Poems & Short Stories: 4,271
Forum Members: 70,634
Forum Posts: 1,033,546
And over 2 million unique readers monthly!
WE left for St. Louis in the 'City of Baton Rouge,' on a delightfully
hot day, but with the main purpose of my visit but lamely accomplished.
I had hoped to hunt up and talk with a hundred steamboatmen,
but got so pleasantly involved in the social life of the town that I
got nothing more than mere five-minute talks with a couple of dozen
of the craft.
I was on the bench of the pilot-house when we backed out and
'straightened up' for the start--the boat pausing for a 'good ready,'
in the old-fashioned way, and the black smoke piling out of the chimneys
equally in the old-fashioned way. Then we began to gather momentum,
and presently were fairly under way and booming along.
It was all as natural and familiar--and so were the shoreward sights--
as if there had been no break in my river life. There was a 'cub,'
and I judged that he would take the wheel now; and he did.
Captain Bixby stepped into the pilot-house. Presently the cub
closed up on the rank of steamships. He made me nervous,
for he allowed too much water to show between our boat and the ships.
I knew quite well what was going to happen, because I could date
back in my own life and inspect the record. The captain looked on,
during a silent half-minute, then took the wheel himself,
and crowded the boat in, till she went scraping along within
a band-breadth of the ships. It was exactly the favor which he had
done me, about a quarter of a century before, in that same spot,
the first time I ever steamed out of the port of New Orleans.
It was a very great and sincere pleasure to me to see the thing repeated--
with somebody else as victim.
We made Natchez (three hundred miles) in twenty-two hours and a half--
much the swiftest passage I have ever made over that piece of water.
The next morning I came on with the four o'clock watch, and saw Ritchie
successfully run half a dozen crossings in a fog, using for his
guidance the marked chart devised and patented by Bixby and himself.
This sufficiently evidenced the great value of the chart.
By and by, when the fog began to clear off, I noticed that the reflection
of a tree in the smooth water of an overflowed bank, six hundred
yards away, was stronger and blacker than the ghostly tree itself.
The faint spectral trees, dimly glimpsed through the shredding fog,
were very pretty things to see.
We had a heavy thunder-storm at Natchez, another at Vicksburg,
and still another about fifty miles below Memphis. They had
an old-fashioned energy which had long been unfamiliar to me.
This third storm was accompanied by a raging wind. We tied up to the bank
when we saw the tempest coming, and everybody left the pilot-house but me.
The wind bent the young trees down, exposing the pale underside
of the leaves; and gust after gust followed, in quick succession,
thrashing the branches violently up and down, and to this side and that,
and creating swift waves of alternating green and white according
to the side of the leaf that was exposed, and these waves raced
after each other as do their kind over a wind-tossed field of oats.
No color that was visible anywhere was quite natural--all tints
were charged with a leaden tinge from the solid cloud-bank overhead.
The river was leaden; all distances the same; and even the far-reaching
ranks of combing white-caps were dully shaded by the dark,
rich atmosphere through which their swarming legions marched.
The thunder-peals were constant and deafening; explosion followed explosion
with but inconsequential intervals between, and the reports grew steadily
sharper and higher-keyed, and more trying to the ear; the lightning
was as diligent as the thunder, and produced effects which enchanted
the eye and sent electric ecstasies of mixed delight and apprehension
shivering along every nerve in the body in unintermittent procession.
The rain poured down in amazing volume; the ear-splitting thunder-peals
broke nearer and nearer; the wind increased in fury and began to wrench
off boughs and tree-tops and send them sailing away through space;
the pilot-house fell to rocking and straining and cracking and surging,
and I went down in the hold to see what time it was.
People boast a good deal about Alpine thunderstorms;
but the storms which I have had the luck to see in the Alps were not
the equals of some which I have seen in the Mississippi Valley.
I may not have seen the Alps do their best, of course,
and if they can beat the Mississippi, I don't wish to.
On this up trip I saw a little towhead (infant island) half a
mile long, which had been formed during the past nineteen years.
Since there was so much time to spare that nineteen years
of it could be devoted to the construction of a mere towhead,
where was the use, originally, in rushing this whole globe through
in six days? It is likely that if more time had been taken,
in the first place, the world would have been made right, and this
ceaseless improving and repairing would not be necessary now.
But if you hurry a world or a house, you are nearly sure to find
out by and by that you have left out a towhead, or a broom-closet,
or some other little convenience, here and there, which has
got to be supplied, no matter how much expense and vexation
it may cost.
We had a succession of black nights, going up the river, and it was observable
that whenever we landed, and suddenly inundated the trees with the intense
sunburst of the electric light, a certain curious effect was always produced:
hundreds of birds flocked instantly out from the masses of shining
green foliage, and went careering hither and thither through the white rays,
and often a song-bird tuned up and fell to singing. We judged that
they mistook this superb artificial day for the genuine article.
We had a delightful trip in that thoroughly well-ordered steamer,
and regretted that it was accomplished so speedily. By means of diligence
and activity, we managed to hunt out nearly all the old friends.
One was missing, however; he went to his reward, whatever it was,
two years ago. But I found out all about him. His case helped me
to realize how lasting can be the effect of a very trifling occurrence.
When he was an apprentice-blacksmith in our village, and I a schoolboy,
a couple of young Englishmen came to the town and sojourned a while;
and one day they got themselves up in cheap royal finery and did
the Richard III swordfight with maniac energy and prodigious powwow,
in the presence of the village boys. This blacksmith cub was there,
and the histrionic poison entered his bones. This vast, lumbering, ignorant,
dull-witted lout was stage-struck, and irrecoverably. He disappeared,
and presently turned up in St. Louis. I ran across him there, by and by.
He was standing musing on a street corner, with his left hand on his hip,
the thumb of his right supporting his chin, face bowed and frowning,
slouch hat pulled down over his forehead--imagining himself to be Othello
or some such character, and imagining that the passing crowd marked his
tragic bearing and were awestruck.
I joined him, and tried to get him down out of the clouds,
but did not succeed. However, he casually informed me, presently,
that he was a member of the Walnut Street theater company--
and he tried to say it with indifference, but the indifference
was thin, and a mighty exultation showed through it.
He said he was cast for a part in Julius Caesar, for that night,
and if I should come I would see him. IF I should come!
I said I wouldn't miss it if I were dead.
I went away stupefied with astonishment, and saying to myself,
'How strange it is! WE always thought this fellow a fool;
yet the moment he comes to a great city, where intelligence
and appreciation abound, the talent concealed in this shabby
napkin is at once discovered, and promptly welcomed and honored.'
But I came away from the theater that night disappointed and offended;
for I had had no glimpse of my hero, and his name was not in the bills.
I met him on the street the next morning, and before I could speak, he asked--
'Did you see me?'
'No, you weren't there.'
He looked surprised and disappointed. He said--
'Yes, I was. Indeed I was. I was a Roman soldier.'
'Why didn't you see them Roman soldiers that stood back there in a rank,
and sometimes marched in procession around the stage?'
'Do you mean the Roman army?--those six sandaled roustabouts
in nightshirts, with tin shields and helmets, that marched around
treading on each other's heels, in charge of a spider-legged
consumptive dressed like themselves? '
'That's it! that's it! I was one of them Roman soldiers.
I was the next to the last one. A half a year ago I used to always
be the last one; but I've been promoted.'
Well, they told me that that poor fellow remained a Roman soldier to the last--
a matter of thirty-four years. Sometimes they cast him for a 'speaking part,'
but not an elaborate one. He could be trusted to go and say, 'My lord,
the carriage waits,' but if they ventured to add a sentence or two to this,
his memory felt the strain and he was likely to miss fire. Yet, poor devil,
he had been patiently studying the part of Hamlet for more than thirty years,
and he lived and died in the belief that some day he would be invited
to play it!
And this is what came of that fleeting visit of those young
Englishmen to our village such ages and ages ago! What noble
horseshoes this man might have made, but for those Englishmen;
and what an inadequate Roman soldier he DID make!
A day or two after we reached St. Louis, I was walking along Fourth
Street when a grizzly-headed man gave a sort of start as he passed me,
then stopped, came back, inspected me narrowly, with a clouding brow,
and finally said with deep asperity--
'Look here, HAVE YOU GOT THAT DRINK YET?'
A maniac, I judged, at first. But all in a flash I recognized him.
I made an effort to blush that strained every muscle in me,
and answered as sweetly and winningly as ever I knew how--
'Been a little slow, but am just this minute closing in on the place
where they keep it. Come in and help.'
He softened, and said make it a bottle of champagne and he was agreeable.
He said he had seen my name in the papers, and had put all his affairs
aside and turned out, resolved to find me or die; and make me answer
that question satisfactorily, or kill me; though the most of his late
asperity had been rather counterfeit than otherwise.
This meeting brought back to me the St. Louis riots of about
thirty years ago. I spent a week there, at that time,
in a boarding-house, and had this young fellow for a neighbor
across the hall. We saw some of the fightings and killings;
and by and by we went one night to an armory where two
hundred young men had met, upon call, to be armed and go
forth against the rioters, under command of a military man.
We drilled till about ten o'clock at night; then news came
that the mob were in great force in the lower end of the town,
and were sweeping everything before them. Our column moved at once.
It was a very hot night, and my musket was very heavy.
We marched and marched; and the nearer we approached the seat
of war, the hotter I grew and the thirstier I got. I was behind
my friend; so, finally, I asked him to hold my musket while I
dropped out and got a drink. Then I branched off and went home.
I was not feeling any solicitude about him of course,
because I knew he was so well armed, now, that he could take
care of himself without any trouble. If I had had any doubts
about that, I would have borrowed another musket for him.
I left the city pretty early the next morning, and if this
grizzled man had not happened to encounter my name in the papers
the other day in St. Louis, and felt moved to seek me out,
I should have carried to my grave a heart-torturing uncertainty
as to whether he ever got out of the riots all right or not.
I ought to have inquired, thirty years ago; I know that.
And I would have inquired, if I had had the muskets; but, in the
circumstances, he seemed better fixed to conduct the investigations
than I was.
One Monday, near the time of our visit to St. Louis,
the 'Globe-Democrat' came out with a couple of pages of Sunday
statistics, whereby it appeared that 119,448 St. Louis people
attended the morning and evening church services the day before,
and 23,102 children attended Sunday-school. Thus 142,550 persons,
out of the city's total of 400,000 population, respected the day
religious-wise. I found these statistics, in a condensed form,
in a telegram of the Associated Press, and preserved them.
They made it apparent that St. Louis was in a higher state
of grace than she could have claimed to be in my time.
But now that I canvass the figures narrowly, I suspect
that the telegraph mutilated them. It cannot be that there
are more than 150,000 Catholics in the town; the other 250,000
must be classified as Protestants. Out of these 250,000,
according to this questionable telegram, only 26,362 attended
church and Sunday-school, while out of the 150,000 Catholics,
116,188 went to church and Sunday-school.
|Art of Worldly Wisdom Daily|
In the 1600s, Balthasar Gracian, a jesuit priest wrote 300 aphorisms on living life called "The Art of Worldly Wisdom." Join our newsletter below and read them all, one at a time.
Shakespeare wrote over 150 sonnets! Join our Sonnet-A-Day Newsletter and read them all, one at a time.