post Office.”

“Who saw this?”

“I did,” said Mrs. Heartfield.

“I saw im!” said the boy.

“Ah didnt steal that boat, Capm! Ah swear fo Gawd, Ah didnt!”

“You did! You stole our boat and killed father and left us in the flood…”

The boy ran at Mann. The soldiers pulled him back.

“Ralph, come here!” called Mrs. Heartfield.

“Keep still, sonny,” said a soldier. “We can handle this!”

“Did you have that boat, nigger?” asked the general.

“Yessuh, but…”

“Where did you get it?”

He did not answer.

“What did you do with the boat?”

“The man at the hospital took it. But Ah didnt steal it, Capm…”

“Get Colonel Davis!” the general ordered.

“Yessir!”

“Nigger, do you know the meaning of this?”

Mann opened his mouth, but no words came.

“Do you know this means your life?”

“Ah didnt mean t kill im! Ah wuz takin mah wife t the hospital…”

“What did you do with the gun?”

Again he did not answer. He had a wild impulse to pull it out and shoot, blindly; to shoot and be killed while shooting. But before he could act a voice stopped him.

“Search im!”

They found the gun and laid it on the table. There was an excited buzz of conversation. He saw white hands pick up the gun and break it. Four cartridges spilled out.

“He shot daddy twice! He shot im twice!” said the boy.

“Did he bother you, Mrs. Heartfield?”

“No; not that way.”

“The little girl?”

“No; but he came back to the house and got us out. Ralph says he had an axe…”

“When was this?”

“Early this morning.”

“What did you go back there for, nigger?”

He did not answer.

“Did he bother you then, Mrs. Heartfield?”

“He was going to kill us!” said the boy. “He was holding the axe over us and then the house went over in the flood…”

There was another buzz of conversation.

“Heres Colonel Davis, General!”

“You know this nigger, Colonel?”

Mann looked at the ground. A soldier knocked his head up.

“He was at the hospital.”

“What did he do there?”

“He helped us on the roof.”

“Did he have a boat?”

“Yes; but we took it and sent him to the levee. Here, he signed for it…”

“What kind of a boat was it?”

“A white rowboat.”

“That was our boat!” said the boy.

The piece of paper Mann had signed in the hospital was shoved under his eyes.

“Did you sign this, nigger?”

He swallowed and did not answer.

A pen scratched on paper.

“Take im out!”

“White folks, have mercy! Ah didnt mean t kill im! Ah swear fo Awmighty Gawd, Ah didnt… He shot at me! Ah wuz takin mah wife t the hospital…”

“Take im out!”

He fell to the ground, crying.

“Ah didnt mean t kill im! Ah didnt…”

“When shall it be, General?”

“Take im out now! Whos next?”

They dragged him from the tent. He rolled in the mud. A soldier kicked him.

“Git up and walk, nigger! You aint dead yet!”

He walked blindly with bent back, his mouth dripping blood, his arms dangling loose. There were four of them and he was walking in between. Tears clogged his eyes. Down the slope to his right was a wobbly sea of brown water stretching away to a trembling sky. And there were boats, white boats, free boats, leaping and jumping like fish. There were boats and they were going to kill him. The sun was shining, pouring showers of yellow into his eyes. Two soldiers floated in front of him, and he heard two walking in back. He was between, walking, and the sun dropped spangles of yellow into his eyes. They goin t kill me! They goin… His knees buckled and he went forward on his face. For a moment he seemed not to breathe. Then with each heave of his chest he cried:

“Gawd, don let em kill me! Stop em from killin black folks!”

“Get up and walk, nigger!”

“Ah didnt mean t do it! Ah swear fo Gawd, Ah didnt!”

They jerked him up; he slipped limply to the mud again.

“What we going to do with this black bastard?”

“We will have to carry ’im.”

“Ill be Goddamn if I carry ’im.”

One of them grabbed Mann’s right arm and twisted it up the center of his back.

“Gawd!” he screamed. “Gawd, have mercy!”

“You reckon you can walk now, nigger?”

He pulled up and stumbled off, rigid with pain. They were among trees now, going up a slope. Through tears he saw the hazy tents of the soldiers’ camp. Lawd, have mercy! Once there and he would be dead. There and then the end. Gawd Awmighty…

“Gotta cigarette, Charley?”

“Yeah.”

A tiny flame glowed through spangles of yellow sunshine. A smoking match flicked past his eyes and hit waves of green, wet grass. His fear subsided into a cold numbness. Yes, now! Yes, through the trees! Right thu them trees! Gawd! They were going to kill him. Yes, now, he would die! He would die before he would let them kill him. Ahll die fo they kill me! Ahll die… He ran straight to the right, through the trees, in the direction of the water. He heard a shout.

“You sonofabitch!”

He ran among the trees, over the wet ground, listening as he ran for the crack of rifles. His shoes slipped over waves of green grass. Then came a shot. He heard it hit somewhere. Another sang by his head. He felt he was not running fast enough; he held his breath and ran, ran. He left the hazy trees and ran in the open over waves of green. He veered, hearing rifles cracking. His right knee folded; he fell, rolling over. He scrambled up, limping. His eyes caught a whirling glimpse of brown water and shouting white boats. Then he was hit again, in the shoulder. He was on all fours, crawling to the edge of the slope. Bullets hit his side, his back, his head. He fell, his face buried in the wet, blurred green. He heard the sound of pounding feet growing fainter and felt something hot bubbling in his throat; he coughed and then suddenly he could feel and hear no more.

The soldiers stood above him.

“You shouldntve run, nigger!” said one of the soldiers. “You shouldntve run, Goddammit! You shouldntve run…”

One of the soldiers stooped and pushed the butt of his rifle under the body and lifted it over. It rolled heavily down the wet slope and stopped about a foot from the water’s edge; one black palm sprawled limply outward and upward, trailing in the brown current…