CRUISE OF THE AURORA
CHAPTER XVII.
HOSPITALITY ASHORE AND AFLOAT.
THE meeting with negroes along the shore is now of
almost daily occurrence. We find them fishing for the
finny inhabitants of the water or for the driftwood
floating on its surface. Every day we are assailed by
some such question as:
"Say, boss, why yer doan turn round and
row yer boat?"
"What'll yer gimme ter tow dat little
skiff?"
"Whar yer spec yer gwine, anyhow?"
These questions are never asked in an impudent
tone, but rather that of humor, and would generally be
followed by a hearty yah, yah, as though something
exceedingly witty had been said.
The mornings are now cold, with the evenings little
better. A disagreeable result of the cold and
continual wettings that the hands are subjected to has
caused them to be chapped at almost all the joints,
and they are consequently very sore, requiring
frequent applications of soothing compounds.
During the afternoon we passed the mouth of Salt
River and the thriving town of West Point. Our camp, a
few miles below Rock Haven, Ky., was so exposed to the
penetrating northeast wind that swept down the low
shore, that it proved to be the most uncomfortable
locality we could well have selected.
A Sleeping Barnacle.
A huge flock of ducks settled on the bar a
few hundred yards above us, and went to feeding while
we were getting our breakfast. Water that had been
left in cups over night to settle had frozen solid,
and all day ice would form on the decks where the
strong wind would deposit spray from the little seas.
At noon we landed in a bend of the river and built our
dinner fire beneath a huge mass of limestone rock
which had attained a height of one hundred feet, and
as the sun came out from under the heavy clouds that
had all the morning obscured it, the hold of immense
icicles gave way, and they fell crashing at our feet.
By the time we had finished our dinner the wind had
subsided and the surface of the river had become
perfectly calm. Owing to the cold of the last night
Barnacle had had very little sleep, consequently he
was drowsy today; I was, therefore, not much
surprised, on looking back during the afternoon, to
find him with head and body bent forward, while his
paddle rested with one blade in the water, and he was
sound asleep. With a jump he awakened at my hail; he
overtook me, and we made camp on the high stony shore,
while the leaden sky threatened rain before morning.
All about us there was a mass of driftwood; in fact,
we were forced to clear some of it away in order to
make room for the canoes and tent. In the center of
the swiftly flowing stream opposite us lie the wrecks
of several coal flats, and an iron ore boat which had
a few months ago struck on a rock and come to grief.
After a night of incessant rain, accompanied by a
cold northeast wind, we turn out at eight o'clock and
built an immense fire of logs, some of them so heavy
that it required our united strength to lift even one
end. Seeing a footprint in the sand along the shore
(as did Robinson Crusoe on his island) I set out, clad
in my picturesque suit of oil skins. Striking a path a
short distance off, I followed it about three-quarters
of a mile, most of the way through fields of uncut
corn stalks, frequently routing from their slumbers
many gaunt hogs, which here seemed to roam at will.
The barking of a dog admonished me to be on my guard
as to how I approached the low building of logs that
now came in sight, for fear I might experience a
repetition of my encounter with the vicious brute on
the Allegheny.
"Good morning, ma'am," I said, as I
entered the low ceilinged room of this dismal abode
of the Kentucky corn cracker.
"My companion and I are encamped on the shore below
here, and having run out of salt, I came up to buy a
little," at the same time seating myself on the
splint-bottomed chair she had placed for me before the
broad open fireplace, in which some short logs were
blazing brightly. She informed me that her man had
died in the summer, and left her with six children,
five of whom were either sitting or standing about the
room. The eldest, a boy, took care of the Government
lights in the neighborhood, three in number, and the
neighbors had helped her shuck her corn, but she did
not know what she would be able to do after the corn
and hogs had been eaten, as the farm was only rented
and not owned by her husband.
A Social Pipe.
I sat and smoked with her (most Cracker women
smoke) for an hour, while she plied me with questions
of the manners and customs of what she considered my
"far distant Northern home." She seemed particularly
interested in the manner in which ladies of the North
wore their hair, as I described it to her. Before
leaving, the little dog, whose barking had alarmed me
as I approached the cabin, became my fast friend, and
accompanied me to camp and almost insisted on coming
on board the Aurora as she spread her wings the next
morning, and swiftly cut the waters before a favorable
breeze. Stopping at Cloverport in the middle of the
forenoon I was agreeably surprised to find a knot of
people assembled on the levee, who told us that they
had been watching for us for several days, having
heard of our coming through the local papers. They
were particularly taken with our double-bladed
paddles, never having seen such a "trick" but once
before, and then in the hands of Paul Boyton, when he
made his trip down the Ohio and Mississippi rivers in
his rubber floating suit.
Having laid in some stores we again hoisted sail,
and, although the wind was cold, the sun shed his rays
upon us until we were abreast of Hawesville, Ky., when
the clouds drove up from the northwest and the wind
sent little splashy seas over us as we changed our
course to avoid the many steamers that were running in
all directions. The cold now became so severe that we
were obliged to take off the sails and use the paddle
in order to keep warm. Not caring to camp near the
town we kept on until after night had shut down
without finding a landing where we could be out of the
way of the wash of the steamers.
A dim light close to the water's edge decided us to
hail it, and we were received on board a shantyboat of
the poorest description. The wind howled dismally
across the river and forced its way through the cracks
in the siding of the shanty, causing the flame of the
one dilapidated oil lamp to flare sickly. The water in
the hold of the scow could be seen through the cracks
in the floor as it washed from side to side with the
motion of the boat. A stove, a table, and one stool
comprised the furniture. Here lived two men, two
little boys and one little girl of fourteen years,
although she looked to be much older.
"Ha, stranger, hit is well you seed our
light, for there ain't a spot for several miles
where you could have found a place to land and be
safe from the wash of the steamboats. This is a
poor place to ask a gentleman to stop, but hit is
the best we have, and you are welcome to stay as
long as you like."
"My woman," our host told us, "died two years
ago with the ager, and left me the three little
childer to care for, and a hard time I have had of
hit. Benny has got the ager quite bad now, and Nora
has fits every day. My pardner here is my brother,
and between us we manage to take care of the little
ones. We get odd jobs along the river, and have te
leave the little pretties alone all day to shift
for theirselves. We be shucking corn now, and the
job'll last two weeks yet, and then we will let
loose and go furder down to Evansville."
Life on a Shanty Boat.
Much more this rough, hard featured man told
me, while Barnacle was preparing our supper on the
cracked and smoking stove. Barnacle has a big heart,
so he cooks enough bacon and cornmeal for all hands,
and borrowing a big coffeepot, makes it full of such
coffee as the poor shantymen seldom or never taste.
The children were clamorous for more coffee, and its
cheering effects were visible on them as they crawled
into the cornhusk-filled bunks, and were covered with
the rags of blankets. Having smoked our pipes,
Barnacle and I spread our waterproofs on the dirty
floor, and then rolled into our blankets and soon fell
into a sound sleep, the reward of a hard day's work.
Several times during the night I was awakened by rats
running about the floor, and once, at least, over my
body.
The creaking and rocking of the shackly old scow
awoke me at five o'clock, as she received the swell of
the New Orleans packet puffing and snoring by. Our
host and his brother left at once to get their
breakfast at the farmhouse where they were working,
while Barnacle and I prepared enough for the children
as well as ourselves. Outside the air was bright and
clear, the white frost thickly coating the decks of
the canoes and all surroundings, while a thick edging
of ice marked the waterline along the shore. While the
wondering children stood about the canoes as the
daylight strengthened, I noticed that the shivering,
barefooted little girl had but one thin garment, while
the eldest boy had a rag of a coat tied about his
otherwise unprotected person. Overhauling the contents
of my clothes-bag, I found a warm woolen shirt, which
I soon after saw covering the shoulders of the little
boy, while Barnacle provided something for the
shivering sister. Six o'clock saw us swinging the
paddles, and now and then laying them down to beat our
hands to restore circulation and warm benumbed
fingers. The wind came out dead ahead after we had
been afloat about two hours, and the sky was
overspread with wavy clouds. The cold now became so
severe that on reaching Grand View, Ohio, we were glad
of the opportunity to paddle under the lee of a large
produce flatboat, where we remained some time thawing
out in the sun, which occasionally broke through the
clouds. Bundling up as well as possible, we dip the
paddles and again head into the snow-flecked wind.
For some days past offers of hospitality from
residents along the river banks have been numerous,
but so great is our anxiety to reach the balmy
atmosphere of the Southern States and escape an
encounter with the ice, that we have invariably
declined the invitations to stop and have a look at
the town, etc. All day the wind came up the river in a
steady blow, sending spray over not only the decks of
our canoes, but over our persons; and so low was the
temperature that when the sun occasionally broke
through the barriers of clouds, its rays were
reflected from the smooth coating of ice which had
formed on the floating, bobbing canoes and
captains.
A Kentucky Welcome.
On approaching Owensboro, Ky., the strong
current kept setting us in toward the town, but as we
had no call to stop there, we kept the middle of the
stream as nearly as possible. As we came abreast of
the town, we could not help but notice the groups of
people on the levee who seemed to manifest
considerable interest in something. It soon became
clear to me that the strange-looking craft in
midstream were the subject of their interest, but this
idea was dispelled when I saw a large steam scow
ferryboat swing out from the wharfboat and slowly
wheel herself along in our direction. As we were in
her course, we ceased paddling in order that she might
pass to windward of us, but she seemed bent on running
us down and crushing our frail craft beneath her
ponderous wheel. A moment more and she had come so
near that we could plainly hear the question addressed
to us: "Ain't you going to stop at our town? Paul
Boyton did, and we cared for him handsomely," said a
gentlemanly-looking man who stood nearest to us. I
told him that we were anxious to get on as fast as
possible, and asked to be excused, promising to stop
the next time I came down the river.
"Well, if you won't come ashore, come
alongside and get a drink of good Owensboro
Bourbon."
Ah, it needed not a second invitation to bring us
"alongside" of the craft, where not one, but three
men, produced each a bottle of whisky, two of which
were handed down to us, after no little difficulty,
owing to the bobbing movements of the canoes, which
seemed anxious to be off. I am not an advocate of the
use of ardent spirits, but that long draft from the
"black bottle" sent the blood tingling through my
veins, and warmed me to the ends of my fingers and
toes. As I was about to hand the bottle back I was
told to "keep it and drink to the health of the
citizens of Owensboro, as we sat about the campfire."
The holder of bottle No.3, not to be outdone by his
companions, tossed his bottle toward me, but owing to
my hands being clumsy with the heavy mittens, I missed
it, and overboard it went, but Barnacle, quick as a
flash, had it by the neck and took good care to hold
on to it. With a screech from her whistle and groans
from the steam pipes, the forlorn-looking craft
wheeled herself off to the opposite shore, while her
passengers gave us a hearty cheer and "bon
voyage."
CHAPTER XVIII.
VOYAGING ON A FLATBOAT.
FIVE miles below the treating scene we came to a
small island, heavily wooded to the water's edge, and
here we made our camp, the great depth of fallen
leaves making a bed so soft that it was long after
daylight before we awoke and gazed with astonishment
on the country covered with snow. Here was a new
experience, and I seriously thought of bringing out
the little fluid stove that had all this long cruise
been stowed away in the after part of my canoe. But
Barnacle suggested, as some of the dunnage and the
tent will need to be dried before being packed, that
we build a fire outside. Gathering some slender twigs
and binding them into a bundle about the end of a
stout stick, we have a substantial broom, with which
we soon sweep away the snow, leaving us a dry and
clear spot on which to pursue our culinary operations
and packing. As we push off, a flock of hundreds of
ducks rose from an opposite bar and went quacking and
whistling down stream ahead of us.
By ten o'clock the wind came out dead ahead, and
although the temperature was not as low as that of the
day before, we suffered from the cold, and the chaps
on hands and lips caused much discomfort. By noon the
wind had increased almost to a gale, and we were
blinded by the flying snow. The sight of a couple of
flatboats moored to the Indiana shore was greeted with
no small degree of satisfaction.
"Captain, have you got a fire on board?"
was my hail to a man's head that I saw protruding
from the stern window of one of these flats.
"Yes, and a good one it is, too. Come in."
Hauling the canoes out on the gravelly shore, we
were received on board and conducted to the "galley,"
where the odors arising from a "boiled dinner," which
was in process of cooking, strengthened our already
ravenous appetites.
"Take off yer coats, sit up by the stove
and warm yer; dinner will soon be ready, and yer
can hev a hot meal afore yer leave."
While in conversation with this hospitable man, I
learned that he was the same who had so kindly
entertained Mr. N.H. Bishop at a Christmas dinner,
while he was on his famous voyage down this river a
few years ago. (See "Four Months in a Sneakbox," by
N.H. Bishop.) The wind had dropped a little by the
time we had finished the bountiful and hot dinner set
before us, but the temperature seems no milder. We
padded off from the flat as several loads of potatoes
were hauled down to the shore to be taken on
board.
As we were passing Newburgh, Ind., we overtook a
flatboat in midstream, and were invited to "come on
board."
The Trotter.
It is needless to say the invitation was
heartily accepted. Tying the canoes alongside, we were
soon sitting by the cheerful fire burning in the large
stove forward.
"All hands go to supper. Come, strangers, turn to
and help eat," was the kindly invitation of the hearty
skipper of the potato-laden flatboat Trotter. As the
river is so low, the pilot decided not to risk running
aground in the darkness, and a few moments after
supper ordered the boat tied up. Two of the crew,
springing into one of the skiffs that lay alongside
and taking with them the end of a two-inch rope, rowed
rapidly ashore, and whipping the hawser around a tree,
"snubbed" the craft until she came to a standstill,
when another line was put out, also to a tree. Stout
poles were then put out, one end resting against the
bank, while the other was placed against the snubbing
posts of the boat as a safeguard against her being
washed ashore by the swell from passing steamers. The
pilot of a produce flatboat has supreme command of the
craft from the time she starts on her voyage until it
is finished. It is he who says when she shall start
and when come to anchor. The crew of this boat
consists of ten men, all on duty when the boat is
under way, but at other times one man only is on the
watch, and when he has stood his trick of two hours he
is relieved by the next, and so on in rotation until
all have done duty in order. A large space in the
forward end is given up to the crew. Here they have
their bedding and blankets spread over planks laid on
the potato-filled barrels, while the valises
containing their clothing are hung on nails driven
into the siding near the roof or deck. A large box
stove is placed in the center of the space, and a
lantern is hung on one of the posts supporting the
roof. A very pleasant evening was spent here among the
jolly flatboatmen, listening to their yarns of life on
the river and the many dangers to which they have been
subjected. Of course some of these tales were taken
cum grano salis. A member of this crew, a
lighthearted, jovial fellow, told me that he was the
son of a professor in a Western college, but preferred
the roving life to one among "musty books and under
home restraints." I have since learned that his story
was substantially correct. As the nine o'clock watch
was set I rolled into my blankets on a couch
constructed of a board laid between two rows of
barrels, and slept the sleep of the weary.
The announcement of breakfast caused me to spring
up with such alacrity that I bumped my head against
one of the roof timbers with such force as to cause a
walnut-sized bunch to remain there for several days
thereafter. As soon as breakfast was over, the pilot
gave orders to cast off, and with the loosening of the
lines the boat swung off into the current. A second
order, "Oars," was now given, and the entire crew,
together with the two strangers, sprang to the thirty
feet oars or sweeps, six in number, four on the sides
and one at either end. When dipping the huge blades in
the water they walk along to the end of the stroke,
thus rowing the craft out into the strength of the
current.
Thanksgiving Day.
"That'll do," relieves the crew from further
duty until "Oars" is called again, when the same
operation is gone through. Now and then "Gouger" will
be the order from the pilot, when the oar at the bow
is swung athwartships, to right or left, as the motion
of his hand indicates. The oar at the stern is called
the "steering" oar, and that at the bow the "gouger,"
but why the latter should be so called I am at a loss
to understand; in its workings it is as much a
steering oar as that at the stern.
We are now on the most shallow reach of the Ohio
River, extending from Troy to Evansville, Ind. The sun
took a peep at us through the clouds a few moments
after seven o'clock, but retired in disgust as the
wind came up the river with the same gusts and snow
squalls that had characterized it the day before. So
strong is the wind, the flat cannot make headway, and
she is again tied up to the bank. With an all-round
shake of the hand, we start on our Thanksgiving Day
paddle, very anxious to reach Evansville, where I am
to receive news from the friends who are watching with
much anxiety my daily progress. By twelve o'clock
canoes and captains have again become cased in ice,
and the stomach is growling for more fuel. Finding a
sheltered spot beneath the high bank, we land where
there is an abundance of drift wood, and soon have a
roaring fire going which warms us and dries our
clothing.
Since leaving Lake George I have had stowed away in
my canoe a can of roast turkey; this I have zealously
guarded in order that the national feast day might not
pass without our having a dinner of the national bird.
It is for warming this and baking a hoe cake that
Barnacle builds the little cook fire a short distance
from the roarer, by which we have been warmed and
dried. As we sit on the pile of driftwood before the
fire on this sunless day, the snow flakes circle about
us as we eat our Thanksgiving Day dinner, the while
our thoughts fly to the friends and relatives in the
distant homes, gathering round the bountifully spread
tables, thinking of the canoe cruisers on the far
distant Ohio.
After landing at the float of the St. Johns Rowing
Club, at Evansville, Ind., while Barnacle remains in
charge of the canoes, I make a hurried trip to the
post office, where I meet with a disappointment at
finding that, as this is a legal holiday, the post
office is closed. By dint of much inquiry I finally
prevailed on the delivery clerk to look over his
bundle of letters, but there are none for me. I cannot
understand this, but afterward learned that my letters
had been returned to the writers on the morning of the
very day on which I had called for them. I returned to
the water's edge with disappointment so plainly marked
on my countenance that Barnacle at once calls out,
"Needn't say so, I know you have no letters." "Well,
if I haven't any letters I have some choice tobacco
and a loaf of fine bread," said I. A thicket of
willows, four miles below the city, offering us a
shelter from the bleak winds, we concluded to go no
further. All night I tossed about in my narrow
quarters suffering intense pain, no doubt the result
of eating the canned turkey, which doubtless had been
so long in the can as to be unfit for use.
Capt. Nate Smith.
When the time for launching arrived I felt
more like going to a house and to bed than paddling
against the strong wind that was blowing.
On reaching Henderson, Ky., a distance of eight
miles from our last night's camp, I went on shore for
the purpose of mailing letters in answer to those that
I didn't get at Evansville. On my return to the
wharfboat I was accosted by a gentleman, who said,
"Well, you have come a long distance, ain't you
hungry?" He then introduced himself as Capt. Nate
Smith, of the steamer Iron Cliff, which was lying at
the levee.
"Dinner is just about ready; bring your
companion and come on board."
As it is my rule never to refuse an invitation to
dine, we were soon seated at the table in the
comfortable saloon. A chat and cigar after dinner, and
we put off, this time with the wind and temperature
slightly moderated. From Henderson the river takes a
sharp bend off to the right and almost doubles back
upon itself within a distance of about eighteen miles,
and thus it was that, although the wind continued from
the same quarter as in the morning we could use our
sails for a few miles in the afternoon. As the sun was
nearing the western horizon, we spied a flatboat tied
up to the shore, and, of course, received an
invitation to "come aboard." It was gladly accepted,
and after supper I went down into my canoe, which was
moored alongside the flat, and passed up my blankets,
pipe and tobacco. Said the pleasant captain,
"The whole boat is at your disposal to
sleep in, but we have but one blanket apiece."
As we sat about the cabin fire smoking, singing and
spinning yarns, a New Orleans packet came down, and as
her ugly swell came in it caught the Aurora and flung
her under the fantail of the flat -- a sort of after
deck -- where I could both hear and feel her as she
pounded against the guards. Anxiously I awaited the
coming of the dawn, that I might examine into the
damages that she had sustained, but much to my joy she
was not injured beyond a few slight cuts in her deck,
and some superficial chafing along her gunwale.
At seven o'clock the wind was still blowing up
stream and the flat was forced to remain at her
moorings, for although the wind was light, she, being
without a load, would have drifted up stream, instead
of with the current. Bidding adieu to the jolly crew
with whom we had spent a pleasant night, we cast off
and headed into the wind. Scarcely had we left the
boat when the wind began to rise, blowing off the
Kentucky shore and causing us some hard work to avoid
being driven on to the opposite shore. We were just
about to give up and take what shelter there might be
for us wherever we drifted, when an island came into
view not more than a mile distant. To this we
determined to paddle, if possible, and there find
shelter. It was as hard a piece of paddling as I had
ever undertaken, but the fine sand beach on which we
landed was sufficient reward for the hard work to
reach it. Although the day was not half spent, we made
ourselves as comfortable as possible in anticipation
of being forced to remain here overnight; and well it
was that we did so, for the wind continued to blow
with increasing fury until the sun went down, and then
the mercury took a drop that was decidedly chilling to
our sensibilities.
A Fire of Driftwood.
More than a hundred cords of driftwood were
all about us, and with this we built and kept up all
night a glorious fire that warmed the whole island.
Before turning in, I stepped out from the influences
of the fire, and saw that this was to be the coldest
night of the season. With my head propped up on a log
and my blankets drawn snugly about me, I lay for a
couple of hours, reading, the bright flames of the
fire affording me sufficient light. But tired nature
triumphed at last, and I fell off into an untroubled
sleep. Force of habit is strongly illustrated in
Barnacle; he wakes up regularly at the time of turning
out of the different watches on shipboard, and seizes
on these moments to replenish the fire. In this way I
account for the fact that at daylight the fire is
still brightly burning over a large body of glowing
coals.
© 2000 Craig O'Donnell
May not be reproduced without my
permission.
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