over another day," he said. "We'll steam out of here tomorrow at nightfall, not tonight."
"Well, sure, Joshua," Marsh said. "Pass me down another piece of that pie, will you?"
York smiled and passed it to him.
"Cap'n, tonight'd be better'n tomorrow," said Dan Albright, who was cleaning his teeth with a bone toothpick. "I smell a storm comin' up."
"Tomorrow," York said.
Albright shrugged.
"Toby and Jeb can stay behind. In fact," York continued, "I want to take only the bare complement necessary to man the boat. Any passengers who boarded early are to be put ashore for a few days, until our return. We won't be taking on any freight, so the roustabouts can be given a few days off as well. Well take only one watch with us. Can that be done?"
"I reckon," Marsh said. He glanced down the long table. The officers were all looking at Joshua curiously.
"Tomorrow at nightfall, then," York said. "Excuse me. I must rest." He stood up, and for a brief instant seemed unsteady on his feet. Marsh got up from the table hurriedly, but York waved him away. "I'm fine," he said. "I'll be retiring to my cabin now. See that I am not disturbed until we are ready to leave New Orleans."
"Won't you be down for supper tonight?" Marsh asked.
"No," said York. His eyes moved up and down the cabin. "I do think I prefer it by night," he said. "Lord Byron was right. Day is far too gaudy."
"Eh?" Marsh said.
"Don't you remember?" York said. "The poem I recited to you at the boatyards in New Albany. It fits the Fevre Dream so well. She walks inbeauty..."
"...like the night," said Jeffers, adjusting his spectacles. Abner Marsh looked at him, flabbergasted. Jeffers was a demon for chess and ciphering and even went to plays, but Marsh had never heard him recite no poetry before.
"You know Byron!" Joshua said, delighted. For an instant, he looked almost like his own self.
"I do," Jeffers admitted. One eyebrow arched as he regarded York. "Cap'n, are you suggesting that our days are spent in goodness here on the Fevre Dream?" He smiled. "Why, that'll sure come as news to Hairy Mike and Mister Framm here."
Hairy Mike guffawed, while Framm protested, "Hey, now, three wives don't mean I ain't good, why most every one of 'em 'ud vouch for me!"
"What the hell you talkin' about?" Abner Marsh put in. Most of the officers and crew looked as confused as he was.
Joshua played with an elusive smile. "Mister Jeffers is reminding me of the final stanza of Byron's poem," he said. He recited:
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
"Are we innocent, Cap'n?" Jeffers asked.
"No one is entirely innocent," Joshua York replied, "but the poem speaks to me nonetheless, Mister Jeffers. The night is beautiful, and we can hope to find peace and nobility in its dark splendor as well. Too many men fear the dark unreasoningly."
"Perhaps," said Jeffers. "Sometimes it ought to be feared, though."
"No," said Joshua York, and with that he left them, breaking off the verbal fencing match with Jeffers abruptly. As soon as he was gone, others began to leave the table to attend to their duties, but Jonathon Jeffers remained in his place, lost in thought, staring off across the cabin. Marsh sat down to finish his pie. "Mister Jeffers," he said, "I don't know what's goin' on along this river. Damn poems. What good did all that fancy talk ever do anyhow? If this Byron had somethin' to say, why didn't he just out and say it in plain, simple language? Answer me that."
Jeffers looked over at him, blinking. "Sorry, Cap'n," he said. "I was trying to remember something. What was it you said?"
Marsh swallowed a forkful of pie, washed it down with some coffee, and repeated his question.
"Well, Cap'n," Jeffers said, with a wry smile, "the main thing is that poetry is pretty. The way the words fit together, the rhythms, the pictures they paint. Poems are pleasant when said aloud. The rhymes, the inner music, just the way they sound." He sipped some coffee. "It's hard to explain if you don't feel it. But it's sort of like a steamer, Cap'n."
"Ain't never seen no poem pretty as a steamer," said Marsh gruffly.
Jeffers grinned. "Cap'n, why does the Northern Light have that big picture of the Aurora on