Boy Settlers: A Story of Early Times in Kansas

by John Henry Goldfrap

  CHAPTER XIX.

  DOWN THE BIG MUDDY.

  It is more than six hundred miles from Leavenworth to St. Louis by theriver. And as the river is crooked exceedingly, a steamboat travellingthat route points her bow at every point of the compass, north, south,east, and west, before the voyage is finished. The boys were impatientto reach home, to be back in dear old Dixon, to see the mother and thefireside once more. But they knew that days must pass before theycould reach St. Louis. The three lads settled themselves comfortablyin the narrow limits of their little stateroom; for they found thattheir passage included quarters really more luxurious than they hadbeen accustomed to in their Kansas log-cabin.

  "Not much army blanket and buffalo-robe about this," whispered Oscar,pressing his toil-stained hand on the nice white spread of his berth."Say, wouldn't Younkins allow that this was rather comfortable-like,if he was to see it and compare it with his deerskin coverlet that heis so proud of?"

  "Well, Younkins's deerskin coverlet is paid for, and this isn't," saidCharlie, grimly.

  But the light-hearted younger boys borrowed no trouble on that score.As Sandy said, laughingly, they were all fixed for the trip to St.Louis, and what was the use of fretting about the passage money untilthe time came to pay it?

  When the lads, having exchanged their flannel shirts for white cottonones, saved up for this occasion, came out from their room, they sawtwo long tables covered with snowy cloths set for the whole length ofthe big saloon. They had scanned the list of meal hours hanging intheir stateroom, and were very well satisfied to find that there werethree meals served each day. It was nearly time for the two o'clockdinner, and the colored servants were making ready the tables. Theboat was crowded with passengers, and it looked as if some of themwould be obliged to wait for the "second table." On board of asteamboat, especially in those days of long voyages, the matter ofgetting early to the table and having a good seat was of great concernto the passengers. Men stood around, lining the walls of the saloonand regarding with hungry expectation the movements of the waiters whowere making ready the tables. When the chairs were placed, every manlaid his hand on the top of the seat nearest him, prepared, as one ofthe boys privately expressed it, to "make a grab."

  "Well, if we don't make a grab, too, we shall get left," whisperedSandy, and the boys bashfully filed down the saloon and stood readyto take their seats when the gong should sound.

  To eyes unused to the profuseness of living that then prevailed on thebest class of Western steamboats, the display on the dining-tables ofthe "New Lucy" was very grand indeed. The waiters, all their movementsregulated by something like military discipline, filed in and outbearing handsome dishes for the decoration of the board.

  "Just look at those gorgeous flowers! Red, white, blue, purple,yellow! My! aren't they fine?" said Sandy, under his breath.

  Oscar giggled. "They are artificial, Sandy. How awfully green youare!"

  Sandy stoutly maintained that they were real flowers. He could smellthem. But when one of the waiters, having accidentally overturned oneof the vases and knocked a flaming bouquet on the carpeted floor ofthe cabin, snatched it up and dusted it with his big black hand, Sandygave in, and murmured, "Tis true; they're false."

  But the boys' eyes fairly stood out with wonder and admiration when aprocession of colored men came out of the pantry, bearing a grandarray of ornamental dishes. Pineapples, bananas, great baskets offancy cakes, and other dainties attracted their wonder-stricken gaze.But most of all, numerous pyramids of macaroons, two or three feethigh, with silky veils of spun sugar falling down from summit to base,fascinated their attention. They had never seen the like at a publictable; and the generous board of the "New Lucy" fairly groaned withgood things when the gong somewhat superfluously announced to thewaiting throng that dinner was served.

  "No plates, knives, or forks," said Sandy, as, amid a great clatterand rush, everybody sat down to the table. Just then a long processionof colored waiters emerged from the pantry, the foremost man carryinga pile of plates, and after him came another with a basket of knives,after him another with a basket of forks, then another with spoons,and so on, each man carrying a supply of some one article for thetable. With the same military precision that had marked all theirmovements, six black hands were stretched at the same instant over theshoulders of the sitting passengers, and six articles were noiselesslydropped on the table; then, with a similar motion, the six black handswent back to their respective owners, as the procession moved alongbehind the guests, the white-sleeved arms and black hands waving inthe air and keeping exact time as the procession moved around thetable.

  "Looks like a white-legged centipede," muttered Sandy, under hisbreath. But more evolutions were coming. These preliminaries havingbeen finished, the solemn procession went back to the kitchen regions,and presently came forth again, bearing a glittering array of shiningmetal covered dishes. At the tap of the pompous head-waiter's bell,every man stood at "present arms," as Oscar said. Then, at anothertap, each dish was projected over the white cloth to the spot forwhich it was designed, and held an inch or two above the table.Another tap, and every dish dropped into its place with a sound as ofone soft blow. The pompous head-waiter struck his bell again, andevery dish-cover was touched by a black hand. One more jingle, and,with magical swiftness and deftness, each dish-cover was lifted, and adelightful perfume of savory viands gushed forth amidst thehalf-suppressed "Ahs" of the assembled and hungry diners. Then theprocession of dark-skinned waiters, bearing the dish-covers, filedback to the pantry, and the real business of the day began. This wasthe way that dinners were served on all the first-rate steamboats onWestern rivers in those days.

  To hungry, hearty boys, used of late to the rough fare of thefrontier, and just from a hard trip in an ox-wagon, with very shortrations indeed, this profusion of good things was a real delight.Sandy's mouth watered, but he gently sighed to himself, "'Most takesaway my appetite." The polite, even servile, waiters pressed the ladswith the best of everything on the generous board; and Sandy's cup ofhappiness was full when a jolly darky, his ebony face shining withgood-nature, brought him some frosted cake, charlotte russe, and spunsugar and macaroons from one of the shattered pyramids.

  "D'ye s'pose they break those up every day?" whispered Sandy to themore dignified Charlie.

  "Suttinly, suh," replied the colored man, overhearing the question;"suttinly, suh. Dis yere boat is de fastest and de finest on de BigMuddy, young gent; an' dere's nuttin' in dis yere worl' that the 'NewLucy' doan have on her table; an' doan yer fergit it, young mas'r," headded, with respectful pride in his voice.

  "My! what a tuck-out! I've ate and ate until I'm fairly fit to bust,"said Sandy, as the three boys, their dinner over, sauntered out intothe open air and beheld the banks of the river swiftly slipping by asthey glided down the stream.

  Just then, glancing around, his eye caught the amused smile of a talland lovely lady who was standing near by, chatting with two or threerather superior-looking young people whom the lad had first noticedwhen the question of having the baggage brought on board atLeavenworth was under discussion. Sandy's brown cheek flushed; but thepretty lady, extending her hand, said: "Pardon my smiling, my boy; butI have a dear lad at home in Baltimore who always says just that afterhis Christmas dinner, and sometimes on other occasions, perhaps; andhis name is Sandy, too. I think I heard your brother call you Sandy?This is your brother, is it not?" And the lady turned towardsCharlie.

  The lad explained the relationship of the little party, and the ladyfrom Baltimore introduced the members of her party. They had been farup the river to Fort Benton, where they had spent some weeks withfriends who were in the military garrison at that post. The young men,of whom there were three in the party, had been out hunting forbuffalo, elk, and other big game. Had the boys ever killed anybuffalo? The pleasant-faced young gentleman who asked the question hadnoticed that they had a full supply of guns when they came aboard atLeavenworth.

  Yes, they had killed buffalo; at l
east, Sandy had; and the youngster'sexploit on the bluff of the Republican Fork was glowingly narrated bythe generous and manly Charlie. This story broke the ice with thenewly met voyagers and, before the gong sounded for supper, theWhittier boys, as they still called themselves, were quite as wellacquainted with the party from Baltimore, as they thought, as theywould have been if they had been neighbors and friends on the banks ofthe Republican.

  The boys looked in at the supper-table. They only looked; for althoughthe short autumnal afternoon had fled swiftly by while they werechatting with their new friends or exploring the steamboat, they feltthat they could not possibly take another repast so soon after theirfirst real "tuck-out" on the "New Lucy." The overloaded table,shining with handsome glass and china and decked with fancy cakes,preserves, and sweetmeats, had no present attractions for the boys."It's just like after Thanksgiving dinner," said Oscar. "Only we arefar from home," he added, rather soberly. And when the lads crawledinto their bunks, as Sandy insisted upon calling their berths, itwould not surprise one if "thoughts of home and sighs disturbed thesleeper's long-drawn breath."

  Time and again, in the night-watches, the steamer stopped at somelanding by the river-side. Now it would be a mere wood-pile, and theboat would be moored to a cottonwood tree that overhung the stream.Torches of light-wood burning in iron frames at the end of a staffstuck into the ground or lashed to the steamer rail shed a wild, weirdglare on the hurrying scene as the roustabouts, or deck-hands, nimblylugged the wood on board, or carried the cargo ashore, singingplaintive melodies as they worked. Then again, the steamer would bemade fast to a wharf-boat by some small town, or to the levee of alarger landing-place, and goods went ashore, passengers flitted on andoff, baggage was transferred, the gang-plank was hauled in withprodigious clatter, the engineer's bell tinkled, and, with a greatsnort from her engines, the "New Lucy" resumed her way down the river.Few passengers but those who were to go ashore could be seen on theupper deck viewing the strange sights of making a night-landing. Andthrough the whole racket and din, three lads slept the sleep of theyoung and the innocent in room Number 56. "Just the number of the yearwith the eighteen knocked off," Sandy had said when they were assignedto it.

  When the boys had asked in Leavenworth how long the trip to St. Louiswould be, they were told, "Three or four days, if the water holds."This they thought rather vague information, and they had only a dimidea of what the man meant by the water holding. They soon learned.The season had been dry for the time of year. Although it was nowNovember, little or no autumnal rains had fallen. Passengers from FortBenton said that the lands on the Upper Missouri were parched for wantof water, and the sluggish currents of the Big Muddy were "as slow ascold molasses," as one of the deck-hands said to Sandy, when he waspeering about the lower deck of the steamboat. It began to look as ifthe water would not hold.

  On the second afternoon out of Leavenworth, as the "New Lucy" wasgallantly sweeping around Prairie Bend, where any boat going downstream is headed almost due north, the turn in the river revealed noless than four other steamers hard and fast on the shoals that nowplentifully appeared above the surface of the yellow water. Cautiouslyfeeling her way along through these treacherous bars and sands, the"New Lucy," with slackened speed, moved bravely down upon the strandedfleet. Anxious passengers clustered on the forward part of thesteamer, watching the course of events. With many a cough and many asigh, the boat swung to the right or left, obedient to her helm, thecry of the man heaving the lead for soundings telling them how fastthe water shoaled or deepened as they moved down stream.

  "We are bound to get aground," said Oscar, as he scanned the wideriver, apparently almost bare to its bed. "I suppose there is achannel, and I suppose that pilot up there in the pilot-house knowswhere it is, but I don't see any." Just then the water before themsuddenly shoaled, there was a soft, grating sound, a thud, and theboat stopped, hard and fast aground. The "New Lucy" had joined thefleet of belated steamers on the shoals of Prairie Bend.

  The order was given for all passengers to go aft; and while the ladswere wondering what they were so peremptorily sent astern for, theysaw two tall spars that had been carried upright at the bow of theboat rigged into the shape of a V upside down, and set on either sideof the craft, the lower ends resting on the sand-bar each side of her.A big block and tackle were rigged at the point where the sparscrossed each other over the bow of the boat, and from these a stoutcable was made fast to the steamer's "nose," as the boys heardsomebody call the extreme point of the bow.

  "They are actually going to hoist this boat over the sand-bar," saidSandy, excitedly, as they viewed these preparations from the rear ofthe boat.

  "That is exactly what they are going to do," said the pleasant-facedyoung man from Baltimore. "Now, then!" he added, with the air ofone encouraging another, as the crew, laying hold of the tackle, andsinging with a queer, jerky way, began to hoist. This would notavail. The nose of the boat was jammed deep into the sand, and so thecable was led back to a windlass, around which it was carried.Then, the windlass being worked by steam, the hull of the steamerrose very slightly, and the bottom of the bow was released from theriver-bottom. The pilot rang his bell, the engine puffed andclattered, and the boat crept ahead for a few feet, and then came torest again. That was all that could be done until the spars werereset further forward or deep water was reached. It was discouraging,for with all their pulling and hauling, that had lasted for more thanan hour, they had made only four or five feet of headway.

  "At the rate of five feet an hour, how long will it take us to sparour way down to St. Louis?" asked Charlie, quizzically.

  "Oh, Charlie," cried Sandy, "I know now why the clerk said that therewere plenty of fellows who had to spar their way on the river. It ishard work to pull this steamer over the sand-bars and shoals, and whena man is busted and has to work his way along, he's like a steamboatin a fix, like this one is. See? That's the reason why they say he issparring his way, isn't it?"

  "You are quite correct, youngster," said the young man from Baltimore,regarding Sandy's bright face with pleasure. "Correct you are. But Inever knew what the slang meant until I came out here. And, for thatmatter, I don't know that I ever heard the slang before. But it is thejargon of the river men."

  By this time, even sparring was of very little use, for the spars onlysank deep and deeper into the soft river-bottom, and there was nochance to raise the bow of the boat from its oozy bed. The case forthe present was hopeless; but the crew were kept constantly busy untilnightfall, pulling and hauling. Some were sent ashore in a skiff, witha big hawser, which was made fast to a tree, and then all the power ofthe boat, men and steam, was put upon it to twist her nose off fromthe shoal into which it was stuck. All sorts of devices were resortedto, and a small gain was made once in a while; but it looked very muchas if the calculation of Charlie, five feet in an hour, was tooliberal an allowance for the progress towards St. Louis.

  Just then, from the boat furthest down the river rose a cloud ofsteam, and the astonished lads heard a most extraordinary sound likethat of a gigantic organ. More or less wheezy, but still easily to beunderstood, the well-known notes of "Oh, Susannah!" came floating upthe river to them. Everybody paused to listen, even the tired andtugging roustabouts smiling at the unwonted music.

  "Is it really music?" asked Oscar, whose artistic ear was somewhatoffended by this strange roar of sounds. The young man from Baltimoreassured him that this was called music; the music of a steam-organ orcalliope, then a new invention on the Western rivers. He explainedthat it was an instrument made of a series of steam-whistles soarranged that a man, sitting where he could handle them all veryrapidly, could play a tune on them. The player had only to know thekey to which each whistle was pitched, and, with a simple arrangementof notes before him, he could make a gigantic melody that could beheard for many miles away.

  "You are a musician, are you not?" asked the young man from Baltimore."Didn't I hear you playing a violin in your room last night? Or was itone of your
brothers?"

  Oscar, having blushingly acknowledged that he was playing his violinfor the benefit of his cousins, as he explained, his new-foundacquaintance said, "I play the flute a little, and we might try somepieces together some time, if you are willing."

  As they were making ready for bed that night, the pleasant-faced youngman from Baltimore, who had been playing whist with his mother andsister, and the "military man," as the boys had privately named oneof the party, came to their door with his flute. The two musicianswere fast friends at once. Flute and violin made delicious harmony, inthe midst of which Sandy, who had slipped into his bunk, drifted offinto the land of dreams with confused notions of a giant bandsomewhere up in the sky playing "Oh, Susannah!" "Love's LastGreeting," and "How Can I Leave Thee?" with occasional suggestions ofthe "Song of the Kansas Emigrants."

  Another morning came on, cold, damp, and raw. The sky was overcast andthere were signs of rain. "There's been rain to the nor'rard," saidCaptain Bulger, meditatively. Now Captain Bulger was the skipper ofthe "New Lucy," and when he said those oracular words, they werereported about the steamboat, to the great comfort of all on board.Still the five boats stuck on the shoals; their crews were still hardat work at all the devices that could be thought of for theirliberation. The "War Eagle"--for they had found out the name of themusical steamer far down stream--enlivened the tedious day with heroccasional strains of martial and popular music, if the steam-organcould be called musical.

  In the afternoon, Oscar and the amiable young man from Baltimore shutthemselves in their stateroom and played the flute and violin. Thelovely lady who had made Sandy's acquaintance early in the voyageasked him if he could make one at a game of whist. Sandy replied thathe could play "a very little." The thought of playing cards here on asteamboat, in public, as he said to himself, was rather frightful. Hewas not sure if his mother would like to have him do that. He lookeduneasily around to see what Charlie would say about it. But Charliewas nowhere in sight. He was wandering around, like an uneasy ghost,watching for signs of the rising of the river, now confidentlypredicted by the knowing ones among the passengers.

  "My boys all play whist," said the lady, kindly; "but if you do notlike to play, I will not urge you. We lack one of making up a party."

  Sandy had been told that he was an uncommonly good player for one soyoung. He liked the game; there would be no stakes, of course. Withhis ready habit of making up his mind, he brightly said, "I'll play ifyou like, but you must know that I am only a youngster and not afirst-rate player." So they sat down, the lovely lady from Baltimorebeing Sandy's partner, and the military gentleman and the youngdaughter of the lady from Baltimore being their opponents. Sandy hadgreat good luck. The very best cards fell to him continually, and hethought he had never played so well. He caught occasional strains ofmusic from room Number 56, and he was glad that Oscar was enjoyinghimself. From time to time the lovely lady who was his partner smiledapprovingly at him, and once in a while, while the cards were beingdealt, she said, "How divinely those dear boys are playing!"

  The afternoon sped on delightfully, and Sandy's spirits rose. Hethought it would be fine if the "New Lucy" should stay stuck on asand-bar for days and days, and he should have such a good game ofwhist, with the lovely lady from Baltimore for a partner. But themilitary gentleman grew tired. His luck was very poor, and when theservants began to rattle dishes on the supper-table, he suggested thatit would be just as well perhaps if they did not play too much now;they would enjoy the game better later on. They agreed to stop withthe next game.

  When they had first taken their places at the card-table, the militarygentleman had asked Sandy if he had any cards, and when he repliedthat he had none, the military gentleman, with a very lordly air, sentone of the cabin waiters to the bar for a pack of cards. Now that theywere through with the game, Sandy supposed that the military gentlemanwould put the cards into his pocket and pay for them. Instead of thathe said, "Now, my little man, we will saw off to see who shall pay forthe cards."

  "Saw off?" asked Sandy, faintly, with a dim notion of what was meant.

  "Yes, my lad," said the military gentleman. "We will play one hand ofOld Sledge to see who shall pay for the cards and keep them."

  With a sinking heart, but with a brave face, Sandy took up the cardsdealt to him and began to play. It was soon over. Sandy won one pointin the hand; the military gentleman had the other three.

  "Take care of your cards, my son," said the military gentleman; "wemay want them again. They charge the extravagant price of six bits forthem on this boat, and these will last us to St. Louis."

  Six bits! Seventy-five cents! And poor Sandy had only twenty-fivecents in his pocket. That silver quarter represented the entirecapital of the Boy Settlers from Kansas. Looking up, he saw Charlieregarding him with reproachful eyes from a corner of the saloon. Withgreat carefulness, he gathered up his cards and rose, revolving in hismind the awful problem of paying for seventy-five cents' worth ofcards with twenty-five cents.

  "Well, you've got yourself into a nice scrape," tragically whisperedCharlie, in his ear, as soon as the two boys were out of earshot ofthe others. "What are you going to do now? You can spar your way downto St. Louis, but you can't spar your way with that barkeeper for apack of cards."

  "Let me alone, Charlie," said Sandy, testily. "You haven't got to payfor these cards. I'll manage it somehow. Don't you worry yourself theleast bit."

  "Serves you right for gambling. What would mother say if she knew it?If you hadn't been so ready to show off your whist-playing beforethese strangers, you wouldn't have got into such a box."

  "I didn't gamble," replied Sandy, hotly. "It isn't gambling to play ahand to see who shall pay for the cards. All men do that. I have seendaddy roll a game of tenpins to see who should pay for the alley."

  "I don't care for that. It is gambling to play for the leastest thingas a stake. Nice fellow you are, sitting down to play a hand ofseven-up for the price of a pack of cards! Six bits at that!"

  "A nice brotherly brother you are to nag me about those confoundedcards, instead of helping a fellow out when he is down on his luck."

  Charlie, a little conscience-stricken, held his peace, while Sandybroke away from him, and rushed out into the chilly air of theafter-deck. There was no sympathy in the dark and murky river, none inthe forlorn shore, where rows of straggling cottonwoods leaned overand swept their muddy arms in the muddy water. Looking around for aray of hope, a bright idea struck him. He could but try one chance.The bar of the "New Lucy" was a very respectable-looking affair, asbars go. It opened into the saloon cabin of the steamer on its innerside, but in the rear was a small window where the deck passengerssneaked up, from time to time, and bought whatever they wanted, andthen quietly slipped away again, unseen by the more "high-toned"passengers in the cabin. Summoning all his courage and assurance, theboy stepped briskly to this outside opening, and, leaning his armsjauntily on the window-ledge, said, "See here, cap, I owe you for apack of cards."

  "Yep," replied the barkeeper, holding a bottle between his eye and thelight, and measuring its contents.

  This was not encouraging. Sandy, with a little effort, went on: "Yousee we fellows, three of us, are sparring our way down to St. Louis.We have got trusted for our passage. We've friends in St. Louis, andwhen we get there we shall be in funds. Our luggage is in pawn for ourpassage money. When we come down to get our luggage, I will pay youthe six bits I owe you for the cards. Is that all right?"

  "Yep," said the barkeeper, and he set the bottle down. As the lad wentaway from the window, with a great load lifted from his heart, thebarkeeper put his head out of the opening, looked after him, smiled,and said, "That boy'll do."

  When Sandy joined his brother, who was wistfully watching for him, hesaid, a little less boastfully than might have been expected of him,"That's all right, Charlie. The barkeeper says he will trust me untilwe get to St. Louis and come aboard to get the luggage. He's a goodfellow, even if he did say 'yep' instead of 'yes' whe
n I asked him."

  In reply to Charlie's eager questions, Sandy related all that hadhappened, and Charlie, with secret admiration for his small brother'sknack of "cheeking it through," as he expressed it, forbore anyfurther remarks.

  "I do believe the water is really rising!" exclaimed the irrepressibleyoungster, who, now that his latest trouble was fairly over, wasalready thinking of something else. "Look at that log. When I came outhere just after breakfast, this morning, it was high and dry on thatshoal. Now one end of it is afloat. See it bob up and down?"

  Full of the good news, the lads went hurriedly forward to find Oscar,who, with his friend from Baltimore, was regarding the darkening scenefrom the other part of the boat.

  "She's moving!" excitedly cried Oscar, pointing his finger at the "WarEagle"; and, as he spoke, that steamer slid slowly off the sand-bar,and with her steam-organ playing triumphantly "Oh, aren't you gladyou're out of the Wilderness!" a well-known air in those days, shesteamed steadily down stream. From all the other boats, still strandedthough they were, loud cheers greeted the first to be released fromthe long embargo. Presently another, the "Thomas H. Benton," slid off,and churning the water with her wheels like a mad thing, took her waydown the river. All these boats were flat-bottomed and, as the sayingwas, "could go anywhere if the ground was a little damp." A rise of avery few inches of water was sufficient to float any one of them. And,in the course of a half-hour, the "New Lucy," to the great joy of herpassengers, with one more hoist on her forward spars, was once more inmotion, and she too went gayly steaming down the river, her lessfortunate companions who were still aground cheering her as she glidedalong the tortuous channel.

  "Well, that was worth waiting some day or two to see," said Oscar,drawing a long breath. "Just listen to that snorting calliope, playing'Home, Sweet Home' as they go prancing down the Big Muddy. I shallnever forget her playing that 'Out of the Wilderness' as she tore outof those shoals. It's a pretty good tune, after all, and thesteam-organ is not so bad now that you hear it at a distance."