by Lois Lenski
One day she said to Daddy, “Don’t you feel sorry for those people over there?”
“Why?” asked Daddy.
“Because they can’t go on the river like us.”
Daddy patted her shoulder. “Spoken like a real houseboat girl,” he said. “Once you feel sorry for the people on the bank, that means the river has got you for good.”
But even though the river had taken hold of her, as Daddy said, there still remained one thought buried under all her river experiences, a thought that teased and tormented her, and would give her no peace. It was the thought of a house, a permanent home on land. What if, after all, the people on the bank were right?
There were long hours when nothing happened at all. The houseboat drifted along steadily and Daddy often sat lazily on deck. The children ate meals when Mama called. They were always wanting a town and it seemed a long ways there. They quarreled over little things—which chair or bench to sit on, who should wash or dry the dishes. Patsy did not look at the river map or notice the numbers on the river lights any more. She watched the water birds in the shallows and the flocks of red-winged blackbirds in the trees. If she waited long enough, there, would be a town.
The last one in Missouri was Caruthersville.
Caruthersville meant town, and town meant getting ice and groceries and meat, but Caruthersville held an unexpected surprise. On the way back to the river, they stopped at a fish market. Daddy had no fish to sell, because he had no Missouri fishing license, but he wanted to talk to the other fishermen there. The fish market was run by a woman who said her name was Aunty Ruth. She invited the children to her house nearby and let them watch television. While they watched, she gave them cold drinks.
“You like livin’ on the river?” she asked.
“Oh yes,” said Patsy.
Then they thanked her and followed Daddy back to the houseboat.
CHAPTER VI
Down, Down, Down the River
“WHEN ARE WE GOING to stop and stay a while?” asked Patsy. “I’m tired of bein’ in the boat all day long.”
It was Mama who answered. “Oh, we’ll look for a nice place under the river bank somewhere along.”
“In a town?” asked Patsy. “Will we get a house again?” Sometimes her longing was so great, she just had to talk about it.
“I’ve got a place in mind,” said Daddy. He turned to Mama. “Remember that chute down by Luxora where we used to stop sometimes?”
“O’Donald Bend,” said Mama, “near Ashport Ferry. At Ashport on the Tennessee side is where we met Seth Barker and his wife.”
“Yes,” said Daddy. “When our engine broke down, I went over to Ashport and tried to get help. I met Seth and he told me where to get my dry shaft welded.”
Mama went on, “Seth said to me, ‘Come on up to the house. I didn’t want to go but I did. When you came for me, I didn’t want to leave, I liked Edie so much. We was like old friends the minute we set eyes on each other. That was ten years ago when Milly was about two. She was so fat, she was a load to carry.”
“We never went in the chute that time,” said Daddy.
“No,” said Mama, “that was another time, when Dan was little. We stopped in the chute to get some stuff, and the water was up to the willows. We saw people there and hogs, chickens and dogs and we kinda liked it. We was goin’ up river in January and we stayed all night at the end of the chute. Next day we tried to find the Barkers. An old man told us where to find them. It was hard work shovin’ willows up to their door, but we made it. Seth had the job of lamplighter by that time.”
“Then two years ago, they’d moved back over to Tennessee again,” said Daddy. “Seth Barker was never a man to stay in one place for long.”
“It would do my heart good to see Edie again,” said Mama. “Let’s stop at O’Donald Bend and hunt them up.”
“Like findin’ a needle in a haystack,” said Daddy, “but we’ll take a look at that chute.”
“And maybe stop and stay a while?” asked Patsy eagerly.
Daddy patted her on the back. “We just might do that, honey.”
The houseboat made good headway down river, around Island No. 18, and came to Cottonwood Point ferry in lower Missouri, where Daddy had to stop for some minor repairs. The children begged Mama to let them go to the store at the ferry landing.
“What for?” asked Mama.
“We want to see what’s up there,” said Patsy. “See the town and the stores and the houses and the people.”
“There’s no town at all,” said Mama, “nothing but a country road leading to the ferry.”
“Daddy said there’s a gas station and a store,” said Patsy.
“Gimme a nickel, Mama!” begged Dan and Bunny.
“Gimme a nickel, too,” begged Patsy, bringing Mama’s purse.
“Hush! All I got is pennies,” said Mama, giving some to each. “Go spend them if that’s any fun.”
Bunny dropped one of hers. “Where’s my penny?” she cried. Patsy picked it up.
Mama said, “Patsy, give it to Bunny.”
Patsy who was running, threw the penny behind her. Bunny finally found it, said it was not hers and began wailing for the other one. Mama watched them as they ran, followed by the dog and cat.
“Don’t let Blackie get lost,” she called after them.
In half an hour they came back with bubble gum and began smacking it. Suddenly Dan burst out, “I know what bubble gum’s made out of!”
“What?” asked Patsy.
“Dead horses!” said Dan.
“Oh!” cried Patsy. “How horrible!” She spat hers into the river. “Next time I’ll buy gumdrops.”
Patsy went out to the back porch where Mama
was peeling potatoes. She sat down quietly beside her and started to talk.
“There was a girl up there at the store, Mama,” Patsy said, “and I didn’t like her at all.”
“Why not?” asked Mama. “Anything wrong with her?”
“She had a pretty dress on,” said Patsy, “and a gold ring on her finger.”
“Well, what of it?” asked Mama. “Anything wrong with that?”
“No, but…” Patsy began. “She wasn’t nice. She called us river rats ’cause we live on a houseboat.” Patsy began to cry and Mama took her in her arms to comfort her.
“There’s just as good people on the river as on land,” said Mama, “and don’t you ever forget it, honey.”
Soon the houseboat was on its way again. Arkansas was now on the west bank, although in some places, due to a changed course of the river, Tennessee was on both banks. Around Island No. 21 and on through Needham Cut-off the current was swift. The swiftest current of the whole river was between Caruthersville and Memphis. There were so many bends in the river now, the course of the houseboat was constantly changing direction.
The river was never without drama, and often it came unexpectedly.
“Look at the fishermen,” cried Dan, as they rounded Barfield Bend.
“That’s jug-fishing,” said Milly. “See their jugs floating?”
Several men were out, each in his own johnboat. Gallon jugs of glass, with stoppers in them and baited lines attached to the handles, had been tossed overboard. The fishermen floated slowly along, dumping out one jug after another about twenty feet apart. They had piles of jugs in their boats, each with its baited line wrapped around it. The men were kept busy following the jugs as they bobbed about in the river.
Daddy sat on deck, letting the houseboat drift slowly by on the current. Suddenly a sound like the firing of a shotgun was heard.
“He’s got one—a big fellow!” cried Patsy, excitedly. “Look! It’s pulled the jug under!”
A catfish under water had got hold of the bait. When the jug was jerked under, the water came together behind it with a loud crack. The jug stayed down as the fish ran with it and came up farther on. Then it went down again. The fish was putting up a hard fight. The man kept following it in his boat, b
ut was waiting for the fish to wear itself out. Finally the fish gave up, came to the top of the water and floated on its back. The man pulled it in and held it up.
“Look at that!” cried Daddy. “That’s a thirty pounder, I bet. Only the biggest ones can pull those jugs under.”
It was late when Daddy tied up and came in to dinner. He heard the sound of a motor and looked out the back door.
“Look at that big cruiser coming,” he said. “It’s throwing waves as high as the trees!”
The powerful boat came up and passed swiftly by.
“That’s that same Fleetcraft we saw up near Tiptonville,” said Milly. “I’d know it anywhere. They were so much faster than us, they left us far behind. What’s held them up, I wonder?”
“Engine trouble, probably,” said Daddy. “Those fancy new boats are not all they’re cracked up to be. Those people have probably been held up waitin’ for a mechanic to take their engine apart and put it together again. They’re probably headin’ for Florida by way of the Gulf of Mexico. Hope they don’t get drowned before they get there.”
After the cruiser passed, everything was quiet again: The river was wide like a great lake, and the banks were so far away, they were just a line of green. It was hot, so Patsy sat down on the guard and swung her feet in the water to cool them.
“Take your feet out of that water,” called Mama inside.
Patsy obeyed. “Mama can see clear through the walls of the houseboat,” she told Dan.
After a while, Mama came out on the porch, where Daddy was sitting.
Suddenly Patsy felt homesick. If she could only see River City again! She sat down by Mama who was busy with her mending.
“Mama,” said Patsy, “remember our house in River City?”
“Yes,” said Mama, “I was glad to see the last of it.”
“Remember those flowers I planted in that rubber tire in our yard? Pushcart Aggie gave me the seed.”
“Yes,” said Mama, “zinnias and they was real purty, too. But they died because you didn’t water ’em, it was so hot last summer. I coulda fried an egg on our front steps any time.”
“River City’s in a low hole,” said Daddy. “It never gets a breath of air all summer long. That house was as hot as a furnace. If there’s anything I hate, it’s bein’ cooped up in a house!”
“But don’t you like a house, Daddy?” asked Patsy. “With a yard and flower beds and trees around it?”
Daddy turned to look at the girl. “We’ve had two houses up there in Illinois and I wouldn’t give you a fish barge for either one of ’em. Why are you so crazy about a house, girl? You liked it on the river all along…I thought I brought you up to be a houseboat girl!”
“But in town,” said Patsy, “there’s something for children to do. You can plant seeds and watch ’em grow. You got friends to play with, there’s movies to go to…”
“Yes,” said Daddy, “in town my kids are on the go, and I don’t know where they go or what they’re doin’. In town they might do mean things—break in stores or steal things.”
“I wouldn’t,” said Patsy. “Milly wouldn’t, and Dan and Bunny wouldn’t. We’re all pretty good, Daddy.”
“My kids are not angels,” said Daddy. “They’d go where anybody goes, especially Dan. He’s worse ’n a puppydog.”
“When we’ve got you on the houseboat,” said Mama, “we know where you’re at.”
“There’s nothin’ like the river,” Daddy went on. “I’ve tried other things. I worked in timber, I had a hog business, I did farming with a tractor, I worked in a factory in Detroit, Michigan, but I couldn’t stick it. I’m a born fisherman. If I was down and out, I’d bum fifty cents off somebody and buy me a trotline and start fishin’ all over again!”
Patsy laughed. “I like fishin’ too, but still—a house is nice.”
“We made the mistake of stayin’ in that house in River City for two years,” said Daddy, looking at Mama. “That’s the longest I ever lived on land since I was eighteen years old. Two years in a house—that’s what has spoiled this girl. And here I thought she was a real river pal of mine.”
“I still am.” Patsy put her arm around his neck and hugged him. “It’ll be nice to get back again, won’t it?”
Daddy looked at her, startled.
“Back again? Where?” he asked. “To River City? Why, we just come away.”
“I like bein’ on the river for the summer,” said Patsy. “It’s a nice vacation. I told Ginny Cobb and the Cramer girls we’d be back by the time school starts.”
Daddy said again stubbornly, “We just come away. We won’t talk about going back yet.”
There the subject ended.
It was below the Barfield revetment, where the channel crossed the river to the Tennessee side that Daddy spotted a sturdy boat with a closed cabin tied up to a tree near Wardlow Pocket Navigation Light. A man was coming down the bank to get into the boat. He stopped and looked when he saw the houseboat outfit coming down river. As it came closer, he raised his arm and waved.
“It’s Seth Barker!” Daddy shouted. “It’s Seth Barker or I’ll eat my boots! He’s out tendin’ his lights!”
It was too good to be true. Daddy pulled in at the bank and soon the two men were shaking hands.
“If it ain’t old Abe Foster!” cried the lamplighter. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.” He came on board to see Mama and the children. It was a happy reunion meeting an old friend.
“I was keepin’ my eye open for you,” said Abe Foster. “I figgered I might see you if you still had this run. Where you livin’ now, in Arkansas or Tennessee?”
“We’re at Ashport Ferry Landing in Arkansas,” said Barker. “Got a houseboat now, but beached it up on that hill. I’ve got a forty-five-mile round trip to make—sixteen lights, fourteen kerosene and two battery lights. I go south to Cook’s Island, that’s No. 30, off Osceola, and up this way to about three miles above Tomato. Where you folks headin’ for this trip—Memphis, New Orleans, Mexico, the West Indies or South America?”
“Not so far,” said Foster. “Not even to Louisiana. I can’t understand all that French they speak there.”
“I’d sure like to see Edie again,” said Mama, “and show her how the children have grown.”
Seth Barker pulled Patsy’s hair. “Just like weeds,” he said. He patted Dan on the back. “Little Abe is sure gettin’ big.”
“We’re headin’ for O’Donald Bend tonight,” said Foster. “Can we make it before dark?”
“Better get a move on,” said Barker. “I’ll tell Edie so you two women can get together.” He chugged off in his power boat.
It was getting dark when the houseboat passed the little town of Tomato, high up on the bank. A few lights could be seen in the windows of houses. The Arkansas banks were high here, with several cave-ins. In one place a sinker barge was tied up to a heavy post. The barge’s derrick lifted concrete slabs from the deck of a second boat and sank them into the bank for reinforcement. The men were working all night under a bright spotlight.
At the Bend of Island No. 25, darkness fell.
“There comes a big tow behind us!” cried Milly.
Mama and the children looked up river and saw it coming around a point about a mile back.
“That’s not a tow,” said Mama, as it came closer. “It’s all lighted up. Looks like an excursion boat to me.”
“It’s lightin’ up the whole sky!” cried Patsy, clapping her hands.
There were no barges ahead, and soon the great boat loomed up white and startling in the dusk of evening. Daddy saw it coming and, anxious to escape its wash, pulled over toward the bank. When the big boat came close, the children could read the name, on the side.
“It’s the Delta Queen!” cried Patsy. “The Delta Queen!”
“She comes from Cincinnati and she’s bound for New Orleans,” said Mama. “I’ve seen her lots of times. She’s one of the last two-packet boats on the Mississippi and the Ohio. Wonder
what she’s doin’ down here now. She makes most of her trips in the wintertime, takin’ people to Mardi Gras in New Orleans.”
All the children stared. The Delta Queen had four decks and there were bright lights in all the windows. Music was playing and they could see women in bright-colored evening gowns dancing with men in black coats. It was a beautiful and thrilling sight.
The children waved and called out, and wondered if the people could hear them. A man threw something overboard, but it fell in the river and was gone. And then the boat, was almost past and the great big paddle wheel at the stern was splashing all wet and shiny in a whirl of spray. All too soon the beautiful vision was gone, faded away like a dream. It was gone away down river, leaving only a great wash behind. The houseboat bounced up and down on the waves, then righted itself with no damage done.
“That’s the way to go to New Orleans,” said Patsy emphatically. “When I get big, I’ll go to Cincinnati and take a ride on the Delta Queen. That’s the best boat on the river, the queen of them all.”
The houseboat looked crude and shabby after the excursion boat had passed. The children were tired but would not go to bed. Milly and Mama hung lanterns out when it grew dark—a green light on the right of the fish barge and a red light on the left of the houseboat. Daddy put a white or open light on the tail of the outfit.
“If something happens and you have no light,” said Mama, “you don’t have no show.”
“Will we get there soon?” asked Patsy, sleepily. “I want to see the place we’re gonna stay a while. I want to put my chickens out on the bank. And Blackie, too—we’re all tired of this old houseboat.”
“It won’t be long now,” said Mama. “Once Daddy finds that chute called Canadian Reach, we’ll soon be at O’Donald Bend.”
The children were sound asleep when the houseboat slipped into the cove and the motor was stilled. Only the quiet lapping of the waves around the hull and the sleepy chirping of a bird in the willows broke the silence.
