Savannah (2013) Movie Script
Ward Allen missed his first duck.
- He missed?
- Oh. Yes, sir.
Ward Allen missed his first duck.
Aw, come on, Christmas.
Uncle John told me
the story himself.
Tell me another story, Christmas.
The one where Ward nearly
killed that Russian.
Come on, Little Jack.
I told you that story
now a hundred times.
I said wade in the water
Wade in the water, children
Wade in the water
God's gonna trouble the water
Wade in the water
Wade in the water, children
Wade in the water
God's gonna trouble the water
Oh, look at those
babies dressed in red
God's gonna trouble the water
Oh, they must have been
the babies Moses led
God's gonna trouble the water
Wade in the water
Wade in water, children
Wade in the water
God's gonna trouble the water
Oh, Jesus met the woman,
met her at the well
God's gonna trouble the water
He said, "Look out lady,
you're headin' for hell"
God's gonna trouble the water
I said wade in the water
Wade in the water, children
Wade in the water
God's gonna trouble the water
I said God's gonna
trouble the water
I said God's gonna trouble
The water
You got to help me
out here, Christmas.
Used to be people out
here who knew you.
Must still be some of them around.
All right, Little Jack.
You want to hear the story
about how Ward Allen
beat up them Russians.
No.
I've heard that story
a hundred times.
Half a mustache...
Christmas, they sold the land.
You don't get up out of that chair,
it's gonna be sitting in a pile
of debris with you still in it.
That's where I'm gonna find you.
You understand?
Well, Little Jack, Ward Allen fell
to sleep in the barber chair,
but not before he
laid down the law.
He say don't lay a finger...
upon that mustache.
Would have killed him, too,
'cept three Russians jump him.
Ambassador told Ward,
"You ever come back to Russia,
I'll march you down
to the Tsar myself."
In shackles.
All right.
You got some perishables
you better eat first.
Babs' peas and collard greens.
You don't need be going to all
that trouble, Little Jack.
What'd you finally write about?
Oh, just some stories
Christmas used to tell.
You know, Jack, the girls
and I have been talking.
We don't see...
That's a great idea.
Why don't you girls start
your own little club?
You gotta spread joy
Up to the maximum
Bring gloom
Down to the minimum
Have faith
Or pandemonium's
Liable to walk up on the scene
You got to ac-cent-tchu-ate
the positive
Eliminate the negative
And latch on to the affirmative
Don't mess with
Mister In-Between
No, don't mess with
Mister In-Between
Dad, can I have the camera?
Did I ever tell you the story
about how Ward Allen
almost killed a man
for cutting off his mustache?
No, sir.
No?
Ward Allen's mustache,
that was his pride and joy.
His father had sent him to Russia
for shooting a man in a duel...
But not before he
laid down the law.
He say don't lay a finger
upon his mustache.
Would have killed him, too,
'cept three Russians jump him.
Christmas Moultrie knew Ward Allen
better than any other
person that ever lived,
and although one to the manor born
and the other born to slavery,
they were kindred spirits.
As a child, I hunted
with Christmas.
After a long day on the river,
Christmas would sit in his
rocker before the fireplace,
gazing up at the picture of Ward,
and tell us stories.
As we grew up, those stories
became the stuff of legend.
And though none of us
were related to him,
there wasn't a man among us
who didn't wish he had a
bit of Ward Allen in him.
Damn.
I told you to keep your gloves on.
I can't work my hands in 'em.
Christmas, that sentiment has
no sense about it or in it.
Mr. Ward, my hands are
too cold to pull them on,
and the gloves are
too cold to help.
Piss on your hands, then.
Why don't you piss your own?
My hands are neither
cold nor cut, sir,
allowing that, I can spare
myself the indignity.
Oh, yes, sir.
You spare yourself the
dignity all the time.
In-dignity. In...
Uh-huh, that, too.
Get in the boat before you talk
all the birds right on out of here.
This dog here got more
manners upon four legs
than most Savannah people
walking around upon two.
Generations of us have hunted
on the river and fields
of our county...
something passed between
father and son.
If history is our religion,
then hunting is one
of its sacraments.
Ward Allen once wrote it down,
"The river belonged
to us, and we to it."
And we to it,
like a cathedral no hands
of man could ever build.
This is as close as
a sinner like me
will ever come to the face of God.
What became tradition
for my generation
had once been a way of life,
and for the very best
hunters, it was a livelihood,
supplying the markets of
Savannah with fresh fowl.
Of the men that plied that trade,
Ward and Christmas
were the very best.
One of these mornings, Christmas,
you're gonna shoot your
share of these birds.
Well, if I only shot
a few of these duck,
I'd be happy just to carry my own,
let you handle the rest.
See how I can tell?
All the ones with that
surprised look in their eyes,
yeah, they're the ones you shot.
They can't really believe
it finally happened.
I don't see no surprised look
in the duck eye, Mr. Ward.
Well, see, you don't see,
so you're making my point.
I do see that a bunch of them
look like they dead
from laughing, though,
tickled to death at that
silly little 7 shot you use.
Christmas, with a name like yours,
you have a duty towards avoiding
such sarcastic constructions.
They don't become you.
Save them $10 words for the judge.
Ward Allen's river
and his way of life
might have gone on forever
if time and tide and the law
had not had other ideas.
And the new laws found in
Ward an implacable opponent.
Young blood doth not
obey an old decree.
We cannot cross the
cause why we were born.
Let us lose our oaths
to find ourselves,
or we will lose ourselves
to keep our oaths.
Your Honor.
Well remembered, Mr. Allen,
and, uh, nicely edited.
Thank you, sir.
But are you saying you
were born to hunt,
or saying you were
born to break the law?
I do recollect there are a few
who say you have a
natural talent for both.
I am slow of study, Your Honor,
and if there is a
law I truly broke,
I have not read it.
I may be a bit too good of a shot,
and there may be some who
try to construe that
against my character,
which efforts I generally
choose to forbear.
But when this type
of personal dispute
is deranged in such a way
as to bring in front of
this august assembly,
all I can say is, on my honor,
neither my partner
nor I have willingly
nor willfully broken a true law!
Or a law made in error.
Error?
And who is the judge of that?
Why you, sir, without question.
And, if you'll allow,
there are more than a few
who say you have a natural
talent in that regard.
Lord, help us.
Order. Order, please.
You... You expect me
to believe all this?
Mine honor is my life.
Both grow in one.
Take honor from me
and my life is done.
Richard III.
The Second, Act 1.
I stand corrected.
Nevertheless, you
are guilty as sin.
But in light of all the factors,
probation for six months...
Not again!
during which time
you'll be pure as the driven snow.
Thank you, Your Honor.
Once again, liberty plucks
justice by the nose!
All right.
They could have let
us keep our quota.
Commissioner be
eating good tonight.
Oh, there's no logic
to it, Christmas.
They expect us to
let the duck fly by
just to go and get
shot in South America.
Mr. Ward, this one right
here ain't gonna make it.
Shh.
Here! Rock!
Heel.
Christmas, um,
have the skiff at Broad
quarter past 3:00 and...
keep the bird for supper.
All right, then.
Evening, Mr. Ward.
Here!
That wasn't a hug!
I better go now.
Hey! Come on!
I'm a Yankee Doodle, why?
I report back to Uncle Sam
So I can't shoot birds out the sky
Oh! Rock!
Come on.
Good boy.
I'm certain you could
shoot as many as me
if you give up your
aversion to gloves.
I get 36.
Order was 39.
We got 39.
Fine.
I count again.
All right, let's say we
shot the same number
and leave the unlikely
metaphysical ramification
of such a fact for another day.
Well, all right then.
You just keep carrying me,
I keep carrying your duck.
There you are.
$61.50.
Uh, pardon me, mademoiselle,
I, uh, hope he didn't disturb you.
No. He's delightful.
Well, just the same,
he's not to leave me,
by arrangement of the management.
You see, he doesn't
really belong in here.
Well, the same could be
said for those boots.
Oh, these boots are
somewhat less headstrong.
They, uh, stay better to heel.
Lucy, we're ready.
Well, now it's my turn
to be called to heel.
DESK CLERK Mr. Allen, your money.
Excuse me.
Are you Mr. Ward Allen?
Yes, I am.
Have we met?
Well, let's just say I've
met your reputation,
far and wide, in fact.
Lies substantially.
Oh, so you aren't the best
guide on the river then.
No, I'm no guide at all.
I am a market hunter.
Yes, you're the one.
I happen to have a house guest,
a gentleman from Virginia.
He's the son of Sir Stuart Graham,
close friend and colleague,
and he'd like to hunt our river.
Well, any fool can find it for him.
I'm not looking for just any fool.
I'm looking for the
best fool going,
and they say that's you.
Is it?
A day as a guide
is a significant loss of
production from my end.
Oh, money's no object.
All right,
but no one touches my guns...
or my dog.
Splendid.
Then we have a deal.
Your gesture is deeply appreciated,
and I assure you, Mr. Graham
will come well-equipped.
Careful.
That bag was a gift from
the Governor of Virginia.
Well, then it should
hold up just fine.
I don't know how you do
this in, uh, Virginia,
but here, we prefer
to come unannounced.
I assure you, I've
hunted India, Africa.
My steady companion...
Are you here to hunt,
or to impress the dog with
your pedigree, Mr. Graham?
If my sources are correct,
and I'm sure they are,
you're a bit of a
paradox, Mr. Allen.
You were educated abroad,
at my alma mater, Oxford, in fact.
Known as Buffalo Bill,
yet you are the descendent
and sole inheritor of
the Allen plantation.
I'm, uh, but a laborer.
I earn that I eat,
get that I wear...
owe no man hate,
envy no man's happiness.
Content...
with my harm.
Truly of the manor born,
and yet you choose a Negro
as your steady companion.
No wonder Mr. Stubbs sent
all the way to Virginia
to find a suitor for his daughter.
Get out.
I'll do no such thing!
I promised Miss Stubbs a
fresh bird for her table.
It is your job to ensure
that I keep that promise.
May I remind you that
you are a paid guide?
No good hunter takes a shot
unless he knows he can't miss.
Get out.
You have not heard
the last of this.
You likely stirred up trouble
now with Mr. Stubbs.
Don't you have a cousin
that cooks for Stubbs?
Not saying I don't, but she'd never
talk about nothin' wasn't her business.
That's right.
You, either.
That's right.
That's why you wouldn't know
nothin' about Stubbs' daughter.
The one that turned
down Lynah's boy?
Which your cousin
never told you about.
Exactly.
Well, look at that.
Doodly Do found his way home.
Now, sir, account for yourself.
Evening, Mr. Sheriff, Mr. Stubbs.
We had a deal, Allen.
Yes, we did.
To take a gentleman on the river.
However, Mr. Graham proved
to be no gentleman at all.
See, I feared he'd bring
embarrassment to you
and your lovely family,
boasting as it were
over his intentions
towards your daughter.
I... I... I resolutely refused
to take a cent of your money, sir.
Please, if you will...
Um, if I had exercised
my better judgment,
you would not have been exposed
to this public embarrassment.
Well, appreciate that.
I'd be pleased if you'd take
a pair of mallards for your table.
Well, our cook does do
wonders with waterfowl.
First thing in the morning, then.
Hyah! Hyah!
Quack quack quack.
Mr. Allen.
What happy accident
brings you here?
Um, I promised your
father some fresh duck.
Oh, well.
A promise well kept, I see.
Oh, look, you brought your friend.
He seems glad to see me.
He's smarter than he looks.
Indeed.
Next thing I know, he'll
be quoting Shakespeare.
Uh, please tell your father
to, uh, remove the
shot from the birds
or tell your cook,
whatever you plans.
Good day, Miss Stubbs.
Oh, Mr. Allen, I wish
to inquire, uh...
Father.
A man of his word.
Hmm. Indeed.
Um, I was on the verge
of asking Mr. Allen
for a guide on the river.
You see, Mr. Allen, I've
never seen the city
from the perspective of the river,
and I'm told it's quite beautiful.
And Father here has no
inclination towards rowing.
Lucy, I'm sure Mr. Allen's time
would be better spent
at his enterprise.
Thanks very much,
Ward, for the duck.
I'm sure it will be
a meal to remember.
Well, the least we can do then
is invite Mr. Allen for supper.
Sunday? The DeSoto?
Noon, then.
All right.
Plato likens the mind of man
to an aviary of birds,
and birds to kinds of knowledge.
I find it a queer thing, knowledge,
because no matter how
tight the logic,
there's always the errant fact,
like... like...
like a solitary bird,
separated from the flock
in search of adventure.
Are you suggesting
birds can reason?
What is reason next to yearning?
Yes. Well, ahem...
tell me, Allen,
with all this foreign
education under your belt,
how is it you choose
to subject yourself
to the rigors of an outdoor life?
Why not embrace the joys
of the airless boardroom?
Well, the rewards are not
subject to the whims of nature.
But instead on the
whims of man's nature.
I find nature's nature
far more predictable
and far more, uh, honest.
Fair enough.
Can't argue with that.
Still, you do seem to have a talent
for discourse and persuasion.
I could see you being
very successful
in the courtroom, for instance.
As a boy, I wasted
many beautiful days
in a dusty law office,
by arrangement of my parents.
They were bent on my
entering the profession.
Following the footsteps of the
Honorable John Eliot Ward, no less?
You seem to have inherited from him
a fine servant in
Christmas Moultrie.
My uncle saw in Christmas
an accomplished guide,
and he hired him for his services.
If anyone did the inheriting,
it was Christmas of me.
You turn everything on its
head, don't you, Allen?
Quite the rebel.
And here I thought you'd
been exaggerated.
Well, men should be what they seem.
Or those that be not,
would not they be none?
Well, I think it's
absolutely delightful...
a man of letters who's
returned to nature.
And a sprinkle of
civil disobedience
for good measure.
If you are suggesting
I'm some sort of
contemporary Thoreau,
you are mistaken.
I have no agenda.
I simply prefer this life.
Christmas!
The sheriff stole our order
from Ehrlich's store.
Mr. Ward?
I am guilty of nothing but
an honest day's work,
while he steals a meal
right off a man's table.
Mr. Ward!
I have a good mind to write
the editor of the paper,
and don't think I won't.
I beg your pardon.
I think writing to the
paper's a fine idea.
Miss Stubbs here
hired our services.
To do what?
Don't worry, Mr. Allen.
I simply wish to collect
cuttings for my garden.
A wildflower can be
cultivated in a city garden?
Well, with the right nurturing,
most anything can be cultivated.
Well, I better get these birds here
over to the DeSoto before
the Sheriff lock them up, too.
Yeah.
Good afternoon, Miss Stubbs.
Christmas.
I've seen artists' renderings,
but I had no idea.
It's like floating
on a sea of stars.
And that perfume.
Mmm.
It's like stars made of sugar.
Starry archipelagoes...
raving skies.
Yes.
Raving skies.
My father built a
solarium for my garden.
When I was a little girl,
I couldn't be outside,
and the solarium seemed
impossibly large to fill,
but I filled it till bursting.
And when there was no
more room for planting,
I laid down in the
middle of the floor,
buried beneath the flowers
and imagined I was flying.
A flying carpet.
You know Vasnetsov's painting?
Yeah.
Oh.
My father knew the
Russian Ambassador.
He described it in
such vivid detail,
I felt like I'd seen it
with my own two eyes.
Well, now, you must have known
the Russian Ambassador.
Father says you were in Russia?
Oh, the first time I disappeared
beneath the flowers,
my parents couldn't find me.
Well, Father nearly had
a heart attack, but...
He'd spent my whole life
trying to protect me
from all kinds of imagined horrors,
and there I had
vanished into thin air.
It was my refuge.
If I were a bird, you
wouldn't catch me.
You see, I recognize a
decoy when I see one.
So, what kind of bird would I be?
Uh, I beg your pardon?
If I were a bird and
you were hunting me,
what would I be?
Well?
A mallard.
Particularly beautiful
bird in flight.
That's all? Just a bunch
of pretty feathers?
Oh, no.
I enjoy a bird that uses its, uh,
native cunning to
outwit the hunter.
A mallard has canny.
I see.
Mmm.
Hmm...
There's some meaning
in it, I think.
I don't know if I can put
my finger on it, but...
sometimes I feel as
if I'm up there,
pulling toward some...
distant purpose.
Teach me to shoot.
What?
Not a bird, a...
a target.
That old barge over
there, is it loaded?
Of course, it is.
Careful, now...
Oh!
Uh... Here!
Grab this, here!
Grab it.
Grab the gun.
Hold on.
Good. Good.
You can't swim.
Don't worry, it'll be our secret.
It's not a secret.
It's just not a publicized fact.
Oh, well, hmm...
Truth hath a quiet breast.
You're a rare man, Ward Allen.
And while I do find your word
play entertaining to a point,
I'm not a patient woman.
Can you remember that?
I will.
Can you remember not
to touch my guns?
Yes, I can.
Okay, then.
Yes.
I've made my decision, Father.
You've ruined so many
prospects, Lucy.
Hmm.
Nothing but boys,
following in their
father's footsteps.
I'd know my life before
I had even lived it.
The man's a boor.
Ward Allen walked away
from a fine inheritance.
God knows why.
He wanted to be free.
Free?
His Negro's free.
Father!
Lucy, don't say anymore.
Let's talk this over while
we're away this summer.
I won't be accompanying you
to the Vineyard, Mother.
I am neither yours to
dispense nor to withhold.
Hyah hyah hyah!
Aah!
Mrs. Ward Allen!
Your beauty startles the night!
I shall make a quick loop
around the Earth and return!
Prepare!
Don't you dare!
Eat no onions nor garlic...
Stop that man!
for we are to utter sweet breath.
I will, soon as he stops shootin'.
Make way!
Hyah hyah hyah hyah!
They should be there
waiting for us.
Much obliged for the
sleep, Officer.
My pleasure, Ward.
Hope the little lady's
ready to receive you.
You know, a woman ain't an
argument to win, don't you?
One of these decoys here ain't
gonna bring Miss Lucy in.
Ah, but for thy sweet
understanding, Christmas, a woman.
You're a perfect beast!
Lucy.
Lucy?
Lucy, let me in!
You can sleep with the dog!
That's where you belong!
It's Rock you should
have betrothed!
Please, my dear, at least let me in
behind the privacy of closed doors.
Privacy?
Mm-hmm.
Do you think there's
a soul in Savannah
that doesn't know you left my side
in the middle of the night
to wallow in a vat of whiskey?
Now, Lucy...
You're right.
I... I temper myself
to keep my temper,
and if I need to water
myself down at times,
well, admit it.
A smaller man could never
hold your interest.
As I am, I adore you.
How well you show it.
What would you have me do, hmm?
What would you have me do?
To gild refined gold,
to paint the lily...
to throw perfume on the violet...
to add another hue
into the rainbow.
Mm.
Wasteful and ridiculous...
excess.
It's cold
It's cold
Now I lost my lover
It's cold
And where shall I find her?
Heh.
Pardon the tardiness, Mr. Moultrie.
Late's still better
than never, Mr. Ward.
Bring me a gator
Girl, when you get off the island
A ringtail 'ator
Oh, when you get off the island
Clear.
A Darien gator
Girl, when you get off the island
Ohh, when you get off the island
All right, that's it.
That's the last of them.
That's 10 for Ehrlich's,
20 for the DeSoto.
Uh-huh.
That's almost a quarter.
What the hell was that?
It's Old Man Lynah!
Ain't I tell you not to
get on his property?
Oh, sh...
Ho!
He knows it's us, Mr. Ward!
Well, if he knows it's
us, why is he shootin'?
He's mad about you hitchin' up
with Miss Lucy, that's why.
I did that man a favor.
Lucy'd eat his boy for lunch.
All the same, he all worked up,
and you the best one to blame!
This is ridiculous.
Let's get out of here.
Mr. Lynah, uh... truce!
Truce.
We'll just...
We'll be on our way.
Rock! Here!
Yeah. We'll... We'll
be on out of here.
Here! Go on up!
Here. Here.
Come! Sit. Come here.
Here!
Christmas, you haven't
said a word since Lynah's.
No, sir.
Why?
I got nothin' to say, sir.
Since when?
All I'm saying is,
it would have been
different it was just me.
You still mad about that?
All I'm for saying is.
Listen up now.
Lynah was aiming to hit me,
and every man around here
has a right to defend
his own property.
All right, then.
Afternoon, Mr. Ward.
Hey.
It is an absolute
preposterous statement
the outcome would have been
different had I not been there.
Lynah was aimed to
shoot me, all right?
He missed and we got away!
No, sir, you got away!
I just be along there with
you like the dog here!
Well, if I hadn't been there,
he wouldn't have chased Rock
down the river and killed him!
No, sir, he would have
let your dog live!
All I'm sa...
Your world ain't mine,
you understand?
Can I be of any
assistance, Mr. Allen?
Gimme a whiskey.
Why do you hunt, sir?
It's a gentleman's sport.
Makes you feel sporty,
does it, huh,
to shoot a bird or two?
Do you know these birds?
Can you tell a canvasback
from a widgeon
from the way it turns in the air,
from how it feeds?
Do you know the journeys they take,
their determination, power of will
wrapped up in that small little breast
you fill so carelessly with shot?
Do you?
Listen to you, the
original noble savage.
You know nothin',
and you think about nothin'.
200 taken my way is an honest act.
It is a transaction
as old as our two species.
See, I know what I do.
Two single birds taken your way,
now, that's what I
call a slaughter.
A gun room has guns in it!
And a home has a husband in it.
Mr. John says you was worrisome.
What else did my uncle
say, Mr. Moultrie?
Call me Christmas that's all.
Christmas.
Well, Mr. John say they
won't take the summer duck.
Oh, hell will freeze over
before they take mine.
I'll take it all the way to the
Supreme Court if I have to.
Young blood doth not
obey an old decree.
We cannot cross the
cause why we were born.
Well, Mr. Judge, the
alligator got no limit,
and the raccoon ain't got no limit,
so why should Christmas
have a limit?
Well, this is serious, Christmas.
Repeated probationary sentences
cannot be supported.
Sir, Warden Rossignol
clearly states
that he identified me
at the distance of
200 yards at sunset.
Your Honor, this is a
matter of undisputed fact.
Excuse me, Your Honor,
but the undisputed facts are these.
200 yards, sunset,
saw grass this time
of year this high.
Person firing at ducks,
who must have stood at least
this deep in the mire,
meaning that at 200 yards,
Warden Rossignol might deduce
what species of God's
creation fired the gun,
but would not have been
able to sex the shooter,
much less identify
him... or her.
Or anyone for that matter who
owns a shotgun in the county.
By the way, Your Honor, you
still own that Greener?
Yes, I do.
Yeah, it's beautifully
made, isn't it?
Oh, yes.
If the English made kings
the way they made guns,
we'd still be a colony.
Your Honor!
Of course, of course.
Uh, of course.
Uh, Christmas, uh,
you knew it was against the
law to shoot summer duck.
Yes, sir.
Well, Christmas, why then did
you not dispose of the ducks?
Sir?
What I mean is, Christmas,
when you saw the warden coming,
why didn't you throw
away the summer duck?
Mr. Judge, you must
never et a summer duck.
Case dismissed.
Well, go on, open it.
You've nothing left to prove
with guns and bluster, Ward.
Try a different weapon.
They're building a new factory.
Imperial.
Imperial, my ass.
They cleared all but
that patch over there.
The boss man's new hunting ground.
What kind of fool thinks a duck,
with all the low country
from here to the Everglades,
is gonna fly in that
concrete patch?
It's no good here.
Hey. Wh... where's Rock?
Rock!
Last I seen him,
he was over by that tree there.
Mr. Ward...
Rock always done us his best.
Now he done his last.
Shakespeare could not have
said it better, Christmas.
"How a Duck Hunter
Avoids Being a Sinner."
Oh, did I tell you I found
some of Ward's newspaper articles?
Listen to this.
Called "How the Duck Hunter
Avoids Being a Sinner."
"With all sorts of unreasonable
"and absurd restrictions
on duck shootin' now,
"fella can't go out in
the short open season
"without transgressing
some of the fool don'ts.
"So the safest way to
avoid being a sinner
"when a fella goes duck shootin',
is not to shoot anything at all".
Yeah, Ward was prolific.
Holding back the tide
with that fountain
pen Lucy gave him.
Yeah.
Trying to, anyway.
Everybody's emptying
out their attics
for Lila's historical society.
Homer built her, got
to be 200 crates.
Won't take a nickel for them.
Homer's daddy the same.
Settled Ward's account for
a couple of old guns.
You know, my daddy was on the
search party found Ward's body.
Said he found him in...
wearing his pajamas.
Some say it wasn't an accident.
What is?
Yeah.
Well, whatever it is Ward
was searching for...
it eluded him.
Might as well add that
to your collection.
Christmas, I...
I found you a place to live.
It's comfortable.
It's not home, but
I made sure of it.
You're gonna be comfortable.
All right.
What'd I tell you about
the fire, Christmas?
Don't get lazy while I'm gone
and let it burn out.
Jack t' the rack back,
stick it ball a hack
Low ball high ball, scallion jack
Jack t' the rack back,
stick it ball a hack
Low ball high ball, scallion jack
Jack t' the rack back,
stick it ball a hack
Low ball high ball, scallion jack
Jack t' the rack back,
stick it ball a hack
Low ball high ball, scallion jack
Jack t' the rack back,
stick it ball a hack
Low ball high ball, scallion jack
Jack t' the rack back,
stick it ball a hack
Low ball high ball, scallion...
But I feel like a hunter
with two coveys flushed at once!
So, I ask you, which
way do I shoot?
Well, not at your fellow
hunter, for God's sake.
What'd you say?
What'd you say?
Then at the city bird that
created this abominable law?
Why, his is but empty bravado,
amateur posturing.
A creature with duck's feet,
snake's heart and an
ass's disposition.
No!
It is our country cousin who,
by failing to be conscientious
in the use of his gun,
has made our city cousin
write this dreaded law.
Aye, aye, aye!
Doodly do.
Hello, Miss Lucy.
Whatever it is you think
you're hidin' from...
I'm doin' no such thing.
You know exactly where to find me.
I don't mean from me.
What, then?
I see you, Ward Allen.
I see what you're capable of,
and I see how far
you've missed the mark.
Sweetheart, you questioning
my marksmanship?
I question your choices,
especially the ones that will
send you to an early grave.
Woman, you'd have me your lap dog,
sittin' at your heels,
fetchin' at your command.
Well, I tell you what, little lady,
even a retriever must
have its own instincts,
act on its own accord,
if it's to be worth its salt.
Oh, apropos you would
liken yourself to a dog.
Woof!
I am my own master.
Leave me be, woman.
Never.
You will if I say so.
So you'll shoot me?
See me now?
By the plaintiff's own admission,
on the day in question,
and by her own eyewitness account,
she has established it was I
that shot out cleanly the
eyes of this portrait
from a distance of no less than...
15 paces,
our parlor being the
largest room in the house.
There are many tests
of a man's relative sobriety.
And I offer to you that such
a piece of marksmanship
belongs among those tests.
It can only be deduced then
that the esteemed lady is incorrect
in one statement or the other.
Either I was drunk... Whoo!
Or I made these shots.
But most certainly...
Most certainly, the
two statements stand
as mutually incompatible
assertions.
This is ridiculous!
Mr. Allen, your reputation
as a marksman is well established.
And clearly, I would not have
to bend the law or my judgment
very far to dismiss the charge
and send you on your way.
Fancy logic does not
change the truth!
Sit down, please, Mrs. Allen.
Get off of me!
However, I find it in the
interest of public safety
to call you guilty...
What?!
and put you in jail for 10 days.
Hear, hear!
Order. Order.
This is an atrocity.
Approach.
Approach now.
10 days may not be
enough to cool her off.
If I were you, I would
spend those 10 days
using my way with
words to conjure up
one big Kingdom Come
prayer for your salvation.
I, Ward Allen, was wrong.
I, Ward Allen, may have been wrong.
Before you check to see
if the fires of hell
have turned to ice,
let me emphasize that I would do
or have done
nothing different in my life.
But it seems that perhaps our world
met a fork in the road,
and the world took one path,
and I took the other.
Perhaps this is an
inevitable result,
and each of us are
doomed to find ourselves
on a path alone in the end,
especially those of us who
found the world as it was
to be a close to perfect place...
those who accepted that
the affairs of men
are like those of a river,
where time and tide are the
ultimate shapers of a life,
where procreation,
migration, and even death
are spokes of the same wheel
that turns in heaven's vault
just the way it should.
But there are others
who are determined
to reshape that wheel
and turn back the tide,
and they appear ready to do it.
Maybe they are right,
representing as they do,
an impulse in the breast of man
that drives our species
toward restless industry.
Maybe we are here to
remake everything,
reshape everything,
create our own new
idea of perfection
and leave God's idea to the
dim shades of history.
And maybe I, having fought
against that new idea,
rejected that idea,
found that idea abhorrent,
maybe I was wrong.
But I do not think so.
Because I believe if we
have grown as a species,
it has been because of
the test of wildness,
and if we succeed in remaking
wildness into mildness,
then we will begin to diminish.
But all I have accomplished
is a broken knuckle or two
and hurting myself and my own
more than those who are
the target of my calumny.
So perhaps I'd do better
to take my pokes on these pages
and take direction from the Bard...
"Let there be gall
enough in thy ink."
It's worth a try.
Did you read my article?
Yes.
Good.
Is that all?
Uh...
Hmm.
I won't be disgraced again.
It's not befitting a mother.
Doctor Bryson is sure.
What?
Don't speak right now, Ward.
I want you to think very, very
carefully about how you feel,
because I can't bear
for you to tell me
anything less than God's own truth.
Oh, bring me a gator
Girl, when you come off the island
Whoa, just a ringtail 'ator
Girl, when you come off the island
Just a Darien gator
Girl, when you come off the island
Oh, girl, when you
come off the island
That's the quota.
12 for Ehrlich's store,
20 for the DeSoto.
Next thing you know,
they'll make us buy
the duck we shot back
from the grocery store,
twice what they paid
us in the first place.
Christmas...
would you look at that!
Lucy's barge.
Lucy hit it.
I'll be damned.
One of the more improbable stories
this old boat's got to tell.
You reckon she's seaworthy?
Well, it'll float,
that's what you mean.
Christmas, white oak.
Virginia.
Uncle John took me to
Richmond when I was a boy.
Told me the aggression was coming.
I ever tell you about
my tree house?
Uncle John built it.
Came up to Allen Station
when Sherman got near.
I was scared half to death.
He said we'd live in it,
the Yankees burn the
big house down.
You must have seen the war.
No, sir.
Too young to remember.
Yeah.
What's a man to do he
can't work an honest day?
Well, two hours at least
before we get these
duck off our hands.
I have a surprise.
Ward, don't sneak
up on me like that,
unless you want this
baby to come early.
For the boy.
What if it's a girl?
Anyway, I just wanted to show you.
Let me see your duck
hunting face, Ward.
No.
Let him see your duck hunting face.
Now, Sheriff, I didn't take
one more than the law allows.
Ward, it's Mrs. Allen.
You got yourself a little boy!
Oh!
Whoo!
I'm sorry, Ward.
I...
She's resting.
I'll just sit with her.
That won't do right now, Ward.
Where...
Where's the boy?
Ward, you need to look past
a crude understanding
of the word "asylum"
and see that it's a refuge.
There has to be another way.
She needs to be watched constantly,
force-fed if need be, and bathed.
Can you do that?
He can't even keep her
in out of the rain.
Perhaps she'll come
back to herself.
It... It's just a signature.
I have a pen.
There's something I
need to show you.
My family was a grand family.
I figured out how
to make my own way.
You said it yourself.
It was a lot of bluster.
But this is...
This is real.
The river and you.
I should have brought
you here before.
You're cold.
You're past the quota.
Ward!
That was a standing order.
Game and Fish were here.
They told us if we bought
anything more from you,
they would take our license.
You think Judge
Harden wants to find
yard scratch on his
plate come Sunday? Hmm?
Have some backbone, Mathias!
You are a crazy man!
You want to see crazy?
Aah!
You want to see crazy?
Aah! Aah!
Ward...
let's get out of here.
This ain't the place
for us no more.
If you see my mother
Oh, yes
Won't you tell her from me
Oh, yes
I'm a-riding my horse
Get up!
In the battlefield
I want to see my
Jesus in the morning
Has the family been
here since the fire?
Do you know these
waters around here?
This make it worth your while?
I need a river guide.
There's nothing Mr. Allen wants?
No, sir, Mr. Walton.
Just sell the house,
give Mrs. Lucy the best.
Mr. Walton?
Maybe there's one thing.
It's just like you say.
Mrs. Lucy gonna be comfortable.
Mr. Walton gonna to see to it.
Judge Harden say to tell you
they upholding the law.
City can't go against Federal.
That's in the paper.
Judge Harden lend you his old boat.
Said keep it...
long as you promise
to bring him a Sunday bird
every once in a while.
Mr. Homer say to post your
mail to the hardware store.
Well...
I'll pick up your mail at Homer's.
Evenin', Mr. Ward.
ROY McCLAIN:
Jack, I just gotta confirm,
you got Christmas off the land.
Listen, Roy, I've been
thinking about this.
Christmas is 95 years old.
Probably gonna see 105.
He was born on Mulberry
on Christmas day.
He is the last surviving
member of that plantation.
He's not family.
Well, not blood,
but freed slaves have rights.
John Eliot Ward wrote
that deed himself.
That ain't the point, Jack.
Besides, Christmas can't
even take care of himself.
He'd probably starve to death
if you weren't feeding him.
Thought you were gonna save that
for a special occasion?
Well, there's... There's
nothing as special
as the present, Roy.
Let me ask you something.
You ever stop and listen to the
words of the old Negro songs?
Can't understand a word they say.
Let me sing one for you.
I'm gonna sit in the humble chair
I'm gonna rock from side to side
Until I die
I'm gonna sit in the humble chair
Till I die
You're a good man, Jack...
but mark my word,
what you said is exactly
what you're going to find one day.
You can't hold back time.
Holding back the tide
with that fountain
pen Lucy gave him.
You've nothing left to prove
with guns and bluster, Ward.
Try a different weapon.
I've written dozens of
articles on shooting
and twice more than that
lambasting the damn fool game laws.
I probably know more quotes
from English letters
than any man, save an Oxford don.
I can tell you the name,
color, use, and disposition
of a dozen type of feathers,
and at least that many
species of waterfowl.
I have a collection
of Confederate money
I saved myself,
beginning before the war ended...
and a lifetime of
practical experience
having virtually no value
in the world today.
50 years on the river I love,
and the damn thing has washed me up
on the bank of a city I
no longer recognize,
inhabited by people I don't
remember inviting here.
All those arguments won,
and now it seems I've
misplaced my winnings.
So be it.
This is where I pulled my skiff.
Christmas, you too lazy to
poke at a fire once in awhile?
I brought you a piece
of Babs' pecan pie.
Johnny made her make
a pie for school.
I said only on condition
Christmas gets a slice.
Oh, hey, Christmas,
I read Ward's last
article in the paper.
Christmas?
Well, Little Jack,
Ward Allen fell to sleep
in the barber chair,
but not before he
laid down the law.
He say don't lay a finger
upon his mustache.
"And the Ambassador
told Ward Allen,
"'You ever come back to Russia,
I will deliver you to the
Tsar myself in shackles.'"
"Christmas Moultrie knew Ward Allen
"better than any other
person that lived,
"and although one to the manor born
"and the other born to slavery,
"they were kindred spirits.
"As a child, I hunted
with Christmas.
"After a long day on the river,
"Christmas would sit in his
rocker before the fireplace,
"gazing up at the picture of Ward,
and with delicate slowness..."
"talk of his white friend."
Now, Christmas told a story,
he told it exactly
the same every time,
not a word out of place.
But there was one story
he would never tell me.
I must have asked a hundred times,
how did Ward Allen die?
I figured he'd go to his
grave without me knowin'.
But I didn't see
that he's been tellin'
me my whole life.
And now, well...
I think he was just holdin' on
till I figured it out.
Well, did you?
Yes, son.
I think I did.
I should have brought
you here before.
Hey, look here.
Look what I got.
Look right here.
He looks like Buffalo Bill.
Yeah, he does.
Yeah, Ward was the best
shot on the Savannah River.
Did I tell you about the time
he shot the eyes out
of Lucy's portrait?
Clean out, just popped them out.
Oh, hey, look.
Look, right back in there.
See it?
Is that a crane?
Dad, how do you think
Ward Allen died?
Son, the important thing
about a man's death
is how it reflects his life...
if it was on his own terms and...
if there was some meaning in it.
There's some meaning
in it, I think.
I feel as if I'm up there,
pulling toward them.
Pulling toward some...
distant purpose.
Oh, bring me a gator
Girl, when you come off the island
A ringtail 'ator
Girl, when you come off the island
A Darien gator
Girl, when you come off the island
A ringtail 'ator
Girl, when you come off the island
A Darien gator
Girl, when you come off the island
A ringtail 'ator
Girl, when you come off the island
A Darien gator
Girl, when you come off the island
Ohh, when you come off the island
Wade in the water
Wade in the water, children
Wade in the water
God's gonna trouble the water
If you don't believe
I've been redeemed
God's gonna trouble the water
Follow me down to Jordan's stream
God's gonna trouble the water
Who that yonder dressed in white?
God's gonna trouble the water
Must be the children
of the Israelites
God's gonna trouble the water
Wade in the water
Wade in the water, children
Wade in the water
God's gonna trouble the water
If you don't believe
I've been redeemed
God's gonna trouble the water
Follow me down to Jordan's stream
God's gonna trouble the water
Who that yonder dressed in white?
God's gonna trouble the water
Must be the children
of the Israelites
God's gonna trouble the water
Wade in the water
Wade in the water, children
Wade in the water
God's gonna trouble the water
Wade in the water
Everybody wade in
the water, children
Wade in the water
God's gonna trouble the water
God's gonna trouble the water
Wade in the water
Everybody wade in
the water, children
Wade in the water
God's gonna trouble the water
Wade in the water
Everybody wade in
the water, children
Wade in the water
God's gonna trouble the water
- He missed?
- Oh. Yes, sir.
Ward Allen missed his first duck.
Aw, come on, Christmas.
Uncle John told me
the story himself.
Tell me another story, Christmas.
The one where Ward nearly
killed that Russian.
Come on, Little Jack.
I told you that story
now a hundred times.
I said wade in the water
Wade in the water, children
Wade in the water
God's gonna trouble the water
Wade in the water
Wade in the water, children
Wade in the water
God's gonna trouble the water
Oh, look at those
babies dressed in red
God's gonna trouble the water
Oh, they must have been
the babies Moses led
God's gonna trouble the water
Wade in the water
Wade in water, children
Wade in the water
God's gonna trouble the water
Oh, Jesus met the woman,
met her at the well
God's gonna trouble the water
He said, "Look out lady,
you're headin' for hell"
God's gonna trouble the water
I said wade in the water
Wade in the water, children
Wade in the water
God's gonna trouble the water
I said God's gonna
trouble the water
I said God's gonna trouble
The water
You got to help me
out here, Christmas.
Used to be people out
here who knew you.
Must still be some of them around.
All right, Little Jack.
You want to hear the story
about how Ward Allen
beat up them Russians.
No.
I've heard that story
a hundred times.
Half a mustache...
Christmas, they sold the land.
You don't get up out of that chair,
it's gonna be sitting in a pile
of debris with you still in it.
That's where I'm gonna find you.
You understand?
Well, Little Jack, Ward Allen fell
to sleep in the barber chair,
but not before he
laid down the law.
He say don't lay a finger...
upon that mustache.
Would have killed him, too,
'cept three Russians jump him.
Ambassador told Ward,
"You ever come back to Russia,
I'll march you down
to the Tsar myself."
In shackles.
All right.
You got some perishables
you better eat first.
Babs' peas and collard greens.
You don't need be going to all
that trouble, Little Jack.
What'd you finally write about?
Oh, just some stories
Christmas used to tell.
You know, Jack, the girls
and I have been talking.
We don't see...
That's a great idea.
Why don't you girls start
your own little club?
You gotta spread joy
Up to the maximum
Bring gloom
Down to the minimum
Have faith
Or pandemonium's
Liable to walk up on the scene
You got to ac-cent-tchu-ate
the positive
Eliminate the negative
And latch on to the affirmative
Don't mess with
Mister In-Between
No, don't mess with
Mister In-Between
Dad, can I have the camera?
Did I ever tell you the story
about how Ward Allen
almost killed a man
for cutting off his mustache?
No, sir.
No?
Ward Allen's mustache,
that was his pride and joy.
His father had sent him to Russia
for shooting a man in a duel...
But not before he
laid down the law.
He say don't lay a finger
upon his mustache.
Would have killed him, too,
'cept three Russians jump him.
Christmas Moultrie knew Ward Allen
better than any other
person that ever lived,
and although one to the manor born
and the other born to slavery,
they were kindred spirits.
As a child, I hunted
with Christmas.
After a long day on the river,
Christmas would sit in his
rocker before the fireplace,
gazing up at the picture of Ward,
and tell us stories.
As we grew up, those stories
became the stuff of legend.
And though none of us
were related to him,
there wasn't a man among us
who didn't wish he had a
bit of Ward Allen in him.
Damn.
I told you to keep your gloves on.
I can't work my hands in 'em.
Christmas, that sentiment has
no sense about it or in it.
Mr. Ward, my hands are
too cold to pull them on,
and the gloves are
too cold to help.
Piss on your hands, then.
Why don't you piss your own?
My hands are neither
cold nor cut, sir,
allowing that, I can spare
myself the indignity.
Oh, yes, sir.
You spare yourself the
dignity all the time.
In-dignity. In...
Uh-huh, that, too.
Get in the boat before you talk
all the birds right on out of here.
This dog here got more
manners upon four legs
than most Savannah people
walking around upon two.
Generations of us have hunted
on the river and fields
of our county...
something passed between
father and son.
If history is our religion,
then hunting is one
of its sacraments.
Ward Allen once wrote it down,
"The river belonged
to us, and we to it."
And we to it,
like a cathedral no hands
of man could ever build.
This is as close as
a sinner like me
will ever come to the face of God.
What became tradition
for my generation
had once been a way of life,
and for the very best
hunters, it was a livelihood,
supplying the markets of
Savannah with fresh fowl.
Of the men that plied that trade,
Ward and Christmas
were the very best.
One of these mornings, Christmas,
you're gonna shoot your
share of these birds.
Well, if I only shot
a few of these duck,
I'd be happy just to carry my own,
let you handle the rest.
See how I can tell?
All the ones with that
surprised look in their eyes,
yeah, they're the ones you shot.
They can't really believe
it finally happened.
I don't see no surprised look
in the duck eye, Mr. Ward.
Well, see, you don't see,
so you're making my point.
I do see that a bunch of them
look like they dead
from laughing, though,
tickled to death at that
silly little 7 shot you use.
Christmas, with a name like yours,
you have a duty towards avoiding
such sarcastic constructions.
They don't become you.
Save them $10 words for the judge.
Ward Allen's river
and his way of life
might have gone on forever
if time and tide and the law
had not had other ideas.
And the new laws found in
Ward an implacable opponent.
Young blood doth not
obey an old decree.
We cannot cross the
cause why we were born.
Let us lose our oaths
to find ourselves,
or we will lose ourselves
to keep our oaths.
Your Honor.
Well remembered, Mr. Allen,
and, uh, nicely edited.
Thank you, sir.
But are you saying you
were born to hunt,
or saying you were
born to break the law?
I do recollect there are a few
who say you have a
natural talent for both.
I am slow of study, Your Honor,
and if there is a
law I truly broke,
I have not read it.
I may be a bit too good of a shot,
and there may be some who
try to construe that
against my character,
which efforts I generally
choose to forbear.
But when this type
of personal dispute
is deranged in such a way
as to bring in front of
this august assembly,
all I can say is, on my honor,
neither my partner
nor I have willingly
nor willfully broken a true law!
Or a law made in error.
Error?
And who is the judge of that?
Why you, sir, without question.
And, if you'll allow,
there are more than a few
who say you have a natural
talent in that regard.
Lord, help us.
Order. Order, please.
You... You expect me
to believe all this?
Mine honor is my life.
Both grow in one.
Take honor from me
and my life is done.
Richard III.
The Second, Act 1.
I stand corrected.
Nevertheless, you
are guilty as sin.
But in light of all the factors,
probation for six months...
Not again!
during which time
you'll be pure as the driven snow.
Thank you, Your Honor.
Once again, liberty plucks
justice by the nose!
All right.
They could have let
us keep our quota.
Commissioner be
eating good tonight.
Oh, there's no logic
to it, Christmas.
They expect us to
let the duck fly by
just to go and get
shot in South America.
Mr. Ward, this one right
here ain't gonna make it.
Shh.
Here! Rock!
Heel.
Christmas, um,
have the skiff at Broad
quarter past 3:00 and...
keep the bird for supper.
All right, then.
Evening, Mr. Ward.
Here!
That wasn't a hug!
I better go now.
Hey! Come on!
I'm a Yankee Doodle, why?
I report back to Uncle Sam
So I can't shoot birds out the sky
Oh! Rock!
Come on.
Good boy.
I'm certain you could
shoot as many as me
if you give up your
aversion to gloves.
I get 36.
Order was 39.
We got 39.
Fine.
I count again.
All right, let's say we
shot the same number
and leave the unlikely
metaphysical ramification
of such a fact for another day.
Well, all right then.
You just keep carrying me,
I keep carrying your duck.
There you are.
$61.50.
Uh, pardon me, mademoiselle,
I, uh, hope he didn't disturb you.
No. He's delightful.
Well, just the same,
he's not to leave me,
by arrangement of the management.
You see, he doesn't
really belong in here.
Well, the same could be
said for those boots.
Oh, these boots are
somewhat less headstrong.
They, uh, stay better to heel.
Lucy, we're ready.
Well, now it's my turn
to be called to heel.
DESK CLERK Mr. Allen, your money.
Excuse me.
Are you Mr. Ward Allen?
Yes, I am.
Have we met?
Well, let's just say I've
met your reputation,
far and wide, in fact.
Lies substantially.
Oh, so you aren't the best
guide on the river then.
No, I'm no guide at all.
I am a market hunter.
Yes, you're the one.
I happen to have a house guest,
a gentleman from Virginia.
He's the son of Sir Stuart Graham,
close friend and colleague,
and he'd like to hunt our river.
Well, any fool can find it for him.
I'm not looking for just any fool.
I'm looking for the
best fool going,
and they say that's you.
Is it?
A day as a guide
is a significant loss of
production from my end.
Oh, money's no object.
All right,
but no one touches my guns...
or my dog.
Splendid.
Then we have a deal.
Your gesture is deeply appreciated,
and I assure you, Mr. Graham
will come well-equipped.
Careful.
That bag was a gift from
the Governor of Virginia.
Well, then it should
hold up just fine.
I don't know how you do
this in, uh, Virginia,
but here, we prefer
to come unannounced.
I assure you, I've
hunted India, Africa.
My steady companion...
Are you here to hunt,
or to impress the dog with
your pedigree, Mr. Graham?
If my sources are correct,
and I'm sure they are,
you're a bit of a
paradox, Mr. Allen.
You were educated abroad,
at my alma mater, Oxford, in fact.
Known as Buffalo Bill,
yet you are the descendent
and sole inheritor of
the Allen plantation.
I'm, uh, but a laborer.
I earn that I eat,
get that I wear...
owe no man hate,
envy no man's happiness.
Content...
with my harm.
Truly of the manor born,
and yet you choose a Negro
as your steady companion.
No wonder Mr. Stubbs sent
all the way to Virginia
to find a suitor for his daughter.
Get out.
I'll do no such thing!
I promised Miss Stubbs a
fresh bird for her table.
It is your job to ensure
that I keep that promise.
May I remind you that
you are a paid guide?
No good hunter takes a shot
unless he knows he can't miss.
Get out.
You have not heard
the last of this.
You likely stirred up trouble
now with Mr. Stubbs.
Don't you have a cousin
that cooks for Stubbs?
Not saying I don't, but she'd never
talk about nothin' wasn't her business.
That's right.
You, either.
That's right.
That's why you wouldn't know
nothin' about Stubbs' daughter.
The one that turned
down Lynah's boy?
Which your cousin
never told you about.
Exactly.
Well, look at that.
Doodly Do found his way home.
Now, sir, account for yourself.
Evening, Mr. Sheriff, Mr. Stubbs.
We had a deal, Allen.
Yes, we did.
To take a gentleman on the river.
However, Mr. Graham proved
to be no gentleman at all.
See, I feared he'd bring
embarrassment to you
and your lovely family,
boasting as it were
over his intentions
towards your daughter.
I... I... I resolutely refused
to take a cent of your money, sir.
Please, if you will...
Um, if I had exercised
my better judgment,
you would not have been exposed
to this public embarrassment.
Well, appreciate that.
I'd be pleased if you'd take
a pair of mallards for your table.
Well, our cook does do
wonders with waterfowl.
First thing in the morning, then.
Hyah! Hyah!
Quack quack quack.
Mr. Allen.
What happy accident
brings you here?
Um, I promised your
father some fresh duck.
Oh, well.
A promise well kept, I see.
Oh, look, you brought your friend.
He seems glad to see me.
He's smarter than he looks.
Indeed.
Next thing I know, he'll
be quoting Shakespeare.
Uh, please tell your father
to, uh, remove the
shot from the birds
or tell your cook,
whatever you plans.
Good day, Miss Stubbs.
Oh, Mr. Allen, I wish
to inquire, uh...
Father.
A man of his word.
Hmm. Indeed.
Um, I was on the verge
of asking Mr. Allen
for a guide on the river.
You see, Mr. Allen, I've
never seen the city
from the perspective of the river,
and I'm told it's quite beautiful.
And Father here has no
inclination towards rowing.
Lucy, I'm sure Mr. Allen's time
would be better spent
at his enterprise.
Thanks very much,
Ward, for the duck.
I'm sure it will be
a meal to remember.
Well, the least we can do then
is invite Mr. Allen for supper.
Sunday? The DeSoto?
Noon, then.
All right.
Plato likens the mind of man
to an aviary of birds,
and birds to kinds of knowledge.
I find it a queer thing, knowledge,
because no matter how
tight the logic,
there's always the errant fact,
like... like...
like a solitary bird,
separated from the flock
in search of adventure.
Are you suggesting
birds can reason?
What is reason next to yearning?
Yes. Well, ahem...
tell me, Allen,
with all this foreign
education under your belt,
how is it you choose
to subject yourself
to the rigors of an outdoor life?
Why not embrace the joys
of the airless boardroom?
Well, the rewards are not
subject to the whims of nature.
But instead on the
whims of man's nature.
I find nature's nature
far more predictable
and far more, uh, honest.
Fair enough.
Can't argue with that.
Still, you do seem to have a talent
for discourse and persuasion.
I could see you being
very successful
in the courtroom, for instance.
As a boy, I wasted
many beautiful days
in a dusty law office,
by arrangement of my parents.
They were bent on my
entering the profession.
Following the footsteps of the
Honorable John Eliot Ward, no less?
You seem to have inherited from him
a fine servant in
Christmas Moultrie.
My uncle saw in Christmas
an accomplished guide,
and he hired him for his services.
If anyone did the inheriting,
it was Christmas of me.
You turn everything on its
head, don't you, Allen?
Quite the rebel.
And here I thought you'd
been exaggerated.
Well, men should be what they seem.
Or those that be not,
would not they be none?
Well, I think it's
absolutely delightful...
a man of letters who's
returned to nature.
And a sprinkle of
civil disobedience
for good measure.
If you are suggesting
I'm some sort of
contemporary Thoreau,
you are mistaken.
I have no agenda.
I simply prefer this life.
Christmas!
The sheriff stole our order
from Ehrlich's store.
Mr. Ward?
I am guilty of nothing but
an honest day's work,
while he steals a meal
right off a man's table.
Mr. Ward!
I have a good mind to write
the editor of the paper,
and don't think I won't.
I beg your pardon.
I think writing to the
paper's a fine idea.
Miss Stubbs here
hired our services.
To do what?
Don't worry, Mr. Allen.
I simply wish to collect
cuttings for my garden.
A wildflower can be
cultivated in a city garden?
Well, with the right nurturing,
most anything can be cultivated.
Well, I better get these birds here
over to the DeSoto before
the Sheriff lock them up, too.
Yeah.
Good afternoon, Miss Stubbs.
Christmas.
I've seen artists' renderings,
but I had no idea.
It's like floating
on a sea of stars.
And that perfume.
Mmm.
It's like stars made of sugar.
Starry archipelagoes...
raving skies.
Yes.
Raving skies.
My father built a
solarium for my garden.
When I was a little girl,
I couldn't be outside,
and the solarium seemed
impossibly large to fill,
but I filled it till bursting.
And when there was no
more room for planting,
I laid down in the
middle of the floor,
buried beneath the flowers
and imagined I was flying.
A flying carpet.
You know Vasnetsov's painting?
Yeah.
Oh.
My father knew the
Russian Ambassador.
He described it in
such vivid detail,
I felt like I'd seen it
with my own two eyes.
Well, now, you must have known
the Russian Ambassador.
Father says you were in Russia?
Oh, the first time I disappeared
beneath the flowers,
my parents couldn't find me.
Well, Father nearly had
a heart attack, but...
He'd spent my whole life
trying to protect me
from all kinds of imagined horrors,
and there I had
vanished into thin air.
It was my refuge.
If I were a bird, you
wouldn't catch me.
You see, I recognize a
decoy when I see one.
So, what kind of bird would I be?
Uh, I beg your pardon?
If I were a bird and
you were hunting me,
what would I be?
Well?
A mallard.
Particularly beautiful
bird in flight.
That's all? Just a bunch
of pretty feathers?
Oh, no.
I enjoy a bird that uses its, uh,
native cunning to
outwit the hunter.
A mallard has canny.
I see.
Mmm.
Hmm...
There's some meaning
in it, I think.
I don't know if I can put
my finger on it, but...
sometimes I feel as
if I'm up there,
pulling toward some...
distant purpose.
Teach me to shoot.
What?
Not a bird, a...
a target.
That old barge over
there, is it loaded?
Of course, it is.
Careful, now...
Oh!
Uh... Here!
Grab this, here!
Grab it.
Grab the gun.
Hold on.
Good. Good.
You can't swim.
Don't worry, it'll be our secret.
It's not a secret.
It's just not a publicized fact.
Oh, well, hmm...
Truth hath a quiet breast.
You're a rare man, Ward Allen.
And while I do find your word
play entertaining to a point,
I'm not a patient woman.
Can you remember that?
I will.
Can you remember not
to touch my guns?
Yes, I can.
Okay, then.
Yes.
I've made my decision, Father.
You've ruined so many
prospects, Lucy.
Hmm.
Nothing but boys,
following in their
father's footsteps.
I'd know my life before
I had even lived it.
The man's a boor.
Ward Allen walked away
from a fine inheritance.
God knows why.
He wanted to be free.
Free?
His Negro's free.
Father!
Lucy, don't say anymore.
Let's talk this over while
we're away this summer.
I won't be accompanying you
to the Vineyard, Mother.
I am neither yours to
dispense nor to withhold.
Hyah hyah hyah!
Aah!
Mrs. Ward Allen!
Your beauty startles the night!
I shall make a quick loop
around the Earth and return!
Prepare!
Don't you dare!
Eat no onions nor garlic...
Stop that man!
for we are to utter sweet breath.
I will, soon as he stops shootin'.
Make way!
Hyah hyah hyah hyah!
They should be there
waiting for us.
Much obliged for the
sleep, Officer.
My pleasure, Ward.
Hope the little lady's
ready to receive you.
You know, a woman ain't an
argument to win, don't you?
One of these decoys here ain't
gonna bring Miss Lucy in.
Ah, but for thy sweet
understanding, Christmas, a woman.
You're a perfect beast!
Lucy.
Lucy?
Lucy, let me in!
You can sleep with the dog!
That's where you belong!
It's Rock you should
have betrothed!
Please, my dear, at least let me in
behind the privacy of closed doors.
Privacy?
Mm-hmm.
Do you think there's
a soul in Savannah
that doesn't know you left my side
in the middle of the night
to wallow in a vat of whiskey?
Now, Lucy...
You're right.
I... I temper myself
to keep my temper,
and if I need to water
myself down at times,
well, admit it.
A smaller man could never
hold your interest.
As I am, I adore you.
How well you show it.
What would you have me do, hmm?
What would you have me do?
To gild refined gold,
to paint the lily...
to throw perfume on the violet...
to add another hue
into the rainbow.
Mm.
Wasteful and ridiculous...
excess.
It's cold
It's cold
Now I lost my lover
It's cold
And where shall I find her?
Heh.
Pardon the tardiness, Mr. Moultrie.
Late's still better
than never, Mr. Ward.
Bring me a gator
Girl, when you get off the island
A ringtail 'ator
Oh, when you get off the island
Clear.
A Darien gator
Girl, when you get off the island
Ohh, when you get off the island
All right, that's it.
That's the last of them.
That's 10 for Ehrlich's,
20 for the DeSoto.
Uh-huh.
That's almost a quarter.
What the hell was that?
It's Old Man Lynah!
Ain't I tell you not to
get on his property?
Oh, sh...
Ho!
He knows it's us, Mr. Ward!
Well, if he knows it's
us, why is he shootin'?
He's mad about you hitchin' up
with Miss Lucy, that's why.
I did that man a favor.
Lucy'd eat his boy for lunch.
All the same, he all worked up,
and you the best one to blame!
This is ridiculous.
Let's get out of here.
Mr. Lynah, uh... truce!
Truce.
We'll just...
We'll be on our way.
Rock! Here!
Yeah. We'll... We'll
be on out of here.
Here! Go on up!
Here. Here.
Come! Sit. Come here.
Here!
Christmas, you haven't
said a word since Lynah's.
No, sir.
Why?
I got nothin' to say, sir.
Since when?
All I'm saying is,
it would have been
different it was just me.
You still mad about that?
All I'm for saying is.
Listen up now.
Lynah was aiming to hit me,
and every man around here
has a right to defend
his own property.
All right, then.
Afternoon, Mr. Ward.
Hey.
It is an absolute
preposterous statement
the outcome would have been
different had I not been there.
Lynah was aimed to
shoot me, all right?
He missed and we got away!
No, sir, you got away!
I just be along there with
you like the dog here!
Well, if I hadn't been there,
he wouldn't have chased Rock
down the river and killed him!
No, sir, he would have
let your dog live!
All I'm sa...
Your world ain't mine,
you understand?
Can I be of any
assistance, Mr. Allen?
Gimme a whiskey.
Why do you hunt, sir?
It's a gentleman's sport.
Makes you feel sporty,
does it, huh,
to shoot a bird or two?
Do you know these birds?
Can you tell a canvasback
from a widgeon
from the way it turns in the air,
from how it feeds?
Do you know the journeys they take,
their determination, power of will
wrapped up in that small little breast
you fill so carelessly with shot?
Do you?
Listen to you, the
original noble savage.
You know nothin',
and you think about nothin'.
200 taken my way is an honest act.
It is a transaction
as old as our two species.
See, I know what I do.
Two single birds taken your way,
now, that's what I
call a slaughter.
A gun room has guns in it!
And a home has a husband in it.
Mr. John says you was worrisome.
What else did my uncle
say, Mr. Moultrie?
Call me Christmas that's all.
Christmas.
Well, Mr. John say they
won't take the summer duck.
Oh, hell will freeze over
before they take mine.
I'll take it all the way to the
Supreme Court if I have to.
Young blood doth not
obey an old decree.
We cannot cross the
cause why we were born.
Well, Mr. Judge, the
alligator got no limit,
and the raccoon ain't got no limit,
so why should Christmas
have a limit?
Well, this is serious, Christmas.
Repeated probationary sentences
cannot be supported.
Sir, Warden Rossignol
clearly states
that he identified me
at the distance of
200 yards at sunset.
Your Honor, this is a
matter of undisputed fact.
Excuse me, Your Honor,
but the undisputed facts are these.
200 yards, sunset,
saw grass this time
of year this high.
Person firing at ducks,
who must have stood at least
this deep in the mire,
meaning that at 200 yards,
Warden Rossignol might deduce
what species of God's
creation fired the gun,
but would not have been
able to sex the shooter,
much less identify
him... or her.
Or anyone for that matter who
owns a shotgun in the county.
By the way, Your Honor, you
still own that Greener?
Yes, I do.
Yeah, it's beautifully
made, isn't it?
Oh, yes.
If the English made kings
the way they made guns,
we'd still be a colony.
Your Honor!
Of course, of course.
Uh, of course.
Uh, Christmas, uh,
you knew it was against the
law to shoot summer duck.
Yes, sir.
Well, Christmas, why then did
you not dispose of the ducks?
Sir?
What I mean is, Christmas,
when you saw the warden coming,
why didn't you throw
away the summer duck?
Mr. Judge, you must
never et a summer duck.
Case dismissed.
Well, go on, open it.
You've nothing left to prove
with guns and bluster, Ward.
Try a different weapon.
They're building a new factory.
Imperial.
Imperial, my ass.
They cleared all but
that patch over there.
The boss man's new hunting ground.
What kind of fool thinks a duck,
with all the low country
from here to the Everglades,
is gonna fly in that
concrete patch?
It's no good here.
Hey. Wh... where's Rock?
Rock!
Last I seen him,
he was over by that tree there.
Mr. Ward...
Rock always done us his best.
Now he done his last.
Shakespeare could not have
said it better, Christmas.
"How a Duck Hunter
Avoids Being a Sinner."
Oh, did I tell you I found
some of Ward's newspaper articles?
Listen to this.
Called "How the Duck Hunter
Avoids Being a Sinner."
"With all sorts of unreasonable
"and absurd restrictions
on duck shootin' now,
"fella can't go out in
the short open season
"without transgressing
some of the fool don'ts.
"So the safest way to
avoid being a sinner
"when a fella goes duck shootin',
is not to shoot anything at all".
Yeah, Ward was prolific.
Holding back the tide
with that fountain
pen Lucy gave him.
Yeah.
Trying to, anyway.
Everybody's emptying
out their attics
for Lila's historical society.
Homer built her, got
to be 200 crates.
Won't take a nickel for them.
Homer's daddy the same.
Settled Ward's account for
a couple of old guns.
You know, my daddy was on the
search party found Ward's body.
Said he found him in...
wearing his pajamas.
Some say it wasn't an accident.
What is?
Yeah.
Well, whatever it is Ward
was searching for...
it eluded him.
Might as well add that
to your collection.
Christmas, I...
I found you a place to live.
It's comfortable.
It's not home, but
I made sure of it.
You're gonna be comfortable.
All right.
What'd I tell you about
the fire, Christmas?
Don't get lazy while I'm gone
and let it burn out.
Jack t' the rack back,
stick it ball a hack
Low ball high ball, scallion jack
Jack t' the rack back,
stick it ball a hack
Low ball high ball, scallion jack
Jack t' the rack back,
stick it ball a hack
Low ball high ball, scallion jack
Jack t' the rack back,
stick it ball a hack
Low ball high ball, scallion jack
Jack t' the rack back,
stick it ball a hack
Low ball high ball, scallion jack
Jack t' the rack back,
stick it ball a hack
Low ball high ball, scallion...
But I feel like a hunter
with two coveys flushed at once!
So, I ask you, which
way do I shoot?
Well, not at your fellow
hunter, for God's sake.
What'd you say?
What'd you say?
Then at the city bird that
created this abominable law?
Why, his is but empty bravado,
amateur posturing.
A creature with duck's feet,
snake's heart and an
ass's disposition.
No!
It is our country cousin who,
by failing to be conscientious
in the use of his gun,
has made our city cousin
write this dreaded law.
Aye, aye, aye!
Doodly do.
Hello, Miss Lucy.
Whatever it is you think
you're hidin' from...
I'm doin' no such thing.
You know exactly where to find me.
I don't mean from me.
What, then?
I see you, Ward Allen.
I see what you're capable of,
and I see how far
you've missed the mark.
Sweetheart, you questioning
my marksmanship?
I question your choices,
especially the ones that will
send you to an early grave.
Woman, you'd have me your lap dog,
sittin' at your heels,
fetchin' at your command.
Well, I tell you what, little lady,
even a retriever must
have its own instincts,
act on its own accord,
if it's to be worth its salt.
Oh, apropos you would
liken yourself to a dog.
Woof!
I am my own master.
Leave me be, woman.
Never.
You will if I say so.
So you'll shoot me?
See me now?
By the plaintiff's own admission,
on the day in question,
and by her own eyewitness account,
she has established it was I
that shot out cleanly the
eyes of this portrait
from a distance of no less than...
15 paces,
our parlor being the
largest room in the house.
There are many tests
of a man's relative sobriety.
And I offer to you that such
a piece of marksmanship
belongs among those tests.
It can only be deduced then
that the esteemed lady is incorrect
in one statement or the other.
Either I was drunk... Whoo!
Or I made these shots.
But most certainly...
Most certainly, the
two statements stand
as mutually incompatible
assertions.
This is ridiculous!
Mr. Allen, your reputation
as a marksman is well established.
And clearly, I would not have
to bend the law or my judgment
very far to dismiss the charge
and send you on your way.
Fancy logic does not
change the truth!
Sit down, please, Mrs. Allen.
Get off of me!
However, I find it in the
interest of public safety
to call you guilty...
What?!
and put you in jail for 10 days.
Hear, hear!
Order. Order.
This is an atrocity.
Approach.
Approach now.
10 days may not be
enough to cool her off.
If I were you, I would
spend those 10 days
using my way with
words to conjure up
one big Kingdom Come
prayer for your salvation.
I, Ward Allen, was wrong.
I, Ward Allen, may have been wrong.
Before you check to see
if the fires of hell
have turned to ice,
let me emphasize that I would do
or have done
nothing different in my life.
But it seems that perhaps our world
met a fork in the road,
and the world took one path,
and I took the other.
Perhaps this is an
inevitable result,
and each of us are
doomed to find ourselves
on a path alone in the end,
especially those of us who
found the world as it was
to be a close to perfect place...
those who accepted that
the affairs of men
are like those of a river,
where time and tide are the
ultimate shapers of a life,
where procreation,
migration, and even death
are spokes of the same wheel
that turns in heaven's vault
just the way it should.
But there are others
who are determined
to reshape that wheel
and turn back the tide,
and they appear ready to do it.
Maybe they are right,
representing as they do,
an impulse in the breast of man
that drives our species
toward restless industry.
Maybe we are here to
remake everything,
reshape everything,
create our own new
idea of perfection
and leave God's idea to the
dim shades of history.
And maybe I, having fought
against that new idea,
rejected that idea,
found that idea abhorrent,
maybe I was wrong.
But I do not think so.
Because I believe if we
have grown as a species,
it has been because of
the test of wildness,
and if we succeed in remaking
wildness into mildness,
then we will begin to diminish.
But all I have accomplished
is a broken knuckle or two
and hurting myself and my own
more than those who are
the target of my calumny.
So perhaps I'd do better
to take my pokes on these pages
and take direction from the Bard...
"Let there be gall
enough in thy ink."
It's worth a try.
Did you read my article?
Yes.
Good.
Is that all?
Uh...
Hmm.
I won't be disgraced again.
It's not befitting a mother.
Doctor Bryson is sure.
What?
Don't speak right now, Ward.
I want you to think very, very
carefully about how you feel,
because I can't bear
for you to tell me
anything less than God's own truth.
Oh, bring me a gator
Girl, when you come off the island
Whoa, just a ringtail 'ator
Girl, when you come off the island
Just a Darien gator
Girl, when you come off the island
Oh, girl, when you
come off the island
That's the quota.
12 for Ehrlich's store,
20 for the DeSoto.
Next thing you know,
they'll make us buy
the duck we shot back
from the grocery store,
twice what they paid
us in the first place.
Christmas...
would you look at that!
Lucy's barge.
Lucy hit it.
I'll be damned.
One of the more improbable stories
this old boat's got to tell.
You reckon she's seaworthy?
Well, it'll float,
that's what you mean.
Christmas, white oak.
Virginia.
Uncle John took me to
Richmond when I was a boy.
Told me the aggression was coming.
I ever tell you about
my tree house?
Uncle John built it.
Came up to Allen Station
when Sherman got near.
I was scared half to death.
He said we'd live in it,
the Yankees burn the
big house down.
You must have seen the war.
No, sir.
Too young to remember.
Yeah.
What's a man to do he
can't work an honest day?
Well, two hours at least
before we get these
duck off our hands.
I have a surprise.
Ward, don't sneak
up on me like that,
unless you want this
baby to come early.
For the boy.
What if it's a girl?
Anyway, I just wanted to show you.
Let me see your duck
hunting face, Ward.
No.
Let him see your duck hunting face.
Now, Sheriff, I didn't take
one more than the law allows.
Ward, it's Mrs. Allen.
You got yourself a little boy!
Oh!
Whoo!
I'm sorry, Ward.
I...
She's resting.
I'll just sit with her.
That won't do right now, Ward.
Where...
Where's the boy?
Ward, you need to look past
a crude understanding
of the word "asylum"
and see that it's a refuge.
There has to be another way.
She needs to be watched constantly,
force-fed if need be, and bathed.
Can you do that?
He can't even keep her
in out of the rain.
Perhaps she'll come
back to herself.
It... It's just a signature.
I have a pen.
There's something I
need to show you.
My family was a grand family.
I figured out how
to make my own way.
You said it yourself.
It was a lot of bluster.
But this is...
This is real.
The river and you.
I should have brought
you here before.
You're cold.
You're past the quota.
Ward!
That was a standing order.
Game and Fish were here.
They told us if we bought
anything more from you,
they would take our license.
You think Judge
Harden wants to find
yard scratch on his
plate come Sunday? Hmm?
Have some backbone, Mathias!
You are a crazy man!
You want to see crazy?
Aah!
You want to see crazy?
Aah! Aah!
Ward...
let's get out of here.
This ain't the place
for us no more.
If you see my mother
Oh, yes
Won't you tell her from me
Oh, yes
I'm a-riding my horse
Get up!
In the battlefield
I want to see my
Jesus in the morning
Has the family been
here since the fire?
Do you know these
waters around here?
This make it worth your while?
I need a river guide.
There's nothing Mr. Allen wants?
No, sir, Mr. Walton.
Just sell the house,
give Mrs. Lucy the best.
Mr. Walton?
Maybe there's one thing.
It's just like you say.
Mrs. Lucy gonna be comfortable.
Mr. Walton gonna to see to it.
Judge Harden say to tell you
they upholding the law.
City can't go against Federal.
That's in the paper.
Judge Harden lend you his old boat.
Said keep it...
long as you promise
to bring him a Sunday bird
every once in a while.
Mr. Homer say to post your
mail to the hardware store.
Well...
I'll pick up your mail at Homer's.
Evenin', Mr. Ward.
ROY McCLAIN:
Jack, I just gotta confirm,
you got Christmas off the land.
Listen, Roy, I've been
thinking about this.
Christmas is 95 years old.
Probably gonna see 105.
He was born on Mulberry
on Christmas day.
He is the last surviving
member of that plantation.
He's not family.
Well, not blood,
but freed slaves have rights.
John Eliot Ward wrote
that deed himself.
That ain't the point, Jack.
Besides, Christmas can't
even take care of himself.
He'd probably starve to death
if you weren't feeding him.
Thought you were gonna save that
for a special occasion?
Well, there's... There's
nothing as special
as the present, Roy.
Let me ask you something.
You ever stop and listen to the
words of the old Negro songs?
Can't understand a word they say.
Let me sing one for you.
I'm gonna sit in the humble chair
I'm gonna rock from side to side
Until I die
I'm gonna sit in the humble chair
Till I die
You're a good man, Jack...
but mark my word,
what you said is exactly
what you're going to find one day.
You can't hold back time.
Holding back the tide
with that fountain
pen Lucy gave him.
You've nothing left to prove
with guns and bluster, Ward.
Try a different weapon.
I've written dozens of
articles on shooting
and twice more than that
lambasting the damn fool game laws.
I probably know more quotes
from English letters
than any man, save an Oxford don.
I can tell you the name,
color, use, and disposition
of a dozen type of feathers,
and at least that many
species of waterfowl.
I have a collection
of Confederate money
I saved myself,
beginning before the war ended...
and a lifetime of
practical experience
having virtually no value
in the world today.
50 years on the river I love,
and the damn thing has washed me up
on the bank of a city I
no longer recognize,
inhabited by people I don't
remember inviting here.
All those arguments won,
and now it seems I've
misplaced my winnings.
So be it.
This is where I pulled my skiff.
Christmas, you too lazy to
poke at a fire once in awhile?
I brought you a piece
of Babs' pecan pie.
Johnny made her make
a pie for school.
I said only on condition
Christmas gets a slice.
Oh, hey, Christmas,
I read Ward's last
article in the paper.
Christmas?
Well, Little Jack,
Ward Allen fell to sleep
in the barber chair,
but not before he
laid down the law.
He say don't lay a finger
upon his mustache.
"And the Ambassador
told Ward Allen,
"'You ever come back to Russia,
I will deliver you to the
Tsar myself in shackles.'"
"Christmas Moultrie knew Ward Allen
"better than any other
person that lived,
"and although one to the manor born
"and the other born to slavery,
"they were kindred spirits.
"As a child, I hunted
with Christmas.
"After a long day on the river,
"Christmas would sit in his
rocker before the fireplace,
"gazing up at the picture of Ward,
and with delicate slowness..."
"talk of his white friend."
Now, Christmas told a story,
he told it exactly
the same every time,
not a word out of place.
But there was one story
he would never tell me.
I must have asked a hundred times,
how did Ward Allen die?
I figured he'd go to his
grave without me knowin'.
But I didn't see
that he's been tellin'
me my whole life.
And now, well...
I think he was just holdin' on
till I figured it out.
Well, did you?
Yes, son.
I think I did.
I should have brought
you here before.
Hey, look here.
Look what I got.
Look right here.
He looks like Buffalo Bill.
Yeah, he does.
Yeah, Ward was the best
shot on the Savannah River.
Did I tell you about the time
he shot the eyes out
of Lucy's portrait?
Clean out, just popped them out.
Oh, hey, look.
Look, right back in there.
See it?
Is that a crane?
Dad, how do you think
Ward Allen died?
Son, the important thing
about a man's death
is how it reflects his life...
if it was on his own terms and...
if there was some meaning in it.
There's some meaning
in it, I think.
I feel as if I'm up there,
pulling toward them.
Pulling toward some...
distant purpose.
Oh, bring me a gator
Girl, when you come off the island
A ringtail 'ator
Girl, when you come off the island
A Darien gator
Girl, when you come off the island
A ringtail 'ator
Girl, when you come off the island
A Darien gator
Girl, when you come off the island
A ringtail 'ator
Girl, when you come off the island
A Darien gator
Girl, when you come off the island
Ohh, when you come off the island
Wade in the water
Wade in the water, children
Wade in the water
God's gonna trouble the water
If you don't believe
I've been redeemed
God's gonna trouble the water
Follow me down to Jordan's stream
God's gonna trouble the water
Who that yonder dressed in white?
God's gonna trouble the water
Must be the children
of the Israelites
God's gonna trouble the water
Wade in the water
Wade in the water, children
Wade in the water
God's gonna trouble the water
If you don't believe
I've been redeemed
God's gonna trouble the water
Follow me down to Jordan's stream
God's gonna trouble the water
Who that yonder dressed in white?
God's gonna trouble the water
Must be the children
of the Israelites
God's gonna trouble the water
Wade in the water
Wade in the water, children
Wade in the water
God's gonna trouble the water
Wade in the water
Everybody wade in
the water, children
Wade in the water
God's gonna trouble the water
God's gonna trouble the water
Wade in the water
Everybody wade in
the water, children
Wade in the water
God's gonna trouble the water
Wade in the water
Everybody wade in
the water, children
Wade in the water
God's gonna trouble the water