The houseboat book

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER XII

CAIRO AND THE OHIO

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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 negro 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 negroes, 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 negroes. 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 negroes, 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.