Old Times on the Upper Mississippi
although that was ready if required, for all officers were usually at
hand and ready in case of necessity.
In a row that took place at Prairie du Chien one night, when the
men had sent up town and smuggled in a jug of whiskey, one man who
was hit on the head by the paddle went overboard on the upstream side
of the boat. He was instantly sucked under by the swift current, and
was never seen again. The coroner's jury in the case brought in a
verdict of "accidental death", and Wilson came back to work after a
week's sojourn with the sheriff, having won an added prestige that
rendered less necessary the use of the paddle.
Ordinarily his commands were given in a low tone of voice,
unaccompanied with the profanity which legend and story considered
due from the man and his office. When things went wrong, however,
the wide range and profundity of his language was a revelation to
the passengers who might chance to be within ear-shot. I recall an
outbreak, one April morning at about four o'clock, at a woodyard,
between Trempealeau and Winona. He had called, "All hands, wood
up!" It was a cold and rainy night, and many of the men had crawled
in under the boilers to dry their clothes and seek sleep. After
the first round or two, he found that ten or fifteen men were
missing--they were "soldiering." He went aft and ransacked the bunks
without finding the truants. He then dove under the boilers with his
paddle, striking in the dark, and feeling for some one to hit, at the
same time pouring out a torrent of profanity that in ordinary walks
of life, would be called monumental, but which in the more exacting
conditions of river life, probably was not above medium grade. The
next count found every man in line, toting his share of the wood.
It may be and was asked by Eastern people, unused to river life,
"Why do the men submit to such treatment? Why do they not throw the
mate into the river?" The answer is, caste. They were used to being
driven, and expected nothing else, and nothing better, and they
would not work under any other form of authority. As I stated at the
beginning, they were of the very lowest class. No self-respecting man
would ship as a deck hand under the then existing conditions. One
might now travel long and look in vain for a white crew driven as
these men then were. Their places have been taken by the freed negro;
he to-day is being driven as his white predecessors were then.
There is this distinction, however; now, most of the drivers are
Irishmen--the mates and watchmen on the river steamers. Then an
Irishman was of little service as a mate. Those officers were, as a
rule, Yankees or Southerners or Pennsylvania Dutchmen. We had for a
time a second mate, Con Shovelin, an Irishman, as you might suspect
from his name. He was six feet high, and big in every way, including
his voice. He roared and swore at the crew all the time, but put very
little spirit into them. A look out of the corner of Wilson's eye,
and a politely worded request that they "Get a hump, now!" was worth
a volume of Shovelin's exordiums. At that time an Irishman could not
handle an Irish crew; now, he can handle a crew of free negroes with
the expenditure of one-half the wind and oratory. If you wish to see
for yourself, take a trip on the river to St. Louis and return, and
see the Celt driving the Ethiopian, even as the Saxon drove the Celt,
fifty years ago.
Chapter IX
_The "Old Man"_
It would be interesting to trace the origin of this term, which is
universally applied to the captain in nautical circles, either on
shipboard, among deep-sea sailors, on the great lakes, or on the
inland waters. He may not be half as old as the speaker; still, in
speaking of him, not to him, he is the "old man." It is used in
no disrespectful sense; indeed, it is rather an endearing term.
In speaking to him, however, it is always Captain, or Sir. But in
detailing what the Captain has said or done the narrator says that
the "old man" says so, or is about to do so, and his auditors, if
river men, know of but one "old man" aboard the boat, although the
steamer may be freighted with octogenarians.
The captain usually reaches the "roof" from one of two directions,
either going up from mate, or coming down from the pilot house.
Occasionally he emerges from the clerk's office, or from the
engine-room; but the line of promotion is usually drawn from mate
or pilot to captain, these being also the normal lines of education
for that post. Perhaps the greater number of captains serving on the
river in the early days, down to 1860, began their careers on the
river as pilots, very often combining the two offices in one person.
The captain's official requirements are not altogether ornate. It
is true that he must have sufficient polish to commend himself to
his passengers. That is essential in popularizing his boat; but in
addition he must thoroughly know a steamboat, from stem to stern, and
know what is essential to its safety, the comfort of his passengers,
and the financial satisfaction of its owners. Nearly every old-time
captain on the river could, in case of necessity, pilot his boat
from St. Paul to Galena. Every captain could, and of necessity
did, handle the deck crew, with the second mate as go-between,
during the captain's watch on deck. Some few might have gone into
the engine-room and taken charge of the machinery, but these were
exceptional cases. All were supposed to know enough about the
business of the office to enable them to determine between profit and
loss in the running of the steamer.
After leaving port, the captain on the river was as autocratic as his
compeer on the ocean. He might without notice discharge and order
ashore any officer or man on board, and he could fill vacancies en
route to any extent; but these appointments were subject to the
approval of the owner or manager on arrival at the home port. Many,
if not most, of the captains owned interests in the boats which they
commanded. Many were sole owners, in which case they were amenable to
no one for their actions, except to the civil authorities in case of
legal technicalities, or to the unwritten laws of the service, which
custom had made binding upon all. Such, for instance, was the rule
that the captain was not to interfere with the pilots in the running
of his boat, even if he might know, or think he knew, better than
they the proper course to take in certain cases, or under certain
conditions; even though he might himself have a pilot's license
hanging in his stateroom. Neither was it considered good form to
interfere with the duties of his mate, or the engineers, or the chief
clerk, in the way of countermanding their orders when given in the
line of duty. He might call them to account in his office, and not
only caution, but command them not to repeat the error. Only in cases
where such interference was necessary for the safety of the boat was
it deemed permissible; and a captain who so far forgot himself as to
interfere, lost caste among all classes of rivermen, high and low.
Nevertheless, the "old man" had supreme power, and had the authority
to interpose his veto on any command or any action, by any of his
officers or men. This supremacy threw the burden of responsibility
upon his shoulders, and set him apart as a man by himself.
The seat of power was in the forward part of the "Texas", where
a commodious and handsomely-furnished cabin served as office,
audience-room, sitting-room, and whenever he so willed, as
dining-room. Connected with it was a sleeping apartment, larger and
better furnished than the ordinary staterooms in the passenger cabin.
From the windows on the front and on two sides of his sitting-room
he could look out ahead, or on either side, and see everything that
was going on. It was here that he entertained favored guests when in
relaxation, or hetcheled contumacious officers when in tenser moods.
From his berth, directly under the pilot house, he could read the
sounds of shuffling feet as the man on watch danced from side to side
of his wheel; he could note the sounds of the bell-pulls, as signals
were rung in the engine-room; and he could tell very nearly where
the boat was at such times, and judge very cleverly as to the luck
the pilot was having in running an ugly piece of river, or working
out a crooked crossing. He could look out and see if his mate was
asleep alongside the big bell, in the drowsy hours of the morning
watch, if he cared to confirm a shrewd bet that the mate was asleep.
He could tell by the roar of the forced draft in the tall chimneys
in front of him, that there was another boat in sight, either ahead
or behind, and that Billy Hamilton had the "blowers" on in response
to a suggestion from Tommy Cushing, at the wheel, that an excess of
steam was desirable, and that at once. This last was a perennial, or
nocturnal, source of annoyance to our "Old Man", and one that wrung
from him more protests than any other shortcoming under his command.
It burned out more wood than was justified by the end attained;
but what was of more serious import, it suggested the carrying of
a greater head of steam than was consonant with perfect safety. At
a time when boiler explosions were not infrequent on the Western
rivers, any suggestion of extra steam-carrying was sufficient to put
the "old man" on the alert; and this led to more interference with
his officers than any other cause that came under my observation
during my brief experience on the river. A scantily-clad apparition
would appear on deck forward of the "Texas", and a request, "Mr.
Cushing, please ask Mr. Hamilton to cut off the blowers", would
be passed down the speaking tube to the engine-room. While it
always came in the form of request, it carried with it the force of
command--until it was concluded that the "old man" was again asleep,
when the blowers were cautiously and gradually reopened.
While it was not always expected that the captain should take the
place of the engineer or pilot, it was required that he should be
thoroughly acquainted with the handling of a steamboat under all
circumstances. He must be a man possessed of nerve and courage, quick
to see what was required, and as quick to give the necessary commands
to his crew. As on deeper water, the code of honor on the river held
that the captain must be the last to leave his sinking or burning
boat; and many a brave commander has gone down to honorable death
while upholding this code. In case of fire he must, with the pilot,
instantly decide where lay the greatest chances of safety in beaching
his boat. In case of snagging, or being cut down by ice, it is his
first duty to save his boat, if possible, by stopping the break, at
the same time providing for the safety of his passengers by beaching
her on the nearest sand-bar. In case of grounding--"getting stuck on
a sand-bar", as it is popularly known--all his knowledge of every
expedient to extricate his vessel known to river men is called in
play at once. An hour's time, or even a few minutes, lost in trying
cheap experiments, is sufficient to pile up the shifting sands about
the hull to such an extent as sometimes to consume days, or even
weeks, in getting free.
Our own boat, the "Fanny Harris", drifted upon a submerged bank on
the lower side of the cut-off between Fevre River and Harris Slough,
with a falling river. She did not get off that day, and within three
days had less than a foot of water under some parts of her hull. Her