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THE HOUSEBOAT BOOK

The Log of a Cruise from Chicago to New Orleans

BY

WILLIAM F. WAUGH

[Illustration: Decoration]

THE CLINIC PUBLISHING COMPANY
CHICAGO
1904


COPYRIGHT, 1904,
BY WILLIAM F. WAUGH.

PRESS OF
THE CLINIC PUBLISHING CO.
CHICAGO.


[Illustration: THE HELEN W. OF CHICAGO.]




CONTENTS.

                                           PAGE
     I. Prelude                               5

    II. Gathering Information                 9

   III. Preparations                         13

    IV. The First Shipwreck                  23

     V. The Canal                            27

    VI. The Illinois River                   40

   VII. Building the Boat                    46

  VIII. The Lower Illinois                   55

    IX. Towing                               68

     X. St. Louis                            77

    XI. The Mississippi                      81

   XII. Cairo and the Ohio                   90

  XIII. Duck Shooting                       103

   XIV. Snagged in Tennessee Chute          109

    XV. Mooring                             116

   XVI. A Levee Camp                        118

  XVII. Vicksburg                           128

 XVIII. River Pirates                       133

   XIX. The Atchafalaya                     136

    XX. Melville. Deer Hunting              141

   XXI. Baton Rouge. The Panther            150

  XXII. The Bobcat                          163

 XXIII. Ascending the Atchafalaya           167

  XXIV. Ducking at Catahoula Lake           173

   XXV. Some Louisiana Folks                185

  XXVI. From Winter to Summer in a Day      192

 XXVII. Voyage Ended                        196

XXVIII. Dangers and Delights                199

  XXIX. Results                             205




CHAPTER I.

PRELUDE.


Once upon a time there was a doctor who, after many years spent in that
pursuit concluded to reform. But strong is the influence of evil
associates, and those who had abetted him in his old ways still
endeavored to lead him therein.

One day his good angel whispered in his ear the magic words, "House
boat;" and straightway there arose in his mental vision the picture of a
broad river, the boat lazily floating, children fishing, wife's cheery
call to view bits of scenery too lovely for solitary enjoyment, and a
long year of blissful seclusion where no tale of woe could penetrate, no
printer's devil cry for copy. Incidentally the tired eyes could rest,
and the long stretches of uninterrupted time be transmuted into creative
work; with no banging telephone or boring visitor to scatter the
faculties into hopeless desuetude. Sandwich with hours busy with those
recuperative implements, the rod and gun, the adventures and
explorations incident to the trip, and here was a scheme to make the
heart of a city-tired man leap.

So he went to the friend whose kindly appreciation had put a monetary
value upon the emanations from his brain, and suggested that now was the
time for the besom of reform to get in its work, and by discharging him
to clear the way for new and improved editorial talent. But the friend
received the suggestion with contumely, threatening to do the editor
bodily harm if he so much as mentioned or even contemplated any attempt
to escape. The scheme was perforce postponed for a year, and in the
meantime attempts were made to gather useful information upon the
subject.

The plan seemed simple enough--to leave Chicago by the Drainage Canal,
float down to the Illinois River, then down it to the Mississippi, by it
to New Orleans, then to strike off through the bayous or canals into the
watery wastes southwest, and spend there the time until the approach of
the Carnival called us back to the southern metropolis. By starting
about September 1st we could accompany the ducks on their southern
journey, and have plenty of time to dawdle along, stopping wherever it
seemed good to us.

So we went to work to gather information. The great bookstores were
ransacked for books descriptive of houseboat trips down the Mississippi.
There were none. Then we asked for charts of the Illinois and
Mississippi. There were none of the former in existence; of the latter
the Government was said to have published charts of the river from St.
Louis to the Gulf; and these were ordered, though they were somewhat
old, and the river changes constantly. Then a search was made for books
on American houseboats and trips made upon them; books giving some
rational information as to what such things are, how they are procured,
furnished, managed, what is to be had and what avoided; but without
avail. Even logs of canoe trips on the great river, and accounts of
recent steamer trips, are singularly scarce. People insisted on forcing
upon our notice Bangs' "Houseboat on the Styx," despite our reiterated
asseverations that we did not care to travel over that route just now.
Black's "Strange Adventures of a Houseboat" is principally remarkable
for the practical information it does not give.

Scarcely a juvenile was to be found treating of the subjects; nor have
the novelists paid any attention to the rivers for a third of a century.
Books of travel on the great system of inland American waters are
similarly rare.

It has finally come home to us that this is a virgin field; that the
great American people reside in the valley of the greatest river in the
world, and pay no attention to it; write nothing of it, know nothing,
and we fear care nothing. And while many persons utilize houseboats, and
many more would do so if they knew what they are, and how much pleasure
is to be derived therefrom, no one has seen fit to print a book that
would make some amends to an intending purchaser for his lack of
experience. Possibly the experiences detailed in the following pages may
in some degree fulfill this need, and aid some one to avoid the mistakes
we made.




CHAPTER II.

GATHERING INFORMATION.


From magazine articles we gathered that a new boat would cost about
$1,000. We were assured, however, that we could buy an old one that
would answer all needs for about $100. We were told that if the boat
measures 15 tons or more our rapidly-becoming-paternal government
requires the services of a licensed pilot. All steamers are required to
have licensed engineers, though the requirements for an owner's license
are not very rigid. Gasoline boats as yet do not come under any laws,
though there is talk of legislation upon them, and there may be, by the
time this book reaches its readers.

Houseboats usually have no direct power, but are gently propelled by
long sweeps. If the boat is small this is all right; but as large a boat
as ours would require about four strong men to hold her steady in
dangerous places. It takes a much smaller investment if power is
excluded; and if the boat goes only down stream, with force enough to
manage her in currents and blows it is cheaper to hire towage when
requisite. But if possible have power, and enough. Many boats we saw in
the Mississippi are fitted with stern wheels and gasoline engines, and
these have great advantages. In cold weather the engineer is protected,
and can run in and get warm, while if in a towing boat he may suffer.
The expense is less, as there is the hull of the towboat to buy when
separate. The motion communicated to the cabin by an attached engine is
soon forgotten. You should not calculate in selling either cabin, engine
or towboat when ready to leave for the north, as prices in the south are
uncertain; and if you have not invested in power you lose that much less
if you desert your outfit.

Between steam and gasoline as power there is much to be said. With steam
you require a license, it is dirty, more dangerous, takes time to get up
steam, and care to keep it up. But you can always pick up wood along
shore, though an engine of any size burns up a whole lot, and it takes
so much time to collect, cut and saw the wood, and to dry it, that if
you are paying a crew their time makes it costly. Low down the river,
in times of low water, coal is to be gathered from the sand bars; but
this cannot be counted upon as a regular supply. But you can always get
fuel for a wood-burning engine, and if you contemplate trips beyond
civilization it may be impossible to obtain gasoline.

Gasoline boats are cleaner, safer, always ready to start by turning a
few buttons, and cheaper, if you have to buy your fuel. If you are going
beyond the reach of ordinary supplies you may run out, and then your
power is useless; but in such cases you must use foresight and lay in a
supply enough for emergencies.

Both varieties of engines are liable to get out of order, and require
that there shall be someone in charge who understands their mechanism
and can find and remedy the difficulty. Our own preference in
Mississippi navigation is unquestionably for the gasoline. If we go to
the West Indies or the Amazon we will employ steam. Were we
contemplating a prolonged life on a boat, or a trading trip, we would
have the power attached to the cabin boat; and the saved cost of the
hull of a towboat would buy a small gasoline cutter--perhaps $150--which
could be used as a tender. But when you get power, get enough. It saves
more in tow bills than the cost of the engine; and if it is advisable to
bring the outfit back to the north full power saves a great loss. _Quod
est demonstrandum_ in the course of this narrative.




CHAPTER III.

PREPARATIONS.


Our search for a second-hand houseboat was not very productive. At
Chicago the choice lay between three, and of these we naturally chose
the worst. It was the old Jackson Park boat, that after long service had
finally become so completely watersoaked that she sank at her moorings;
but this we learned later. In fact, as in many instances, our foresight
was far inferior to our hindsight--and that is why we are giving our
experiences exactly as they occurred, so that readers may avoid our
mistakes.

This houseboat was purchased for $200, the vendor warranting her as
sound and safe, in every way fit and suitable for the trip contemplated.
He even said she had been through the canal as far as the Illinois
river, so there was no danger but that she could pass the locks. The
cabin measured 24 x 14.3 x 7 feet; and there was a six-foot open deck in
front, three feet behind, and two feet on either side, making her width
18 feet 3 inches. One end of the cabin was partitioned off, making two
staterooms and a kitchen, each 7 feet in depth. The rest formed one
large room. It was well lighted, with 14 windows; and had doors in each
side and two at the front opening into the kitchen and one stateroom.
The roof was formed of two thicknesses of wood and over this a canvas
cover, thickly painted.

The staterooms were fitted with wire mattress frames, arranged to be
folded against the sides when not in use for beds. In the large room we
placed an iron double bed and two single ones, shielded from view by a
curtain. There was a stove capable of burning any sort of fuel; two
bookcases, dining table, work table, dresser, chairs, sewing machine,
sewing table, etc. We had a canvas awning made with stanchions to go on
the top, but this we never used, finding it pleasanter to sit on the
front deck.

Among the equipment were the following: A canoe with oars and paddle,
50-lb. anchor, 75 feet 3/4-inch rope, 75 feet 1-inch rope, 100 feet 1/2-inch
rope, boat pump, dinner horn, 6 life preservers, 2 boathooks, 2
hammocks, 4 cots, Puritan water still, small tripoli filter, a tube of
chemical powder fire extinguisher, large and small axes, hatchet, brace
and bits, saws, sawbuck, tool-box well furnished, soldering set, repair
kit, paper napkins, mattresses, bedding, towels, and a liberal supply of
old clothes, over and under. We had an Edison Home phonograph and about
50 records; and this was a useful addition. But many articles we took
were only in the way, and we shall not mention them.

We had a full supply of fishing material, frog spears, minnow seine,
minnow trap, railroad lantern, tubular searchlight with bull's-eye
reflector, electric flashlight with extra batteries, twine, trotline,
revolver and cartridges, 50-gauge Spencer for big game, and as a second
gun, with 150 cartridges; 32-H. P. S. Marlin rifle, with 400 cartridges;
Winchester 12-gauge pump, with 2,000 shells; Browning automatic shotgun;
folding decoys, 4 shell bags, McMillan shell extractor, U. S. Gov't
rifle cleaner, Marlin gun grease, grass suit, shooting clothes heavy and
light, hip boots, leggings, sweaters, chamois vest, mosquito hats, two
cameras with supplies, including developers, compass (pocket), copper
wire, whetstone, can opener and corkscrew, coffee pot to screw to wall,
matches in waterproof box, a Lehman footwarmer and two Japanese muff
stoves, with fuel. For the kitchen we got a gasoline stove with an oven.
There was a good kerosene lamp, giving sufficient light to allow all
hands to read about the table; also three lamps with brackets for the
small rooms.

In preparing our lists of supplies we derived great assistance from
Buzzacott's "Complete Camper's Manual." It was a mistake to buy so many
shot-gun shells. All along the river we found it easy to get 12-gauge
shells, better than those we had.

The boy rejoiced in a 20-gauge single barrel. We had so much trouble in
getting ammunition for it that we purchased a reloading outfit and
materials at Antoine's. This little gun was very useful, especially when
we wanted little birds.

A full supply of medicines went along, mainly in alkaloidal granules,
which economize space and give extra efficiency and many other
advantages. A pocket surgical case, a few of the instruments most likely
to be needed, surgical dressings, quinidine (which is the best
preventive of malaria among the cinchona derivatives), insect powder,
sulphur for fumigation, potassium permanganate for the water,
petrolatum, absorbent cotton, a magnifying glass to facilitate removal
of splinters, extra glasses for those wearing them; and a little whisky,
which was, I believe, never opened on the entire trip.

The boy was presented with a shell belt; and a week before starting we
found he was sleeping with the belt on, filled with loaded shells. Say,
tired and listless brethren, don't you envy him? Wouldn't you like to
enjoy the anticipation of such a pleasure that much?

Among the things that were useful we may add a game and shell carrier, a
Marble axe with sheath, and a Val de Weese hunter's knife. After serving
their time these made acceptable presents to some kindly folk who had
done much to make our stay at Melville pleasant.

We fitted out our table and kitchen from the cast offs of our home,
taking things we would not miss were we to leave them with the boat when
through with her. It matters little that you will find the most complete
lists wanting in important particulars, for ample opportunity is given
to add necessaries at the first town. But the Missis insisted on taking
a full supply of provisions, and we were very glad she did. Buzzacott
gives a list of necessaries for a party of five men camping five days.
It seems liberal, when added to the produce of rod and gun.


     20 lbs. self-raising flour.
     6 lbs. fresh biscuit.
     6 lbs. corn meal.
     6 lbs. navy beans.
     3 lbs. rice.
     5 lbs. salt pork.
     5 lbs. bacon.
     10 lbs. ham.
     15 lbs. potatoes.
     6 lbs. onions.
     3 lbs. can butter.
     3 lbs. dried fruits.
     1/2 gallon vinegar pickles.
     1/2 gallon preserves.
     1 qt. syrup.
     1 box pepper.
     1 box mustard.
     6 lbs. coffee.
     6 lbs. sugar.
     1/2 lb. tea.
     1/2 lb. baking powder.
     4 cans milk and cream.
     1 sack salt.
     6 boxes matches (tin case).
     1 lb. soap.
     1 lb. corn starch.
     1 lb. candles.
     1 jar cheese.
     1 box ginger.
     1 box allspice.
     1 lb. currants.
     1 lb. raisins.
     6 boxes sardines.
     1 screwtop flask.


Fresh bread, meat, sausage, eggs for first days.

The wife laid in her stock of provisions, costing about sixty dollars
and including the articles we use generally.

Among the books we found that seemed likely to provide some useful
information are:


     Trapper Jim--Sandys.

     Last of the Flatboats--Eggleston.

     Houseboat series--Castlemon.

     Bonaventure--Cable.

     Down the Mississippi--Ellis.

     Down the Great River--Glazier.

     Four Months in a Sneak Box--Bishop.

     The Wild-Fowlers--Bradford.

     The Mississippi--Greene.

     The Gulf and Inland Waters--Mahan.

     The Blockade and the Cruisers--Soley.

     The History of Our Navy--Spears.

     In the Louisiana Lowlands--Mather.

     Hitting and Missing with the Shotgun--Hammond.

     Among the Waterfowl--Job.

     Up the North Branch--Farrar.

     Botanist and Florist--Wood.

     The Mushroom Book--Marshall.

     Wild Sports in the South--Whitehead.

     Cooper's Novels.

     Catalog from Montgomery Ward's mail order house.

     And a good supply of other novels, besides the children's
     schoolbooks.


By writing to the U. S. port office at St. Louis we secured a list of
the lights on the Western rivers, a bit antique, but quite useful. From
Rand & McNally we also obtained a chart of the Mississippi River from
St. Louis to the Gulf, which was invaluable. The Desplaines had a lot of
separate charts obtained from the St. Louis port officers, which were
larger and easier to decipher.

The question of motive power was one on which we received so much and
such contradictory advice that we were bewildered. It seemed preferable
to have the power in a tender, so that if we were moored anywhere and
wished to send for mail, supplies or aid, the tender could be so
dispatched without having to tow the heavy cabin boat. So we purchased a
small gasoline boat with a two-horse-power engine. At the last moment,
however, Jim persuaded us to exchange it for a larger one, a 20-footer,
with three-horse-power Fay & Bowen engine. In getting a small boat see
that it is a "water cooler," as an air-cooler will run a few minutes and
stop, as the piston swells. Also see that she is fitted with reversing
gear. Not all boats are. This was a fine sea boat, the engine very fast,
and she was well worth the $365 paid for her.

The crew of the "Helen W. of Chicago," consisted of the Doctor, the
Missis, the Boy (aged 11), Miss Miggles (aged 10), Millie the
house-keeper, Jim and J. J. We should have had two dogs, little and big;
and next time they go in as an essential part of the crew.

We carried far too many things, especially clothes. The most comfortable
proved to be flannel shirt or sweater, blue cloth cap, tennis shoes,
knickerbockers, long wool stockings, and a cheap canvas hunting suit
that would bear dirt and wet. Knicks attract too much attention outside
the city. One good suit will do for visiting in the cities.




CHAPTER IV.

THE FIRST SHIPWRECK.


Our first experience in shipwrecks came early. We were all ready to
start; the home had been rented, furniture disposed of, the outfit
ordered, and the boat lay ready for occupancy, fresh and clean in new
paint--when we discovered that we had to go through the old canal--the
Illinois and Michigan--to La Salle, instead of the drainage ditch, on
which we were aware that Chicago had spent many millions more than
drainage demanded, with the ulterior object of making a deep waterway
between the great city and the Gulf! Here was an anxious thought--would
the old canal admit our boat? We visited headquarters, but naturally no
one there knew anything about so essential a matter. We went down to the
first lock at Bridgeport, and the lockmaster telephoned to Lockport, but
the Chief Engineer was out and no one else knew the width of the locks.
But finally we met an old seafarer who carried in his pocket a list of
all the locks of all the canals in the U. S., including Canada; and
from him we got the decisive information that the narrowest lock
admitted boats with a maximum width of 17 feet. Ours measured 18 feet 3
inches!

After prolonged consultation it was determined that the only way out was
to cut off enough of the side to admit her. So the purveyor, who had
guaranteed the boat as fit in every way for the trip, began to cut,
first building an inner wall or side with two-by-fours. Getting this up
to a convenient height he concluded to try for leaks, and slid the scow
back into the water with the side half up. It was just an inch too low;
and when he rose next morning the scow reposed peacefully on the bottom
of the river, the water having, in the night, come in at the low side.
The following week was consumed in endeavors to raise the boat and get
the water out. Meanwhile we were camping out in an empty house, eating
off the kitchen table, sleeping anywhere, and putting in spare time
hurrying the very deliberate boatmen.

Just then we received from the Sanitary District folks the belated
information that the locks are 18 feet wide, and 110 feet long, and
that the height of the boat from the water line must not exceed 17 feet
to enable it to pass under bridges.

For nearly a week various means of raising the craft were tried, without
success. Finally the wind shifted during the night, and in the morning
we found the upper margin of the hull out of water. The pumps were put
in operation and by noon the boat was free from water. It was found to
be reasonably watertight, despite the straining by jacks, levers,
windlasses, and other means employed to raise first one corner and then
another, the breaking of ropes and planks by which the corners had been
violently dropped, etc. But the absence of flotation, as evidenced by
the difficulty of raising an unloaded boat, wholly constructed of wood,
should have opened our eyes to her character.

The side was rapidly completed, the furniture and stores brought aboard,
and the boats started down the canal, while the Doctor and Missis went
to Joliet to meet the outfit and avoid the odors of the drainage. The
men ran all night and reached Lock No. 5, at Joliet, about 5 p. m.,
Wednesday, Sept. 30, 1903. This was altogether unnecessary, and we
might as well have come down on the boat. Meanwhile we found a shelter
in a little bakery near the Joliet bridge, where the kindly folk took
care of the little invalid while we watched for the arrival of the
boats.

[Illustration: THE OLD CANAL.]




CHAPTER V.

THE CANAL.


That night was our first on board. We found the boat piled high with the
"necessaries" deemed imperative by the Missis. Days were spent in the
arrangement of these, and in heaving overboard articles whose value was
more than counterbalanced by the space they occupied. Hooks were
inserted, trunks unpacked, curtains hung, and it is safe to say that our
first week was thus occupied. The single beds were taken down and the
children put to sleep on cots consisting of strips of canvas with
eye-holes at the corners. These were fastened to stout hooks, screwed
into the walls. Difficulty supervened in finding a place to fasten the
outer ends, and we had to run ropes across the cabin, to our great
annoyance when rising during the night. Otherwise these are the best of
cots, as they can be taken down and rolled away during the day.

The delight of those days, drifting lazily down the old canal, the
lovely vistas with long rows of elms along the deserted towpath, the
quiet farms. Sometimes it was showery, at others shiny, but we scarcely
noticed the difference. It is surely a lazy man's paradise. There is no
current in the canal, and the launch could only drag the heavy scow
along at about a mile and a half an hour; while but little wind sufficed
to seriously <DW44> all progress. Even with our reduced width it was all
we could do to squeeze through the locks, which are smaller toward the
bottom. At No. 5 we only got through after repeated trials, when the
lock-keeper opened the upper gates and let in a flood of water, after
the lower had been opened, and the boat worked down as close as possible
to the lower gate. And here let us say a word as to the uniform courtesy
we received from these canal officials; something we were scarcely
prepared to expect after our experience with the minor official of the
city. Without an exception we found the canal officials at their posts,
ready to do their duty in a courteous, obliging manner.

Friday, Oct. 2, we reached Lock 8 just at dusk, passing down as a string
of three canal boats passed up for Chicago, laden with corn. We are
surprised at the number of boats engaged in this traffic; as we had
thought the canal obsolete, judging from the caricatures in the daily
papers. Coal was passing down and corn and wood up. During this day 12
laden boats went by us.

Saturday, Oct. 3.--Head winds blew the boat about, to the distraction of
the crew. We tried towing, with a line along the towpath, and the boat
banged against the bank constantly. But the weather was lovely and
clear, everyone happy and the interior economy getting in order. It was
well the wise little Missis insisted on bringing a full supply of
provisions, for we have not passed a town or a store since leaving
Joliet, and we would have fared poorly but for her forethought. We
stopped at a farm, where we secured some milk for which we, with
difficulty, persuaded the farmer to accept a nickel--for a gallon. He
said milk was not so precious as in the city. But at Lock 8 the keeper's
wife was alive to her opportunities and charged us city prices.

We were well pleased with our crew. Jim is a guide from Swan Lake, aged
24; fisher, hunter, trapper and boatman all his life. J. J. is a
baseball player and athlete about the same age. Both volunteered for the
trip, for the pleasure of it. They asked to go for nothing, but we do
not care to make such an arrangement, which never works well and leads
to disagreements and desertions when the novelty has worn off; so we
paid them wages. During the months they were with us we never asked them
to do a thing they did not willingly do, nor was there ever a complaint
of them in the score of behavior, lack of respect for the ladies,
language before the children, or any of those things that might have led
to unpleasantness had they not been gentlemen by instinct and training.
They are built of muscle and steel springs, never shirk work, have good,
healthy appetites and are always ready to meet any of the various
requirements of the trip. Everything comes handy to them. They put the
boat in shape, run the engine, do carpentry and any other trade that is
needed. It was hard to guide the unwieldy boat so they designed a
rudder, went to town for material, hunted up a blacksmith and showed him
what they wanted, and put the rudder together and hung it in good shape.
It has a tiller up on the roof, whence the steersman can see ahead.

We secured some food at Morris, with difficulty. By noon the rudder was
hung and we were off for Seneca, the boy happy in charge of the tiller.
We wish we were a word painter, to describe the beauty of the scenery
along the canal. The water has lost all reminiscence of Chicago's
drainage. At 3 p. m. we stopped at a farm and obtained milk, eggs and
chickens, with half a bushel of apples for good measure. The boat
excites much interest among the farmers. At Morris we had our first call
upon the drugs, the boys finding a friend whose horse had a suppurating
wound. Dressed it with antiseptics and left a supply. We each took two
grains of quinine, to ward off possible malaria. Millie suffered serious
discomfort, her whole body breaking out, with itching and flushing,
lasting some hours. And this was about the only time we took quinine
during the trip, except when wet, to prevent a cold. We never saw
anything like malaria.

After tea we had a delightful run by moonlight, stopping several miles
from Seneca. It is a good rule to stop before coming to a town, as the
loafers do not get sight of the boat until it comes in next morning.

On Monday we ran into Seneca, and stopped for supplies. We always needed
something, ample as we thought our outfit. It is always ice, milk, eggs,
butter, or fruit. Here it is gasoline, on which we depend for our motive
power.

It is useless to look for the picturesque in the Illinois farmer. He
speaks the language of the schools, with the accent of culture, and
wears his hair and whiskers in modern style. Probably he hears more
lectures, sees more operatic and histrionic stars, reads more books and
gets more out of his newspapers than does the city man. In fact, there
is no country now; the whole State is merely a series of suburbs.

During the afternoon we reached Marseilles, where we tied up for the
night. We obtained a gallon of milk here, and a can of gasoline. A
neighboring well supplied artesian water, which tasted too much of
sulphur for palates accustomed to Chicago water. In fact, we now hear
that there is no such water as that of the great lake metropolis.

Tuesday, Oct. 6, we left Marseilles with a favoring breeze. Our craft
sails best with the wind about two points abaft the beam. When it shifts
to two points forward we are driven against the shore. We had hard work
to reach the viaduct over the Fox river. At 2 p. m. we reached Ottawa,
and there replenished our gasoline barrel. _Hinc illae lachrymae._ At
Seneca and Marseilles we had been able to obtain only five gallons each,
and that of the grade used for stoves. We also learned that we might
have saved three dollars in lock fees, as below La Salle the water is so
high that the dams are out of sight and steamers pass over them. The
registry and lock fees from Chicago to St. Louis are $6.88.

We had now passed ten locks with safety, but the captain of the Lulu
tells us the next is the worst of all.

It is evident that our boat is not fit for this expedition, and we must
take the first opportunity to exchange her for one with a larger and
stronger scow, to cope with the dangers of the great river. The scow
should stand well up from the water so that the waves will not come
over the deck. Every morning and night there is over a barrel of water
to be pumped out, but that might be remedied by calking.

Near Marseilles we passed a number of houseboats, and hear that many are
being prepared for the trip to St. Louis next summer. Berths along the
river front there are now being secured.

Among our useful supplies is a portable rubber folding bath tub. It
works well now, but I am doubtful as to its wearing qualities. The
water-still is all right when we have a wood or coal fire going, but
when run by a gasoline stove it distils nearly as much water as it burns
gasoline.

       *       *       *       *       *

Wednesday.--We came in sight of the lock below Ottawa about 5 p. m. last
night, and tied up. All night the wind blew hard and rattled the stores
on the roof. Rain comes is around the stovepipe, in spite of cement.
This morning it is still raining but the wind has fallen. A rain-coat
comes in handy. We must add oilskins to our outfit. A little fire goes
well these damp mornings, taking off the chill and drying out the cabin.
Fuel is the cheapest thing yet. We pick up a few sticks every day,
enough for the morning fire, and could load the boat with wood, if worth
while. And there is no better exercise for the chest than sawing wood.
We keep a small pile behind the stove to have it dry.

The gasoline launch is a jewel--exactly what we need; and works in a way
to win the respect of all. The boys got wire rope for steering, as the
hemp stretched; but the wire soon wore through.

Thirty cents a pound for creamery butter at Ottawa. We must rely on the
farms.

Whence come the flies? The ceiling is black with them. We talk of
fumigating with sulphur. The cabin is screened, but whenever the door is
opened they come streaming in. The little wire fly-killer is a prime
necessity. It is a wire broom six inches long and as wide, with a
handle; and gets the fly every time. Burning insect powder gets rid of
mosquitoes, but has no effect on flies.

A string of canal boats passed up this morning, the first we have seen
since leaving Seneca. The traffic seems to be much lighter in the lower
part of the canal.

The canal official at Ottawa seems to be something of a joker. A dog
boarded our craft there and this man informed us it had no owner, so we
allowed the animal to accompany us. But further down the line the dog's
owner telephoned dire threats after us, and we sent him back from La
Salle.

After lunch we tackled Lock No. 11, and a terror it was. The walls were
so dilapidated that care had to be exercised to keep the edges of the
scow and roof from catching. Then the roof caught on the left front and
the bottom on the right rear, and it was only at the fourth trial, when
we had worked the boat as far forward as possible, that we managed to
scrape through. The wind was still very brisk and dead ahead, so we tied
up just below the lock. A steam launch, the Lorain, passed through bound
down. She filled the lock with smoke, and we realized how much gasoline
excels steam in cleanliness. A foraging expedition secured a quart of
milk and four dozen eggs, with the promise of spring chickens when their
supper afforded a chance to catch them.

       *       *       *       *       *

Thursday, Oct. 8, 1903.--All night we were held by the fierce wind
against which we were powerless. The squeeze in the lock increased the
leakage and this morning it took quite a lot of pumping to free the hull
of water. After breakfast we set out, and found Lock 12 much better than
its predecessor. All afternoon the wind continued dead ahead, and the
towing rope and poles were required to make even slight headway. Then we
passed under a low bridge, and the stovepipe fell down. If we do not
reach a town we will be cold tonight. Two small launches passed us,
going to La Salle, where there is some sort of function on.

The children's lessons go on daily; with the girl because she is a girl
and therefore tractable, with the boy because he can not get out till
they are learned.

       *       *       *       *       *

Friday, Oct. 9.--We lay in the canal all day yesterday, the folks
fishing for catfish. Our foraging was unsuccessful, the nearest house
containing a delegation of Chicago boys--17 of them--sent out by a West
Side church, who took all the milk of the place. The boy fell in the
canal and was promptly rescued by J. J., who is an expert swimmer. His
mother was excited, but not frightened. After tea, as the wind had
fallen, we used the launch for two hours to get through the most of the
"wide water," so as to have the protection of the high banks next day.
The lights of a large town--electric--are visible below. Very little
water that evening, not a fourth what we pumped in the morning.

On Friday morning the water is smooth and we hope to make La Salle
today.

And then the gasoline engine stopped!

It had done good service so far, but there was a defect in it: a cup for
holding lubricating oil that had a hole in it. Curious for a new engine,
and some of the crew were unkind enough to suggest that the seller had
taken off the new cup and put on a broken one from his old boat. All day
we worked with it, till at lunch time it consented to go; and then our
old enemy, the west wind, came up, but less violent than before, so that
we made several miles before the engine again quit. We were well through
the wide water, and tied up in a lovely spot, where someone had been
picnicking during the morning. The boys towed the launch to Utica with
the canoe, while we secured some milk at a Swede's near by, and a jar of
honey from another house.

       *       *       *       *       *

Saturday, Oct. 10, 1903.--At 7 p. m. the boys returned with a little
steam launch they had hired for six dollars to tow us the eight miles to
La Salle. Lock No. 13 was true to its hoodoo, and gave us some trouble.
About midnight we tied up just above Lock 14, which looks dubious this
morning. We missed some fine scenery during the night, but are tired of
the canal and glad to be near its end. A Street Fair is going on here,
and the streets are full of booths. Jim says J. J. will throw a few
balls at the "<DW65> babies," and then write home how he "missed the
children!" These things indicate that he is enjoying his meals.

Not much water today in the hold. Temp. 39 at 7 a. m.




CHAPTER VI.

THE ILLINOIS RIVER.


Monday, Oct. 12, 1903.--We passed Locks 14 and 15 without difficulty and
moored in the basin with a number of other houseboats. We find them very
polite and obliging, ready to give any information and assistance in
their power. All hands took in the Street Fair, and aided in
replenishing our constantly wasting stores. The boy drove a thriving
trade in minnows which he captured with the seine. In the afternoon Dr.
Abbott came down, to our great pleasure. A man from the shop came and
tinkered with the gasoline engine a few hours' worth, to no purpose.
Several others volunteered advice which did not pan out.

Sunday we lay quiet, until near noon, when the engineer of the
government boat _Fox_ most kindly pointed out the trouble, which was, as
to be expected, a very simple one--the sparker was so arranged that the
single explosion caught the piston at the wrong angle and there was no
second explosion following. Then all hands went for a ride down into
the Illinois river. Dr. Abbott got off at 8:15 and the boys took a run
up to Tiskilwa--for what reason we do not hear, but have our suspicions.
We still recollect the days when we would travel at night over a
five-mile road, lined with farms, each fully and over-provided with the
meanest of dogs--so we ask no questions.

This morning the temperature is 48, foggy; all up for an early start.

One undesirable acquisition we made here was a numerous colony of mice,
which must have boarded us from a boat that lay alongside. The animals
did much damage, ruining a new dress and disturbing us at night with
their scampering. Nor did we finally get rid of them until the boat
sank--which is not a method to be recommended. Fumigation with sulphur,
if liberally done, is about the best remedy for any living pests.

       *       *       *       *       *

Tuesday, Oct. 13, finds us still tied up below La Salle. The
fortune-teller kindly towed us to the mouth of the canal, where we spent
the day trying to persuade the engine to work. After an expert from the
shops here had put in the day over it, he announced that the fault lay
with the gasoline bought at Ottawa. In truth our troubles date from that
gasoline, and we hope he may be right. The engine he pronounces in
perfect order. Nothing here to do, and the little Missis has a cold and
is getting impatient to be going. So far we have met none but friendly
and honest folks along the canal, all anxious to be neighborly and do
what they can to aid us. All hands are discouraged with the delay and
trouble with the engine--all, that is, except one old man, who has been
buffeted about the world enough to realize that some share of bad luck
must enter every human life, and who rather welcomes what comes because
it might have been so much worse. Come to think of it, we usually expect
from Fate a whole lot more than we deserve. What are we that we should
look for an uninterrupted career of prosperity? Is it natural? Is it the
usual lot of man? What are we that we should expect our own lot to be
such an exceptional career of good fortune? Think of our deserts, and
what some men suffer, and humbly thank the good Lord that we are let off
so easily.

If that is not good philosophy we can answer for its helping us a whole
lot to bear what ills come our way.

We got off early and began our first day's floating. It was quite
pleasant, much more so than lying idle. The _Fox_ came along and rocked
us a bit, but not unpleasantly. We tied up below the bridge at Spring
Valley, and the boys went up to town, where they succeeded in getting
five gallons of gasoline, grade 88. After lunch we pumped out the old
stuff and put in the new and the little engine started off as if there
had never been a disagreement. At 4 p. m. we are still going
beautifully, passed Marquette, and all happy. But if the man who sold us
low-grade gasoline at Ottawa, for high, were in reach he might hear
something he would not like.

At night we tied up a mile above Hennepin, where we obtained some milk
and a few eggs at a farm house.

       *       *       *       *       *

Wednesday, Oct. 14, 1903.--Yesterday we passed the opening of the
Hennepin canal, that monument of official corruption, which after the
expenditure of fifty millions is not yet ready for use--the locks not
even built. Compare with the work done on the Drainage Canal, and we
conclude Chicago is not so very bad. At Hennepin this morning we secured
three gallons of gasoline at 74, the best available; also fresh beef,
for which we are all hungry. Left at 9 a. m. for Henry.

During the preceding night the _Fred Swain_ passed down and bumped us
against the rocky shore harder than at any time previously. Next morning
there was less water in the hull than ever before, so it seems to have
tightened her seams. We ran into the creek above Henry and moored at the
landing of the Swan River Club, where Jim's father resides. Here we lay
for several weeks, for reasons that will appear. Millie kindly varied
the monotony and added to the general gaiety by tumbling into the creek;
but as the water was only about three feet deep no serious danger
resulted. The boys usually disappeared at bedtime and talked
mysteriously of Tiskilwa next morning, and appeared sleepy. We examined
several boats that were for sale, but did not find any that suited us.
We wished to feel perfectly safe, no matter what we might encounter on
the great river. Some one has been trying to scare the boys with tales
of the whirlpools to be encountered there; and of the waves that will
wash over the deck. These we afterward found to be unfounded. No
whirlpool we saw would endanger anything larger than a canoe, and our
two-strake gunwales were high enough for any waves on the river.

We found few ducks; not enough to repay one for the trouble of going out
after them. Until we left Henry we caught a few fish, but not enough to
satisfy our needs.




CHAPTER VII.

BUILDING THE BOAT.


November 1, 1903.--We had settled that the scow was not strong enough
for the river voyage, and she kindly confirmed this view by quietly
sinking as she was moored in the creek. There was no accident--the
timbers separated from decay. We were awaked by the sound of water
running as if poured from a very large pitcher; jumped up, ran to the
stern of the boat, and saw that the rudder, which was usually six inches
above water, was then below it. We awoke the family and hastily removed
the articles in the outer end of the boat to the end resting on shore,
and summoned the boys. It was just getting towards dawn. By the time
this was done the lower end of the cabin floor was covered with water.
Had this happened while we were in the river the consequences would have
been serious.

       *       *       *       *       *

Jim's father, Frank Wood, went to Peoria and selected materials for the
new scow. The sides are technically termed gunwales--"gunnels"--and
should be of solid three-inch plank. But we found it might take six
months to get three-inch plank forty feet long, so we had to splice. He
got eight plank, 22 to 24 feet long. Two of these were spliced in the
center for the lower strake, and one long one placed in the center
above, with half a length at each end. This prevented both splices
coming together. The plank were sawed in a Z shape. Holes were then
bored through both plank at intervals of four feet, and half-inch iron
braces driven through and screwed firmly together. The ends were then
sawn for the sloping projections.

Through the middle, from end to end, was set a six-by-six timber, and on
each side midway between this and the gunwales ran a three-by-six. Then
the two-inch plank were nailed firmly to the gunwales and intermediate
braces, each with twenty-three 60- and 40-penny nails. We find a strong
prejudice against wire nails, these fishers and boatbuilders preferring
the old-fashioned square nails when they can get them. They say the wire
is more apt to rust; but this may be simply the conservatism that always
meets an innovation. The cheapness of the wire is an item.

The plank were placed as closely together as possible. Here a difficulty
arose, as they were warped, so that when one end was laid close, the
other was an inch from its fellow. But this did not bother our men. They
put a triangular block up to the refractory end, nailed it firmly to the
beam underneath, and drove wedges between till the crooked plank was
forced as nearly straight as possible--or as prudent, for too great a
strain would be followed by warping.

When all the planks were nailed on, two coats of tar and rosin were
applied, and next day the boat was turned over. It was brought down till
one side was in two feet of water, then the upper side was hoisted by
blocks and tackles applied on upright timbers, till nearly upright, when
the men pushed it over with big poles. She had first been braced
carefully with an eight-by-eight across the middle, and by a number of
other timbers. The eight-by-eight was broken and the middle of the boat
forced up six inches by the shock, requiring the services of a jack to
press it down to its place.

What fine workers these men are, and how silently they work, keeping at
the big spikes hour after hour, driving every one with thought and care,
and yet wasting no time. What use they make of a few simple mechanical
aids--the lever, the wheel and screw, the jack, buck, etc.; and they
constantly use the square before sawing. Americans, every one of them;
and not a drop of beer or whisky seen about the work, from first to
last.

The seams in the gunwales were caulked with hemp and payed with white
lead, before the boat was turned. Then they went over the inside and
wherever a trickle of water appeared they stuffed in cotton.

The scow is 40 feet long and 16 feet wide. Over the gunwales were laid
four-by-fours, 18 feet long, and spiked down. Then supports were placed
under these and toenailed to the three inner braces, and to the
four-by-fours. A two-foot projection was made at each end, making the
floor 44 feet long. The flooring is of Georgia pine, tongued and
grooved.

The lumber cost, including freight from Peoria to Henry, about $100; the
work about fifty more. There were over 100 pounds of nails used, 50
pounds of white lead in filling cracks, and several hundred pounds of
tar on the bottom.

The gunwales are of Oregon fir, straight and knotless. It would not add
to the strength to have them of oak, as they are amply able to withstand
any strain that can possibly be put on them in navigating even the
greatest of rivers. Oak would, however, add largely to the weight, and
if we were pounding upon a snag this would add to the danger. As it was,
we many times had this experience, and felt the comfort of knowing that
a sound, well-braced, nailed and in every way secure hull was under us.
The planking was of white pine, the four-by-fours on which the deck
rested of Georgia pine. The cabin was of light wood, Oregon fir. When
completed the hull formed a strong box, secure against any damage that
could befall her. We cannot now conjure up any accident that could have
injured her so as to endanger her crew. Were we to build another boat
she should be like this one, but if larger we would have water-tight
compartments stretching across her, so that even if a plank were to be
torn off the bottom she would still be safe. And we would go down to
Henry to have "Abe" De Haas and "Frank" Wood and "Jack" Hurt build her.

Some leakage continued for some weeks, till the seams had swelled
completely shut, and she did not leak a drop during the whole of the
cruise.

       *       *       *       *       *

During this time we continued to live in the cabin, the deck sloping so
that it was difficult to walk without support. When the cabin was being
moved we availed ourselves of Mrs. Wood's courtesy and slept in her
house one night. After the cabin had been moved off we took the old scow
apart, and a terrible scene of rottenness was revealed. The men who saw
it, fishermen and boatbuilders, said it was a case for the grand jury,
that any man should send a family of women and little children afloat on
such a boat. There was no sign of an accident. The water had receded,
leaving the shore end of the scow resting on the mud. This let down the
stern a little. The new side was constructed of two-by-fours laid on
their sides, one above the other, and to the ends were nailed the plank
forming the bow and stern. Of these the wood was so rotten that the
long sixty-penny spikes pulled out, leaving a triangular opening, the
broad end up. As the stern of the boat sank the water ran in through a
wider orifice and filled up the hull more and more rapidly. The danger
lay in the absolute lack of flotation. New wood would have kept her
afloat even when the hull was full of water, but her timbers were so
completely watersoaked that the stout ropes broke in the attempt to
raise her, even though with no load.

Through the favor of Providence this occurred while we were moored in a
shallow creek. Had it happened while in the deep river nothing could
have saved us from drowning. As it was, we lost a good deal of canned
goods and jelly, soap, flour, and other stores. But the most serious
harm was that we were delayed by the necessity of building a new boat,
so that we were caught in the November storms, and the exposure brought
back the invalid's asthma; so that the main object of the trip was
practically lost. We are thus particular to specify the nature of the
trouble, as the vendor of the boat has claimed that the accident was due
to the inexperience of our crew. That this was a mistake must be
evident to even an inexperienced sailor, who reads this account.

The old house on the sunken scow was cut loose and moved over onto the
new one, and securely nailed down. An addition 8 feet square was added
at the back for a storeroom, and the roof extended to the ends of the
scow at both ends. This gives us a porch 11 by 18 feet in front, and one
10 by 8 behind. These are roofed with beaded siding and covered with the
canvas we got for an awning, which we have decided we do not need. This
is to be heavily painted as soon as we have time.

The entire cost of the new boat, the additional room and roofs, labor
and materials, was about $250; the old boat cost $200, but the cabin
that we moved onto the new hull could not have been built and painted
for that, so that there was no money loss on the purchase. The launch,
with its engine, cost $365, so that the entire outfit stood us at $830,
including $15 for a fine gunning skiff Jim got at Henry. The furniture
is not included, as we took little but cast-offs; nor the outfit of
fishing and sporting goods.

We must stop here to say a word as to the good people at Henry. Frank
Wood and his family opened their house to us and furnished us milk and
other supplies, for which we could not induce them to accept pay.
Members of the Swan Lake Club placed at our disposal the conveniences of
their club house. During the time our boat was building our goods lay
out under a tree with no protection, not even a dog, and not a thing was
touched. These fishermen surely are of a race to be perpetuated. Mr.
Grazier also allowed us to use his ferryboat while endeavoring to raise
the sunken boat and to store goods, and Mrs. Hurt offered to accommodate
part of our family on her houseboat while our cabin was being moved to
the new scow.




CHAPTER VIII.

THE LOWER ILLINOIS.


Saturday, Oct. 31, we bade adieu to the kind friends at Swan Lake, who
had done so much to make us comfortable, and pulled down to Henry,
passing the locks. Here we tied up till Sunday afternoon, the engine
still giving trouble, and then set off. We passed Lacon pontoon bridge
and town about 5 p. m., and three miles below tied up for the night.
Next morning, the engine proving still refractory, we floated down to
the Chillicothe bridge, which was sighted about 11 a. m. This day was
rainy and the new unpainted roof let in the water freely.

We waited at Chillicothe for the _Fred Swain_ to pass, and then swung
down to the bank below town, where we tied up. A farm house stood near
the bank, and as we tied up a woman came out and in a loud voice called
to some one to lock the chicken-house, and rattled a chain,
suggestively; from which we infer that houseboat people have not the
best reputation. We played the phonograph that evening, and the
household gathered on shore to listen; so that we trust they slept
somewhat securely. In the morning we bought some of the chickens we had
had no chance to steal, and found the folks quite willing to deal with
us. We had to wait for the _Swain_, as it was quite foggy and without
the launch we could not have gotten out of her way.

We drifted slowly down past Sand Point and The Circle lights, and tied
up to a fallen tree, opposite the little village of Spring Bay. The boys
were out of tobacco and had to row in for it. About 9 p. m. I heard
shouts and then shots, and went out, to find a thick fog. They had lost
their direction and it was only after some time and considerable
shouting that they came near enough to see the lantern. We heard that
the previous night the man who lights the channel lamps was out all
night in the fog.

[Illustration: HOUSEBOAT TOWN, PEORIA.]

Again we had to wait for the _Swain_ to pass, and then floated down past
Blue Creek Point. Here we saw a houseboat tied up, which a fisherman
told us belonged to a wealthy old bachelor who lived there from choice.
The current was slow as the river was wide, so about 2 p. m. we took a
line from the good canal boat _City of Henry_, which for three dollars
agreed to tow us to Peoria. This was faster traveling, but not a bit
nice. However, it was necessary to get the engine in order, so we put up
with it. We tied up above the upper bridge, with a nasty row of jagged
piles between us and the shore. About 5 a. m. a northeast gale sprang up
and washed us against the piles, to our great danger. Our boys arranged
a two-by-four, nailing it against the side, so that the end stuck into
the sand and fended us off the piles, and our gangway plank served the
same purpose at the other end. This is a most important matter, as the
snags might loosen a plank from the bottom.

       *       *       *       *       *

Friday, Nov. 6, 1903.--At last we seem to have found a real expert on
gasoline engines. Instead of guessing that "mebbe" this or "mebbe" that
was the matter, he went at it and soon found the difficulty. In a short
time the boat was circling 'round the lake at a most enticing rate. We
laid in a new store of groceries and at 9 a. m. today set out. By lunch
time we had passed Pekin, and are now heading for the locks at Copperas
Creek, the engine going beautifully and the weather bright and cool.
About Peoria we saw great numbers of houseboats, many in the water, but
the aged members had climbed out upon the banks and perched among a
wonderful array of shanties. One house seemed to be roosting among the
branches of several large trees. Many were seen along the river below,
some quite pretty, but none we fancied as well as our own.

       *       *       *       *       *

Friday, Nov. 8, 1903.--We were held back by head winds and stopped
before we reached the lock. Saturday we had good weather and little
wind, and reached Copperas Creek just after lunch. There were three feet
of water on the dam, and even the _Bald Eagle_, the largest steamer
here, runs over it; but as we had paid for the lock we went through it.
The lock-keeper took it out of us, though, by charging 15 cents for two
quarts of milk, the highest price paid yet.

We got off this morning at 8:15, and although a heavy head wind prevails
are making good time. Many loons are passing south, in large flights,
and some ducks. The marshes on either side seem to be well supplied, but
are club grounds, we are told. It is much warmer than yesterday, the
south wind blowing strongly. We moored with the anchor out at the outer
corner, up the river, and the line and gangway plank on shore, allowing
about ten feet from boat to shore; and when the _Eva Alma_ and the
_Ebaugh_ passed us there was no bumping against the shore. Evidently
that is the way to moor, though in the great river we must give more
space and more cable to the anchor.

At 10 a. m. we passed Liverpool, a hamlet of 150 inhabitants, half of
whom must reside in houseboats. Some of these were quite large and well
built.

       *       *       *       *       *

We reached Havana about 4 p. m. Sunday, and as the south wind had become
too fierce for our power we tied up below the bridge, at a fisherman's
shanty. Monday morning it looked like rain, and the wind blew harder
than ever, so we lay by and the boys finished putting on the tar paper
roofing. When the wind is strong enough to blow the boat up stream
against the current, the launch will be unable to make head against it.
A couple live in an old freight car by us, and their home is worth
seeing. The sand bluff is dug out for a chicken cave and pig-pen, and
beautiful chrysanthemums are growing in boxes and pans, placed so as to
retain the earth that would otherwise wash away. Fruit trees are also
planted, and the woman tells me that the whole place is filled with
flowering plants, now covered with sand for the winter. We notice two
dracaenas.

       *       *       *       *       *

Tuesday, Nov. 10, 1903.--The storm lasted all day yesterday, pinioning
us relentlessly to the beach. By 5 p. m. it let up, but we concluded to
remain at our moorings till morning. This morning we got off at 7 a. m.,
and passed the Devil's Elbow lights before lunch. We did not tie up
then, but threw out our anchor, which is less trouble and in every way
better, as there is less danger of the snags that beset the shore. The
air is rather cool for sitting outside but we spend much time there. The
river is narrowing. Each little creek has a houseboat, or several,
generally drawn up out of the water and out of reach of the ice. We saw
a woman at one of the shabbiest shanty boats washing clothes. She
stooped down and swung the garment to and fro in the water a few moments
and then hung it up to dry.

The shores are thickly dotted with little flags and squares of muslin,
put up by the surveyors who are marking out the channel for the proposed
deep waterway. These were few in the upper river. Every shallow is
appropriated by some fisherman's nets, and at intervals a cleared space
with sheds or fish boxes shows how important are the fisheries of this
river.

There is a great deal of dispute along shore over the fishing rights.
The submerging of thousands of acres of good land has greatly extended
the limits of what is legally navigable water. The fishermen claim the
right to set their nets wherever a skiff or a sawlog can float; but the
owners think that since they bought the land from the Government and
paid for it, and have paid taxes for forty years, they have something
more of rights than any outsider. If not, what did they buy? The right
to set nets, they claim, would give the right to plant crops if the
water receded. Eventually the courts will have to decide it; but if
these lands are thrown open to the public, the Drainage Board will have
a heavy bill of damages. For it seems clear that it is the canal which
has raised the level of the water.

Meanwhile the fishing is not profitable. The fish have so wide a range
that netting does not result in much of a catch. But if this rise proves
only temporary, there will be good fishing when the water subsides.

The boy does not get enough exercise, and his constant movement is
almost choreic; so we sent him out to cut firewood, which is good for
his soul. The girl amuses herself all day long with some little dolls,
but is ever ready to aid when there is a task within her strength. She
is possessed with a laughing demon, and has been in a constant state of
cachinnation the whole trip. At table some sternness is requisite to
keep the fun within due bounds. All hands mess together--we are a
democratic crowd. Saturday John W. Gates' palatial yacht, the _Roxana_,
passed down while we were at lunch. We saw a cook on deck; and two
persons, wrapped up well, reclined behind the smokestack.

       *       *       *       *       *

Nov. 11, 1903.--After a run of 22 miles--our best yet--we tied up at the
Sangamon Chute, just below the mouth of that river. The day had been
very pleasant. During the night our old friend the South Wind returned,
but we were well moored and rode easily. The launch bumped a little, so
the doctor rose and moved it, setting the fenders, also. Rain, thunder
and lightning came, but secure in our floating home we were content.
Today the wind has pinioned us to the shore, though the sun is shining
and the wind not specially cold. The boys cut wood for the stove and
then went after ducks, returning at noon with a pair of mallards. The
new roof is tight, the stove draws well, and we ought to be happy, as
all are well. But we should be far to the south, out of reach of this
weather. We can see the whitecaps in the river at the bend below, but an
island protects us from the full sweep of wind and wave.

Regular trade-wind weather, sun shining, wind blowing steadily, great
bulks of white cloud floating overhead, and just too cold to permit
enjoyable exposure when not exercising.

       *       *       *       *       *

Friday, Nov. 13, 1903.--This thing grows monotonous. Yesterday we set
out and got to Browning, a mile, when the wind blew us ashore against a
ferry boat that was moored there, and just then the engine refused to
work. We remained there all day. The wind was pitiless, driving us
against the boat till we feared the cable would break. We got the anchor
into the skiff and carried it out to windward as far as the cable
reached, and then drew in till there were five feet between the
ferryboat and ours. In half an hour the anchor, firmly embedded in
tenacious clay, had dragged us back to the boat and we had again to draw
in cable by bracing against the ferry.

At 2 p. m. the wind had subsided, and after working with the engine till
4 we got off, and drew down a mile beyond the turn, where we would be
sheltered. We moored with the anchor out up stream, and a cable fast
ashore at the other end, lying with broadside up stream to the current,
and a fender out to the shore. This fender is made of two two-by-fours
set on edge and cross pieces let in near each end. The boat end is tied
to the side and the shore end rams down into the mud. While at dinner
the _Bald Eagle_ came up, but we hardly noticed her wash. Moored thus,
far enough out to avoid snags, we are safe and comfortable. But if too
close in shore there may be a submerged snag that when the boat is
lifted on a wave and let down upon it punches a hole in the bottom or
loosens a plank.

The night was quiet. We had our first duck supper, the boys getting a
brace and a hunter at the fish house giving us two more. They had
hundreds of them, four men having had good shooting on the Sangamon.
This morning it is cool and cloudy, the wind aft and light, and the boys
are coaxing the engine. If we can get a tow we will take it, as there is
some danger we may be frozen in if we delay much longer.

       *       *       *       *       *

Saturday, Nov. 14, 1903.--Despite the hoodoo of yesterday, Friday the
13th, we got safely to Beardstown before lunch, in a drizzle of rain
that turned to a light snow. Temperature all day about 35. After lunch
we started down and passed La Grange about 4:30 p. m. Probably this was
a town in the days when the river was the great highway, but stranded
when the railways replaced the waterways. There is a very large frame
building at the landing, evidently once a tavern, and what looks like an
old street, with no houses on it now. The tavern is propped up to keep
it from falling down. No postoffice. We tied up about a mile above the
La Grange lock, so that we may be ready to go through at 8 a. m. We hear
that the locks are only opened to small fry like gasolines at 8 a. m.
and 4 p. m., and it behooves us to be there at one of those hours. Just
why a distinction should be made between steamers and gasolines is for
officialdom to tell.

       *       *       *       *       *

Twice yesterday the launch propeller fouled the towrope, once requiring
the knife to relieve it. This accident is apt to occur and needs
constant attention to prevent. We arranged two poles to hold up the
ropes, and this did well. It is good to have a few poles, boards and
various bits of timber aboard for emergencies. Heavy frost last night,
but the sun is coming up clear and bright, and not a breath of wind. We
look for a great run today if we manage the lock without delay. The
quail are whistling all around us, but we are in a hurry. The _Bald
Eagle_ passed down last evening, running quite near us and sending in
big waves, but thanks to our mooring, we were comfortable and had no
bumping. The water does no harm; it is the shore and the snags we fear.

We were told that we would find the lockmen at La Grange grouty and
indisposed to open the locks except at the hours named above; but this
proved a mistake. They showed us the unvarying courtesy we have received
from all canal officials since starting. They opened the gate without
waiting for us. They said that in the summer, picnic parties gave them
so much unnecessary trouble that they had to establish the rule quoted,
but at present there was no need for it. The day is decidedly cool and a
heavy fog drifting in from the south.

At Meredosia at 11 a. m., where Dr. Neville kindly assisted us to get a
check cashed. Found a youngster there who "knew gasoline engines," and
by his help the difficulty was found and remedied. Laid in supplies and
set out for Naples. Weather cool, but fog lifted, though the sun refused
to be tempted out.




CHAPTER IX.

TOWING.


Monday, Nov. 16, 1903.--The engine bucked yesterday, for a change, so we
'phoned to Meredosia and secured the services of the _Celine_, a
gasoline launch of five-horse-power. She started at once, but arriving
in sight of Naples she also stopped and lay two hours before she
condescended to resume. About 3 p. m. we got under way, the _Celine_
pushing, with a V of two-by-fours for her nose and a strong rope
reaching from her stern to each after corner of the scow. Then our own
engine awoke, and ran all day, as if she never knew what a tantrum was.
We made Florence, a town of 100 people, and tied up for the night. An
old "doctor" had a boat with a ten-horse-power gasoline tied up next us.
He travels up and down the river selling medicines. As these small towns
could scarcely support a doctor, there is possibly an opening for a real
physician, who would thus supply a number of them. Telephonic
communication is so free along the river that he could cover a large
territory--at least better than no doctor at all.

[Illustration: LAUNCH TOWING.]

During the night it blew hard, and rain, thunder and lightning made us
feel sorry for the poor folk who were exposed to such dangers on shore.
This morning we got off about 7:15, with a dull, lowering sky, fog, but
a wind dead astern and a strong current, so that we are in hopes of a
record run. So far our best has been 22 miles in one day.

The right bank shows a series of pretty high bluffs, the stratified rock
showing through. Ferries grow numerous. A good deal of timber is at the
riverside awaiting shipment--a good deal, that is, for Illinois--and
remarkably large logs at that. It seems to go to Meredosia. The boy and
his father had made a gangway plank, and a limber affair it was; so the
boys are taking it to pieces and setting the two-by-fours up on edge,
which gives more strength. There is a right and a wrong way of doing
most things, and we invariably choose the wrong till shown better.

Bought some pecans at Meredosia--$3.00 a bushel. It ought to pay to
raise them at that price, which is rather low than high. The river is
said to be lined with the trees, and one woman says she and her two
daughters made $150 gathering them this season. Hickory nuts cost 80
cents to $1.20, the latter for big coarse nuts we would not gather in
the East.

       *       *       *       *       *

Tuesday, Nov. 17, 1903.--Kampsville, Ill. Yesterday Mr. Hauser brought
us this far with the gasoline launch _Celine_, and then quit--too cold.
Cost $12 for the tow. By the time we got here the northeast wind was
blowing so fierce and cold that we tied up. The town seems very lively
for so small a place, having a number of stores. They charged us 25
cents a gallon for stove gasoline, but only 8 cents a pound for very
fair roasting beef. We were moored on a lee shore, with our port bow to
land, lines from both ends to stakes on shore, and the gangway plank
roped to the port corner side and staked down firmly; the anchor out
from the starboard stern, so as to present that side to the wind and
current. She swung easily without bumping, but the plank complained all
night. We scarcely felt the waves from the _Bald Eagle_ when she came
in, but the wind raised not only whitecaps but breakers and we rocked
some. It grew so cold that there was a draft through the unlined sides
of the boat that kept our heads cold. Fire was kept up all night and yet
we were cold.

We now see as never before how much harm was done by the old boat, that
compelled us to remain so long in this northern latitude and get the
November storms. But for this we would have been well below Memphis, and
escaped these gales.

We got new batteries here, but this morning all the gasolines are frozen
up, and we lay at our moorings, unable to move. They wanted $20 to tow
us 29 miles to Grafton, but have come down to $15 this morning. We will
accept if they can get up power, though it is steep--$5.00 being about
the usual price for a day's excursion in summer. All hands are stuffing
caulking around the windows and trying to keep in some of the heat. Sun
shining, but the northeast wind still blows whitecaps, with little if
any sign of letting up. The launch that proposes to tow us is busy
thawing out her frozen pump. We have put the canoe and skiff on the
front "porch," so as to have less difficulty steering.

The little Puritan still sits on the stove in the cabin, and easily
furnishes two gallons of water a day when sitting on top of the stove
lid. Four times we have turned on the water and forgotten it till it ran
over. We might arrange it to let a drop fall into the still just as fast
as it evaporates, if the rate were uniform, but on a wood stove this is
impossible. Last night it burned dry and some solder melted out of the
nozzle, but not enough to make it leak. It did not hurt the still, but
such things must be guarded against.

The weather is warmer, sun shining brightly, but we must wait for our
tow. The boys are getting tired of the monotony, especially Jim, who
likes action. We have the first and only cold of the trip, contracted
the cold night when our heads were chilled.

This afternoon Jim and the boy went one way for pecans and squirrels,
and the three women another for pecans alone. This is the pecan country,
the river being lined with the trees for many miles. In the cabin-boat
alongside, the old proprietor is still trying to get his engine to
work, while both his men are drunk. And he never did get them and the
engine in shape, but lost the job. He did not know how to run his own
engine, which is unpardonable in anyone who lives in such a boat or
makes long trips in it.

       *       *       *       *       *

Thursday, Nov. 19, 1903.--Another tedious day of waiting. Cold and
bright; but the cold kept us in. After dark Capt. Fluent arrived with
his yacht, the _Rosalie_, 21-horse-power gasoline; and at 9 a. m. we got
under way. Passed the last of the locks at 9:15, and made about five
miles an hour down the river. Passed Hardin, the last of the Illinois
river towns. Many ducks in the river, more than we had previously seen.
Clear and cold; temperature at 8 a. m. 19; at 2 p. m., 60. About 3:25 p.
m. we swung into the Mississippi. The water was smooth and did not seem
terrible to us--in fact we had passed through so many "wides" in the
Illinois that we were not much impressed. But we are not saying anything
derogatory to the river god, for we do not want him to give us a sample
of his powers. We are unpretentious passers by, no Aeneases or other
distinguished <DW15>s, but just a set of little river tramps not worth
his godship's notice.

Grafton is a straggling town built well back from the river, and looking
as if ready to take to the bluffs at the first warning. The Missouri
shore is edged with willows and lies low. We notice that our pilot
steers by the lights, making for one till close, and then turning
towards the next, keeping just to the right or left, as the Government
list directs: Probably our craft, drawing so little water, might go
almost anywhere, but the channel is probably clear of snags and other
obstructions and it is better to take no chances. It was after 6 when we
moored in Alton. Day's run, 45 miles in nine hours. We picked up enough
ducks on the way down for to-night's dinner--two mallards and two teal.

       *       *       *       *       *

Friday, Nov. 20, 1903.--Cold this morning, enough to make us wish we
were much farther south. Capt. Fluent has quite a plant here--a ferry
boat, many small boats for hire, etc. In the night a steamer jolted us a
little, but nothing to matter. Even in the channel the launch ran over a
sunken log yesterday. We note a gasoline launch alongside that has one
of the towing cleats and a board pulled off, and hear it was in pulling
her off a sand bar; so there is evidently wisdom in keeping in the
channel, even if we only draw eight inches.

A friend called last evening. Waiting at the depot he saw our lights and
recognized the two side windows with the door between. It was good to
see a familiar face.

We are now free from the danger of ice blockade. The current at the
mouth of the Illinois is so slow that ice forming above may be banked up
there, and from this cause Fluent was held six weeks once--the blocking
occurring in November. But the great river is not liable to this
trouble. Still we will push south fast. This morning we had a visit from
a bright young reporter from an Alton paper, who wrote up some notes of
our trip. The first brother quill we had met, so we gave him a welcome.

At 9 a. m. we set out for St. Louis, Mrs. Fluent and children
accompanying her husband. The most curious houseboat we have yet seen
lay on shore near our mooring place. It was a small raft sustained on
barrels, with a cabin about six feet by twelve. A stovepipe through the
roof showed that it was inhabited. Reminded us of the flimsy structures
on which the South American Indians entrust themselves to the ocean.

The _Reynard_ and her tender are following us, to get the benefit of
Fluent's pilotage. A head wind and some sea caused disagreeable pounding
against the front overhang, which alarmed the inexperienced and made us
glad it was no wider. But what will it do when the waves are really
high?

[Illustration: "BLUFF."]

[Illustration: THE DESPLAINES.]




CHAPTER X.

ST. LOUIS.


St. Louis, Nov. 26, 1903.--We moored at the private landing belonging to
Mr. Gardner, whose handsome yacht, the _Annie Russell_, came in on the
following day. This was a great comfort, affording a sense of security,
which the reputation of the levee made important. A reporter from the
_Globe-Democrat_ paid us a visit, and a notice of the boat and crew
brought swarms of visitors. We were deluged with invitations so numerous
that we were compelled to decline all, that no offense might be given.
But Dr. Lanphear and his wife were not to be put off, so they drove down
to take us for a drive through the Fair grounds, with their huge,
inchoate buildings; and then brought to the boat materials for a dinner
which they served and cooked there. It is needless to add that we had a
jolly time.

Many applications were made for berths on the boat, which also we had to
decline. One distinguished professor of national repute offered to
clean guns and boots if he were taken along. Despite the bad reputation
of the levee we saw absolutely nothing to annoy us. We heard of the
cruelty of the <DW64>s to animals but scarcely saw a <DW64> here. It is
said that they catch rats on the steamers and let them out in a circle
of <DW64> drivers, who with their blacksnake whips tear the animal to
pieces at the first blow.

We visited the market and had _bon marche_ there, and at Luyties' large
grocery. Meat is cheap here, steak being from 10 to 12 cents a pound.

Foreman turned up with the _Bella_, and tried to get an interview; but
we refused to see him, the memory of the perils to which he had exposed
a family of helpless women and children, as well as the delay that
exposed us to the November gales, rendering any further acquaintance
undesirable.

Frank Taylor, the engineer of the _Desplaines_, was recommended to us by
his employer, Mr. Wilcox, of Joliet, as the best gasoline expert in
America; and he has been at work on our engine since we reached St.
Louis. It is a new make to him, and he finds it obscure. We have had so
much trouble with it, and the season is so far advanced, that we
arranged with the _Desplaines_, whose owner very kindly agreed to tow us
to Memphis. This is done to get the invalid below the frost line as
quickly as possible. The _Desplaines_ is selling powder fire
extinguishers along the river; and we are to stop wherever they think
there is a chance for some business.

At St. Louis we threw away our stove, which was a relic of Foreman, and
no good; and bought for $8.00 a small wood-burning range. It works well
and we can do about all our cooking on it, except frying. As we can pick
up all the wood we wish along the river, this is more economic than the
gasoline stove, which has burned 70 gallons of fuel since leaving
Chicago.

We stopped for Thanksgiving dinner above Crystal City, and the
_Desplaines_ crowd dined with us--Woodruff, Allen, Clements, Taylor and
Jake. A nice crowd, and we enjoyed their company. Also the turkey,
goose, mince pie, macaroni, potatoes, onions, celery, cranberries,
pickles, nuts, raisins, nut-candy, oranges and coffee. The current of
the river is swifter than at any place before met, and carries us along
fast. The _Desplaines_ is a steamer and works well.

We made about 50 miles today and tied up on the Illinois side, just
above a big two-story Government boat, which was apparently engaged in
protecting the banks from washing. Great piles of stone were being
dumped along the shore and timber frames laid down. It was quite cold.
The shore was lined with driftwood and young uprooted willows, and we
laid in a supply of small firewood--enough to last a week.

       *       *       *       *       *

Friday morning, Nov. 27.--Temperature 20; clear and cold, with a south
wind blowing, which makes the waves bump the boat some, the wind
opposing the swift current. Got off about 7:45, heading for Chester,
where the _Desplaines_ expects to stop for letters.




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 <DW54>s 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 <DW64> 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 "<DW65> 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.

During the night the wind died out, and the morning of Sunday, Dec. 13,
1903, is clear and cold, a heavy frost visible. The river is full of
floaters, one above us, two directly across, one below, another above,
and one floating past near the other shore. The _Desplaines_ is getting
up steam and we hope to see Memphis by noon.

[Illustration: MEMPHIS LEVEE. "TOUGH CROWD."]

[Illustration: THE CANOE.]




CHAPTER XIII.

DUCK SHOOTING.


Memphis, Tenn., Dec. 20, 1903.--We ran in here last Sunday morning, Dec.
13, intending to stock up and get out on Wednesday. But Handwerker had
arranged a shoot for us at Beaver Dam Club, and there we spent Tuesday
afternoon and Wednesday morning, bagging 26 ducks--12 mallards, 8
green-winged teal, 4 pintails, one widgeon and one spoonbill. Met Mr.
Selden, the president of the club, and Mr. O'Sullivan, and of course
enjoyed every minute of the time.

The club is built on social principles, with a large sleeping room with
four beds; better conducive to fun than seclusion--and the first is what
we seek at such resorts. After lunch we set out, with <DW64> boatmen,
finding a thin coat of ice over the lake. This is an old river bed, of
half-moon shape, with a little water and bottomless mud. Thousands of
ducks were perched on the ice and swimming in the few small open spaces.
We laboriously broke our way through the ice to our chosen stands, and
constructed blinds. Each boat had three live decoys; and after this
first experience with these we must say that we retired fully convinced
of our innate regularity as physicians--for we cannot quack a bit! Every
time a flight of ducks appeared, our tethered ducks quacked lustily, the
drake keeping silent; and it was effective. That evening the shooting
was the most exasperating in our experience. Twice we brought down
doubles, but not a bird of either did we bag. We had eight birds down,
wounded, which in falling broke holes in the ice--and we left them till
we were going in, as they could neither fly nor swim off; but the sun
came out warmer, melted the ice, and not a bird of the lot did we bag.
If there is anything that takes the edge off a duck hunter's
pleasure--at least of this one's--it is wounding a bird and not being
able to put it out of misery.

A good dinner made some amends, and the story telling continued far into
the night--in fact was still going when the writer fell asleep.

Next morning we had better luck, and got every bird knocked down, as
well as one of those winged the preceding day. In all we bagged 26
ducks during the two days--and that for a party of 12 on the two boats
is not an excessive supply. Not an ounce of the meat was wasted, and we
could have enjoyed another meal of them.

One singular accident robbed us of a fine greenhead. A flock of five
passed directly over our heads, so high that the guide said it was
useless to try for them; but strong in our confidence in the Winchester
we took the leader, and he tumbled. Yes, tumbled so hard, from such a
height that he broke through the ice and plunged so deeply into the mud
that we were unable to find him, after most diligent trials. We had been
impressed with the force of a duck's fall, when shooting one coming
directly head on, and can realize that a blow from one may be dangerous.
In Utah we heard of a man who was knocked out of his boat and his head
driven into the mud so far that he would have been smothered had not the
guide been able to draw him out.

On reaching the boat Wednesday evening we found that J. J. had improved
the opportunity of our absence by getting drunk, and had frightened the
folk by developing that most objectionable form of it, a fighting drunk.
After a few days he wound up in the lock-up, and there we leave
him--thoroughly disgusted that he should have done such a thing when
entrusted with the care of the sick wife and little ones.

The wife and Doctor took dinner with some friends, meeting a number of
Memphis folk; and it is with unusual regret we bid adieu to this fine
city. Stores are dearer than in St. Louis.

       *       *       *       *       *

We were all ready to start by Saturday morning, but it was raining and
foggy, the wind from the south too strong for our launch. Then the bank
to which we were tied began to cave in, and soon our towlines were
adrift. The _Desplaines_ got up steam and took us north, where we
remained all day; but as it was changing toward the north by evening we
pulled down below town and tied in a little cove under but at a distance
from the bluff. All night it blew hard from the west, and drove us into
the mud bank, where we are solidly planted now. Three lines out and the
anchor, with the mud, held us pretty steady, but the tug heaved against
us all night. Jim had cemented the front baseboard with white lead and
this kept out the water, but it came in under the sides, and we will
have to treat them similarly. The roof seemed tight. The windows leak,
too, and will have to be sealed somehow--with putty, or the seams
covered with strips of muslin glued on with varnish.

Our Cairo wood is gone, and we are using drift, which is wet. We must
saw and split about a cord, and let it dry out. There is great plenty
along the shores. The Missis has had asthma as bad as ever before--small
wonder.

The _Desplaines_ seems to be overmanned, for the owner, Mr. Woodruff,
asked us to take Taylor off his hands. This we are very glad to do, as
we are short, since losing J. J., and Taylor has gotten our launch in
good shape at last. In fact we might have used her from St. Louis if we
had had him. Taylor is an Englishman, a teetotaler, and is studying with
a correspondence school to fit himself for the highest positions
attainable by an engineer.

One has to be careful what he says to the Memphis people. We mentioned
to Prof. Handwerker our need of a dog, and added that we preferred one
that did not like <DW64>s, as we wanted him to give warning when any
stray ones came near. Next day down came a crate containing a little
dog, a brindle terrier, with the word that he could not abide <DW64>s.
He at once proceeded to endear himself to every one on board, and fully
verified his recommendations. His name is Bluff; and surely never was
dog better named. The brave little creature would, we verily believe,
bluff an elephant.




CHAPTER XIV.

SNAGGED IN TENNESSEE CHUTE.


President's Island, Dec. 21, 1903.--Yesterday was one of high hopes and
unexpected disaster. All morning Taylor wrestled with the engine; Fluent
ran down to tell of a telegram awaiting us; we went up in the
_Desplaines_ and found it was concerning some mss. not delivered by the
express; found the office open, the mss. had been returned to Chicago
Saturday on wire from there, and no explanation as to why it had not
been delivered during the week, on every day of which we had been to the
express office after it. Holiday rush.

At 1 p. m. we got off, the launch behind and steered by ropes running
around the cabin to its front. All went well till Jim came in to dinner
and we took the ropes--gave one turn to see which way the steering ran,
found we were wrong and at once turned the other way, but that one turn
gave the unwieldy craft a cant in to the shore, along which ran the
swift current, and we drifted among a lot of snags, the launch caught,
the boat caught, tore the blades off the propeller, broke the coupling;
let go the anchor, and came to. In the melee we noticed the front end of
a gasoline launch rise from some snags--a wreck, buoyed up by the air in
the tank. The boys rowed back but could not locate it. Then we tried to
lift our anchor, to find it fouled with something too heavy to be
raised, and had to buoy it and cast loose with the 75 feet of cable
attached to it.

We drifted quietly down to the southern end of this island, where we
tied up to the sand bar.

Out fenders, one long line to a half-buried log far up the shore, the
boat held well off to guard against the falling water leaving us
aground. Well we did, for this morning the launch was so firm in the
sand that we had trouble to get loose. The night was clear and quiet,
and this morning the same--a light wind blowing us along down the river.
Laid in a lot of driftwood in long sticks. Missy had a good night but is
a little asthmatic this morning. Swept out into the current and floating
now in true cabinboat style. We will keep clear of the Tennessee Chute
next time.

The _Desplaines_ came along as we were lying at the lower end of the
island, and came in to our signal. As we were totally disabled and would
have to send to Auburn, N. Y., for new flukes for our propeller, they
agreed to help us out, and took us in tow. They ran back to see if they
could find the anchor or the sunken boat, but failed to locate either.

       *       *       *       *       *

Hardin's Point, Ark., Dec. 23, 1903.--Yesterday we ran in here after a
fifty-mile run. Tied up quite near the light, which was not well, as the
_Kate Adams_ coming near rocked us as badly as any steamer we have yet
met. We passed her and her consort, the _James Lee_, both aground within
half a mile of each other, near Mhoon's. Both got off, as the _Lee_ came
down today. The river is lower than usual, as the Mhoon gauge showed
minus three.

We laid in a good supply of wood, and then Jim and Frank found a lot of
cannel coal over on the sand bar, and all day they have been loading up
the _Desplaines_ and our boat with it. Some barge has been wrecked there
and the small pieces washed away, so that what is left is in large
pieces, the smallest taking a strong man to lift. It is curiously
water-burnt. The edges are well rounded, so it must have been long under
water. A little darkey brought around six silver bass, weighing possibly
half a pound each, for which he accepted forty cents. They have a barrel
ready for shipment. He called them game fish.

A fine buck shot out of the woods on the other side, followed at a
distance by ten hounds, and the deer nearly ran into Woodruff's boat,
then swam to this side, where our boys vainly tried to get a shot. An
old darkey said he could have been easily drowned by the man in the
skiff; but we are glad that species of murder did not offer attractions
to Woodruff. The bars are resonant with the honking of the geese. The
natives have no cows, chickens, nothing to sell, not even pecans--which
here become "puckawns." This evening Jake brought in a fine wild goose,
the first we have seen on board as yet. It has blown from the south all
day, but is quiet this evening.

       *       *       *       *       *

Helena, Ark., Dec. 25, 1903.--We left Hardin Point about 9 a. m., with
the wind dead ahead, and strong enough to make the beating unpleasant.
The front deck is loaded with over a ton of coal, and this seems to make
the boat steadier, less inclined to pitch and toss like a cork on the
waves.

Christmas day is clear and bright, the sun out, thermometer at 10:30
standing at 55 outside in the shade, and with a little wood fire running
up to 90 in the cabin. The Missis is better, her asthma becoming more
spasmodic and better controlled by smoke. It rained all last night, and
though the caulking did good, there was still some water came in around
the surbases. We got some putty to help out the lead. At every stop we
pick up something of value to us; usually some good hard firewood. Here
we found a section of the side of a boat washed ashore, solid oak, with
several bolts a yard long through it. Frank lugged it in and has broken
it up into stovewood, and secured the bolts for stakes.

About 2 p. m. we reached Helena, a town of about 25,000. Moored at a
distance up the stream, and landed on a muddy shore. The muddy south. We
are all coated with the most adhesive of muds, the fineness of the grain
rendering it difficult to remove from the clothes. The town is full of
<DW64>s, celebrating the holiday; and nearly all carry suspicious
looking jugs. The costumes and shouting would make the fortune of a
museum in the north. Found it impossible to secure a turkey fit to eat,
but got the Missis some fine oysters and a chicken, and bear-steaks for
our dinner--at 25 cents a pound. Game is not allowed to be sold in the
state. Pity they do not extend the prohibition to whisky.

We made candy, and in the evening had the crew all in, and grabbed for
presents in a big basket under a newspaper. We had a happy time,
although we were all out on the big river far from home. The
_Desplaines_ let their wild goose spoil, and threw it overboard this
morning. At 10 a. m. we set out for down the river.

We searched the Memphis papers for some intimation as to J. J.'s fate,
but found none. Found the tale of an Indiana man who was coming down on
a houseboat with his wife, intending to make his home in Greenville,
Miss. He was told at Cairo that there was a law in Tennessee against
carrying concealed weapons, so here he started out with his pistol in
his hands. He was arrested and sentenced to jail for a year less a day,
and $50 fine, the law forbidding the carrying of weapons. Such a
punishment, administered to a stranger unaware of the law seems a
travesty of justice. It is said here that it is safer to kill a man than
to carry a weapon; and it seems so.




CHAPTER XV.

MOORING.


We have been studying the subject of mooring, and present the following
as an ideal moor:

The fenders are stout poles six inches thick at the butt, three at the
small end, which rests on shore. This end is deeply embedded in the
dirt, so that it will not float away or ride up on the bank. The big end
is firmly fastened to the side timbers, the four-by-fours running across
the boat under the floor, by a short chain, which will not chafe out
like a rope. The latter is better, as being elastic, however. Either
must be strong to spare. The cable is an inch Manilla rope. Thus moored
we are ready for all chances. The best thing to moor to is a stump or
log firmly embedded, and as far as possible from shore, if crumbly, for
the current may cut in fast. At Memphis our stake, forty feet from
shore, was washed out in an hour. Never tie close to a bank that may
fall in on the boat, or to a tree that may fall and crush you; or to a
bank that may hold you ashore if the water falls in the night; or,
worst of all, over a snag, for the waves of a passing steamer may lift
the boat up and drop it so hard on the snag as to knock a hole in the
bottom. When possible moor where you will have a bar to protect you from
the force of waves rolling in from a broad stretch of water. A narrow
creek or cove would be ideal, but as yet we have hardly seen such a
thing where we wanted to stop. When moored with the long side to the
shore, less surface is exposed to the current and the wind, and less
strain put upon the cables.

[Illustration: AN IDEAL MOOR.]




CHAPTER XVI.

A LEVEE CAMP.


Allison's Landing, Ark., Dec. 26, 1903.--We landed here after dark last
night, having been delayed at Friars' Point by the tug getting aground.
The cabinboat floated down the river some distance, and then the back
current and wind carried her on a sand bar. The tug was three hours
getting free, by warping off with the anchor.

We found this a levee camp. Hardly had we landed when a big negress came
aboard to see what we had for sale. They wanted drygoods badly, and were
much disappointed. Two pleasant gentlemen boarded us, the heads of the
camp; and spent the evening on the tug, with singing and music. They are
here surrounded by <DW64>s, and a little white association seemed as
agreeable to them as it was to us. In the night all hands but Dr. and
Taylor went cat-hunting.

At 11 p. m. a furious wind storm sprang up from the northeast, exactly
the direction from which to blow us on shore; which was providential,
as we only had one long line out and that poorly secured to a stake in
the soft, oozy bank. Frank saw that everything was right, and wisely
went to bed; but we could not rest easy, and sat up till 4 a. m. The
canoe on the roof blew over against the stovepipe and we had to get out
four times and push it back with a pole. It grew quite cold and the fire
was grateful.

About midnight the hunters came back with the usual luck to tell of.
This morning Jake, the boy and Doctor went out to a bayou after ducks,
but saw none. This country is said to swarm with game but it keeps
hidden from us. What a thing is a bad reputation!

In the woods we noted the buds springing from the roots of the cypress,
the size of an egg, and growing upward in hollow cones, called cypress
knees. It is a remarkable and noble tree, the buttressed stumps giving
promise of superb height, which seems rarely realized. Half a mile back
from the landing we came upon the levee, a great bank of earth but
partly covered with grass. Deep and narrow bayous run parallel with it,
in which could be seen the movements of quite large fish.

Robins, redbirds, jays, woodpeckers, blackbirds, and a variety of still
smaller birds abounded; but we did not get any game. The two gentlemen
in charge of the levee camp, Mr. Rogers and Mr. Ward, went with us into
the woods, but the game was wary. All hands so thoroughly enjoyed the
visit at this hospitable camp that for the rest of the trip we talked of
it. We were indebted to these gentlemen for a roast of fresh pork. Their
task is a difficult one, to keep in order so many <DW64>s, all of the
rough and illiterate sort. Quarrels over "craps" and shooting among the
<DW64>s are not infrequent, and in one a white man, passing by, was
killed. Mr. Rogers has the repute of getting his men to work, and we
heard a scrap of a song among them, expressive of their sentiments or
impressions:


     "Blisters on yo' feet an' co'ns on yo' han',
     Wat yo' git for wo'kin' fo' de black-haired man."


A firm hand is absolutely necessary to rule these men, with whom
weakness is perilous. Only a few weeks after our visit to one of these
camps a <DW64> got in a dispute over a trivial sum in his account, got
hold of the pistol the white man in charge had incautiously left in the
<DW64>'s reach, and shot him dead. If there is anything in the art of
physiognomy, many of these levee men are desperadoes.

       *       *       *       *       *

Dec. 28, 1903.--We left our friendly entertainers at Allison's and ran
down to a bar, where Woodruff took in several tons of very good coal,
costing nothing but the trouble of shipping. Mr. Rogers accompanied us
to Modoc.

Tied up at Mayflower landing, a good moor. A German there told us a
trading boat at the landing above took away $6,000 in three days last
year. The trader has a large scow, with a cabin, and a steamer to handle
it. Every place we stop the people come to inquire what we have to sell.
We got off at 7 a. m. today, passed the mouths of the White and
Arkansas, and have run at least 60 miles. We have landed after dark, and
we are not sure as to where we are. The weather has been most pleasant,
temperature about 60 all day, little wind. The river is full of drift,
but there is little traffic. Just now a little steamer passed up. At
Riverton were several small ones, but otherwise the solitude is
unbroken.

The shores are wild, the banks continually crumbling into the river. A
prodigious number of snags must be furnished yearly. Very few wild fowl
appear. Floaters appear occasionally, but probably there will be fewer
now, as many are directed to the White river. This is probably near
Monterey Landing. As the landing was narrow and beset with snags we
moored with the prow to the bank, two lines to the shore and the anchor
out astern. We have much to say about mooring; but it is a matter of
supreme importance to the comfort and even the safety of the crew. It is
not specially pleasant to turn out of bed in one's nightclothes, with
the temperature below freezing, to find the boat adrift in a furious
storm and pounding her bottom out on snags.

We bought a new anchor from a trading boat at Allison's. It is 50
pounds, galvanized, with folding flukes and a ring at the end for a guy
rope, so that if fouled as the other was, we can pull the flukes
together and free it. Paid four dollars for it--same as for the other,
but this is a much better anchor, though not as strong as the solid
one.

Jim has gone around the cabin and puttied up the cracks, and we hope the
next rain will keep out. If not, we will get deck pitch and pay the
seams.

       *       *       *       *       *

Arkansas City, Ark., Dec. 30, 1903.--Landed here shortly after noon, and
spent the balance of the day. About 1,000 people, mostly black; some
good stores; got a few New Orleans oysters, which are sold by number, 25
cents for two dozen; bought a new anchor rope, 75 feet, 3.4 inch, for
$3.04, or 14-1/2 cents a pound. Eggs, 35 cents a dozen. No trade for
extinguishers, though Woodruff had a nibble for his steamer. Weather
clear, and temperature rising to about 60 in midday, cold at night. This
morning at 8, temperature 34. No wind. River smooth. What a lot of
gasoline engines are in use. There are at least six boats rigged with
them here. One Memphis party is building a new hull ashore and moving an
old cabin on it. The lady who owns the hotel and drug store has mocking
birds for sale, $25.00 for a singer--lady birds not worth selling.

Got off near 9 a. m., for Greenville.

       *       *       *       *       *

January 1st, 1904.--We left Arkansas City on the 30th, at 9 a. m., and
reached Greenville, Miss., that evening just before dark. It is a
rambling town, behind the levee, about 10,000 people, but evidently has
considerable business. Twenty-five mills of various kinds are there.
Supplies higher than since leaving Chicago--15 cents for meat of any
sort, 35 cents for eggs or butter, 25 cents for a dozen fine large shell
oysters from New Orleans, the first we have met, and which the sick
woman appreciated $25.00 worth.

The _Desplaines_ did some business, but many of the mills are owned in
the cities and the managers cannot buy here.

An old <DW64> lives in a little gully washed by the rain in the bank,
close to where we tied up. He has a little fire, and lies there all
night with a board on edge to rest his back against. In the morning we
took him a cup of coffee which he took eagerly, but without thanks. An
old negress brought him something--presumably food. Last night it
rained some, but this morning he was still there. During the day we saw
him wandering about the streets, reminding one of a lost dog.

We left at noon, but as it was still raining it was equally
uncomfortable going or lying still. They tried the tug alongside, but
the rudder would not swing the big cabinboat and they had to return to
towing. About 2 p. m. the fog shut in so dense that we had to make a
landing, presumably in Walker's Bend, on the Arkansas side. Frank
brought off some of the finest persimmons we have yet seen. The cabin is
so warm that some flies have appeared, probably left-overs, though the
Missis says they have them all the winter down here. Picked up a nice
lot of drifting boards for stove.

Exploration establishes the fact that we are just below Vaucluse
Landing, and that the land is rich in pecan trees, well laden with nuts,
which these lazy <DW54>s let go to waste. Frank found a store in the
neighborhood. Chicot lake, back of us, is said to be rich in ducks, and
if the fog lasts tomorrow we must have some. The putty has kept out the
rain today very well. We suffer for ventilation, though, and awake in
the morning with headaches. It is bright moonlight, but still foggy. It
rained during the night and we secured a fine supply of rainwater in the
launch cover.

       *       *       *       *       *

Shiloh Landing, Miss., Jan. 3, 1904.--We lay last night at Wilson's
Point, La., and all night we listened to the creaking of our fenders
against the side, and felt the heave of the tug as she surged against
our side under the influence of a driving northwest wind. Said wind
carried us along yesterday for a run of over 44 miles, sometimes with
and at others against us, as the river curved. It was a cold wind and
made the cabin fire comfortable. Two sailboats passed us going down, one
a two-master from Chicago and the other the _Delhi_, from Michigan City.
They made good with the wind. There was a large trading boat with stern
wheel above our landing, but we did not visit her.

About 1 p. m. we ran in here, and the tug people stopped because Mr.
Rogers' brother was in charge. We found a levee camp with 36 tents, and
examined the commissary with interest. Got some canned oysters for the
Missis. No milk or eggs, fresh meat or chickens. The men all carry big
44s, and sometimes use them, we hear. It grows colder--at 5 p. m.
temperature outside 30--and the cold is harder to bear than a much lower
one up north. Every few miles there is a landing, and a pile of cotton
bales and bags of seed waiting for the _Delta_ or _American_, fine
steamers that ply between Vicksburg and Greenville.

The great, greedy river, forever eating its banks, which crumble into
the current constantly, even now when the water is so low. Every sand
bar has its wrecks, and opposite Lake Providence we saw men and teams
busy over the coal in sunken barges.

       *       *       *       *       *

Monday, Jan. 4, we left Shiloh at 7:20, clear and cold, temperature 28,
moon shining, but the sun not yet visible from behind the bluff.

Yesterday we passed the steamer _City of Wheeling_, fast on a bar, and
we hear she has been there for two months--grounded on her first trip.
But the water is rising and she expects to be soon released.




CHAPTER XVII.

VICKSBURG.


Thursday, Jan. 7. 1904.--We arrived at Vicksburg in the afternoon of
Monday, Jan. 4, and were much impressed by the beauty of the city as
seen from the river. Spread along the heights it looks like a large
city, though it only claims a population of about 22,000. Contrary to
expectation we found it busy, with evidences of life and enterprise. The
Government has built a levee which blocks up the mouth of the Yazoo, and
by a canal diverted the water of that river into the channel that runs
along the front of the city; the old bed of the river Mississippi
previous to 1876, when it cut a new bed for itself and threatened to
leave the historic fortress an inland town.

Just before reaching the city we met a row of whirlpools reaching across
the channel, whose violence would make a man in a skiff feel queer.
These are the only notable ones we have seen, except just before
reaching Arkansas City.

The _Desplaines_ could not tow us against the swift current in the
Yazoo, so left the houseboat about 300 yards up that stream and steamed
up to the city. After visiting the postoffice we started to walk back
along the levee, reaching the place we had left the boat just before
dark. She was not there, and we walked along the bank up stream till it
grew too dark to see, then got lost among the railway buildings till
directed by a friendly youth to the street where the cars ran. Reached
the tug at last, and the owner took us back with a lantern along the
levee, finding the boat in the great river, the boys having dropped down
out of the Yazoo. As we received the flukes for our launch, which Taylor
put on, we concluded to part company from the tug, and settled up with
them. Meanwhile the quarreling among her crew came to a climax and Jake
was set on shore by them. He was pilot, cook, hunter and general
all-round utility man, coming for the trip without wages, and it seems
to us suicidal for them to dismiss him, when <DW64> roustabouts are
refusing $4.00 a day from the steamers, and engineers impossible to
secure at any price. We were full handed, but liked Jake, so we took
him aboard as a supernumerary till he could do better.

The 6th was dull and rainy but we got off, and ran about 16 miles in the
afternoon, tying up somewhere in Diamond Bend, probably below Moore's
Landing.

At V. had a letter from J. J., saying he had been sentenced to a year in
the workhouse and $50.00 fine for carrying weapons.

During the night it rained heavily, and we caught a fine lot of
rainwater in the launch cover. One learns to appreciate this on the
river.

During the afternoon we saw a <DW64> shoot from the bank directly down on
a few geese, of which he wounded one. It swam across the river and we
got out the skiff and followed. On shore it crouched down as if dead,
and waited till Jim got within ten feet, when it got up and flew across
the river. We followed, and he shot it with a rifle when about 150 yards
off.

By that time we were miles below the <DW54>, and as he has no boat we
fear he will not be on hand to put in a claim for the goose. We bought
one at V. for 90 cents; also eight jack-snipe for a dollar. Roast beef
was 12-1/2 cents for round, 25 for rib, and 17-1/2 for corned beef. Milk 10
cents a quart from wagon, buttermilk 20 cents a gallon, butter, 30 for
creamery and 25 for country.

       *       *       *       *       *

Waterproof Cutoff, Friday, Jan. 8, 1904.--We ran about 23 miles on the
7th, the engine simply refusing to go; and we drifted most of the time.
Once we got fast on a nasty snag and it took all our force to get off.
We tied up to a sand bar near Hard Times Landing, in the bend of that
name. Bluff and the children had a refreshing run on the sand. Got off
today at 8 a. m., and by 1O the engine started off in good shape and has
been running well all day. The weather is clear and warm, thermometer
standing at 72 this afternoon. Little wind, but that from the south.
Some clouds betoken a possible rain. Our first wild goose for dinner on
the 6th, and all liked it well.

       *       *       *       *       *

Saturday, Jan. 9, 1904.--We ran about forty miles yesterday, tying up
above L'Argent in a quicksandy nook. At 4 this morning these lazy boys
got up and started to float, making several miles before daybreak. It
is foggy at 8 and the sun invisible, but warm and with little wind. The
launch is running fitfully. Passed Hole-in-the-Wall and now opposite
Quitman Bluff.

       *       *       *       *       *

Jan. 10, 1904.--Yesterday we reached Natchez at 1 p. m., and by 4 had
got our mail and supplies and were off down the river. The engine balked
under the influence of a lower temperature, and we had only made about
five miles when we had to tie up on account of the darkness. It rained
hard.




CHAPTER XVIII.

RIVER PIRATES.


We had had our suppers, the children and Missis had gone to bed, and we
were about following them, when through the rain we heard someone get
upon the front deck. It was raining hard. We called out, asking who was
there. A man replied in a wheedling voice, saying that he was alone,
lost in the rain, and wished to remain till it was light enough to see
his way. We asked who he was, and he responded that he was a prominent
citizen of the neighborhood and asked us to open up the cabin a little
bit. The doors are on the sides, and he was evidently puzzled as to how
to get into the cabin. We were undressed and told him we could not let
him in; but he insisted. We called to the boys to see what was wanted,
thinking it might be some one in trouble; so Jake went out. The man
began to talk pretty saucily, but then Jim and Frank got out, and at
once his tone changed. He suddenly got very drunk, though perfectly
sober a moment before. Another man turned up also, in a skiff
alongside. He gave a rambling incoherent account of why he was there;
but the other man called angrily for him to come on, and soon they left,
rowing into the darkness. The man who came aboard was about 5 feet 6;
45, red-faced, deep-set eyes; his hat drawn well over his face; rather
heavily set. The other was a sulky-faced man about 25, with light hair.
That they were river pirates there is not a doubt; and had we been
short-handed there would have been trouble.

Next morning we set out, slowly floating with a little headwind, through
a fog. Temperature at 8 a. m., 50. Natchez-under-the-hill has
disappeared under the assaults of the river, and with it the wild
characters that made it famous, or rather notorious. The city is now
said to be as orderly and safe as any in the south. We now get fine gulf
oysters at 50 cents to $1 a hundred. They come in buckets. Shell oysters
are still rare. We got a small bunch of bananas at Natchez, for 60
cents.

We passed Morville, floating about three miles an hour. We have never
been able to secure any data as to the speed of the current in the
rivers.

       *       *       *       *       *

Jan. 11, 1904.--We ran 42 miles yesterday, to near Union Point, tying up
to a sand bar. The boys crossed to a railway camp and were told game was
very abundant, so that it was hardly safe for a single man to go out
with the hounds at night--bear, panther and cat. We had a head wind all
day, from the west, sometimes strong enough to raise a few whitecaps,
and the engine did her stunt of bucking--which shows what she is good
for when in good humor. Temperature went up to 72 and hung around 70 all
day. This morning at 8 it is 42. The children and dog had a much needed
run on the sand. The boy needs much exercise and laboriously chops at
the heaviest wood he can find.




CHAPTER XIX.

THE ATCHAFALAYA.


By lunch time we reached the mouth of the Red River, and found a rapid
current running into it from the Mississippi. We landed on the bar and
sent to town for mail, but found the postoffice had been moved to
Torrasdale, several miles away--and after walking up there found no
letters. At 3 p. m. we started up the Red, rapid, crooked, much in need
of the services of a snag boat; weather so warm the invalid came out on
deck for an hour or more. Turned into the Atchafalaya about 5 p. m., a
deep stream, said to be never less than 50 feet deep. The same shelving
banks as the great river, formed by the continual caving. We found a bed
of pebbles at the mouth of the Red and really they were like old
friends. Stone is a rarity here.

We tied up a little way beyond Elmwood Landing. Henceforth we have
neither charts nor lights, but we have a born pilot in Jake, and he will
pull us through. A bad day for the asthma, in spite of the warmth.

[Illustration: RED RIVER.]

       *       *       *       *       *

Jan. 12, 1904.--If solitude exists along the Atchafalaya it is not here.
The left bank is leveed and roofs appear about every 100 yards. The
right bank is lined with little trees growing down to and into the
water. At Denson's Landing, or Simmesport, the right bank begins a
levee; there is the inevitable gas launch, a tug, and numerous other
craft, with a fish market. The wind blows dead ahead, and raises waves
nearly as big as in the big river. Pretty bum houseboats, apparently
occupied by blacks. Some noble trees with festoons of Spanish moss. No
nibbles on the trotline last night, but a huge fish heaved his side out
of the water just now. Alligator gar.

Pleasant traveling now. All day long we have voyaged along the
Atchafalaya with a wind from--where? It requires a compass to determine
directions here. In fact the uncertainty of things usually regarded as
sure is singular. Now up north we know just where the sun is going to
rise; but here the only certainty about it is its uncertainty. Now it
comes up in the east--that is, over the east bank of the river; but next
day it may appear in the west, north or south.

The wind was against us all morning, but since lunch--which we had at
Woodside--it has been back of us or sideways, and has driven us along.
Fine levees line the banks. Just now we are passing a camp at work. It
is a noble river, wide and deep, with a current about as swift as the
great river. Even now, when the Barbre gauge shows 6-3/4 feet above low
water only, there is no obstruction to navigation by as large steamers
as plow the Mississippi. Now and then a little spire or black stack
peeping above the levee shows the presence of a village. Temperature
hovers about 62. Only a solitary brace of ducks seen in this river as
yet.

All afternoon we have been pursuing Melville. At 3 p. m. it was four
miles away; an hour later it was five miles off, and at 5 we had gotten
within three miles of the elusive town. We concluded to stop, in hopes
it might get over its fear and settle down; so tied up. We ascended the
levee, and a boy told us the town was within half a mile. The river is
lonely, not a steamer since leaving the mouth of Red, where the _Little
Rufus_ came down and out, politely slowing up as she neared the cabin
boat, to avoid rocking us. An occasional skiff is all we see, though
the landing is common, but no cotton or seed, nothing but lumber.

We were correct as to our estimate of the visitors we had the other
night--river pirates. Their method is to come on rainy nights when the
dogs are under cover. By some plausible story they gain admittance to
the cabin and then--? Have the windows guarded by stout wire screens,
the doors fitted with bars, and a chain. Any visitor to a cabin boat
after night is a thief, and on occasion a murderer. If he desires
admittance after being told you are not a trader or whisky boat, open
the chain and when he tries to enter shoot him at once. It is the
sheerest folly to let one of those fellows have the first chance. No
jury in the world would fail to congratulate you for ridding the river
of such a character. There are no circumstances that can be imagined in
which an honest man would act in the way these men did. If they wanted
shelter from the rain the shore was handy. If they mistook the boat for
friends, the mistake was apparent and they knew very well they had no
business to continue their visit.

       *       *       *       *       *

Wednesday, Jan. 13, 1904.--Made a good start. We got under way about
8:30, and Melville bridge soon came in view. The day is clear and warm,
water smooth as glass, with no perceptible current, and the engine
starts off as if nothing ever ruffled her temper.




CHAPTER XX.

MELVILLE--FIRST DEER HUNT.


Melville, La., Jan. 19, 1904.--We found this a quiet little town of 600
people, including <DW64>s; with sufficient stores for our simple needs,
and a daily mail east and west. We found some pleasant young gentlemen
here, with plenty of leisure and hounds, and some of us go out for deer
every day. So far no one has brought in any venison, but Jim and Frank
have had shots.

The thermometer stands at about 60 to 70 all day; fires are superfluous
except at night for the weak one, the grass and clover show up green in
spots, and really we seem to have skipped winter. In the swamps the
palmettoes raise their broad fans, the live oaks rear their brawny
trunks, and bits of green life show up on all sides. Really, we do not
see what excuse the grass has for being brown, if it be not simple force
of habit, or recollection of a northern ancestry.

The <DW64> women wear extraordinary sunbonnets, huge flaring crowns with
gay trimming. The foreigners are Italians or Greeks; and are in the
fruit and grocery trade. An old superannuated Confed. brings us a small
pail of milk daily, for which he gets 10 cents a quart.

The river is leveed 15 miles down, and the system is being extended
southward. There is a difference of opinion as to the levees, some
claiming they are injurious as preventing the elevation of the land by
deposit of mud; while one large sugar raiser said it would be impossible
to raise crops without them. The truth seems to be that the immediate
needs require the levees; but if one could let the land lie idle, or
take what crops could be raised after the floods subside, it would be
better for the owner of the next century to let in the water.

We have had our first deer hunt. Six of us, with four hounds, set out in
the launch. Arriving at the right place we disembarked and walked
through the woods about a mile, the dogs having meanwhile started out
independently. Here they located us, in a small clear space, and the
rest went on to their respective stands. We looked about us and were not
favorably impressed with our location. It was too open. Deer coming
from any quarter would see us long before we could see them. So we
selected a spot where we could sit down on a log, in the shade of a huge
cypress, with the best cover attainable, and yet see all over the
clearing. Then we waited.

By and by we heard a noise as of breaking twigs to one side. We crouched
down and held our breath, getting the rifle up so as to allow it to bear
in the right direction. Waited. A little more noise, but slight. Waited.
No more. Sat till our backs got stiff and feet cold. Then carefully and
quietly paced up and down the path. Sat down again. Concluded to eat
lunch, an expedient that rarely fails to start the ducks flying. No good
for deer.

Shifted position, walked up the path to a bunch of hollies, laden with
berries. A bird was at them, and as by this time our faith in deer was
growing cool we concluded to take a shot at a robin. Did so. Missed
him--but to our horror and relief he turned out to be a mocking bird!

Walked up the path and found a sluggish bayou with running water across
it. Weren't thirsty, but doubted the wisdom of drinking that water, and
that made us thirsty. Circled around the center of our clearing. Noted
the way the cypresses throw up stumps from the roots. Saw a big turtle
in the bayou. Red birds came about, but no robins--they are game birds
here. Searched the trees for squirrels--none there. Thought of
everything we could recollect--even began to enumerate our sins--and got
into an animated discussion with a stranger on the <DW64> question,
awaking with a start. Shot at a hawk that roosted on a tree just out of
gunshot. Scared him, anyhow.

Finally, when desperate with the task of finding expedients to keep us
awake, we heard a horn blown--or wound?--and not knowing but that some
one might be lost, whistled shrilly in reply. Occasionally a shot was
heard here and there; once in a moon the dogs gave tongue in the remote
distance. Finally one of the boys appeared, then the old uncle, and the
rest came stringing in. One had seen a deer but did not get a shot at
it. So we took up the line of march for the river, where the launch
returned us to the cabin boat. And so ended our first deer hunt.

We have now been at it a week, and several of the boys have had shots
at the animals, but no horns decorate our boat, nor does venison fill
our craving stomachs. There are deer here, their evidences are as plain
as those of sheep in a pasture. But the only benefit they have been to
us is in the stimulation of the fancy. The weird and wonderful tales
spun by those who have had shots at the elusive creatures, to account
for the continued longevity and activity of their targets, are worth
coming here to hear. Surely never did deer go through such antics; never
did the most expert tumbler in any circus accomplish such feats of
acrobatic skill. The man who catches flying bullets in his teeth should
come down here and receive instruction from these deer.

We took the Missis and daughter over to Baton Rouge, and installed them
in a huge, old-fashioned room, on Church St., a block from the
postoffice and the leading stores; with a lady of means, who sets an
excellent table, lavishly spread, and with the best of cookery, at a
price that seems nominal to us. The lofty ceilings seem doubly so after
the low deck of the cabin; the big canopied bed of walnut and quilted
silk recalls the east; while violets, camellias, hyacinths and
narcissus blooming in the open air, as well as sweet olive, and the
budding magnolias, make one realize that the frozen north is not a
necessity.

       *       *       *       *       *

January 23, 1904.--We find Melville a very good place to stay--supplies
plentiful, the people pleasant, and the place safe. The boys go out for
deer every day, but as yet no success has rewarded them. One day they
chased a doe into the river, where two boys caught her with their hands
and slaughtered her. Bah!

The weather has been ideal--warm enough to make a fire oppressive save
nights and mornings--but we are now having a cold snap, whose severity
would make you northern folk, who sit in comfort over your registers,
shiver. We have actually had a white frost two nights in succession.
Fact!

On the shore close by roost at least 100 buzzards. They are protected
and seem aware of it; roosting on the roof of the fish boat below us.
They tell us the sharks come up here so that bathing is unsafe, and tell
queer stories of the voracity and daring of the alligator gars. The
alligator is by no means extinct in Louisiana, being still found of
gigantic size in the bayous.

Little is said here on the <DW64> question, which seems to be settled so
well that no discussion is needed.

Day after day we sit at the typewriter and the work grows fast. Tomorrow
we go to Barrow's convict camp for a shoot, and quite a lot have
gathered, and are waiting till the engine chooses to start. Every day we
have to push the boat from shore or we might be hard aground in the
morning, as we are today. The water fell last night till it uncovered
six feet of mud by the shore. The river is said to be over 100 feet deep
opposite. The bridge is built on iron tubular piers that seem to be
driven down till they strike a stratum capable of supporting the weight.
These are said to be 100 feet deep.

       *       *       *       *       *

January 24, 1904, we all went down to Capt. Barrow's camp for a deer
hunt, which possessed no features differing from those of the five
preceding. At 4 p. m. we quit, and started on our return. But the dogs
had not come in, so when we got up to the old convict camp we stopped,
and Budd and Jake went back for them. And there we waited till after 10
p. m. It grew quite cool so that the boys built a fire. Just on the
bluff above us was an old deserted house, about ready to fall into the
river when the banks shall have crumbled away a little more. We found in
it an ancient mahogany four-post bedstead and a spinning-wheel, an old
horn powderhorn, and other relics of antiquity.

There were our own party of four, Budd and Wally, Thomassen and his son
"Sugar," Mr. Sellers (from one of the Melville stores), and two <DW64>
hunters, Brown and Pinkham--and right worthy men and good hunters they
are. The fire was fed by beams from the old house, and as its cheerful
warmth was felt, the scene would have been a worthy one for an artist's
pencil. The odd stories and ceaseless banter of the <DW64>s and the boy
were enhanced by the curious dialect. Constantly one blew his horn, and
was answered by the party who were out, or by others; and some one else
was blowing for other lost dogs, so that the woods were musical. An old
hound had come in early, tired out, and when the horns blew he would try
to get off, but was tied; so he would give vent to his discontent in
the most doleful of long-drawn-out howls, like a prolonged note from an
owl. At last boys and hounds came in, and we were home to our boat by
midnight.

Somehow the yoke once worn till thoroughly fitted to the neck, becomes a
part of the bearer; and the best contented of the <DW64>s were those who
held with their old masters. Even the shackles of civilization become
attractive in time--and we have resumed the reading of a daily paper
since we can get it regularly. And we like the _Picayune_, finding in
its editorials a quiet dignity that we appreciate, even though we may
not agree with the political sentiments. And there is an air of
responsibility about it; a consciousness that what it says counts, and
must therefore be preceded by due deliberation, that is novel. The local
color is also attractive. For instance the river news, and--the
jackstaffs! Now, don't say you do not know what jackstaffs are. We will
not spoil it by telling. And Lagniappe!




CHAPTER XXI.

BATON ROUGE--THE PANTHER.


Baton Rouge, La., Feb. 1, 1904.--While you in the North are wrestling
with zero temperatures, we are experiencing what these folk term
terrible winter weather. Men go about with heavy overcoats buttoned up
to the chin, and I saw one the other day with a tall coonskin cap, with
folds down over his neck, and earflaps. An open-grate fire is
comfortable in the mornings and tempers the chill of night for the
little one. Even the Chicago man finds a light overcoat advisable in the
mornings, though with light-weight underwear and thin outer clothes.

Nevertheless, the violets bloom everywhere, jonquils, polyanthus
narcissus, camellias and sweet olive are in bloom, and the big rose
bushes are covered with leaves and buds that already show the color of
the flower. The grass is green in New Orleans parks, and the magnolias
are budding. Masses of chickweed cover the margins of drains and several
plants of unknown lineage--to the writer--are in bloom. And this is the
weather to which we constantly hear the epithet "terrible" applied here.

But residents of the North who were raised in Dixie do not freeze.
Exposure to cold brings with it the ability to withstand it, and not
only that but all other morbific influences as well. It increases the
vitality, the power of resisting all noxious powers that threaten the
health and life of man.

But this applies to the sound and well, not to those who already possess
a material lesion of one or more organs. For them this soft, balmy air,
this temperature that permits a maximum of exposure to the open air, are
health-giving, life-prolonging, comfort-securing.

People speak of the sudden changes here--warm today and tomorrow
cold--as objectionable; but so they do everywhere, and we have found no
more changeability than elsewhere. And as to the rains: When it does
rain it pours, but most of it has been at night so far, and during the
day it dries off nicely. It it said that this is the rainy month, and we
may have to modify this view later. So far the rains have not been a
feature worthy of citation, as against the climate.

Much attention has been given the drinking water of late years in the
riverine cities, and generally they have water on which they pride
themselves. Artesian wells are mostly utilized. The river water is muddy
and unsightly, but probably safe and certainly palatable. We depend on
our Puritan still, and a tripoli filter, and utilize the rain water we
catch in the canvas cover of the launch. No trouble has as yet affected
us from this source; and we are satisfied it pays well to take
precautions.

From St. Louis down the river fairly bristles with opportunities for men
who understand business and have a little capital. But timber lands are
pretty well taken up. An Ohio party paid $100 an acre for 100 acres here
in this Atchafalaya country the other day.

The people? Well, we have simply adopted the whole--white--population,
and find them delightful. There has not been a discordant note in our
intercourse with this warm-hearted, hospitable folk, who unite the
courtesy of the French with a sincerity that makes itself felt every
moment.

Dogs! Everyone seems to own hounds here. We had a few runs with them;
they came aboard and inspected us, and after due deliberation approved
of us, took up their home with us and declined to stay away; so that at
night one can scarcely set foot outside the cabin without stepping on a
sleeping hound. Even the women folk are disarmed when these dogs look up
with their big, beautiful eyes and nuzzle their cold noses into the hand
for a caress. One great fellow reared up against us, placed his paws on
our shoulders and silently studied our face awhile, then dropped to the
ground and henceforth devoted himself to us, never being far from our
side. We felt complimented!

Go out with the gun, and see how these slumberous animals awake to
joyous life and activity. Then the long, musical bay, the ringing of the
hunters' horns, the quick dash of the deer past your stand, with the
dogs after, in full cry--say, brother, these low lands when leveed,
cleared and cultivated, will yield two bales of cotton to the acre, and
with cotton at 15 cents and over, is not that splendid? So shut your
ears against the cry of the wild, and only consider what Progress means,
and how the individual and civic wealth is increasing as these wild
lands are brought under the plow and made productive of dollars. For is
not all of life simply a question of dollars, and success measurable
only in the bank account? So put away from you the things that make life
worth living, and devote yourself with a whole heart to the task of
making your son a millionaire, that he may make his son a
multimillionaire, and so on. It will do you so much good in the Great
Beyond to know this. That the money for which we give up all that
renders life enjoyable will either render our descendants dissipated and
useless, or enable them to oppress their fellowmen, need not be
considered. Money is all there is in life.

The wife, daughter and Doctor are domiciled at Baton Rouge, while the
boys took the boats down to Alabama Bayou for a week with the big game.
Here is the small boy's report, verbatim:

Dear Mama and Papa: You talk about us not sending you any venison. If I
had any money I would send you enough to make you sick. I went hunting
with the boys this morning. Jim, Hudson and I went together. Bud drove
with the dogs. Jake and Frank went together. Frank took his shotgun and
he got lost from Jake, went to shooting robins. Jake got on an island
and did not know where he got on at. He had to wade a stream two feet
deep. After we had been looking for a stand we heard a shot behind us,
and then a rifle shot to the right of us, and three blows of Bud's horn,
which means dead deer. Jake was the first one to him, being only 300
yards. We walked two and one-half miles before we got to him. When we
got there he had a big doe laying over a log. Bud drew him and they took
turns carrying him home. Every tooth in my head aches from chewing
venison. How are all of you? I waded about 30 ditches today over my shoe
tops and one over my knees. Bud said if I followed the dogs with him he
would give me first shot, and if I missed he would get him. Millie made
me a belt to fit the rifle cartridges. I christened my axe in deer
blood. Bud said Queen was 10 feet behind it, King 20 feet and Diamond
ran up and threw the deer after it was shot. Then it got up and Diamond
got it in the throat and brought it down. I will have to close as it is
time to go to bed. With love to all,

William.

Not bad for an 11-year-old. Everyone has been complaining of the
terrible weather here--frost three nights last week, and a light
overcoat not oppressive, though it is hardly necessary except for the
tendency one has to put his hands in his pockets otherwise. We asked one
of the natives what they would do in Chicago with zero weather, and he
replied with an air of conviction: "Freeze to death."

We have a nibble for the boat. The river at Memphis is so full of
floating ice that the ferry boats cannot run; and that looks as if we
might not be able to get our boats towed to St. Louis before late
spring--and we want to be free. We note blooming in the open many
violets, polyanthus narcissus, camellias, sweet olive, magnolias just
budding out, and white hyacinths. The grass is putting up green shoots.
Large beds of chickweed are plentiful. The vinca was nipped by frost
last night. Next door is a fine palmetto and the great roses covering
the gallery are full of green leaves and the remains of the last crop of
blossoms, with new buds coming out. What a terrible winter!

There is a street fair here. These people go about the country and
exhibit wherever they find a town that will pay them, their price here
being, it is said, $2,000 for a week. The Red Men pay them, and probably
the merchants subscribe to it, the business brought to town compensating
them. There are a number of attractions, like a little splinter broken
off the poorest part of Atlantic City. But it gives something to see and
do and talk about, to a town where there is too little of either for the
demand. There are a huge and a dwarf horse, glass blowers, a human
dwarf, contortionist, jubilee singers, kinetoscope, trained dogs and
monkeys, dissolving statue, and of course the <DW65> babies and knives
to throw at and miss. We have run against these aggregations all the way
down, and they are evidently becoming a feature of the smaller towns.

Curious place for a State Capital. In our room stands a fine walnut
wardrobe with a door broken open; and there is not a mechanic in the
city who can mend it. Glass is broken, and it remains so; any quantity
of miscellaneous mending and repairing needed, but it stands. The sunny
south is a bit slipshod; the ladies are delightful, but they do not work
their finger ends off cleaning out the last possibilities of dust and
dirt--they leave it to the <DW54>s, who do what they cannot avoid doing
and stop right there.

       *       *       *       *       *

That our boys are not devoid of descriptive ability--and
imagination?--this chapter, written by Frank, will demonstrate.

"At Melville, on the Atchafalaya, we became acquainted with some young
men who had a fine pack of deer hounds. They also call these "<DW65>
dogs," because they are employed for trailing convicts who escape from
the camps along the river.

"Early in the morning our hunting party gathered on the levee--the
Doctor, Budd Tell, his brother Wylie, and two uncles, and four of us.
The old men were settlers and hunters of bobcat, deer, panther, bear and
other game. They said they had killed 160 deer in one winter, and
though we doubted this, we afterward found it was true.

"We penetrated the woods till a desirable spot was reached, and here
Budd posted us on our stands. These are places clear of underbrush for a
space, so that the hunter may see to shoot anything that invades his
location. One man remains with the dogs, termed the driver. He was left
about two miles behind. When all had been placed the signal was given,
to start the dogs. Soon we could hear the music of their baying, as it
did not take long for them to strike a deer trail, and a fresh one at
that. The chase led in the Doctor's direction and presently we heard him
shoot--and he had downed his first deer. He got two that day. I shot
one, and Budd got a little fat doe. The others were fine bucks, weighing
175, 150 and 123 lbs. At least we thought so, after taking turns packing
them, on a pole; and that was the only scale we had; so we think it was
legal, under the circumstances.

"As we were returning to the boat with our four deer, two men to each,
one man could be taking it easy all the time. Somehow the bunch got
separated in the cypress swamp, and suddenly we heard the scream of a
panther. Then there were a number of shots, and after that silence, for
a couple of minutes. Then came a rifle shot. Jake and I being together,
we hurried in the direction of the shots. Soon we heard a noise that we
could not make out the cause of. We were still packing the deer. Then we
came in sight of the Doctor, stooping over Budd's brother. Close by lay
a dead panther. Budd's breast and arms were badly torn by the claws of
the animal, and his brother had a scalp wound and was insensible.
However, we all turned in to help, and he was soon on his feet, somewhat
damaged and rather faint, but still in the ring.

"The panther had sprang on them from a tree, knocking Wylie down, then
turning on Budd who attacked the animal as soon as he realized what was
the trouble. The panther started for him like a cyclone and had his
shirt and some skin jerked off in less time than it takes for me to tell
it. Budd says he sure thought his time had come, and being somewhat of a
church member he put up a little call for help. Just then the Doctor ran
up, and by a lucky shot disabled the beast, which was soon dispatched.
He got the hide. The panther weighed over 100 lbs. and measured 5 feet
10 inches from nose to tip of tail.

"As Budd and Wylie were too weak to carry the deer, the big cat was
allotted to them, and two of us took each a deer till we got out of the
timber, about dark. We reached the boat at 6 p. m., very tired. But we
had had our fun, and some of us had had an experience not usual even to
houseboat travelers. And we got the panther--though it came very near
getting two of the best fellows to be found in the south."

Unfortunately the prize so highly valued was lost. The skin was
stretched out and placed on the roof to dry; that night the wind blew,
and next morning the skin had disappeared. The one now ornamenting the
Doctor's den was purchased to replace the original.

Will some one explain how it happens that an indifferent shot, when
brought in face of such a proposition will make an unerring snap shot,
when a slight deviation would endanger the life of the companion? Many
years ago, while traversing the woods of Pennsylvania, we heard our
companion cry for help, after two shots close together. We ran at full
speed, and saw him standing still, gazing at a huge snake at his feet.
Even as we ran we brought our double-barrel to our shoulder and without
taking aim blew the serpent's head off. There was no time to aim, and
had we done so it is doubtful if we could have made as good a shot.




CHAPTER XXII.

THE BOBCAT.


Melville, La., Feb. 3, 1904.--Budd was watching some deer down the
river, when he saw a bobcat come out of the brush near by. He shot the
cat, when a buck ran out within twenty feet of him. He made a quick shot
at the buck, got him, and then ran after the cat. She had crawled under
some brush and thinking her dead he crawled after her. Just as he caught
hold of her leg to pull her out she turned on him and flew at his chest,
in which she embedded her claws. There was a lively tussle for a few
minutes, when he got away, and the cat crawled under a log. But when he
again attempted to pull her out she flew at him, apparently little the
worse for her wounds; and it was not till he succeeded in cutting her
throat that she died. He was pretty well clawed up, sufficiently to
deprive him of any further desire to tackle a bobcat, only a few of
whose lives had been expended.

Here is a native's sample story:

"Father had been troubled by a bear that ate his corn, so he sat up one
night to get him. He noted where the bear came in from the canebrake,
and placed himself so that the wind blew from that place to his stand.
It was bright moonlight. Along in the night came Bruin, sniffing and
grunting. He paused at the fence till satisfied the way was clear, then
knocked a rail off the top and clambered over. He made his way among the
corn, and rearing up began to pull off the ears and eat them. Then dad
fired a handful of buckshot into him, breaking his shoulder. The bear
made for the place he had crossed the fence, scrambled over, and crashed
through the brake. Dad marked him down as stopping at a huge dead tree
that could easily be seen above the canes.

"By this time the shot had aroused the folks, and dogs, <DW54>s and men
came running out. The dogs sought the trail, but the only one that found
it was a little mongrel tyke, who started off after the bear and was
soon followed by the rest. The men tried to keep up, but dad ran right
for the big tree. A crooked branch across his path sprang into a coil
and rattled a warning at him. He stopped and gave it the other barrel,
and ran on. Coming up to the tree there was the bear, standing up, and
with his one arm raking the dogs whenever they ventured within reach.
Already the bravest showed evidences of his skill. One of the men shot
him--in fact they all shot, and the bear rolled over. Dad went up to
him, and some one remarked that he must be a tame bear, as his ear was
nicked. Dad felt the ear, and remarked how warm it was--and just then
the old bear whirled around, reared up, and seized dad in a real bear
hug. Fortunately it was a one-armed hug, and by a quick movement he was
able to wriggle away, and then one man who had not shot put his gun to
the bear's ear and shot half his head away. On the way home they picked
up the snake, which was seven feet long, and had 11 rattles and a
button."

       *       *       *       *       *

At Shiloh Landing, Miss., our boys were told of a <DW64> who ate glass.
He came in while they were there, and cracked up a lamp chimney and ate
it, literally and without deception. He said he could walk over broken
glass without harm. He also was impervious to snakes. And while they
talked a huge cotton-mouth copperhead wriggled out on the floor. There
was a unanimous and speedy resort to boxes, barrels and tables, till the
serpent was killed. It seems the <DW64> has a fancy for collecting snakes
and had brought this one in in a box, from which he made his escape.

       *       *       *       *       *

This morning we went out for robins, and got a mess; of which we
contributed one--could not shoot a little bit. After lunch we waited for
the mail and then bid good-bye to the kindly folk who had made Melville
so pleasant to us, and started on our journey up the Atchafalaya. The
river is wider, swifter and bigger than when we came down; and we will
be glad to get into the great river again. We have quite a collection of
skins--deer, cat and <DW53>--gifts of our friends. We ran a few miles and
then the engine pump quit, and we tied up. Fair and clear, warm at
midday enough to make a vest a burden.

[Illustration: SPANISH MOSS (ATCHAFALAYA).]




CHAPTER XXIII.

ASCENDING THE ATCHAFALAYA.


Atchafalaya River, Feb. 4, 1904.--There is a very perceptible difference
between descending a river and ascending it. Our gallant little launch
finds the cabinboat a difficult proposition against the current, as
aggravated by the rising floods. We made but a few miles yesterday and
tied up for the night. An unexpected steamer came along about 12:30 and
gave us a good tumbling. She returned later, having doubtless taken in
her freight at Melville meanwhile. This morning an east wind drives us
against the shore, so that we have to steer out, and that makes it a
head wind; so the shore creeps slowly past. It is cloudy and feels like
rain, though warm. The river is very muddy, and full of drift over which
the boat rumbles constantly. Many doves are seen on the trees along
shore but, as usual, we are in a hurry and cannot stop for sport.

During the Civil War, we are told, the Atchafalaya could be bridged by
three carts, so that soldiers could cross. Now it is nowhere less than
sixty feet deep, and two-fifths of the water of the Mississippi go
through it to the Gulf. Every year it is enlarging, and the day may come
when the Mississippi will discharge through it altogether, and Baton
Rouge and New Orleans be inland cities. This route to the Gulf is 150
miles shorter.

       *       *       *       *       *

Atchafalaya River, Feb. 6, 1904.--We made but a short run yesterday, the
wind stopping us two miles below Oderberg, just within 150 yards of a
turn around which we had to go to get the wind in our favor. But we
could not do it. Boy and Dr. shot some robins and Jake got a mud hen;
and from a passing wagon we secured a roast of beef. An old <DW52>
woman sold us some buttermilk, for two bits. This morning it was rainy
and foggy, but under great difficulties we pushed ahead and made
Simmesport by lunch. Here we engaged a gasoline boat to take us around
into the Mississippi, for seven dollars--about 14 miles--and felt we got
off well at that. The current in the Red is said to be too fierce for
our little boat. We did as well as possible, by hugging the low shore,
and when the one we were on became high and eroded we crossed to the
other. In that way we avoided the swift current and often got a back
one, or eddy. The steamer _Electra_ dogged us all morning, passing and
stopping at numerous landings till we passed her. When we land we find
houses quite close along either shore. The rural population must be
large along the leveed part of the river. At Simmesport we obtained
butter, milk and lard, besides crackers and canned oysters. No meat. One
bunch of brant appeared in the fog this morning, but refused to listen
to our arguments favoring closer acquaintance.

       *       *       *       *       *

Red River, Feb. 7, 1904.--That is, we suppose you call it the Red, but
it is now in truth an outlet of the Mississippi. We got to Simmesport,
had lunch, and arranged with a boy there to tow us through to the
Mississippi with a 5-horsepower gasoline. Hitched it behind, our launch
alongside, and started. The wind was as often contrary as favorable, and
we labored up the Atchafalaya till we got to Red River. The water is
decidedly red, but is backed up into the Red by the lordship of the
Great River, which sweeps up the Old River channel with resistless
force. None of the Red water gets past Barbre Landing, either into the
Atchafalaya or the Mississippi. We turned into the Red or Old River
about 2:30, and by 6 had made about three miles, stopping in sight of
Turnbull Island Light No. 2. First the lever of our reversing gear
broke, and here a log swept under the launch and broke the coupling
bolt. This had happened the preceding day, and we had no extra left, so
had to stop as the other boat alone could make no headway against the
swift current. As it was, with both boats we had to coast along as close
as possible to the shore, where the current was slowest, to make any
progress at all. In the middle we were swept back. The boys left us to
return to Simmesport, where they were to make new coupling bolts and
return here this morning. We had a sleepless night. All day it was foggy
and rainy; in the night occasional showers pattered on the roof; and
floating wood rumbled under the boat. The water is full of this stuff
and it is impossible to prevent it going under the scow, where it sticks
and <DW44>s progress or emerges to foul our propeller. This morning it
is still sticky, showery and slightly foggy; temperature at 9 a. m., 72.
When the steamer rocked us the other night Jake and Doctor turned out in
their nightgowns to fend off, and then stood leaning over the rail
talking for a time. Catch cold, turning out of a warm bed in January?
Naw! Whatchergivinus? This terrible winter weather!

About 11:30 the boys returned with the tug and new bolts for our
coupler. We had hard work getting through the bridge, where the current
was fierce; but by 2 p. m. we were in the Mississippi and headed down
stream.

       *       *       *       *       *

Bayou Sara, Feb. 8, 1904.--We tied up last night in Morgan's Bend, after
dark. Started to float all night, but the fog came up, lightning showed
in the east, and we thought it wise to take no chances. We had the
launch hitched behind and when a steamer passed up quite near, it made
her leap and try to get her nose under the overhang, which might have
swamped her. This morning we got off at 5 a. m., floating till after
breakfast, when we set the old churn at work. Now the sun is up
brightly, a breeze freshening up from the east, which is dead ahead
just now, and the town in sight. We talk of loading the boat with
palmettoes for the St. Louis fair market, and getting a tow north, if we
cannot get a fair price for the outfit.

By 9 we reached Bayou Sara, where we increased our crew by three of
Louisiana's fair ladies, and at 11 resumed our journey. The wind had
subsided and we journeyed south over a river smooth as glass. Much
driftwood annoyed us, threatening our propeller blades. The poetry of
travel today, too warm for the folk to stand in the sun. Historic Port
Hudson was soon before us. It is now back from the river, Port Hickey
being its successor. Temperature 80 at 2 p. m. This terrible winter! We
are counting the miles between us and our dear ones at Baton Rouge.

We reached Baton Rouge about 6 p. m., having made over 50 miles, and the
longest run of the trip.




CHAPTER XXIV.

DUCKING AT CATAHOULA LAKE.


Prof. Handwerker came down to Memphis, and we went for a duck shoot. We
went by rail to Alexandria and chartered a wagon with two sketchy ponies
and an aged veteran as driver, who took us about 20 miles to Catahoula
Lake. The toll man at the bridge valued our outfit at 40 cents, and
collected the entire price each way. The road lay through a lumber
country, where the yellow pine was being rapidly cut out. Arriving
within a mile of the lake, we concluded to stop with Mr. S., rather than
rest our old limbs in the doubtful protection of the tent we had
brought.

S. lived on a tract he had homesteaded, in a "plank-up" house of three
rooms. At the end of the living room was a large chimney of mud and
sticks, with andirons, in which a large fire burned constantly. There
were holes in the chimney of a size convenient for the cat to crawl
through, which the men had not had time to mend. Cracks an inch wide
between the plank let in a sufficiency of air, when the one
window--unencumbered with sash and glass--a simple wooden shutter, swung
shut. The family consisted of the man, his wife, two sons aged 16 and
12; horses, cows, oxen, chickens and numerous pigs. The latter were
dying off, and we saw numerous carcasses in the woods, the consequence
of a lot of diseased animals being brought in by a neighbor. S. had had
a sawmill, and with the aid of his sons and wife--the latter the
engineer--had turned out about 7,000 feet of lumber a day. For this he
had received his stock; but the wife did not feel that they were doing
well enough and persuaded him to sell the mill and raise cotton.

They cleared a few acres which they farmed till the yield fell off, when
they let it lie fallow and farmed another bit. They had intended to saw
up a lot of wood for a new house, but somehow it had been neglected, or
when a lot had been got out some one made a dicker for it. The stock of
food for the animals had run short, and chop sold at the stores for
$1.00 a bag for cash, $1.60 on credit; so the animals ran in the woods
and ate Spanish moss. This, we were assured, was a good, nutritious
food, when the animals got used to it. All were very thin. One horse
looked like a walking skeleton, and in fact died during our stay--but
then it was so reduced by the time it died that the loss was trifling.
The horses had long since stripped the berries from the china berry
trees. We were told that eight crops of alfalfa had been cut from a
field in this region last summer; so that it is simply a question of
cultivating a few more acres to supply proper food to the stock. The
five cows gave about a quart of milk a day. They were milked once a
day--if they came up to the house in time; if not, it went over till
next day.

Mr. S. was a fine, good-natured man, who did not drink, or permit liquor
or cards in his house. He had some trouble with his shoulder, which
seriously interfered with his work, though he hauled logs to the
sawmill, the small boy driving. He was very proud of his wife; vaunting
her as the best worker in the parish, excepting their nearest neighbor;
and those two women, he averred, could equal any men in farming cotton,
chopping or sawing wood, and cultivating the garden. It was
edifying--touching--to see Mrs. S. bridle with pleasure under this
well-deserved approval.

The two boys attended to the fires, on alternate days; and they sure did
show great mathematical talent, for they could calculate to a certainty
the exact quantity of wood that sufficed for the day and next morning,
so as to leave over not a scrap for the lessening of the other boy's
labors. In the evening a huge backlog was placed in the big chimney,
with two smaller pieces underneath, and some cypress under that to keep
up a blaze. Then all hands gathered around, S., the Professor and the
aged driver, with their pipes, the two boys chewing, and Mrs. S., with a
little stick projecting from her mouth, which puzzled us, till the idea
of its significance flashed across our mind--snuff! And then they set in
persistently and systematically to put the fire out, by well-directed
expectoration. And we are bound to say that in accuracy of aim Mrs. S.
was not behind the menfolk.

Bedtime came. A big feather-bed was dragged out and placed on the floor
in front of the fire, some comforters thrown over it, with pillows, and
we were politely offered our choice of the bed on the floor or that on
the wooden bedstead. It was left to us, and we took one apprehensive
look at the ancient stead--quite undeserved was the suspicion--and chose
the floor, remarking that we could not turn a lady out of her bed. This
was met with remonstrances on the part of these warm-hearted people, but
it was left that way. The old man and the two boys took the other bed,
and the seven of us lay down to sleep in the one room. First the lady
retired to the kitchen while we disrobed; then we offered to do the same
to give her a chance, but this was unnecessary, as she didn't disrobe.
The old man got in bed and lit his pipe; she took a fresh portion of
snuff, and we presume the boys a new quid. During the night we
occasionally heard S. scratching matches to light up. The bed of wild
duck feathers favorably modified the hardness of the floor, and we slept
well.

Before daybreak we heard S. lighting up, and then, with difficulty, he
induced the boy on duty to arouse and attend to the fire. Then Mrs. S.
arose and when we showed signs of consciousness we had a cup of
coffee--black, good quality, well sweetened, but without milk.
Breakfast of smoked pork, more coffee, and hot bread--corn or wheat. We
may add that this was also our dinner and our supper, varied by
cracklin' bread, hot biscuits, and an occasional pie of berries or
peaches. Once sweet potatoes and once dried peas. If a visitor dropped
in, coffee was served around. And we had ducks.

In the morning we hooked up the team and went down to the lake. The
formation is similar to that at Bear River, Utah; broad flats covered
with a few inches of water, the soil a stiff clay that will generally
hold a man up, but not always. But the people here have no boats, build
no blinds, and their only idea of duck shooting is to crawl on their
bellies through the mud till they can get a pot shot at a flock of ducks
in the water. They use heavy loads and No. 2 shot. As we did not shoot
ducks that way, our success was not very great. Still we got as many as
we could eat--and that's enough.

The older boy suggested that we cross the lake to a group of cypresses,
where the shooting was good. We waded in about a hundred yards, when the
wading began to get pretty heavy, our feet sinking in over the ankles.
The Professor concluded to turn back, and took up his stand by a lone
cypress near the margin of the water. We felt that it was the part of
wisdom to do so also; but the boy began to chuckle and a smile of
derision appeared on his face. Now we don't like to be "backed down" by
a "kid," and he assured us the boggy place did not extend far and then
the bottom became firmer; so we kept on across the lake. It was said to
be a mile, but it proved to be at least ten. We had not gone far when we
began to realize several things: That the boy lied; that we weighed
nearly 200 lbs.; that the borrowed waders we had on were much too large;
that though in our life of 54 years we had ascertained that we were a
great many different kinds of a darned fool, this was one more kind. The
waders were tied to our waist, but soon pulled off so that we walked on
the legs; sank in over ankles at each step, but had to immediately
withdraw the foot to keep from going still deeper. We got tired--very
tired--but dared not stop. Out of breath, the throat burned as if we had
taken a dose of red pepper, but we could not stop for breath. Fell down
and struggled up with boots full of water; and after an eternity of
effort struggled out on the other side, to stand in the cold, teeth
chattering, trying to get shelter against the cold wind in the hollow of
the cypress, and still keep a lookout for ducks. The fingers were too
cold to pull the trigger, almost, but a sprig came in and we nailed him.
And no more came our way.

Just before we had frozen stiff the boy came back and we set out to walk
around the lake. It was only half as far as straight across. Some strays
passed over, and in response to our call a mallard duck settled down
upon the ground. The boy looked inquiringly at us, but we told him we
did not take such shots, and he crawled up and executed the bird. A jack
snipe rose, and fell promptly. Wading across a bayou we caught a glimpse
of green shining on the shore, and it proved to be a teal, directly in
front. He rose when we were within 40 feet, and fell with his head shot
off; which evidently elevated us in the estimation of the boy. Meanwhile
the Professor had accumulated a respectable collection of birds; and we
had game enough for the table.

Arriving at the house, a discussion arose as to the way to cook them. We
stoutly maintained that a bird that had a distinctive flavor like a
teal should be lightly broiled. But the lady intimated that she had
something else in contemplation that would open our eyes and enlarge our
views. It did both. Will it be believed that those delicate little teal,
the snipe, sundry squirrels and quail subsequently brought in, were
ground up with smoked pork and onions into an undistinguishable mass of
sausage, and fried? Shades of Vatel!

One look at the proud face of the designer of the dish, and the
Professor loudly vaunted the idea, and took another helping. No one
could have had the heart to dissent--and our virtue was rewarded, for
nothing could induce our good hostess to cook the birds any other way.
The Professor's praise settled that. Though his name indicates an origin
Teutonic rather than Milesian, and his huge frame would have easily
sustained the armor of Goetz von Berlichingen, he must have kissed the
Blarney stone, and no living woman could resist the charm of his
approval.

We lived on the food described for a week, and drank enough coffee to
paralyze the Postum Cereal man--the Professor negotiated 14 cups a
day--and had not a trace of our acid dyspepsia. Is there any remedy for
this complaint, except hard work?

One evening a neighbor came over with his wife, the one who had so high
a reputation as a worker. She was a thin little woman, with hollow
cheeks and great brown eyes, sad, as their only child had been recently
killed by accident, while out hunting. The inevitable snuff stick
protruded from her lips. The husband was a bright, merry fellow, who at
once struck up a trade with our old driver. They traded wagons, then
fell to about their horses, and as the spirit of trade aroused the
sporting blood the younger man asked if the other had a "trading hat,"
or jackknife, and finally proposed they should go out on the gallery and
trade clothes to the skin. "Would trade everything he owned but the old
woman," he announced.

The driver was a character in his way. He owned to 75 years, rivaled the
Professor's 6 feet 4 inches when erect, but was wholly longitudinal in
dimensions. On the road he informed us at intervals of five minutes that
the road was "pretty heavy today." He stood in awe of the Professor's
deep bass, and seeing this that irreverent youth played it on the old
man in a way to be reprobated. Mrs. S. gave us a pie one day for lunch,
and smilingly announced that it was the exclusive property of the
Professor. Accordingly the latter authoritatively forbade all others
meddling with his pie. About noon S. and the Doctor came across the lake
to the wagon, and began foraging for lunch. S. got out the pie and each
of us took a liberal slice, in spite of the old driver's protest that it
was the Professor's pie, and he must be held guiltless. Pretty soon the
Professor came over, and on seeing the hole in the pie bellowed in an
awful voice: "Who took my pie?" The old man threw up his arm as if to
protect his head, and anxiously cackled that he had no hand in it, that
it was the Doctor and S., and that he had told them they should not do
it. Just then the Doctor sauntered in, and the Professor tackled him
about who ate the pie. Dr. at once assured him it was the old driver;
that he had seen the stains of the berries on his lips; which mendacious
statement was received by the old man with voluble indignation. S. came
up, and on being appealed to at once "caught on," and put the blame on
the driver. He was simply speechless with this most unjust charge. All
the rest of the day the Professor scolded over the pie, and we thought
of new arguments showing that no one but the driver could have purloined
it. But about bedtime, after there had been stillness for a time, a
still small voice came from the old man saying with a tone of dawning
comprehension: "I believe you fellows have been having fun with me about
that pie." This was too much, and the walls fairly cracked with the
howls of delight.

We did not treat the old man very badly, though, as on leaving he
assured us if we ever came again into that country he would be only too
willing to join us in a similar trip.




CHAPTER XXV.

SOME LOUISIANA FOLKS.


No <DW64>s have ever been allowed to settle in the Catahoula country.
The dead line is seven miles from Alexandria. No objection is made if
anyone desires to bring a <DW64> servant temporarily into the country,
but he must go out with his employer. Once a lumberman brought <DW64>s
in, and determined to work them. They were warned, and left. Next year
be brought in a new lot, and announced that he would protect them. They
were duly warned, but refused to leave. One morning they were
found--seven of them--hanging to the rafters of their house. Years
elapsed before the experiment was again tried. The coroner's jury
brought in a verdict of suicide--and this was in dead earnest--no joke
or hilarity intended. To disregard due warning was equivalent to any
other method of self-destruction.

When in after years an attempt was made to work <DW64>s here, warnings
were duly posted on their doors. The <DW64>s left. But the employer was
a determined man, and swore he would be eternally dingbusted--or words
to that effect--if he didn't work all the <DW65>s he pleased; and he
enlisted a new lot of the most desperate characters he could find.
Warning was given and neglected; when one evening, as the <DW54>s sat at
supper, a rifle bullet knocked the nail keg from under one of them, and
next morning not a <DW64> was to be found in the vicinity.

Observe the dispassionate, thoroughly conservative and gentlemanly way
the people handled the affair. There was no thirsting for gore, no
disposition to immolate these misguided folks to their employer's
obstinacy; just a gentle hint that Catahoula did not allow <DW64>s. An
intimation to the employer followed, that a repetition would be followed
by a rifle aimed at him, not the keg this time, and he was wise enough
to see the point.

We have heard these people spoken of as being dangerous characters. They
might be such, if misunderstood and their prejudices rudely affronted.
But we found them a simple, warm-hearted, scrupulously honest set, with
whom we thoroughly enjoyed a week's companionship, and expect to go back
for another one. Their interests are limited, their viewpoint may not
permit an extensive outlook, but their doors are always open to the
stranger, the coffee-pot on the stove, and the best they have is offered
him with a courtesy that never fails. They take little interest in
politics, newspapers we did not once see there, and schooling is
limited. Mrs. S. did not go to church in summer, because that would
involve the putting on of shoes--though she did say that if she chose to
go she would not hesitate to march into church in her bare feet, let
those dislike it who might!

But do not imagine that these worthy people are deficient in common
sense. Mr. S. was perfectly aware that the timber he does not cut now is
worth three times what is was when he took up this land, and will be
worth more every year.

This pine must reproduce itself with marvelous rapidity. We saw the
furrows of the old cotton cultivation running away back through the
woods, in which the trees were about ready for the saw. There is plenty
of land still open for homesteading, but one must hunt it up for
himself, as the government gives absolutely no information to inquirers,
except that township maps cost a dollar apiece. If you want to know what
townships of what parishes have land available, just get on your horse
and explore, till you find out.

The land companies make amends for this. There are about ten million
acres of land in Louisiana, and of this over six millions are offered
for sale in one little pamphlet before me. Much of this is sea marsh,
which ought to produce sea island cotton. We could find no one who knew
of its ever having been tried, but presume there is some reason for not
raising it, as this is a very profitable crop, selling for double the
market price of ordinary cotton.

Why is there so much land for sale? For we did not meet a solitary man,
northern or southern by birth, who seemed to contemplate leaving the
state. The truth is there are not enough inhabitants to utilize the
land. Millions of acres are lying idle for want of workers. Every
inducement is extended to men to settle here and utilize the resources
now going to waste.

The South needs "Yankees." An ex-Confederate, discussing Baton Rouge,
said: "A dozen live Yankees would regenerate this town, and make
fortunes at it." They would pave the streets, cover in the sewers, build
up the vacant spots in the heart of the city, supply mechanical work at
less inhuman prices than are now charged, and make this rich and
intelligent community as attractive in appearance as the citizens are
socially.

One such man has made a new city of Alexandria. He has made the people
pave their streets, put in modern sewerage, water, electricity, etc.,
build most creditable structures to house the public officials, and in a
word, has "hustled the South," till it had to put him temporarily out of
office until it got its "second wind."

In consequence Alexandria has no rival in the state except Shreveport.
And the people like it; they brag of Walsh and his work, take immense
pride in the progress of their beautiful city, and have developed into
keen, wide-awake Americans of the type that has built up our country.

It seems essential for the incentive, the leaven, to come from outside;
but this is the lesson of history. Xanthippus did nothing for Corinth,
but aroused Syracuse. Marion Sims vegetated in comparative obscurity
till he left the South, to become the leading surgeon of New York and
Paris. What would Ricord have been had he remained in America? The
interchange of blood, the entering of a stranger among any community,
acts as a disturbing element, that arouses action. And without action
there is no progress.

The most promising indication is that this seems fully comprehended in
the South, and the immigrant is welcomed.

It is well to be cautious about accepting as literally true the
statements made to strangers. People will exaggerate; and the temptation
to fill up a more or less gullible "tenderfoot" is often irresistible.

Thus, we are told that connections between white men and <DW64> women are
quite common; in fact, almost a matter of course. And these connections
are defended, as exalting the white woman to such a pinnacle that the
seduction of one would be followed by lynching the seducer; while there
is no wrong done the <DW64> woman, because she has no moral sense in such
matters, to be injured. Instead of feeling that she is "lost," she
brags of her "conquest."

But several facts lead us to doubt the literal truth of these
statements. We note that the same tales are told in illustration that we
heard when here five years ago. No new material seems to have appeared
in that time. Then again, the mulatto is exceedingly rare; the <DW64>s
met on the streets and in the fields being pure black. These and similar
facts lead us to receive the above accounts with a very large grain of
salt.




CHAPTER XXVI.

FROM WINTER TO SUMMER IN A DAY.


March 11. 1904.--We left Chicago at 6 p. m. The ground was covered with
snow, the winds cutting through our clothes, and winter still held his
own relentlessly. By the time we reached Cairo the change was evident;
and next evening at the same hour we were well down in Mississippi, and
our clothes oppressively warm. Trees were in full leaf, and numerous
cold frames showed that trucking was in full operation. Rain set in and
followed us to Memphis, but then the sky cleared. We found full summer
at New Orleans, the grass in the parks green, the foliage that of
midsummer. At Baton Rouge the violets were about over, but the roses
were enough to discourage one from ever again trying to raise them in
Chicago.

Why do people suffer from the winter north when they need not do so?
Many shiver and pine for the warm days, during this month of blustering
cold, when everyone has had enough winter and longs for spring, while
all they have to do is to jump on a train and in 24 hours they are in
this delightful clime. When need compels, we must take our medicine
without a grumble; but to many all that keeps them north in March is
inertia and thoughtlessness.

There are many little businesses carried on in these river boats. We saw
many trading boats which supplied ordinary necessaries and carried small
freights, or gathered up skins and other little products not worth the
while of steamers to stop for. Photographers ply up and down the
streams; a fortune teller makes good profits; a quack sells liniments
and other drugs, and does a bit of unlicensed practice; and very likely
some boats sell whisky. We did not hear of an evangelist, yet there
seems to be a need for some work of this sort. One man sold roofing
paint along the river for good profits.

The South would do well to study the practical applications of the
maxim: "Put yourself in his place." The Italians keep goats as the Irish
do pigs. Both forage for a living, and supply an important place in the
social economies. The goat is to the Italian a matter of course. But a
doctor was annoyed by the animals, and told his Italian neighbor he must
keep his goats shut up. He did not do so, and so the doctor shot the
goats. Next morning, as the doctor passed the Italian's stand, the
latter drew a pistol, remarking: "You shoot my goat; I shoot you," and
shot the doctor dead. This nearly precipitated a race riot.

If there was no law against allowing goats to run at large, the Italian
was strictly within his rights. It was up to the doctor to fence his
premises. If there was such a law, the doctor should have called on the
proper officers to enforce it. In either case he was in the wrong; and
the habit of taking the law in one's own hands was responsible for the
tragedy.

The discontent of the <DW64> with plantation life and work is not, we are
everywhere told, a matter of wages. Then why is there no intelligent
attempt made to study the question with a view to devising means of
attaching him to the place? He is a child in many respects, and
amusement goes far in rendering him contented and happy. Were he these,
he would not be restless to leave the plantations. A barbecue next
week, a dance Saturday night, a little fun in expectation, would go far
to keep him quiet, and need not cost more than a trifle of what it would
be worth. The problem seems easy enough, but we have heard of no attempt
to solve it on such lines.




CHAPTER XXVII.

VOYAGE ENDED.


And here our voyage ended. The doctor moved ashore to join his wife and
children. Millie went to St. Louis, and Jim to Oklahoma; while Frank and
Jake remained on the boat until it was finally disposed of. Frank had
worked on the engine until he had mastered her, and found the
difficulties. She had never been properly installed, so we got blue
prints from her builders and reset the engine in accordance with them.
We got new batteries, a block tin pipe in place of the iron one which
took the gasoline from the tank to the engine, and rust from which had
figured largely in the troubles we experienced. The pump had been
literally cut to pieces by the mud in the river water and a new one was
obtained. When thus refitted, she ran without a balk; and we really
believe a child could have managed her. She turned out to be what had
been claimed for her, remarkably fast. In fact, we left her with the
determination that our next engine should be a Fay and Bowen, also. She
was sold to a resident of Baton Rouge, for $300; the alterations having
cost the Doctor about $50, in addition to the boys' wages. One thing we
learned--never order work down here without a distinct agreement as to
the work and the price. Frank ordered a little fixing at a local shop,
for which he said $6 was a liberal price; but the man brought in a bill
of over $16.

The small boats, guns and shells were sent back to Chicago, most of the
furniture sold for trivial sums, and the cabin boat left in the charge
of Mr. S. S. Lewis, of the Lewis Lumber Co. for sale. All attempts to
obtain a tow up the river failed. The big coal companies' agents
referred us to the home office, but said the price would not be less
than $300. We heard that the captains of tow boats going up would take
us up for a trifle, but we did not find one of these chances, after
waiting two months. Some men talked of buying the cabin and launch and
taking it around to the Bayou Manchac for a hunting and fishing lodge,
but nothing came of it.

We might have sold by bringing the outfit around to the Gulf ports, but
had no leisure for this. A plan was suggested to load the cabin with
palmettoes and take them to St. Louis to serve as decorative plants at
the Fair; but the Superintendent of Audubon Park said the plants would
not live, that when the root of a palm was cut it died back to the
stalk, and it was doubtful if a new growth of roots would take place.
But men who try to extirpate the palms say they are unkillable; and the
two we took up and replanted in the boat were still living after two
months, and had out two new leaves each. Possibly we might have made a
good thing, as the boat could have carried 1,000 good-sized palms.

At New Orleans we hear these cabin boats are so plentiful they cannot be
given away. The _Desplaines_ was sold there for a good price.

[Illustration: BAY ST. LOUIS, MISS.]




CHAPTER XXVIII.

DANGERS AND DELIGHTS.


A few words as to certain dangers that might be expected on such a trip.
We were never annoyed by loafers, tramps, or unpleasant visitors of any
sort, with the one exception of the probable river pirates whose visit
is described. At the towns people let us alone, and those who were
interested enough to call on us were entirely unobjectionable. Of course
our numbers may have had some influence.

We never had any malaria or other febrile affection, and most of our
drug supply was superfluous. Half a dozen articles would comprise the
list for any ordinary party.

During the entire trip we never saw a snake, alligator, centipede,
scorpion or any other venomous reptile. Flies and mosquitoes left us at
the first frost, and our mosquito hats and veils were never used. The
other insect pests of the south--fleas, gnats, redbugs, ticks and
jiggers--began to show up in April, after we had left the boat and were
living on shore. We were out in the wrong season for fish, turtles and
frogs, and in fact found difficulty in procuring any fish at all,
excepting carp, for our table. But a little more activity on our part
would probably have remedied this--we did not try to fish much. So with
the shooting--we did not try very hard, and never shot more than we
could eat without waste.

It was our impression that the South fairly bristles with opportunities
for business. There is plenty of cheap land, room for hundreds of
thousands of farmers and lumbermen, dairies, general stores, supply
houses of every sort. Fruit, berries, garden truck of all sorts, nuts,
milk, butter, chickens and ducks, eggs, and many other articles might be
raised and a market found for them along the river. There is a very
short supply of nearly all these products, right where they could be
raised.

The old prejudice against a white man's working alongside a <DW64> seems
to be dying out. We saw men of both colors working together too often
for it to be in any degree exceptional. <DW64> mechanics in New Orleans
get from four to seven dollars a day, and are very independent as to
their work. Many large planters rent small lots to <DW64>s, others to
Italians, and sell on easy terms to either whenever they wish to buy. So
far has the disdain of manual work subsided that we were informed that
in one of the most prominent (white) universities many of the pupils
support themselves in part by waiting on the table, washing dishes, and
in other ways.

Assuredly it is not now looked upon as degrading to any white man in the
south, that he should work with his hands, if need be.

If there is any prejudice now against northern men who come to settle in
the south, it kept itself out of our sight. Instead, we find immigration
agents established by the state, to set before the men of the north the
advantages they can secure by coming south. Of the numerous northern men
we met and talked with, who had come south, but one spoke of
encountering prejudice--and we strongly suspect he had given good cause.
Many northern men, like the writer, have married southern girls, and
thus the lines of separation between the sections are becoming confused
and indistinct.

One Indiana man, who had come south, expressed what may be taken for
the usual view, as we received it: "Any northern man who has $3,000 is a
fool if he does not bring it down here and make his fortune in ten years
out of it." And this is the man for whom there are such abundant
openings here--the one who has a small capital and good business sense.

       *       *       *       *       *

The River--that great, wonderful river. We descended its current at the
time the water was at the lowest; but the impression of its giant power
grew on us daily; the resistless sweep of the current, the huge boils
rising from the depths, the whirlpools; but above all the cutting away
of the banks. We soon discovered that levees are not meant as restraints
of this erosion--the river flows how and where it will--but to protect
against the flood waters. From Alton to the gulf there is scarcely a
stone to be seen, and the current flounders about through the soft
alluvium, like a whale in blankets. When the cutting approaches the
levees new ones are constructed further back; and the intervening
country is handed over to its fluvial master.

The commerce of the river systems is a thing of the past, but a shadow
of what it was about wartime. The railways carry the freights now. But
how is it more people do not travel by water? Years ago we went by
steamer from Cincinnati to Louisville, and thoroughly enjoyed the
trip--the quiet, absence of rattle and smoke, the lovely panorama
floating by, the music, the well-served meals, and the leisurely,
cultured folk who were really taking time to travel pleasantly, instead
of the hustle of limited expresses. Surely, the only reason more people
do not enjoy this mode of travel is that they do not know of it.

But when one floats on the bosom of the great river there grows up a
certain fascination for it. We saw one cabin boat in which an elderly
man was said to have lived for years, alone. A man of wealth, who could
have utilized Pullmans had he chosen. One can readily comprehend this;
for long will it be ere the beating of the waves against the side of the
boat ceases from our dreams. A little cabin boat that one could manage,
dogs for the only companions, guns and rods, and the long, quiet sojourn
where the coal and other trusts matter not a whit--and where could
hermit find such a delightful retreat!

Then for the elderly man who has outlived his family and the period of
active participation in the world's warfare. What a home for a group of
such men, who could be company for each other.




CHAPTER XXIX.

RESULTS.


The Doctor enjoyed every moment of the trip. While we have recorded all
the accidents and drawbacks, the reader must not imagine that they were
really serious or detracted much from the pleasure. If we fished and
hunted but little it was because we found so much of interest and
delight that the time was filled without these pastimes. We did not use
our wheels much for the same reason--we had so much going on that we
rarely felt the desirability of more means of occupying our time. The
work went on well, and in this respect the plan worked out as expected.
There were abundance of time and few interruptions; time for study, for
putting the thoughts on paper; and the little breaks when called on
deck, never disarranged the mental machinery. The exercise was most
beneficial. Chopping or sawing wood, and helping with the boat work,
brought the digestion into good condition, and we came home much
stronger than we left.

The same may be said of the children. The boy enjoyed it all; the girl
did well, but naturally got tired and longed for her little friends.
Both improved in physique and broadened their ideas, and laid in a store
of knowledge. They learned much and were not roughened in manners.

The invalid did pretty well and would have done much better had our
original plan been followed; but the delay caused by building the new
boat allowed us to be caught in the November storms on the Illinois, and
then it was a constant hurry to get south. Toward the last she tired of
the boat and longed for the flesh-pots of Egypt--other women to talk
clothes to, dry goods stores, the luxuries of civilization. Few women
have enough of the gipsy in their blood to stand seven months' travel
without ennui.

The experience of the _Desplaines_ showed the wisdom of beginning with a
clear understanding with the crew and paying them fair wages. They took
the crew on an indefinite arrangement, paying no wages. When they fell
in with us their crew became discontented, constant quarreling
resulted, and the crew broke up. Naturally, when they found our men
receiving wages for easier work than theirs, dissatisfaction resulted.
Don't go on such an expedition with the crew on a "no wages" basis. Pay
fairly, or else make up the party on the basis of equal participation in
the expenses; but don't mix matters.

Don't buy an old boat. There is a satisfaction in knowing that the
timbers beneath you are sound and put together in the strongest possible
manner, and amply able to withstand the fiercest trials they can
possibly receive. Especially if women and children are to form part of
your crew, you want to feel easy on the score of your boat. Have the
boat built at a place like Henry, where well-selected lumber and honest
work will go in the building. Have it brought to Chicago and start in
the boat here.

Do not have a boat more than sixteen feet wide, outside measure, that is
to pass through the canal.

Have the roof thoroughly watertight and the crevices about the base of
the cabin protected by quarter-rounds and calking so that there will be
no water leaking in there when waves wash over the deck. Have a good
large open deck in front, for there you will live in pleasant weather.
Get a good wood-burning stove for cooking--gasoline and oil are too
expensive, when you get wood for nothing.

Select your party with care; not everyone who goes into such a trip with
enthusiasm will wear well, when living half a year in a boat with you.
Leave out people who expect the luxuries of a well-appointed hotel.
Limit the clothing for men and women to two suits each; one for the boat
and one for town. You may not disturb the latter for months. If you can
possibly avoid it, take no one in the party who drinks liquor even in
moderation--certainly not in the crew. Every modification of this opens
the door to trouble. If a guest takes his morning eye-opener the crew
will want to do so; and some one of them may be of the sort that can not
taste it without getting crazy drunk.

It seemed to us that anyone of a mercantile turn could do a good
business along the river; pay expenses and make money. Everywhere along
the great river people boarded our boat, asking what we were selling.
The men asked for whisky, the women for dry goods or dressmaking. At one
landing a trader sold eighteen skiffs. On the Atchafalaya we passed a
cabinboat bearing in large letters the title: "The White Elephant
Saloon." We heard that this boat had given the authorities much trouble,
but can not vouch for the truth of the report. She was selling liquor,
evidently, and we gave her a wide berth. Melville was a temperance town,
but there was a shanty across the river known as "the Goose," where
liquor was sold, and a skiff ferry to it was well patronized. The owner
was building a large cabinboat at a cost of $1,000, but for what purpose
we could only presume; and our presumption was that it would be a
profitable investment.

To make a similar trip leave Chicago between the 15th and 30th of
September, provide for towage through the canal to La Salle, and float
down the rivers, stopping when the weather is unpleasant. You should
take a tow from Kampsville to the Mississippi, as there is little
current from the Illinois into it. Thereafter even so small an engine
as our 3-horse-power will suffice, as you will not be hurried and can
await favorable winds. The larger the boat the more men will be
required. Ours was right for four men; and that is a good number for a
party. There will be no danger of annoyance, while a smaller party might
meet some ugly customers. With every additional member the chances for
disagreement increase--and life is too short for quarreling. On reaching
the mouth of Red River, ascend that stream till you can reach Catahoula
Lake, if you are after ducks and geese; though the old river-bed lakes
along the Mississippi will furnish plenty. But if deer and other large
game attract you, descend the Atchafalaya to Alabama bayou; then pass
through Grand Lake to the gulf and coast around to the string of resorts
along the coast from Bay St. Louis to Pensacola and the Florida coast,
if so long a trip is desired. If you ascend the rivers you will need
tows, unless your power is large.

The results of the trip to the writer may be summed up as: Better work,
better done, and more of it, than would have been possible in the same
time at the city home; a renewal of vitality, digestion improved, years
rolled back so that again has come that sense of capacity to work
without limit, that has not been present for years; and a crowd of
pleasant recollections that will endure for life.

Would we like to go again? Just give us the chance!





End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The houseboat book, by William F. Waugh

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