The Quadroon: Adventures in the Far West

by Mayne Reid

  CHAPTER FORTY TWO.

  THE WHARF-BOAT.

  I now only waited a boat to convey me to New Orleans. I knew that Ishould not have long to wait. The annual epidemic was on the decline,and the season of business and pleasure in the "Crescent City" was aboutcommencing. Already the up-river steamers were afloat on all thetributary streams of the mighty Mississippi, laden with the produce ofits almost limitless valley, and converging towards the great Southernentrepot of American commerce. I might expect a "down-boat" every day,or rather indeed every hour.

  I resolved to take the first boat that came along.

  The hotel in which I dwelt, as well as the whole village, stood at aconsiderable distance from the boat landing. It had been built so fromprecaution. The banks of the Mississippi at this place, and for athousand miles above and below, are elevated but a few feet above thesurface level of its water; and, in consequence of the continuousdetrition, it is no uncommon occurrence for large slips to give way, andbe swept off in the red whirling current. It might be supposed that intime this never-ceasing action of the water would widen the stream tounnatural dimensions. But, no. For every encroachment on one bankthere is a corresponding formation against the opposite,--a depositcaused by the eddy which the new curve has produced, so that the riverthus preserves its original breadth. This remarkable action may benoted from the _embouchure_ of the Ohio to the mouth of the Mississippiitself, though at certain points the extent of the encroachment and theformation that neutralises it is much greater than at others. In someplaces the "wearing away" of the bank operates so rapidly that in a fewdays the whole site of a village, or even a plantation, may disappear.Not unfrequently, too, during the high spring-floods this eccentricstream takes a "near cut" across the neck of one of its own "bends," andin a few hours a channel is formed, through which pours the wholecurrent of the river. Perhaps a plantation may have been established inthe concavity of this bend,--perhaps three or four of them,--and theplanter who has gone to sleep under the full belief that he had builthis house upon a _continent_, awakes in the morning to find himself theinhabitant of an island! With dismay he beholds the vast volume ofred-brown water rolling past, and cutting off his communication with themainland. He can no longer ride to his neighbouring village without theaid of an expensive ferry. His wagons will no longer serve him to"haul" to market his huge cotton-bales or hogsheads of sugar andtobacco; and, prompted by a feeling of insecurity--lest the next wildsweep of the current may carry himself, his house, and his severalhundred half-naked negroes along with it--he flees from his home, andretires to some other part of the stream, where he may deem the land inless danger of such unwelcome intrusion.

  In consequence of these eccentricities a safe site for a town isextremely rare upon the Lower Mississippi. There are but few points inthe last five hundred miles of its course where natural elevations offerthis advantage. The artificial embankment, known as the "Levee," has insome measure remedied the deficiency, and rendered the towns andplantations _comparatively_ secure.

  As already stated, my hotel was somewhat out of the way. A boat mighttouch at the landing and be off again without my being warned of it. Adown-river-boat, already laden, and not caring to obtain furtherfreight, would not stop long; and in a "tavern" upon the Mississippi youmust not confide in the punctuality of "Boots," as you would in a Londonhotel. Your chances of being waked by Sambo, ten times sleepier thanyourself, are scarcely one in a hundred.

  I had ample experience of this; and, fearing that the boat might pass ifI remained at the hotel, I came to the resolve to settle my affairs inthat quarter and at once transport myself and my _impedimenta_ to thelanding.

  I should not be entirely without shelter. There was no house; but anold steamboat, long since condemned as not "river-worthy," lay at thelanding. This hulk, moored by strong cables to the bank, formed anexcellent floating wharf; while its spacious deck, cabins, and saloons,served as a storehouse for all sorts of merchandise. It was, in fact,used both as a landing and warehouse, and was known as the "wharf-boat."

  It was late,--nearly midnight,--as I stepped aboard the wharf-boat.Stragglers from the town, who may have had business there, had all goneaway, and the owner of the store-boat was himself absent. A drowsynegro, his _locum tenens_, was the only human thing that offered itselfto my eyes. The lower deck of the boat was tenanted by this individual,who sat behind a counter that enclosed one corner of the apartment.Upon this counter stood a pair of scales, with weights, a large ball ofcoarse twine, a rude knife, and such other implements as may be seen ina country "store;" and upon shelves at the back were ranged bottles ofcoloured liquors, glasses, boxes of hard biscuit, "Western reserve"cheeses, kegs of rancid butter, plugs of tobacco, and bundles ofinferior cigars,--in short, all the etceteras of a regular "grocery."The remaining portion of the ample room was littered with merchandise,packed in various forms. There were boxes, barrels, bags, and bales;some on their way up-stream, that had come by New Orleans from distantlands, while others were destined downward: the rich product of thesoil, to be borne thousands of miles over the wide Atlantic. With thesevarious packages every part of the floor was occupied, and I looked invain for a spot on which to stretch myself. A better light might haveenabled me to discover such a place; but the tallow candle, gutteringdown the sides of an empty champagne-bottle, but dimly lit up theconfusion. It just sufficed to guide me to the only occupant of theplace, upon whose sombre face the light faintly flickered.

  "Asleep, uncle?" I said, approaching him.

  A gruff reply from an American negro is indeed a rarity, and never givento a question politely put. The familiar style of my address touched asympathetic chord in the bosom of the "darkie," and a smile ofsatisfaction gleamed upon his features as he made answer. Of course hewas _not_ asleep. But my idle question was only meant as the prelude tofurther discourse.

  "Ah, Gollys! it be massa Edward. Uncle Sam know'd you, massa Edward.You good to brack folk. Wat can do uncle Sam for massa?"

  "I am going down to the city, and have come here to wait for a boat. Isit likely one will pass to-night?"

  "Sure, massa--sure be a boat dis night. Bossy 'spect a boat from de Redribber dis berry night--either de Houma or de Choctuma."

  "Good! and now, uncle Sam, if you will find me six feet of level plank,and promise to rouse me when the boat comes in sight, I shall not grudgeyou this half dollar."

  The sudden enlargement of the whites of undo Sam's eyes showed thesatisfaction he experienced at the sight of the shining piece of metal.Without more ado he seized the champagne-bottle that hold the candle;and, gliding among the boxes and bales, conducted me to a stairway thatled to the second or cabin-deck of the boat. We climbed up, and enteredthe saloon.

  "Dar, massa, plenty of room--uncle Sam he sorry dar's ne'er a bed, butif massa could sleep on these yeer coffee-bags, he berry welcome--berrywelcome. I leave dis light wi' massa. I can get anoder for self b'low.Good night, massa Edward--don't fear I wake you--no fear ob dat."

  And so saying, the kind-hearted black set the bottle-candlestick uponthe floor; and, passing down the stair again, left me to my reflections.

  With such poor light as the candle afforded, I took a careless survey ofmy apartment. There was plenty of room, as uncle Sam had said. It wasthe cabin of the old steamboat; and as the partition-doors had beenbroken off and carried away, the ladies' cabin, main saloon, and front,were now all in one. Together they formed a hall of more than a hundredfeet in length, and from where I stood, near the centre, both ends werelost to my view in the darkness. The state-rooms on each side werestill there, with their green Venetian doors. Some of these were shut,while others stood ajar, or quite open. The gilding and ornaments, dimfrom age and use, adorned the sides and ceiling of the hall; and overthe arched entrance of the main saloon the word "Sultana," in goldletters that still glittered brightly, informed me that I was now insidethe "carcase" of one of the most famous boats that ever cleft the watersof the Mississip
pi.

  Strange thoughts came into my mind as I stood regarding this desolatesaloon. Silent and solitary it seemed--even more so I thought thanwould some lonely spot in the midst of a forest. The very absence ofthose sounds that one is accustomed to hear in such a place--thegrinding of the machinery--the hoarse detonations of the 'scape-pipe--the voices of men--the busy hum of conversation, or the ringing laugh--the absence of the sights, too--the brilliant chandeliers--the longtables sparkling with crystal--the absence of these, and yet thepresence of the scene associated with such sights and sounds--gave tothe place an air of indescribable desolation. I felt as one within theruins of some old convent, or amidst the tombs of an antique cemetery.

  No furniture of any kind relieved the monotony of the place. The onlyvisible objects were the coarse gunny-bags strewed over the floor, andupon which uncle Sam had made me welcome to repose myself.

  After surveying my odd chamber, and giving way to some singularreflections, I began to think of disposing of myself for sleep. I waswearied. My health was not yet restored. The clean bast of thecoffee-bags looked inviting. I dragged half-a-dozen of them together,placed them side by side, and then, throwing myself upon my back, drewmy cloak over me. The coffee-berries yielded to the weight of my body,giving me a comfortable position, and in less than five minutes I fellasleep.