Old Times on the Upper Mississippi
the rising wind and the danger to be apprehended. This caution was
ignored by the "Fire Canoe's" captain, who ran his boat down into the
channel that we had broken. The ice did move as predicted, slowly, so
slowly as to be imperceptible unless you sighted by some stationary
object. But it was as irresistible as fate, and it crushed the
timbers of the "Fire Canoe" as though they were inch boards instead
of five-inch planks. The rending of her timbers was plainly heard two
miles away. The upper works were left on the ice, and later we ran
down and picked the crew and passengers off the wreck. When the wind
changed and blew the other way, the cabin was turned over and ground
to splinters amid the moving cakes.
In 1857 the "Galena" was the first boat through the lake (April
30th). There were twelve other boats in sight at one time, all
butting the ice in the attempt to force a passage and be the first to
reach St. Paul. Of the boats lost on the Missouri River between 1842
and 1897, twenty-six were lost from ice; on the upper Mississippi, up
to 1863, ten boats succumbed to the same destroyer.
Not only in Lake Pepin, in the early spring, was this danger to be
apprehended; but in autumn also, in the closing days of navigation,
when the young "anchor ice" was forming, and drifting with the
current, before it had become attached to the banks, and formed the
winter bridge over the river. This was a most insidious danger. The
new ice, just forming under the stress of zero weather, cut like a
knife; and while the boat might feel no jar from meeting ice fields
and solitary floating cakes, all the time the ice was eating its way
through the firm oak planking, and unless closely watched the bow of
the boat would be ground down so thin that an extra heavy ice floe,
striking fairly on the worn planking, would stave the whole bow in,
and the boat would go to the bottom in spite of all attempts to stop
the leak. The "Fanny Harris" was thus cut down by floating ice and
sank in twenty feet of water, opposite Point Douglass, being a total
loss. Ordinarily, boats intending to make a late trip to the north
were strengthened by spiking on an extra armor sheathing of four-inch
oak plank at the bow, and extending back twenty or thirty feet.
It is a singular fact that the greatest damage from ice was not
experienced at the far north of the upper river, but at the southern
extremity of the run; although many other boats were lost on the
upper reaches, at wide intervals of time and place. St. Louis was
a veritable killing place for steamboats, from the ice movements.
This may be accounted for from the reason that so many boats
wintered at St. Louis. When a break-up of extraordinary magnitude or
unseasonableness did occur, it had a large number of boats to work
upon. Again, the season of cold, while long and severe on the upper
river, was distinctly marked as to duration. There was no thawing and
freezing again. When the river closed in November, it stayed closed
until the latter end of March, or the early days of April. Then,
when the ice went out, that ended the embargo; there was no further
danger to be feared. Boats did not usually leave their snug-harbors
until the ice had run out; and when they did start, they had only
Lake Pepin to battle with. At St. Louis, on the contrary, the most
disastrous break-ups came unseasonably and unexpectedly, with the
result that the great fleet of boats wintering there were caught
unprepared to meet such an emergency, and many were lost.
Two such disastrous movements of the ice were experienced at St.
Louis, the first in 1856, the other in 1876. The former "break-up"
occurred February 27, and resulted in the destruction of a score of
the finest boats in the St. Louis trade, and the partial wrecking of
as many more. It put out of commission in a few hours nearly forty
boats, a catastrophe unequalled in magnitude, either before or since,
in the annals of the river. The disaster was not caused in the usual
way, by the thawing of the ice. In that case it would not have been
so disastrous, if indeed to be feared at all, that being the usual
and normal manner of clearing the river in the spring. The winter had
been very cold, the ice was two or three feet thick, and the water
very low. In this case the movement of the ice was caused by a sudden
rise in the river from above, which caused the ice to move before it
was much, if any, disintegrated. It was an appalling and terrible
exhibition of the power of the Great River when restrained in its
course. The following account is from a St. Louis paper, printed at
the time:
"The ice at first moved very slowly and without any perceptible
shock. The boats lying above Chestnut Street were merely shoved
ashore. Messrs. Eads & Nelson's Submarine boat No. 4, which had
just finished work on the wreck of the "Parthenia", was almost
immediately capsized, and became herself a hopeless wreck.
Here the destruction commenced. The "Federal Arch" parted her
fastenings and became at once a total wreck. Lying below her
were the steamers "Australia", "Adriatic", "Brunette", "Paul
Jones", "Falls City", "Altoona", "A. B. Chambers", and the
"Challenge", all of which were torn away from shore as easily
as if they had been mere skiffs, and floated down with the
immense fields of ice. The shock and the crashing of these
boats can better be imagined than described. All their ample
fastenings were as nothing against the enormous flood of ice,
and they were carried down apparently fastened and wedged
together. The first obstacles with which they came in contact
were a large fleet of wood-boats, flats, and canal boats. These
small fry were either broken to pieces, or were forced out on
to the levee in a very damaged condition. There must have been
at least fifty of these smaller water craft destroyed, pierced
by the ice, or crushed by the pressure of each against the
other.
"In the meantime some of the boats lying above Chestnut Street
fared badly. The "F. X. Aubrey" was forced into the bank and
was considerably damaged. The noble "Nebraska", which was
thought to be in a most perilous position, escaped with the
loss of her larboard wheel and some other small injuries. A
number of the upper river boats lying above Chestnut Street,
were more or less damaged. Both the Alton wharf-boats were sunk
and broken in pieces. The old "Shenandoah" and the "Sam Cloon"
were forced away from the shore and floated down together,
lodging against the steamer "Clara", where they were soon torn
to pieces and sunk by a collision with one of the ferry-boats
floating down upon them. The Keokuk wharf-boat maintained its
position against the flood and saved three boats, the "Polar
Star", "Pringle", and "Forest Rose", none of which were injured.
"After running about an hour the character of the ice changed
and it came down in a frothy, crumbled condition, with an
occasional solid piece. At the end of two hours it ran very
slowly, and finally stopped at half past five o'clock, P. M.
Just before the ice stopped and commenced to gorge, huge piles,
twenty and thirty feet in height were forced up by the current
on every hand, both on the shore and at the lower dike, where
so many boats had come to a halt. In fact these boats seemed to
be literally buried in ice.
"The levee on the morning after the day of the disaster
presented a dreary and desolate spectacle, looking more like a
scene in the polar regions than in the fertile and beautiful
Mississippi Valley. The Mississippi, awakened from her long
sleep, was pitching along at a wild and rapid rate of speed,
as if to make up for lost time. The ice-coat of mail was torn
into shreds, which lay strewn along the levee, and was in some
places heaped up to a height of twenty feet above the level of
the water. Where the boats had lain in crowds only a few hours
before, nothing was to be seen save this high bulwark of ice,
which seemed as if it had been left there purposely to complete
the picture of bleak desolation. The whole business portion
of the levee was clear of boats, except the two wrecked Alton
wharf-boats, which were almost shattered to pieces, and cast
like toys upon the shore in the midst of the ridge of ice.
There was not a single boat at the levee which entirely escaped
injury by the memorable breaking up of the ice on February 27,
1856."
Chapter XXX
_Living It Over Again_
One day in the spring of 1881, after having finished the business
that had called me to St. Paul from my home in River Falls, Wisconsin
(where I was a railway agent and newspaper proprietor combined), I
was loafing about the Grand Central Station, killing time until my
train should be ready to start. The big whistle of a big boat drew
me to the adjacent wharf of the Diamond Jo Line. The craft proved
to be the "Mary Morton". As soon as the lines were fast, the stages
in position, and the first rush of passengers ashore, I walked
aboard and up to the office. A small man, past middle life, his hair
somewhat gray, was writing in a big book which I recognized as the
passenger journal. By the same token I realized that I was in the
presence of the chief clerk, even if I had not already seen the "mud"
clerk hard at work on the levee, checking out freight. I spoke to
the occupant of the office, and after a few questions and counter
questions I learned that he was Charley Mathers, who had been on the
river before 1860 as chief clerk, and he in turn learned my name and
former standing on the river. From him I learned that the chief pilot
of the steamer was Thomas Burns. It did not take a great while to get
up to the pilot house. I would not have known my old chief had I not
been posted in advance by Mr. Mathers. This man was grey instead of
brown, and had big whiskers, which the old Tom did not have. He was
sitting on the bench, smoking his pipe and reading a book. He looked
up as I entered, and questioned with his eyes what the intrusion
might mean, but waited until I should state my business. It took some
minutes to establish my identity; but when I did I received a cordial
welcome.
And then we talked of old times and new, and war times too--for he
had gone out as captain in an Illinois regiment at the same time that
I went out as a Wisconsin soldier. From a pilot's view point the old
times were simply marvelous as compared with the present. A hundred
and fifty dollars a month, now, as against six hundred then; and a
"wild" pilot, picking up seventeen hundred dollars in one month as
was done by one man in 1857. Now he couldn't catch a wild boat if he
waited the season through--there are none. We went over the river,
the steamboats, and the men as we knew them in 1860; and then we went
down below and hunted up George McDonald, the good old Scotchman,
who never swore at you through the speaking tube, no matter how
many bells you gave him in a minute, and who never got rattled,
however fast you might send them; who never carried more steam than
the license called for, and who never missed a day's duty. The same
banter had to be gone through with, with the same result--he had
forgotten the slim youth who "shipped up" for him twenty years ago,