The houseboat book

CHAPTER XI

THE MISSISSIPPI

Nov. 28, 1903.—Yesterday morning we left our moorings 45 miles below St. Louis, and came down the river against the wind. This made waves that pounded our prow unpleasantly. We passed the Kaskaskia chute, through which the whole river now passes, since the Government has blocked up the old river bed. A few houses mark the site of old Kaskaskia. Nearing the end of the chute, the Desplaines ran on a sand bar, as the channel is very narrow and runs close to the shore, which it is cutting away rapidly. It took two hours to free her. We tied up early at Chester, as they desired to work the town. During the night we were severely rocked by passing steamers, and bumped by the launch and skiff. This morning the river was smooth as glass. The Desplaines was not through with their work, so we did not set out till 10:30. By that time a gale had sprung up from the north and we had trouble. We were moored by a single line to the shore, and as this was cast off and the Desplaines began to move, her towline fouled the propeller. We drifted swiftly down toward a row of piles, but were brought up by the anchor hastily dropped. The steamer drifted down against us, narrowly missing smashing our launch, and getting right across our anchor rope. Blessed be the anchor to windward. But the staple to which the cable was fast began to show signs of pulling out, so we got a chain and small lines and made them fast to the timbers of the scow, so that if the cable broke they might still hold. Finally the rope was removed from the propeller, and after several attempts they got hold of us and steamed up to the anchor, so that five strong men could raise it. Then we went down stream at a rate to terrify one who knew the danger, if we should strike a sandbank. On we go, past the crumbling banks of sand stratified with earth, with government channel lights at close intervals. The channel changes from side to side constantly. We run by the lights, and are somehow absorbing a wholesome respect for this great, mighty, uncontrollable Mississippi. Today he is covered with whitecaps and the current runs like a millrace. It is cold and the fire eats up wood pretty fast.

Monday, Nov. 30, 1903.—Cape Girardeau, Mo.—We passed Grand Tower, and greatly regretted the absence of sunlight, which prevented us getting snap-shots of the scenery. Two miles below the town we tied up on the Missouri side, with a good sandy beach alongside, our anchor carried ashore and rooted into the gravel. A bad way, for if there were a gale from the west the anchor would have soon dragged out. But the high bluffs protected us against wind from that quarter, and our fenders kept us out from the shore. Four steamers passed in the night, one of them the fine Peters Lee. Who is it said that the commerce of the Mississippi was a thing of the past? Just let him lie here on a houseboat and he will change his views. No nets are to be seen here, though probably the small affluents of the river would prove to be provided therewith, were we to examine them. In the morning we found a loaded hickory tree just opposite us, and the boys gathered a few nuts. We also picked up a few white oak slabs, which make a fire quite different from the light rotten drift.

The boys set out ahead in the launch with designs on the geese. The wind set in about 10 a. m., but the river is so crooked that we could scarcely tell from what quarter it blew. It was cold, though, and the waves rough. As Glazier says, it seems to set in from the same quarter, about that time daily, and were we to float without a tow we would start early and tie up before the wind began. But that would depend on finding a good place to tie, and altogether a man who would try to float a heavy boat without power should take out heavy insurance first, and leave the family at home.

Where the river is cutting into a bank and the current strong, the wind whirling the cabin around, now with the current and again across or against it, there is every reason to look for being driven ashore and wrecked. Even were one to start about September 1st, and float only when the river is smooth, he would run great risks. At one place the Government had evidently tried to block up one of the channels by rows of piling and brush, but the water ran through and was piled up several feet high against the obstructions. The wind drove us directly down against it and the fifteen-horse-power tug could just keep us off.

Without the power our boat would have been driven against the piling with force enough to burst her sides and the piles as well, and a crevasse and shipwreck would have resulted. In the afternoon a large steamer passed up, leaving a train of waves so large that they washed up on the front deck and under the cabin, wetting our floor in a moment. J. J. is now nailing quarter-rounds along the edges, to prevent such an accident again. We are told to have guards placed in front of our doors to prevent them being driven in when waves hit us on the side; and I think stout bars inside will be advisable. A stout wave would drive these flimsy doors off their hinges.

Here we moored inside the bar, which protects us from waves coming from the river. A number of cabin boats are drawn up on shore, the occupants seeming mainly of the river tramp class. This is a nice looking town, of possibly 10,000 people. Unpaved streets. Many brick blocks. Saw one doctor, who seemed to have sunk into a mere drudge—no animation, no enthusiasm, it was impossible to get any expression of interest out of him. They bring milk here from an Illinois town 100 miles up the river.

We paid 25 cents for a gallon.

A very courteous druggist near the landing seemed to make amends for the impassive doctor. Our pharmacal friend was a man of enterprise and had an ice-cream factory as well as a large and well-appointed shop.

December 1, 1903.—Yesterday the Desplaines wasted the morning trying to do business in Cape Girardeau. Good town, but no enterprise, they report. Excellent opportunity for a good grocery and provision store, judging by the prices and quality of food products offered us. We ran but 13 miles, tieing up in front of the warehouse at Commerce, Mo. A small place, but they found a market for their extinguishers, with men who had the old kind that required refilling twice a year. Curious two-story stores, a gallery running around the whole room.

Shortly before reaching this place we passed two little cabin boats, tied up; seemingly occupied by two big men each. They called to us that they had been three weeks getting this far from St. Louis—about 145 miles. This morning we passed them a mile below Commerce, each with a row-boat towing and a man at the stem working two sweeps. Looked like work, but that is the real thing when it comes to cabin boating. They were in the current, but working cautiously near shore.

It was snowing smartly as we set out about 7:30, but warmer than for some days. The little one has had asthma badly for some days, but it began to give way, and she had a fairly comfortable night. During the morning we got in a place where the channel seemed so intricate that the tug ran in to inquire of some men on shore; and in turning in, the house ran against a projecting tree so swiftly that had we not rushed out and held her off, the snag would have crushed in the thin side of the house. To even matters, we picked out of the drift a fine hardwood board, evidently but a short time in the water. Never lose a chance to get a bit of good timber for firewood—you never have too much.

Plenty of geese flying and on the bars, but the wary fellows keep out of range. Cleaned the Spencer and reloaded the magazine.

Miggles simply outdoes herself, nursing her sick mother, ironing and otherwise helping Millie, and picking nuts for us. She has improved wonderfully this trip, which is developing her in all ways. She eats better than ever before, and is simply sweet. Cheeks rival the boy's in rosiness. The boy likes to get in with the men, and we see no evidence of talk unfit for an 11-year-old boy, but he returns very impatient of control, and ready to pout out his lips if any authority is manifested. The spirit of a man, and a man's impatience of control—but what would a boy be worth who did not feel thus? No milksops for us.

We pass many men and steamers, barges, etc., doing Government work on this river. Just above they are weaving mattresses of wood, which are laid along where the river cuts into the land, and covered with brush, earth and stones. Many miles of bank are thus treated, and some control exerted on the course of the river. But what a task! Do the men engaged in it get to take a personal interest in it, as does the trainer of a race horse?

We now look for reminders of the civil war, and yesterday we saw on the Missouri shore the white tents of a camp. Not the destructive army of war, but the constructive forces of the modern genius of civilization. The St. Louis and Mississippi Valley Railroad is building its tracks along the shore, and every cliff is scarred by the cuts. And the great, giant river sweeps lazily by, as if he disdained to notice the liberties being taken with his lordship. But away back in the hills of Pennsylvania, the prairies of the Midwest, the lakes of Minnesota and the headwaters of the Missouri, in the Northwest Rockies, the forces are silently gathering; and in due time the old river god will swoop down with an avalanche of roaring, whirling waters, and the St. L. & M. V. R. R. will have, not a bill for repairs, but a new construction account.

CHAPTER XII

CAIRO AND THE OHIO

Cairo, Ill., Dec. 3, 1903.—We ran in here Thursday afternoon, and the little steamer had some trouble in pulling us against the current of the Ohio. The water is yellower than the Mississippi. We tied up below town, as we hear that they charge $5.00 wharfage for mooring, or even making a landing in the city. The place where we moored was full of snags, but J. J. got into the water with his rubber waders and pulled the worst ones out from under the boat, till all was secure. Moored with the gangway plank out front and the other fender at the rear, both tied to the boat and staked at the shore end. Lines were also made fast to trees at each end. Thus we rode the waves easily—and well it was, for never yet have we seen so many steamers coming and going, not even at St. Louis. Several ferry boats ply between the Missouri and Kentucky shores and the city, transfer steamers carry freight cars across, and many vessels ply on the rivers with passengers and freight. Surely the men who advised Charles Dickens to locate lots here were not far out, as things were then; for the railroads had not as yet superseded the waterways. Not that they have yet, for that matter. Since coming here we have been inquiring for the man who proclaimed the rivers obsolete as lines for transportation.

Cairo is the biggest and busiest town of 12,000 inhabitants we have yet seen. Many darkies are here, and the worst looking set of levee loafers yet. We had some oysters at "Uncle Joe's," on the main business street, the only restaurant we saw; and when we surveyed the drunken gang there, we were glad we came in our old clothes. Where we moored, the shore is covered with driftwood, and we piled high our front deck, selecting good solid oak, hard maple and hemlock, with some beautiful red cedar. Soft, rotten wood is not worth picking up, as there is no heat derived from it. Oak and hickory are the best. Old rails are good. Take no water-soaked wood if you can get any other—it will dry out in a week or two perhaps, but you may need it sooner, and when dry it may be worthless. Several men had erected a shack along shore which we should have taken shots at, but the sun was not out enough. Desplaines is doing a fair business.

Hickman, Ky., Dec. 5, 1903.—We tied up here after a run of 38 miles from Cairo. The boys stopped at Columbus, Ky., but did no business—town full of extinguishers. Hickman is built of brick and stone, as to the business section, and lit by electricity. Made a bad moor, on a rocky shore, with anchor out and front starboard bow firmly embedded in mud; and this worried us so we slept poorly. Wind sprang up about 9 p. m., but not fierce. During the night several steamers passed and rocked us, but not much—the bow was too firmly washed into the mud by the strong current. This morning it took all hands half an hour to get us off, about 10 a. m. We were told at Hickman that 100 dwellings had been erected during the year, and not one was unoccupied. About 3,000 people, four drug stores, and an alert lot of business men in fine stores. Paid 30 cents a dozen for eggs, 10 cents for steak. We see many floaters, some every day. Ice formed along shore last night, but the sun is coming out bright and warm. Wind from the south, not heavy but enough to kick up a disagreeable bumping against our prow. This is always so when the wind is against the current.

Donaldson's Point, Mo.—We stopped here yesterday afternoon about 2 p. m., that the boys might have a day's shooting. J. J., Allen and Taylor went out on the sand bar all night, and got nothing except an exalted idea of the perspicuity of the wild goose. En passant they were almost frozen, despite a huge fire of drift they kindled.

We tied up on the channel side, just below Phillips' Bar light, a good sandy shore with deep water and no snags—an ideal mooring place. We moored with the port side in, the Desplaines outside, lines fore and aft and the fore gangway plank out. But the launch was uneasy and would bump the stern, and there must have been a review of the ghosts of departed steamers during the night, for many times we were awakened by the swell of passing vessels rocking us.

This morning is clear and cold, temperature 20, with a keenness and penetrating quality not felt with a temperature twenty degrees lower in the north. We saw some green foliage in the woods, and Clement said it was "fishing pole"—cane! Our first sight of the canebrake. The Doctor, J. J., the boy and Clement went up through the cornfields to the woods, but found no game. A few doves got up, but too far away for a shot. Jim got a mallard, Woodruff a fox squirrel—and one whose name we will not disclose shot a young pig. An old darkey came down to the Desplaines with milk, chickens and eggs, for which he got a fabulous price; also a drink, and a few tunes on the phonograph, and he hinted that if they should shoot a pig he would not know it, or words to that effect. Hundreds of hogs ran the woods, and showed the tendency to reversion by their long, pointed heads and agile movements. Apparently they eat the pecans, for their tracks were thick under the trees. Rather expensive food, with the nuts worth 30 cents a pound.

About 3:20 we got under way for down the river. This morning a floater passed quite close to the boat. Two men and a dog manned the craft. Said they were bound for Red River. The children gathered a bag of fine walnuts of unusual size. As we never lose a chance of adding to the wood-pile, we gathered in a couple of oak rails and a fine stick of cedar, which we sawed and split for exercise.

There are no cows on the negro farms, no chickens. In fact, their traditional fondness for the fowl is strictly limited to a penchant for someone else's chickens. When we ask for milk they always take it to mean buttermilk, until enlightened. Here we saw a remarkable boat, a dugout canoe not over four inches in depth, and warped at that, but the women told us they went about in it during the floods. We bought some pecans, paying 7 cents a quart.

Tuesday, Dec. 8, 1903.—Sunday evening we ran till we reached New Madrid, Mo., about 8 p. m. We made a good landing, tying up with the tug alongside, lines out at each end, both fenders out and the launch astern. The boys did a good business here, and enjoyed the visit. Got meat and some drugs, but could get no milk or eggs, and only two pounds of butter in the town. After noon we got off and ran down to Point Pleasant, a decaying town isolated by a big sand bar in front of her, covered with snags. The Desplaines picked up a fine lot of wood here, enough to run them a week, which they piled on our front deck. This morning we came on to Tiptonville landing, where we saw a cotton field and gin. This is the northern limit of cotton cultivation, and it was poor stuff.

Everyone who accosts us asks for whisky, which seems to be scarce. The temperance movement evidently has made great progress in these places. The bluffs grow higher as we go south, and no attempt seems made to restrain the river from cutting in at its own sweet will. Crumbling banks of loose sand and earth, fringed with slim willows and larger trees, at every rod some of them hanging over into the stream. The snag boat Wright seems busy removing these when menacing navigation, but we see many awaiting her.

This afternoon we passed a floater who had gone by us at New Madrid. Propelled by two stout paddles and four stout arms, they have made as good time as we with our tug. When we see how these men entrust themselves to the mercies of the great river in such a frail craft, it seems as if we had little to fear in our big boat. They have a little scow about six feet by ten, all but the front covered by a cabin, leaving just enough room in front for the sweeps, and they tow a skiff. If the wind is contrary or too stiff they must lie up, but at other times the current carries them along with slight exertion at the sweeps. The river is falling fast. Each night we tie up with all the boat floating easily, and every morning find ourselves aground. It seems to fall about six inches a night.

Thursday, Dec. 10, 1903.—For two nights and a day we lay at Caruthersville, Mo., where the Desplaines had bon marche, selling 16 extinguishers and getting the promise of a dozen more. A large town, full of business and saloons, gambling houses, booths for rifle shooting and "nigger babies," etc. Tradespeople seemed surly and ungracious, except one woman who kept a restaurant and sold us oysters and bread. She was from Illinois. Still, it must be a place of unusual intelligence, as a doctor is Mayor.

Last night we had a disagreeable blow from the northwest. We went out and overhauled our mooring carefully before retiring. The back line was insecure, as there was nothing to which it could be attached, and the boys had merely piled a lot of rocks on the end; but we could see nothing better; so merely strengthened the lines fastening the fenders to the boat. It was a circular storm, apparently, as the wind died out and in a few hours returned. When we set out at 7:30 this morning it was fairly calm, but at 8:20 it is again blowing hard from the same quarter. The sun is out brightly and it is not cold. Whitecaps in plenty but little motion, as we travel across the wind. There are now no large towns before us and we hope to run rapidly to Memphis. The river is big, wide, deep and powerful. Huge trunks of trees lie along the bars. What a giant it must be in flood. Not a day or night passes without several steamers going up and down. The quantity of lumber handled is great, and growing greater as we get south. Our chart shows the levees as beginning above Caruthersville, but we saw nothing there except a little stone dumped alongshore. Waves pounding hard.

Gold Dust Landing, Tenn., Dec. 10, 1903. In spite of a head wind we made a run of 52 miles today, and moored below a Government barge. The fine steamer Robert E. Lee was at the landing and pulled out just as we ran in. The day was clear and sunny, not very cold, about 39, but whenever we ran into a reach with the west or southwest wind ahead the boat pounded most unpleasantly. No floaters afloat today, but numbers along shore in sheltered nooks. The levees here are simply banked fascines, stone land earth, to keep the river from cutting into the shores. Even at low water there is an enormous amount of erosion going on. It takes unremitting vigilance to keep the river in bounds and the snags pulled out.

Fogleman's Chute, Dec. 12, 1903.—We made a famous run yesterday of over 60 miles, and tied up here about 5 p. m. on the eastern shore, the channel being on the west. A small cabin boat stands near us, in which are a man and three boys who have come down from Indiana, intending to seek work at Memphis. Their first experience cabin boating. We asked one of the boys if he liked it, and he looked up with a sudden flash of wildness and keen appreciation.

A fierce south wind came up in the night, and there are situations more enviable than trying to sleep in a houseboat with three boats using her for a punching bag. And the little woman had asthma, badly, to make it worse. This morning it was blowing hard and raining. The rain beat in on the front deck and ran into the hold and under the quarter-rounds into the cabin. The roof leaked into the storeroom also. Millie was seasick and some one else would have been, but he took the children out for a rove. Found a walnut tree and gathered a large bag of fine nuts. The others brought in some squirrels and pocketsful of pecans, but we found neither. Stretched the skins on wood and applied alum to the raw surface, intending to make the little woman some buskins to keep her feet warm. Quantities of mistletoe grow on the trees about us. The sun came out about 2 p. m., when too late to make the run to Memphis, 22 miles, before dark. Yesterday was so warm that we could sit out in the open air without wraps. We are tied up to Brandywine Island, near the lower end.

After lunch we sallied out again and met the owner of the soil, who ordered us off in a surly manner. In the whole trip this is the first bit of downright incivility we have met. After he found we were not after his squirrels he became somewhat less ungracious. The sky soon became overcast again, and the rain returned. About sunset it set in to blow a gale from the northwest, and the billows rolled in on us. We got the launch and skiff out of danger, carefully overlooked our lines and fenders, but still the tug bumped against the side. How the wind blows, and the waves dash against the side of the tug driving her against our side with a steady succession of blows. It worried us to know that the safety of the boats depended on a single one-inch rope, and the tug lashed against the outside strained on it. The rope was tense as a fiddle-string. If it broke the stern of our boat would swing out and throw us on an ugly snag that projected slightly about six feet below us; and the tug would be thrown into the branches of a huge fallen cypress. So we took the long rope and carried it ashore to the north end, from which the wind came, and lashed it securely to a huge stump, then tied the other end through the overhang of our boat at that end. If the line parts the new line will hold us against the soft, sandy bank, and give time for further effort to keep us off the snag. As it turned out the line held, but it does no harm to take precautions, and one sleeps better.