THE WRECKING OF THE MISSOURI BELLE
Tom grasped his companion's arm and hurried her toward the place where
the yawl was tied as shouts, curses, tearing wood and a panic-stricken
crowd of passengers pouring out of the cabins and rooms turned the night
into a pandemonium, over which the hysterical blasts of the whistle
bellowed its raucous calls for help far and wide across water and land.
There came a rush of feet and several groups of passengers dashed toward
the yawl, but stopped abruptly and hesitated as the Colt in Tom's hand
glinted coldly in the soft light of a cabin window.
"Women first!" he snarled, savage as an animal at bay. "I'll kill th'
first man that comes any closer! Get those bullboats overside, an'
somebody round up th' other women an' bring 'em here! Keep cool, an'
everybody'll be saved--lose yore heads an' we'll all die, _some_
quicker'n others! Not another step forward!"
"Right ye air, friend," said a voice, and Zack, pistol in hand, dropped
from the deck above and alighted at Tom's side like a fighting bobcat.
"Put over them bullboats--an' be shore ye get hold o' th' ropes when ye
do. _Lady!_" he shouted, catching sight of an emigrant and his wife.
"Come hyar! An' you," he commanded her husband, "stan' by us--shoot ter
kill if ye pulls trigger. Fine bunch o' cattle!" he sneered, and the
rapidly growing crowd, finding that the guns facing them did not waver,
turned and stampeded for the bullboats, every man of it bellowing orders
and getting in the way of everyone else. There came a splash, a chorus
of curses as a bullboat, thrown overboard upside down, slipped away in
the darkness.
"Right side up, ye tarnation fools!" roared a voice, accompanied by a
solid smash as a hunter near the boats knocked down a frantic freighter
and took charge of the mob. "I'm fixin' fer to kill somebody!" he
yelled. "Hang onter that rope or I'll spatter yer brains all over
creation! Right side up, damn ye! Hold her! Thar! Now then, put over
another--if ye git in that boat till I says so ye won't have no need fer
it!"
Friends coming to his aid helped him hold the milling mob, and their
coolness and determination, tried in many ticklish situations, stood
them in good stead.
"Ask th' captain how bad she is!" shouted Tom as he caught sight of Joe
Cooper tearing through the crowd like a madman. "I got Patience an'
another woman here!"
"I might 'a' known it," yelled Uncle Joe, fighting back the way he had
come. In a moment he returned and shouted until the frantic crowd gave
him heed. "Cap'n says she can't sink! Cap'n says she can't sink! Listen,
damn ye! Cap'n says she can't sink. He's groundin' her on a bar! Keep
'em out of them boats, boys! _Don't_ let them fools get in th' boats!
Not till th' very last thing! They'll only swamp 'em."
"Good fer you, St. Louis!" roared a mountaineer, playing with a skinning
knife in most suggestive manner.
"Th' boilers'll blow up! Th' boilers'll blow up! Look out for th'
boilers!" yelled a tenderfoot, fighting to get to the boats. "They'll
blow up! They'll blow----"
Zack took one swift step sideways and brought the butt of his pistol
down on the jumping jack's head. "Let 'em blow, sister!" he shouted.
"_You_ won't hear 'em! Any more scared o' th' boilers?" he yelled,
facing the crowd menacingly. "They won't blow up till th' water gits to
'em, an' when it does we'll all be knee-deep in it. Thar on this hyar
deck, ye sheep!"
One man was running around in a circle not five feet across, moaning and
blubbering. Tom glanced at him as he came around and stepped quickly
forward, his foot streaking out and up. It caught the human pinwheel on
the chest and he turned a beautiful back flip into the crowd. Zack's
booming laugh roared out over the water and he slapped Tom resoundingly
on the shoulder.
"More fun right hyar than in a free-fer-all at a winter rendyvoo,
pardner. You kick wuss nor a mule. An' whar _you_ goin'?" he asked a
tin-horn gambler who took advantage of his lapse of alertness to dart
past him. Zack swung his stiff arm and the gambler bounced back as
though he had been struck with a club. "Thar's plenty o' it hyar if yer
lookin' fer it," he shouted, raising his pistol.
Uncle Joe clawed his way back again, Tom's double-barreled rifle in his
hands, and grimly took his place at his friend's side. Suddenly he
cocked his head and then heard Tom's voice bellow past his ear.
"Listen, you fools! Th' fur boat! Th' fur boat!" he yelled at the top of
his lungs. His companions and the other little group of resolute men
took up the cry, and as the furor of the crowd died down, the answering
blasts rolled up the river. Suddenly a light, and then an orderly series
of them pushed out from behind the last bend downstream, and showers of
sparks from the belching stacks of the oncoming fur company boat danced
and whirled high into the night, the splashing tattoo of her churning
paddles sounding like music between the reassuring blasts of her
whistle. The two stokers hanging from the levers of her safety valves
kicked their feet in time with her whistle, not knowing which kick would
usher them on an upward journey ending at St. Peter's eager gate. Their
skins were as black as the rods they swung from, but their souls were as
white as their rolling eyes.
"Thank God!" screamed a woman who was fighting her way through the crowd
toward Tom's post, her clothing nearly torn from her; and at the words
she sagged to the deck, inert, unresisting. Tom leaped forward and
hauled her back with him, passed her on to Patience and resumed his grim
guard.
A great shout, still tinged with horror and edged with fear, arose from
the decks of the _Belle_ and thundered across the river, the answering
roar chopped up by the insistent whistle. Several red, stringy,
rapier-like flashes pierced the night and the heavy reports barked
across the hurrying water, to be juggled by a great cliff on the north
bank.
Captain Newell had been busy. Learning that cool minds were dominating
the panicky crowd, and that the bullboats were being properly launched
and were ready for use if the worst came, he gave his undivided
attention to the saving of the _Belle_. Her paddle still thrashed, but
at a speed just great enough to overcome the current and to hold the
snag in the wound it had made. Experience told him that once she drew
back from that slimy assassin blade and fully opened the rent in her
hull her sinking would follow swiftly. Already men had sounded the river
on both sides and reported a steep slant to the bottom, twenty feet of
water on the port side and fifteen on the starboard. One of the spare
yawls, manned by two officers and a deck hand, shot away from the boat
and made hurried soundings to starboard, the called depths bringing a
look of hope to the captain's face. Forty yards to the right lay a
nearly flat bar; but could he make that forty yards? There remained no
choice but to try, for while the _Missouri Belle_, if she sank in her
present position, would not be entirely submerged, she would be even
less so every foot she made toward the shallows.
Part of the crew already had weighted one edge of a buffalo hide and
stood in the bow, directly over the snag, which luckily had pierced the
hull more above than below the water line. The captain signalled and the
great paddle wheel turned swiftly full speed astern. The grating,
splitting sound of the snag leaving the hull was followed by a shouted
order and the hide was lowered overside and instantly sucked against the
rent; and the paddle wheel, quickly reversing, pushed the boat ahead at
an angle to the current until, low in the water, she grounded solidly on
the edge of the flat bar. Anchors were set and cables made taut while
the _Belle_ settled firmly on the sandy bottom and rested almost on an
even keel. There she would stay if the river continued to fall, until
the rent was fully exposed and repaired; and there she would stay,
repaired, until another rise floated her. The captain signalled for the
paddles to stop and then drew a heavy arm across his forehead, sighed,
and turned to face the fur company packet.
The passengers were becoming calm by stages, but the calm was largely
the reaction of hysteria for a few moments until common sense walled up
the breach. Every eye now watched the oncoming steamboat, which had
sailed doggedly ahead for the past two nights and days while the _Belle_
had loitered against the banks. Even the most timid were now calmed by
the sight of her lighted cabins as she ploughed toward her stricken
sister. Fearful of the snag, she came to a stop when nearly abreast of
the _Belle_ and the two captains held a short and shouted conversation.
Her yawl soon returned and reported the water safe, but shoaling
rapidly; and at this information she turned slightly oblique to the
current and, sounding every few feet, crept up to within two gangplanks'
reach of the _Belle_ and anchored bow and stern. Her own great landing
stage swung out over the cheated waters and hung poised while that of
the _Belle_ circled out to meet it, waveringly, as though it had lost a
valuable sense. They soon touched, were made to coincide and then lashed
securely together. At once, women first, the passengers of the _Belle_
began to cross the arched span a few at a time, and sighed with relief
as they reached the deck of the uninjured vessel. On the main deck of
the _Belle_ the crew already was piling up such freight as could be
taken from the hold and the sound of hammering at her bow told of
temporary repairs being made.
Among the last to leave the _Belle_ were Uncle Joe and Tom and as they
started toward the gangplank, Captain Newell hurriedly passed them,
stopped, retraced his steps, and gripped their hands tightly as he
wished them a safe arrival at Independence. Then he plunged out of
sight toward the engine room.
The transfer completed, the fur company boat cast free, raised her
anchors, and sidled cautiously back into the channel. Blowing a hoarse
salute, she straightened out into the current and surged ahead,
apparently in no way daunted by the fate of her sister. Captain Graves
had commanded a heavily loaded boat when he left St. Louis and the
addition of over a hundred passengers and their personal belongings, for
whom some sort of provision must be made in sleeping arrangements and
food, urged him to get to Independence Landing as quickly as he could.
Turning from his supervision of the housing of the gangplank, he bumped
into Uncle Joe, was about to apologize, and then peered into the face of
his new passenger. The few lights which had been placed on deck to help
in the transfer of the passengers, enabled him to recognize the next to
the last man across the plank and his greeting was sharp and friendly.
"Joe Cooper, or I'm blind!" he exclaimed. "Alone, Joe?"
"Got my niece with me, and my friend, Tom Boyd, here."
"Glad to meet you, Mr. Boyd--seems to me I've heard something about a
Tom Boyd fouling the official craft of the Government of New Mexico,"
said the captain, shaking hands with the young plainsman. "We'll do our
best for you-all the rest of the night, and we'll put Miss Cooper in my
cabin. We ought to reach Independence early in the morning. I suppose
that's your destination? Take you on to Westport just as easily."
"Independence is where I started for," said Uncle Joe.
"Then we'll put you ashore there, no matter what the condition of the
landing is. It's easier to land passengers than cargo. But let me tell
you that if you are aiming to go in business there, that Westport is the
coming town since the river ruined the lower landing. Let's see if the
cook's got any hot coffee ready, and a bite to eat: he's had time
enough, anyhow. Come on. First we'll find Miss Cooper and the other
women. I had them all taken to one place. Come on."
Shortly after dawn Tom awakened, rose on one elbow on the blanket he had
thrown on the deck and looked around. Uncle Joe snored softly and
rhythmically on his hard bed, having refused to rob any man of his
berth. He had accepted one concession, however, by throwing his blanket
on the floor of the texas, where he not only would be close to his
niece, but removed from the other men of the _Belle_, many of whom were
not at all reassuring in the matter of personal cleanliness. Arising,
Tom went to a window and looked out, seeing a clear sky and green,
rolling hills and patches of timber bathed in the slanting sunlight. A
close scrutiny of the bank apprised him that they were not far from
Independence Landing and he stepped to the rail to look up the river.
Far upstream on a sharp bend on the south bank were the remains of Old
Fort Clark, as it was often called. About twenty miles farther on the
same side of the river was his destination. He turned to call Uncle Joe
and met the captain at the door of the texas; and he thought he caught a
glimpse of a head bobbing back behind the corner of the cabin. As he
hesitated as to whether to go and verify his eyes, the captain accosted
him, and he stood where he was.
"Fine day, Mr. Boyd," said the officer. "Sleep well on the soft side of
the deck?"
Tom laughed. "I can sleep well any place, captain. If I could have
scooped out a hollow for my hips I wouldn't feel quite so stiff."
"Let me know as soon as Miss Cooper appears and I'll have some breakfast
sent up to her. If you'd like a bite now, come with me."
"Thank you; you are very considerate. I'll call Uncle Joe and bring him
with me."
"You will, hey?" said a voice from the texas. "Uncle Joe is ready right
now, barring the aches of his old bones; and I've just been interrupted
by Patience. She says she can chew chunks out of the cups, she's so
hungry. What's that? You didn't? All right; all right; I'm backing up
again! Have it your own way; you will, anyhow, in the end."
"You stay right where you are, Miss Cooper," called the captain. "I'll
send up breakfast enough for six, and if you keep an eye on this pair
perhaps you can get a bit of it. And let me tell you that it's lucky
that you're real hungry, for the fare on this boat is even worse than it
was on the _Belle_. I'll go right down and look to it."
Breakfast over, the three went out to explore the boat, Patience taking
interest in its human cargo, especially its original passengers, and she
had a good chance to observe them during the absence of the rescued
passengers of the _Belle_, to whom had been given the courtesy of the
first use of the dining-room.
Almost all of the original list on this boat were connected in some way
with the fur trade, the exceptions being a few travelers bound for the
upper Missouri, and two noncommissioned officers going out to Fort
Leavenworth, who had missed the _Belle_ at St Louis, missed her again at
St. Charles, and had been taken aboard by Captain Graves, who would have
to stop at the Fort for inspection.
The others covered all the human phases of the fur business and included
one _bourgeois_, or factor; two partisans, or heads of expeditions;
several clerks, numerous hunters and trappers, both free and under
contract to the company; half a dozen "pork-eaters," who were green
hands engaged for long periods of service by the company and bound to it
almost as tightly and securely as though they were slaves. Some of them
found this to be true, when they tried to desert, later on. They were
called "pork-eaters" because the term now meant about the same as the
word "tenderfeet," and its use came from the habit of the company to
import green hands from Canada under contracts which not only made them
slaves for five years, but almost always left them in the company's debt
at the expiration of their term of service. On the way from Canada they
had been fed on a simple and monotonous diet, its chief article being
pork; and gradually the expression came to be used among the more
experienced voyageurs to express the abstract idea of greenness. There
were camp-keepers, voyageurs, a crew of keelboatmen going up to the
"navy yard" above Fort Union and two skilled boat-builders bound for the
same place; artisans, and several Indians returning either to one of the
posts or to their own country. They made a picturesque assemblage, and
their language, being Indian, English, and French, or rather,
combinations of all three, was not less so than their appearance. Over
them all the bully of the boat, who had reached his semi-official
position through elimination by consent and by combat, exercised a more
or less orderly supervision as to their bickerings and general behavior,
and relieved the boat's officers of much responsibility.
The boat stopped a few minutes at Liberty Landing and then went on,
rounding the nearly circular bend, and as the last turn was made and the
steamboat headed westward again there was a pause in the flurry which
had been going on among the rescued passengers ever since Liberty
Landing had been left. Independence Landing was now close at hand and
the eager crowd marked time until the bank should be reached.
Soon the boat headed in toward what was left of the once fine landing,
its slowly growing ruin being responsible for the rising importance of
the little hamlet of Westport not far above, and for the later and
pretentious Kansas City which was to arise on the bluff behind the
little frontier village. Independence was losing its importance as a
starting point for the overland traffic in the same way that she had
gained it. First it had been Franklin, then Fort Osage, then Blue Mills,
and then Independence; but now, despite its commanding position on one
of the highest bluffs along the river and its prestige from being the
county seat, the latter was slowly settling in the background and giving
way to Westport; but it was not to give up at once, nor entirely, for
the newer terminals had to share their prominence with it, and until the
end of the overland traffic Independence played its part.
The landing was a busy place. Piles of cordwood and freight, the latter
in boxes, barrels, and crates, flanked the landing on three sides;
several kinds of new wagons in various stages of assembling were scenes
of great activity. Most of these were from Pittsburg and had come all
the way by water. A few were of the size first used on the great trail,
with a capacity of about a ton and a half; but most were much larger and
could carry nearly twice as much as the others. Great bales of Osnaburg
sheets, or wagon covers, were in a pile by themselves, glistening white
in their newness. It appeared that the cargo of the _John Auld_ had not
yet been transported up the bluff to the village on the summit.
The landing became very much alive as the fur company's boat swung in
toward it, the workers who hourly expected the _Missouri Belle_ crowding
to the water's edge to welcome the rounding boat, whose whistle early
had apprised them that she was stopping. Free negroes romped and sang,
awaiting their hurried tasks under exacting masters, the bosses of the
gangs; but this time there was to be no work for them. Vehicles of all
kinds, drawn by oxen, mules, and horses, made a solid phalanx around the
freight piles, among them the wagons of Aull and Company, general
outfitters for all kinds of overland journeys. The narrow, winding road
from the water front up to and onto the great bluff well back from the
river was sticky with mud and lined with struggling teams pulling heavy
loads.
When the fur company boat drew near enough for those on shore to see its
unusual human cargo, both as to numbers and kinds, conjecture ran high.
This hardy traveler of the whole navigable river was no common packet,
stopping almost any place to pick up any person who waved a hat, but a
supercilious thoroughbred which forged doggedly into the vast wilderness
of the upper river. Even her curving swing in toward the bank was made
with a swagger and hinted at contempt for any landing under a thousand
miles from her starting point.
Shouts rang across the water and were followed by great excitement on
the bank. Because of the poor condition of the landing she worked her
way inshore with unusual care and when the great gangplank finally
bridged the gap her captain nodded with relief. In a few moments, her
extra passengers ashore, she backed out into the hurrying stream and
with a final blast of her whistle, pushed on up the river.
Friends met friends, strangers advised strangers, and the accident to
the _Belle_ was discussed with great gusto. Impatiently pushing out of
the vociferous crowd, Joe Cooper and his two companions swiftly found a
Dearborn carriage which awaited them and, leaving their baggage to
follow in the wagon of a friend, started along the deeply rutted,
prairie road for the town; Schoolcraft, his partner, and his Mexican
friend sloping along behind them on saddle horses through the lane of
mud. The trip across the bottoms and up the great bluff was wearisome
and tiring. They no sooner lurched out of one rut than they dropped into
another, with the mud and water often to the axles, and they continually
were forced to climb out of the depressed road and risk upsettings on
the steep, muddy banks to pass great wagons hopelessly mired,
notwithstanding their teams of from six to a dozen mules or oxen.
Mud-covered drivers shouted and swore from their narrow seats, or waded
about their wagons up to the middle in the cold ooze. If there was
anything worse than a prairie road in the spring, these wagoners had yet
to learn of it.