Читать книгу With the World's Great Travelers - Various - Страница 24

[We have given a descriptive sketch of steamboat travel down the Ohio and Mississippi in the first half of the century, in what we may almost call the days of the barbarians. It is here followed by a sketch of steamboating, from New Orleans to and up the Red River, in the ante-war period, in which will be found methods as unprogressive and people as uncivilized as in any period of modern travel. The getting off was a marvel of procrastination, worthy of the most primitive days of American travel.]

On a certain Saturday morning, when I had determined on the trip, I found that two boats, the “Swamp Fox” and the “St. Charles,” were advertised to leave the same evening for the Red River. I went to the levee, and finding the “St. Charles” to be the better of the two, I asked her clerk if I could engage a state-room. There was just one state-room berth left unengaged; I was requested to place my name against its number on the passenger book; and did so, understanding that it was thus secured for me.

Having taken leave of my friends, I had my luggage brought down, and went on board at half-past three—the boat being advertised to sail at four. Four o’clock passed, and freight was still being taken on—a fire had been made in the furnace, and the boat’s big bell was rung. I noticed that the “Swamp Fox” was also firing up, and that her bell rang whenever ours did—though she was not advertised to sail till five. At length, when five o’clock came, the clerk told me he thought, perhaps, they would not be able to get off at all that night—there was so much freight still to come on board. Six o’clock arrived, and he felt certain that, if they did get off that night, it would not be till very late. At half-past six he said the captain had not come on board yet, and he was quite sure they would not be able to get off that night. I prepared to return to the hotel, and asked if they would leave in the morning. He thought not. He was confident they would not. He was positive they could not leave now before Monday—Monday noon. Monday at twelve o’clock—I might rely upon it.

Monday morning the Picayune stated, editorially, that the floating palace, the “St. Charles,” would leave for Shreveport at five o’clock, and if anybody wanted to make a quick and luxurious trip up Red River with a jolly good soul, Captain Lickup was in command. It also stated, in another paragraph, that if any of its friends had any business up Red River, Captain Pitchup was a whole-souled veteran in that trade, and was going up with that remarkably low-draught favorite, the “Swamp Fox,” to leave at four o’clock that evening. Both boats were also announced, in the advertising columns, to leave at four o’clock.

As the clerk had said noon, however, I thought there might have been a misprint in the newspaper announcements, and so went on board the “St. Charles” again before twelve. The clerk informed me that the newspaper was right—they had finally concluded not to sail until four o’clock. Before four I returned again, and the boat again fired up, and rung her bell. So did the “Swamp Fox.” Neither, however, was quite ready to leave at four o’clock. Not quite ready at five. Even at six—not yet quite ready. At seven, the fires having burned out in the furnace, and the stevedores having gone away, leaving a quantity of freight yet on the dock, without advising this time with the clerk, I had my baggage re-transferred to the hotel.

A similar performance was repeated on Tuesday.

On Wednesday I found the berth I had engaged occupied by a very strong man, who was not very polite when I informed him that I believed there was some mistake—that the berth he was using had been engaged to me. I went to the clerk, who said that he was sorry, but that, as I had not stayed on board that night, and had not paid for the berth, he had not been sure that I should go, and he had, therefore, given it to the gentleman who now had it in possession, and whom, he thought, it would not be best to try to reason out of it. He was very busy, he observed, because the boat was going to start at four o’clock; if I would now pay him the price of passage, he would do the best he could for me. When he had time to examine, he would probably put me in some other state-room, perhaps quite as good a one as that I had lost. Meanwhile, he kindly offered me the temporary use of his private state-room. I inquired if it was quite certain that the boat would get off at four; for I had been asked to dine with a friend at three o’clock. There was not the smallest doubt of it—at four they would leave. They were all ready at that moment, and only waited till four because the agent had advertised that they would—merely a technical point of honor.

But, by some error of calculation, I suppose, she didn’t go at four. Nor at five. Nor at six.

At seven o’clock the “Swamp Fox” and the “St. Charles” were both discharging dense smoke from their chimneys, blowing steam, and ringing bells. It was obvious that each was making every exertion to get off before the other. The captains of both boats stood at the break of the hurricane-deck, apparently waiting in great impatience for the mails to come on board.

The “St. Charles” was crowded with passengers, and her decks were piled high with freight. Bumboatmen, about the bows, were offering shells, and oranges, and bananas; and newsboys, and peddlers, and tract distributors were squeezing about with their wares among the passengers. I had confidence in their instinct; there had been no such numbers of them the previous evenings, and I made up my mind, although past seven o’clock, that the “St. Charles” would not let her fires go down again.

Among the peddlers there were two of cheap “literature,” and among their yellow covers each had two or three copies of the cheap edition (pamphlet) of “Uncle Tom’s Cabin.” They did not cry it out as they did the other books they had, but held it forth among others, so that its title could be seen. One of them told me he carried it because gentlemen often inquired for it, and he sold a good many; at least three copies were sold to passengers on the boat. …

It was twenty minutes after seven when the captain observed—scanning the levee in every direction to see if there was another cart or carriage coming towards us—“No use waiting any longer, I reckon: throw off, Mr. Heady.” (The “Swamp Fox” did not leave, I afterwards heard, till the following Saturday.)

We backed out, winded round head up, and as we began to breast the current, a dozen of the negro boat-hands, standing on the freight piled up on the low forecastle, began to sing, waving hats and handkerchiefs, and shirts lashed to poles, towards the people who stood on the sterns of the steamboats at the levee.

After losing a few lines, I copied literally into my note-book:

“Ye see dem boat way dah ahead.

Chorus.—Oahoiohieu.

De San Charles is arter ’em, dey mus’ go behine.

Oahoiohieu.

So stir up dah, my livelies, stir her up.

Oahoiohieu.

Dey’s burnin’ not’n but fat and rosum.

Oahoiohieu.

Oh, we is gwine up de Red River, oh!

Oahoiohieu.

Oh, we mus’ part from you dah asho’.

Oahoiohieu.

Gib my lub to Dinah, oh!

Oahoiohieu.” …

The wit introduced into these songs has, I suspect, been rather over-estimated.

As soon as the song was ended, I went into the cabin to remind the clerk to obtain a berth for me. I found two brilliant supper-tables reaching the whole length of the long cabin, and a file of men standing on each side of both of them, ready to take seats as soon as the signal was given.

The clerk was in his room, with two other men, and appeared to be more occupied than ever. His manner was, I thought, now rather cool, not to say rude; and he very distinctly informed me that every berth was occupied, and he didn’t know where I was to sleep. He judged I was able to take care of myself; and if I was not, he was quite sure he had too much to do to give all his time to my surveillance. I then went to the commander, and told him that I thought myself entitled to a berth. I had paid for one, and should not have taken passage in the boat if it had not been promised me. I was not disposed to fight for it, particularly as the gentleman occupying the berth engaged to me was a deal bigger fellow than I, and also carried a bigger knife, but I thought the clerk was accountable to me for a berth, and I begged that he would inform him so. He replied that the clerk probably knew his business; he had nothing to do with it; and walked away from me. I then addressed myself to a second clerk, or sub-officer of some denomination, who more good-naturedly informed me that half the company were in the same condition as myself, and I needn’t be alarmed, cots would be provided for us.

As I saw that the supper-table was likely to be crowded, I asked if there would be a second table. “Yes, they’ll keep on eating till they all get through.” I walked the deck till I saw those who had been first seated at the table coming out; then, going in, I found the table still crowded, while many stood waiting to take seats as fast as any were vacated. I obtained one for myself at length, and had no sooner occupied it than two half-intoxicated and garrulous men took the adjoining stools.

It was near nine o’clock before the tables were cleared away, and immediately afterwards the waiters began to rig a framework for sleeping-cots in their place. These cots were simply canvas shelves, five feet and a half long, two wide, and less than two feet apart, perpendicularly. A waiter, whose good will I had purchased at the supper-table, gave me a hint to secure one of them for myself, as soon as they were erected, by putting my hat in it. I did so, and saw that others did the same. I chose a cot as near as possible to the midship door of the cabin, perceiving that there was not likely to be the best possible air, after all the passengers were laid up for the night in this compact manner.

Nearly as fast as the cots were ready they were occupied. To make sure that mine was not stolen from me, I also, without much undressing, laid myself away. A single blanket was the only bedclothing provided. I had not lain long before I was driven, by an exceedingly offensive smell, to search for a cleaner neighborhood; but I found all the cots, fore and aft, were either occupied or engaged. I immediately returned, and that I might have a dernier ressort, left my shawl in that I had first obtained.

In the forward part of the cabin there was a bar, a stove, a table, and a placard of rules, forbidding smoking, gambling, or swearing in the cabin, and a close company of drinkers, smokers, card-players, and constant swearers. I went out, and stepped down to the boiler-deck. The boat had been provided with very poor wood, and the firemen were crowding it into the furnaces whenever they could find room for it, driving smaller sticks between the larger ones at the top by a battering-ram method.

Most of the firemen were Irish born; one with whom I conversed was English. He said they were divided into three watches, each working four hours at a time, and all hands liable to be called, when wooding, or landing, or taking on freight, to assist the deck-hands. They were paid now but thirty dollars a month—ordinarily forty, and sometimes sixty—and board. He was a sailor bred. This boat-life was harder than seafaring, but the pay was better, and the trips were short. The regular thing was to make two trips, and then lay up for a spree. It would be too hard on a man, he thought, to pursue it regularly; two trips “on end” was as much as a man could stand. He must then take a “refreshment.” Working this way for three weeks, and then refreshing for about one, he did not think it was unhealthy, no more than ordinary seafaring. He concluded by informing me that the most striking peculiarity of the business was that it kept a man, notwithstanding wholesale periodical refreshment, very dry. He was of opinion that after the information I had obtained, if I gave him at least the price of a single drink and some tobacco, it would be characteristic of a gentleman.

Going round behind the furnace, I found a large quantity of freight: hogsheads, barrels, cases, bales, boxes, nail-rods, rolls of leather, ploughs, cotton, bale-rope, and firewood, all thrown together in the most confused manner, with hot steam-pipes and parts of the engine crossing through it. As I explored farther aft, I found negroes lying asleep in all postures upon the freight. A single group only, of five or six, appeared to be awake, and as I drew near they commenced to sing a Methodist hymn, not loudly, as negroes generally do, but, as it seemed to me, with a good deal of tenderness and feeling; a few white people—men, women, and children—were lying here and there among the negroes. Altogether, I learned we had two hundred of these deck passengers, black and white. A stove, by which they could fry bacon, was the only furniture provided for them by the boat. They carried with them their provisions for the voyage, and had their choice of the freight for beds.

As I came to the bows again, and was about to ascend to the cabin, two men came down, one of whom I recognized to have been my cot neighbor. “Where’s a bucket?” said he. “By thunder, this fellow was so strong I could not sleep by him, so I stumped him to come down and wash his feet.” “I am much obliged to you,” said I; and I was, very much; the man had been lying in the cot beneath mine, to which I now returned, and soon fell asleep.

I awoke about midnight. There was an unusual jar in the boat, and an evident excitement among people whom I could hear talking on deck. I rolled out of my cot and stepped out on the gallery. The steamboat “Kimball” was running head-and-head with us, and so close that one might have jumped easily from our paddle-box on to her guards. A few other passengers had turned out besides myself, and most of the waiters were leaning on the rail of the gallery.

Occasionally a few words of banter passed between them and the waiters of the “Kimball;” below, the firemen were shouting as they crowded the furnaces, and some one could be heard cheering them: “Shove her up, boys! Shove her up! Give her hell!” “She’s got to hold a conversation with us before she gets by, anyhow,” said one of the negroes. “Ye har that ar’ whistlin’?” said a white man; “tell ye thar ain’t any too much water in her bilers when ye har that.” I laughed silently, but was not without a slight expectant sensation, which Burke would perhaps have called sublime. At length the “Kimball” drew slowly ahead, crossed our bow, and the contest was given up. “De ole lady too heavy,” said a waiter; “if I could pitch a few ton of dat ar freight off her bow, I bet de ‘Kimball’ would be askin’ her to show de way mighty quick.”

[Our traveller missed the experience which in former days made travel now and then very lively upon the Mississippi—a blow up of one or other of the racing boats. A bell was rung to rouse the cot-sleepers at half-past four, and the rest of the day was taken up in preparations for and eating the three meals.]

Every part of the boat, except the black hurricane-deck, was crowded; and so large a number of equally uncomfortable and disagreeable men I think I never saw elsewhere together. We made very slow progress, landing, it seems to me, after we entered Red River, at every “bend,” “bottom,” “bayou,” “point,” and “plantation” that came in sight; often for no other object than to roll out a barrel of flour or a keg of nails; sometimes merely to furnish newspapers to a wealthy planter, who had much cotton to send to market, and whom it was therefore desirable to please.

I was sitting one day on the forward gallery, watching a pair of ducks, that were alternately floating on the river and flying farther ahead as the steamer approached them. A man standing near me drew a long-barrelled and very finely-finished pistol from his coat-pocket, and, resting it against a stanchion, took aim at them. They were, I judged, fully the boat’s own length—not less than two hundred feet—from us, and were just raising their wings to fly when he fired. One of them only rose; the other flapped round and round, and when within ten yards of the boat dived. The bullet had broken its wing. So remarkable a shot excited, of course, not a little admiration and conversation. Half a dozen other men standing near me at once drew pistols or revolvers from under their clothing, and several were firing at floating chips or objects on the shore. I saw no more remarkable shooting, however; and that the duck should have been hit at such a distance was generally considered a piece of luck. A man who had been in the “Rangers” said that all his company could put a ball into a tree, the size of a man’s body, at sixty paces, at every shot, with Colt’s army revolver, not taking steady aim, but firing at the jerk of the arm.

This pistol episode was almost the only entertainment in which the passengers engaged themselves, except eating, drinking, smoking, conversation, and card-playing. Gambling was constantly going on, day and night. I don’t think there was an interruption to it of fifteen minutes in three days. The conversation was almost exclusively confined to the topics of steamboats, liquors, cards, black-land, red-land, bottom-land, timber-land, warrants, and locations, sugar, cotton, corn, and negroes.

After the first night I preferred to sleep on the trunks in the social hall [the lobby which contained the passengers’ baggage] rather than among the cots in the crowded cabin, and several others did the same. There were, in fact, not cots enough for all the passengers excluded from the state-rooms. I found that some, and I presume most, of the passengers, by making the clerk believe that they would otherwise take the “Swamp Fox,” had obtained their passage at considerably less price than I had paid.

[The above are the principal events of this description of steamboat life before the war. Our passenger’s journey ended at Natchitoches, on the Red River, whence he started on a vagrant trip through Texas, in which we need not follow him.]