by John Babb
Eight
I Forgot What I Looked Like
The Three Rivers 1849
Abbie was back from town when they arrived at her cabin. In addition to Ben’s coins from the bank, she had purchased flour, sugar, beans, coffee, and salt for him. She added several generous slices of smoked ham from the pork shoulder hanging against the back wall, one of her soup bowls, and a fork and spoon. Then she added a pound each of dried peaches and apples to his larder. “You’ll need to try to find fruit from time to time so you won’t get the scurvy. Eat this dried fruit when you can’t find anything fresh. Put all your gear in this bag, and don’t trust anybody with it. Here’s your boots. I put a hiding place in each shoe, behind the tongue. Don’t ever let anybody see you getting to your money. If you do, it won’t be yours for very long.”
Ben tried on the boots, took them off, stuffed a scrap of yarn in the toes, tried them again, and pronounced them just right. He hadn’t meant for her to go to all this trouble, but she had assembled much more that he would need than Ben had thought of himself.
“I have something for you that was to be your present when you finished school. It looks like there won’t be any more school this year, so you might as well have it now.” She reached behind her and brought forth two books, handing him the first one. “I don’t think you’ve seen this before. It’s The Three Musketeers by Mr. Alexander Dumas. It will help you to keep your learning sharp, and maybe you’ll think of us when you’re reading.”
The second book was a bit smaller and had a red cloth cover. Ben noticed it didn’t seem to have a title on the front as Abbie handed it to him. “I want you to start writing in this journal. Try to do it every day. You’re going to see things that none of us have ever seen before, and you need to keep a record.” She opened the book, and every page was blank, just sitting there waiting on him. “By the time you fill this journal, you’ll have a story for your children to read some day.”
Mr. Finnerty spoke up. “Recollecting how to read and write don’t stay with you unless you do it on a regular basis. ’Tis kinda like taking a bath. You oughta do it every Saturday night whether you think it’s necessary or not.”
Abbie half-smiled and elbowed her husband. “When you get wherever you’re going, you write us a letter. In fact, you write to us regular. And don’t go getting yourself hurt.” There was a catch in her throat and she turned her face to the side.
Ben hugged her. “Thank you so much for the book and the journal.” He floundered for something to say, but nothing was adequate. “I won’t forget you.” Then he went to Cousin Sue. He promised he would write to her, and someday they would be back together. Sue hung her head down and sobbed silently. Then there was a tear in his eye too. He shook Mr. Finnerty’s hand, “I’ll keep up with my reading and writing. Thanks for all you’ve done for me, trying to watch out for my hiding place and all. That was mighty fine of you.” He grabbed his traveling bag, walked out the door, and was gone. He didn’t dare turn around for a last look, for fear of losing his nerve.
Skirting the river, he avoided the town area of Jeffersonville. It took a full hour for him to reach the docks in Clarksville, and the lower end of the Falls of the Ohio.
My story. On March 20 year of 1849
Abbie says I must tell my story and I don’t kno where to start but already I feel diferent and hope to find my pa soon. Together we are free of that evil woman and will find happynes just the two of us in search of adventure. Here I go only a boy and already see strange sights and mostly strange people. All are bound for Californya with hopes to find gold and happynes forever just like pa and me. The rough men of Lehigh Coal Company from the state of Pennselvania say they picked up their pay and walked off never to look back, which is what I have done too.
For myself I am small, though there is hardly room to lie down at night, and must keep my bag close by from these rough men who look to take what doesn’t belong to them. Last night was awful cold with frost on my blanket this morning. The fare took 2 of my half dollars and I hope I have done the right thing.
Going downstream on the Ohio River to the Mississippi was a relatively easy trip. The riverboat captain was comfortable with traveling during daylight but didn’t dare take a chance on challenging the river, with its hidden and shifting gravel bars and floating logs, in the dark. Before dusk of the second day, his steamboat, along with six others, was tied to the dock in Cairo, Illinois, less than a half-mile upstream from where the Ohio joined with the Mississippi.
What Ben failed to discover was that one of the boatmen traveling back upstream on another steamship—back toward Jeffersonville—was his pa. Daniel Windes had made it all the way to New Orleans but soon discovered that everybody headed to the gold fields was trying to convince the steamship captains that they should be allowed to work their way on the voyage rather than pay the price of a ticket from New Orleans, around the Horn to San Francisco. Daniel was one of at least a hundred men who were trying to compete for every job that would allow them to avoid the fare.
When Daniel asked Captain Lige Sunday about the prospects of working his way to California, the boatman made him a different proposition. “Every man on my steamship is trying to be a gold miner. Nobody is interested in going back upstream. What do you know about working on a riverboat?”
“Well, that’s really all I know. I spent the last four years workin’ fer Captain Sprague out of Pittsburg. I worked aboard his steamboat on the run to Louisville and back, and some at his warehouse too.”
Captain Sunday looked at him with a different eye. “I’m paying two dollars a day, plus two meals a day from the kitchen if you’ll work the boat from here to Louisville and back. I won’t tolerate drunkenness, and you won’t be paid for the time we’re in port in either New Orleans or Louisville. And one more thing, if you do jump ship in New Orleans to go off searching for gold, I’ll hunt you down and beat the tar out of you for not holding up your end of the bargain.”
Daniel looked at the stocky captain, started to tell him he might have something to say about a beating, but clamped his mouth shut. He was amazed at the offer—it was more than double what he had been making in Jeffersonville. He was also very hungry, as it had been a day and a half since he had eaten, and there didn’t seem to be a meal in sight except for the captain’s offer. Also, working all the way back upstream to Louisville would allow him to get back to his wife on a regular basis. He was already missing her in a terrible way, and besides, he wanted the chance to talk to his son again. That last conversation just didn’t come out the way it should have, and it had been eating at him.
He quickly changed professions, from prospector back to waterman, and said yes to the offer. Thus, he found himself in Cairo at the same time as his son, but traveling in opposing directions. Neither of them would ever know they had passed this way.
The deck passage fare up the Mississippi to St. Louis was two dollars, entitling Ben to no more space than was required for him and his bag to lay on the main deck, along with a couple of hundred others. This compared to the second deck fare of twelve dollars. But the second deck not only offered the traveler a bed of sorts to sleep in and a chair on the bright and airy upper deck but access to the exorbitant fare in the dining hall.
The main deck was another matter. Passengers there were mixed with the crew, and no one had enough room. It was bad enough that two hundred men were crammed into a deck less than 140 feet long, but they shared that space with much of the cargo—bags of grain, crates of clothing and shoes, tools of all kinds, and assorted gear that was sought by settlers and miners heading west. The hold below the water line was packed as well, but there was barely enough room for a short man to stand upright in the hold, so there was very little space below decks, and at least a portion of the hold contained bilge water.
Going against the current on the Mississippi to St. Louis was not only more expensive, but it was considerably slower—and far noisier—than his downstream passage on the Ohio River. Th
e sounds on the main deck were coming from all directions. The gigantic paddle wheel was approximately thirty feet in diameter and comprised of twenty-four separate paddles, with each one measuring six feet across. The sound of those paddles smacking the water and exiting the river dripping with gallons of water about four times a second was like a constantly repeating dull thunder. This combined with the rattling of chains on the gears, the constant pumping of the stroke, and the roar of steam escaping. It was an assault on one’s senses, and there was no getting away from it on the main deck. Normal conversation was out of the question. Only shouting in someone’s ear was effective.
Each evening the crew lit torches composed of a bundle of sticks dipped in whale oil, hanging them from iron fire-baskets that extended six feet out over the water. In this way, work could be done at night as the crew loaded firewood for the boiler from bank to boat.
On the second morning out, the boat captain announced that they would be in St. Louis the following evening. There seemed to be much anticipation among the crew and the male passengers that various businesses in St. Louis promised every customer a considerable good time. There was also a great deal of conversation regarding comparisons of the various attributes of one young lady versus those of another in the city.
That same day, Ben made the acquaintance of a former shopkeeper, Mr. Thadeus Green, from Washington City. Ben estimated Mr. Green at no more than thirty years old. He was a short man with hair that didn’t seem to go with his face. His skin didn’t have a wrinkle on it, yet it appeared that his hair was almost entirely silver. He combed his hair straight back from his forehead. It was quite wavy and had enough pomade applied to make it glisten in the sun like a wet rock. Ben also thought he could smell lavender water when the man passed him by.
Mr. Green walked with an obvious limp, and the first time he sensed that Ben had noticed the disability, he was quick to pull up his pant leg, point to a terrible scar that ran the length of his deformed calf, and exclaim, “I almost cut my leg off with an axe. That’s why I ran a haberdashery. When people saw my limp, they weren’t too interested in letting me work at most jobs, so I sold hats for a living. However, I don’t think my leg is going to interfere one bit with me finding gold. President Polk himself says there’s gold in California, and I aim to get enough of it to never have to stick a hat on another man’s head for as long as I live.”
Ben had put it off until now, but he just had to start sometime, and the steamboat seemed like as good a time as any to try out his idea. Particularly since this man apparently had some money. He spent a few minutes working up his courage, then, “Mr. Green, how long have you been traveling from Washington City?”
“I left there about a month ago.”
“I couldn’t help but notice the length of your hair. It appears that it’s been a while since you’ve gotten a haircut. It seems a shame to go ashore in St. Louis with all the pretty girls they talk about there, without putting your best foot forward.”
The man pushed his hair back on his head. “Maybe I can find a barber in St. Louis.”
“Well,” Ben replied with as much confidence as he could muster, “the captain said we wouldn’t get there until tomorrow evening, so probably you won’t find one that’s still open for business at that hour. I happen to know how to cut hair, and I don’t mean just trimming around a bowl either. I could do it right here on board for twenty cents.”
Mr. Green looked dubious. “How’d a young boy like you learn to cut hair?”
“I took lessons while I lived in Indiana. I can do a real good job, too.” Ben tried not to hold his breath.
Mr. Green was torn, but he did want to look his best the following night. “I guess it can’t be too bad. Anyways, it grows pretty fast. And if it looks too rough, I’ll just wear my hat. Let’s give it a go.”
Ben retrieved his tools and seated Mr. Green out of the cold wind, but in a prominent enough position on deck that lots of passengers would see him working. He had been practicing the evening before using the comb and scissors but only on a frayed burlap bag full of seed corn. Mr. Green would have shuddered to know that his pride and joy was about to be subjected to the skills of a complete novice, and Ben hoped he didn’t accidentally poke a hole in his customer like he had the burlap bag.
He wet his hands several times and ran them through Mr. Green’s hair. There was enough grease on the man’s head that he had to wipe his hands dry before beginning so the scissors wouldn’t slide through his fingers. He started tentatively, remembering as much as he could about his stepmother’s technique, then began to gain a bit more confidence as he moved around the head. It was quite a spectacle, with the puffed up storekeeper sitting there on a box, along with a high opinion of himself, and the young barber standing on an overturned bucket, yet still just barely able to reach the top of his customer’s head with one hand and cut his hair at a straight angle with the other.
By this time, he had an audience of ten or twelve men who were surprised to see the way Ben was cutting. Many had undoubtedly only been the beneficiaries of a bowl-cut previously, so they were convinced they were watching someone who knew what he was doing. Ben took special care to cut the sideburns at exactly the same length, standing in front of Mr. Green and sighting at his ears before making a few adjustments. Relieved that he hadn’t drawn blood, when he thought he was finished, he combed the hair straight back, made another few corrective snips, and presented the mirror for Mr. Green’s inspection.
He had dubious help from the audience. “Thadeus, you look like the south end of a northbound possum. You’d best stay on the boat in St. Louis. Ain’t no woman gonna give you a second look less’n you put a flour sack over yore head.”
“Before ye look in that mirror, just remember every road has a few puddles.”
“Did anybody see that injun what scalped poor old Thadeus?”
“Looks like somebody stuck an old silver-backed badger pelt on top of yore head.”
Mr. Green paid them no attention whatsoever, held the mirror in his left hand, re-combed his hair with the right, patted his hair on both sides, and handed over a full quarter. “All in all a good job. Thank you.”
“I don’t have a half-dime for change.”
“It’s a quarter haircut. That’s what you should charge.”
Ben tried not to show his relief but couldn’t keep himself from grinning. “Anybody else want a haircut?”
It had been quite some time since his second customer had been to a barber of any kind—with or without a bowl. The man’s hair hung below his shoulders on the sides, and when he removed his hat, the hair in the front fell down past his nose.
“I aim to look every bit as good as the feller that just got off’n this box, as I figger on havin’ a real good time in St. Louis.” Several in the audience laughed, but Ben went to work with vigor. The man’s hair not only had not been cut, but apparently, he did not own a comb. Most of the tangles were simply cut away and dropped to the deck, but those close to the scalp had to be combed out, with accompanying yelps from the customer.
Even worse, when Ben parted his hair, he saw two red circles with raised bumps on the man’s scalp. Ben had seen this before. He leaned over and whispered in the man’s ear that he believed he had ringworm. The man jerked his head around but was immediately appreciative that Ben had said this in a voice that was not heard by the audience. “Sir, my aunt used sulfur and coal tar on ringworm. If you’ll apply it every day, it should be completely gone in about a week.”
Upon completion, the man was very white on his forehead and neck where the sun had not been able to penetrate for several years, but he too was a happy customer. At least one person told him they had no idea he looked like that. Ben decided it would be best to wash his comb and scissors after he cut someone’s hair. He didn’t know if ringworm or other maladies could be transferred to someone else, but he decided not to take chances.
After that, a line formed. He was busy until the call for supper. O
ther than a fiery red blister on his right thumb, Ben was thrilled with the results of his new occupation.
My story. On March 25 year of 1849
It is true. I am now a barber who took in sum of two and one half dollars today, and hope to do more of same tomorrow. The foulest of these travelers improved their looks considerable thanks to my new found barbering, and claim to be ready to meet up with the ladies of Saint Louis. I feel some easier now altho the frozen air torments us. I note ice along the ropes as the torch light allows me to pen this entry. Tho tired from my day as a professinel I remain better at ease with my decision to set out on my own. It is hard to write, as the steamboat is taking quite a beating on our way up river.
With his thumb wrapped in a rag, the next day he was busy until the lights of the city came into view. After they docked, his last customer was the ship’s first mate. “Boy, everybody on this boat knows you’ve taken in quite a bit of money these last two days. And several of these fellers would cut yore throat for four or five dollars. They’re all gettin’ off the boat here, ’cause we’re turnin’ back around tomorrow. I really liked seein’ you workin’ so hard the past couple of days. I hope my own boy has as much gumption.”
“You might think about findin’ a place out of sight to sleep and mebbe stayin’ on this here boat ’til mornin’. Then around sun-up, you get off the boat and make tracks for one of the steamboats gettin’ ready to head up the Missouri. You’ll find ’em around the bend about a half mile south of here, where the Missouri strikes the Mississip. Everbody what was on this boat’ll probably still be sleepin’ off their good time, and you can git outa here with all yore money and all yore gizzard.”