Three Days on the Ohio River
Page 3
CHAPTER XIV.
THIRD NIGHT ON THE RIVER.
Night was once more approaching, and we were, as yet, some sixty-five or seventy miles from Pittsburg. The last place we saw, by daylight, was Steubenville, on the Ohio side, a large and flourishing village. We were anxious to see Wellsville, Ohio, and Beaver and Economy in Pennsylvania; but it was late at night when we passed the latter two, and too dark to see much when we passed the former.
Economy is a neat little place, first settled by the celebrated German named Rapp. It still bears the marks he made on it, in the appearance of neatness and thrift which are everywhere visible.
We were much annoyed during the last two days and nights, especially the very last, by the cattle on board. Had there been a cow-yard with contiguous stables that were seldom if ever cleansed, the air from the lower deck could hardly have been more offensive.
I often wondered why the owners of the boat should dare to go in the face of the public sentiment to an extent like this. Would it not be reported, by the passengers, that we suffered from this annoyance? And would not travelers shun the boat in time to come?
However, we slept well, for the most part, during the night; and it was well for those of us who were going further than Pittsburg that we did. A few were distressed with the effects of drinking so much lime water during the voyage; but the far greater part of us rose in the morning refreshed, and in fine health and spirits.
CHAPTER XV.
ARRIVAL AT PITTSBURG, WITH REFLECTIONS.
The morning had come, and we were now approaching Pittsburg. It was just about sunrise when we came in view of its spires and buildings. The passengers were scrambling up, now, in every direction.
Some of the passengers were now at the end of their journey. Others had to go further; and some of us many hundred miles further. However, we were all alike glad to get on shore.
But our trunks—where were they? They had, for the greater part, been piled together in a certain place on the deck of the boat, under the care of the steward: they were safe, only it was difficult, at first, to find them.
Here is mine. It must be marked for the railroad across the Alleghany Mountains to Philadelphia. All this was easily disposed of. And now it is to go with a baggage-wagon, and to be taken to the railroad depot.
On removing the trunk to the baggage-wagon, the steward reminded me that it was his custom to receive a small sum of each traveler for taking care of his trunk while on board. I asked him how much. Anything, said he, you please to give.
I was not satisfied with the charge; for I supposed he had his pay by the month, or in some such way, and his regular compensation was sufficient for every purpose: but though a colored man, he was quite a gentleman, and I could not well refuse him.
How many little taxes one must pay, in a busy world like this! Well, an honest, Christian man has no very strong objection to paying them whenever, in so doing, he does not go contrary to the principles of right; and these little taxations, as you travel along, by servants and porters, and stewards, though they are annoyances, seem to me to be of this description.
I was at length in Pittsburg. I had always heard that it was a smoky city, and was not, therefore, at all disappointed. In truth, I did not see it to be more sooty than several other places below it on the river.
Pittsburg is about half as large as Cincinnati; and is pleasantly situated, at the junction of two large rivers. It seems to be a very busy, bustling place; for though it was yet early in the morning—quite early—the streets were pretty well filled with travelers and carriages.
Opposite Pittsburg—that is, across the Alleghany River—is Alleghany, which of itself would make quite a large city. It is at least as large as New-Haven, or Salem, or, perhaps, Troy.
And now, though I am soon to proceed, yet as the cars are not yet ready, I have a little time for reflection, and I avail myself of it.
The world, itself, seems to me like a great steamboat—larger, indeed, than the Pittsburg, and yet a huge passenger-boat. People are continually coming on board, and continually leaving it.
To-day we form an acquaintance with a few of the vast variety of faces we see; to-morrow, perhaps, they are separated from us, to go, we know not whither.
One striking difference there is in the two cases. When the passengers separated at Pittsburg—and so also of other separations at Wheeling and other places below—it was not with a certainty that the separation was final, for this world. There was, at the least, a possibility of meeting again, somewhere, and at some time.
But when we separate in the great steamboat of the world at the verge of eternity, when we step forth upon its immeasurable shore, it is with positive certainty of meeting no more in this world.
We may meet again—we shall, most undoubtedly. We shall meet at the sound, not of the little bell to which we are accustomed on board the boats of Western rivers, but of the trump of God. We shall meet, but it will be at the general judgment. We shall meet, but it will be in the immediate presence of God.
Will our meeting be a pleasant one? Will it be pleasant to all, or only to a part? And who will be the happy ones, and who the unhappy? Shall you, reader, or I, be of the former number; or shall it be our lot to be of the latter?
God, in his mercy in Christ, has left the matter to our own choice. This is right, is it not? He has made us free to choose about other matters—why not about this? He certainly would not compel us to a joyful meeting.
Be it our first business, then, our great business, our only business, so to conduct while on the passage-boat of life, that whether we are sailing on the Ohio River, or traveling elsewhere, we may always be found in the path of duty, and always ready for anything whatever to which we may be called, here or hereafter.
THE END.