"Come here to the fire, and less see what you"re up to here," says Davy.
"Now set down there and give an account of yourself. How long have you been aboard here?"
"Not over a quarter of a minute, sir," says I.
"How did you get dry so quick?"
"I don"t know, sir. I"m always that way, mostly."
"Oh, you are, are you. What"s your name?"
I warn"t going to tell my name. I didn"t know what to say, so I just says--
"Charles William Allbright, sir."
Then they roared--the whole crowd; and I was mighty glad I said that, because maybe laughing would get them in a better humor.
When they got done laughing, Davy says--
"It won"t hardly do, Charles William. You couldn"t have growed this much in five year, and you was a baby when you come out of the bar"l, you know, and dead at that. Come, now, tell a straight story, and n.o.body"ll hurt you, if you ain"t up to anything wrong. What _is_ your name?"
"Aleck Hopkins, sir. Aleck James Hopkins."
"Well, Aleck, where did you come from, here?"
"From a trading scow. She lays up the bend yonder. I was born on her.
Pap has traded up and down here all his life; and he told me to swim off here, because when you went by he said he would like to get some of you to speak to a Mr. Jonas Turner, in Cairo, and tell him--"
"Oh, come!"
"Yes, sir; it"s as true as the world; Pap he says--"
"Oh, your grandmother!"
They all laughed, and I tried again to talk, but they broke in on me and stopped me.
"Now, looky-here," says Davy; "you"re scared, and so you talk wild.
Honest, now, do you live in a scow, or is it a lie?"
"Yes, sir, in a trading scow. She lays up at the head of the bend. But I warn"t born in her. It"s our first trip."
"Now you"re talking! What did you come aboard here, for? To steal?"
"No, sir, I didn"t.--It was only to get a ride on the raft. All boys does that."
"Well, I know that. But what did you hide for?"
"Sometimes they drive the boys off."
"So they do. They might steal. Looky-here; if we let you off this time, will you keep out of these kind of sc.r.a.pes hereafter?"
"Deed I will, boss. You try me."
"All right, then. You ain"t but little ways from sh.o.r.e. Overboard with you, and don"t you make a fool of yourself another time this way.--Blast it, boy, some raftsmen would rawhide you till you were black and blue!"
I didn"t wait to kiss good-bye, but went overboard and broke for sh.o.r.e.
When Jim come along by and by, the big raft was away out of sight around the point. I swum out and got aboard, and was mighty glad to see home again.
The boy did not get the information he was after, but his adventure has furnished the glimpse of the departed raftsman and keelboatman which I desire to offer in this place.
I now come to a phase of the Mississippi River life of the flush times of steamboating, which seems to me to warrant full examination--the marvelous science of piloting, as displayed there. I believe there has been nothing like it elsewhere in the world.
CHAPTER 4
The Boys" Ambition
WHEN I was a boy, there was but one permanent ambition among my comrades in our village {footnote [1. Hannibal, Missouri]} on the west bank of the Mississippi River. That was, to be a steamboatman. We had transient ambitions of other sorts, but they were only transient. When a circus came and went, it left us all burning to become clowns; the first negro minstrel show that came to our section left us all suffering to try that kind of life; now and then we had a hope that if we lived and were good, G.o.d would permit us to be pirates. These ambitions faded out, each in its turn; but the ambition to be a steamboatman always remained.
Once a day a cheap, gaudy packet arrived upward from St. Louis, and another downward from Keokuk. Before these events, the day was glorious with expectancy; after them, the day was a dead and empty thing. Not only the boys, but the whole village, felt this. After all these years I can picture that old time to myself now, just as it was then: the white town drowsing in the sunshine of a summer"s morning; the streets empty, or pretty nearly so; one or two clerks sitting in front of the Water Street stores, with their splint-bottomed chairs tilted back against the wall, chins on b.r.e.a.s.t.s, hats slouched over their faces, asleep--with shingle-shavings enough around to show what broke them down; a sow and a litter of pigs loafing along the sidewalk, doing a good business in watermelon rinds and seeds; two or three lonely little freight piles scattered about the "levee;" a pile of "skids" on the slope of the stone-paved wharf, and the fragrant town drunkard asleep in the shadow of them; two or three wood flats at the head of the wharf, but n.o.body to listen to the peaceful lapping of the wavelets against them; the great Mississippi, the majestic, the magnificent Mississippi, rolling its mile-wide tide along, shining in the sun; the dense forest away on the other side; the "point" above the town, and the "point" below, bounding the river-glimpse and turning it into a sort of sea, and withal a very still and brilliant and lonely one. Presently a film of dark smoke appears above one of those remote "points;" instantly a negro drayman, famous for his quick eye and prodigious voice, lifts up the cry, "S-t-e-a-m-boat a-comin"!" and the scene changes! The town drunkard stirs, the clerks wake up, a furious clatter of drays follows, every house and store pours out a human contribution, and all in a twinkling the dead town is alive and moving.
Drays, carts, men, boys, all go hurrying from many quarters to a common center, the wharf. a.s.sembled there, the people fasten their eyes upon the coming boat as upon a wonder they are seeing for the first time. And the boat _is_ rather a handsome sight, too. She is long and sharp and trim and pretty; she has two tall, fancy-topped chimneys, with a gilded device of some kind swung between them; a fanciful pilot-house, a gla.s.s and "gingerbread", perched on top of the "texas" deck behind them; the paddle-boxes are gorgeous with a picture or with gilded rays above the boat"s name; the boiler deck, the hurricane deck, and the texas deck are fenced and ornamented with clean white railings; there is a flag gallantly flying from the jack-staff; the furnace doors are open and the fires glaring bravely; the upper decks are black with pa.s.sengers; the captain stands by the big bell, calm, imposing, the envy of all; great volumes of the blackest smoke are rolling and tumbling out of the chimneys--a husbanded grandeur created with a bit of pitch pine just before arriving at a town; the crew are grouped on the forecastle; the broad stage is run far out over the port bow, and an envied deckhand stands picturesquely on the end of it with a coil of rope in his hand; the pent steam is screaming through the gauge-c.o.c.ks, the captain lifts his hand, a bell rings, the wheels stop; then they turn back, churning the water to foam, and the steamer is at rest. Then such a scramble as there is to get aboard, and to get ash.o.r.e, and to take in freight and to discharge freight, all at one and the same time; and such a yelling and cursing as the mates facilitate it all with! Ten minutes later the steamer is under way again, with no flag on the jack-staff and no black smoke issuing from the chimneys. After ten more minutes the town is dead again, and the town drunkard asleep by the skids once more.
My father was a justice of the peace, and I supposed he possessed the power of life and death over all men and could hang anybody that offended him. This was distinction enough for me as a general thing; but the desire to be a steamboatman kept intruding, nevertheless. I first wanted to be a cabin-boy, so that I could come out with a white ap.r.o.n on and shake a tablecloth over the side, where all my old comrades could see me; later I thought I would rather be the deckhand who stood on the end of the stage-plank with the coil of rope in his hand, because he was particularly conspicuous. But these were only day-dreams,--they were too heavenly to be contemplated as real possibilities. By and by one of our boys went away. He was not heard of for a long time. At last he turned up as apprentice engineer or "striker" on a steamboat. This thing shook the bottom out of all my Sunday-school teachings. That boy had been notoriously worldly, and I just the reverse; yet he was exalted to this eminence, and I left in obscurity and misery. There was nothing generous about this fellow in his greatness. He would always manage to have a rusty bolt to scrub while his boat tarried at our town, and he would sit on the inside guard and scrub it, where we could all see him and envy him and loathe him. And whenever his boat was laid up he would come home and swell around the town in his blackest and greasiest clothes, so that n.o.body could help remembering that he was a steamboatman; and he used all sorts of steamboat technicalities in his talk, as if he were so used to them that he forgot common people could not understand them. He would speak of the "labboard" side of a horse in an easy, natural way that would make one wish he was dead. And he was always talking about "St.
Looy" like an old citizen; he would refer casually to occasions when he "was coming down Fourth Street," or when he was "pa.s.sing by the Planter"s House," or when there was a fire and he took a turn on the brakes of "the old Big Missouri;" and then he would go on and lie about how many towns the size of ours were burned down there that day. Two or three of the boys had long been persons of consideration among us because they had been to St. Louis once and had a vague general knowledge of its wonders, but the day of their glory was over now. They lapsed into a humble silence, and learned to disappear when the ruthless "cub"-engineer approached. This fellow had money, too, and hair oil.
Also an ignorant silver watch and a showy bra.s.s watch chain. He wore a leather belt and used no suspenders. If ever a youth was cordially admired and hated by his comrades, this one was. No girl could withstand his charms. He "cut out" every boy in the village. When his boat blew up at last, it diffused a tranquil contentment among us such as we had not known for months. But when he came home the next week, alive, renowned, and appeared in church all battered up and bandaged, a shining hero, stared at and wondered over by everybody, it seemed to us that the partiality of Providence for an undeserving reptile had reached a point where it was open to criticism.
This creature"s career could produce but one result, and it speedily followed. Boy after boy managed to get on the river. The minister"s son became an engineer. The doctor"s and the post-master"s sons became "mud clerks;" the wholesale liquor dealer"s son became a barkeeper on a boat; four sons of the chief merchant, and two sons of the county judge, became pilots. Pilot was the grandest position of all. The pilot, even in those days of trivial wages, had a princely salary--from a hundred and fifty to two hundred and fifty dollars a month, and no board to pay.
Two months of his wages would pay a preacher"s salary for a year. Now some of us were left disconsolate. We could not get on the river--at least our parents would not let us.
So by and by I ran away. I said I never would come home again till I was a pilot and could come in glory. But somehow I could not manage it.
I went meekly aboard a few of the boats that lay packed together like sardines at the long St. Louis wharf, and very humbly inquired for the pilots, but got only a cold shoulder and short words from mates and clerks. I had to make the best of this sort of treatment for the time being, but I had comforting daydreams of a future when I should be a great and honored pilot, with plenty of money, and could kill some of these mates and clerks and pay for them.
CHAPTER 5
I Want to be a Cub-pilot
MONTHS afterward the hope within me struggled to a reluctant death, and I found myself without an ambition. But I was ashamed to go home. I was in Cincinnati, and I set to work to map out a new career. I had been reading about the recent exploration of the river Amazon by an expedition sent out by our government. It was said that the expedition, owing to difficulties, had not thoroughly explored a part of the country lying about the head-waters, some four thousand miles from the mouth of the river. It was only about fifteen hundred miles from Cincinnati to New Orleans, where I could doubtless get a ship. I had thirty dollars left; I would go and complete the exploration of the Amazon. This was all the thought I gave to the subject. I never was great in matters of detail. I packed my valise, and took pa.s.sage on an ancient tub called the "Paul Jones," for New Orleans. For the sum of sixteen dollars I had the scarred and tarnished splendors of "her" main saloon princ.i.p.ally to myself, for she was not a creature to attract the eye of wiser travelers.
When we presently got under way and went poking down the broad Ohio, I became a new being, and the subject of my own admiration. I was a traveler! A word never had tasted so good in my mouth before. I had an exultant sense of being bound for mysterious lands and distant climes which I never have felt in so uplifting a degree since. I was in such a glorified condition that all ign.o.ble feelings departed out of me, and I was able to look down and pity the untraveled with a compa.s.sion that had hardly a trace of contempt in it. Still, when we stopped at villages and wood-yards, I could not help lolling carelessly upon the railings of the boiler deck to enjoy the envy of the country boys on the bank. If they did not seem to discover me, I presently sneezed to attract their attention, or moved to a position where they could not help seeing me.
And as soon as I knew they saw me I gaped and stretched, and gave other signs of being mightily bored with traveling.
I kept my hat off all the time, and stayed where the wind and the sun could strike me, because I wanted to get the bronzed and weather-beaten look of an old traveler. Before the second day was half gone I experienced a joy which filled me with the purest grat.i.tude; for I saw that the skin had begun to blister and peel off my face and neck. I wished that the boys and girls at home could see me now.