Many
of the old timers in town might remember my mother, Mrs. Horace Whitewash. She
has been gone for some time now, but her stories about life on the canal still
can be heard at gatherings around town. Her favorite story is of how she read
the signs of the devil and saved the family and our boat. I would like to
finally set the record straight and tell the whole story of how Ma saved us
from certain disaster.
It
all began a long time ago, when the family owned a leaky old canal boat named
the ‘Fore Hire’. Dad and Ma had sold
the farm and went to work on the canal. My brother and I were born in the small
cabin of the boat and raised on board.
Ma’s tale started the year I turned 10, as we were working our way west
from Rome. Mom was cooking down below
in the cabin, and I was driving the mules.
The
first thing I heard was Dad yelling and shaking his fist to the sky. I ran to Dad as fast as I could, and Ma ran
up the cabin stairs. Dad was mad, but
in a funny sort of way.
“By
Dad gum, if that don’t beat all,” Dad was yelling as he wiped a rather large
spot of bird poop off his head. “Did you see that blasted Black Bird? It just
came out of no where and pooped on my head. Why intarnation, if I had my
scatter gun, I’d let him have it.”
“It’s
a sign of the Devil”, Ma said as she crossed herself. “It’s a bad omen, for sure. You should drop to your knees and
pray.”
“Taint
no sign of the Devil, it’s that blasted bird. Junior, get my gun.”
“He
won’t do no such thing”, Ma said. “Imagine, shooting the Devil himself. You’ll
burn in hell for sure Pa. We should just tie up here and wait for what ever bad
will happen to us.”
“Tie
up! And waste a whole day? Junior, get out there and drive those blasted mules
before I whip you”, and with that, Pa put an end to the matter.
Two
years passed, and as far as I recollect, nothing really bad happened to any of
us. But one day, while driving east and large Black Bird came out of no where
and pooped on my head. Ma, who happened to be on deck hanging out the wash, saw
everything. “STOP THE BOAT!” she cried. Pa was so started that he put the
rudder over and grounded the boat into the bank of the canal, while I tried to
run back while wiping the poop out of my eyes.
“What’s
the matter Ma?” we both yelled at the same time.
“The
Devil, he’s gone and done it again! He has pooped on your head.”
“Ma,
it’s just a bird…” I tried to say.
“IT’S
THE DEVIL. I told you that bad things would happen. First your Pa, and now
you.”
“For
Dad gum”, my father said. “That bird pooped on my head two seasons ago. How
does that have anything to do with this?”
My
mother, whose recollections did not seem to be bothered by length of time, was
not to be quieted. “I tell you, something bad is going to happen.” And with
that, she grabbed my younger brother, who was 8 years old. Although he was old enough to safely walk
around the boat on his own, she still insisted on tying a rope to him, so he
would not fall off the boat and drown. She tied a second rope to him, in effect
lashing him to the roof of the cabin.
“Ma”,
he protested, “I can’t move.”
“Quiet
there young-un, better you can’t move then let the Devil toss you off the boat.
If your Pa won’t stop this boat, I’m going to protect you.”
As
anyone who has been lashed to the roof of a canal boat cabin knows, after six
hours of sitting in the sun, Paul got quite sunburned
“It’s
a sign of the Devil, I told you this would happen”, Ma said triumphfily.
“But
Ma, you tied him out in the sun”, Pa said.
“He’s
been out in the sun before, and never got burned like this. It’s the Devil. I
told you something bad would happen.” And with that she chased us out of the
cabin so she could pray over Paul.
Two
years later, we were working west early in the fall. We were passing through a
small swamp when a black bird came down and pooped on the off mules head. He
was so startled that he stopped short. The boat slowly drifted up to where I
was wiping the poop off the mule’s face.
“What
happen?” Dad demanded.
“A
blackbird pooped on the mules head and…”
“IT’S
A SIGN OF THE DEVIL”, Ma screamed as she crossed herself. “These things always
happen in threes. Young-uns, you get out there and lash us to the trees, right
now.”
“Ma,
we ain’t a stopping because some bird has a good aim.” Pa said.
“We
are so, I ain’t traveling another inch. Something bad is going to happen. The
Raven has pooped on us three times.”
I tried to calm her down. “Ma, it wasn’t even a real Black Bird. It was one of
those birds with the red spots on the wings.”
“A
Black Bird is a Black Bird. It don’t matter what color the Devil has painted
his wings.” (To Ma, telling birds apart
was easy. You had your black birds, blue birds, red birds, grey birds, and
white birds. If you were to ask her what bird was singing, she would knowingly
point out it was a red bird. Birds of two colors, like a robin, were no problem
to Ma. If she saw it from the front, it was a red bird, from the back, it was a
grey bird.)
“We
are sitting right here until we get a sign to pass on”, Ma said, and we did.
All day long, as other boaters passed by, they would ask what was wrong.
“Dad
blame if I know”, Dad would say, and he would shrug up his shoulders and roll
his eyes to the heavens.
Well,
as it would happen, that very same day, 200 miles to the west, a rain soaked
banks of the canal gave way causing much damage and the loss of two boats. This
was all the proof Ma needed.
“I
told you something would happen”, she said proudly. “It was all in the signs.”
“That break was 200 miles away”, Pa would say, but Ma would not be deterred.
She had saved the family and the boat. She had read the signs.
Now
you know the truth behind Ma Whitewash’s tale. It might not be as exciting as
the way Ma would tell it, but it is all the truth.