“You mus’ scuse me, Hannah. I’m so weakened down wid frettin’ until de water dreans out my eyes. My mind keeps a runnin’ back to de time dis same li’l’ gal’s own mammy was taken dis same way. When de tide turned, e went out wid em. Dat’s how come I’m hurryin’ you so fas’. We mus’ git back whilst de tide is risin’.”
He stood, straight and tall, and strong for his years, but the troubled look in his eyes made the old midwife wonder.
Her weight tilted the narrow boat so far to one side that some of the black river water slid over its edge and ran down cold on her feet. “Jedus hab mussy!” she groaned. “If dis boat do go down, I’ll sho’ git drowned to-night! I can’ swim, not a lick.”
“You set still, Hannah. Dis boat knows better’n to turn over to-night. I got em trained. E’s got sense like people. E knows e’s got to take me an’ you safe.”
“I’m mighty glad to hear dat, son, mighty glad.”
The boat was already gliding swiftly past the black willows on the Blue Brook’s bank and around the bend where the thick trees made shadows and long tresses of gray moss waved overhead. Soon they’d reach the river. When a dark bird flew across the stream Maum Hannah shivered and whispered, “Do, Jedus, hab mussy,” but Breeze muttered, “Dat ain’ nuttin’ but a summer duck.”
The whole world lay still, wrapped by the night, quiet, save for the swish of the water against the sides of the boat as the noiseless dips of the steady-plying paddle thrust it on.
As they neared Sandy Island the shrill cry of an owl in the distance caused the boat to falter in its forward going.
“Wha’ dat, Breeze?”
“Dat’s one o’ dem blue-dartin’ owls. Dat ain’ no sign o’ death.”