VI

My mother was an honored guest on one or other of my uncles' boats

whenever she went on her homesick visits Up-the-River, and sometimes we

children must have gone with her. Later in my boyhood, when I was nine

or ten years old, my father took me to Pittsburg and back, on the boat

of the jolliest of those uncles, and it was then that I first fully

realized the splendor of the world where their lives were passed. No

doubt I have since seen nobler sights than the mile-long rank of the

steamboats as they lay at the foot of the landings in the cities at

either end of our voyage, but none of these excelling wonders remains

like that. All the passenger boats on the Ohio were then side-wheelers,

and their lofty chimneys towering on either side of their pilot-houses

were often crenelated at the top, with wire ropes between them

supporting the effigies of such Indians as they were named for. From

time to time one of the majestic craft pulled from the rank with the

clangor of its mighty bell, and the mellow roar of its whistle, and

stood out in the yellow stream, or arrived in like state to find a place

by the shore. The wide slope of the landing was heaped with the

merchandise putting off or taking on the boats, amidst the wild and

whirling curses of the mates and the insensate rushes of the deck-hands

staggering to and fro under their burdens. The swarming drays came and

went with freight, and there were huckster carts of every sort;

peddlers, especially of oranges, escaped with their lives among the

hoofs and wheels, and through the din and turmoil passengers hurried

aboard the boats, to repent at leisure their haste in trusting the

advertised hour of departure. It was never known that any boat left on

time, and I doubt if my uncle's boat, the famous _New England No. 2_,

was an exception to the rule, as my father perfectly understood while he

delayed on the wharf, sampling a book-peddler's wares, or talking with

this bystander or that, while I waited for him on board in an anguish of

fear lest he should be left behind.

There was a measure of this suffering for me throughout the voyage

wherever the boat stopped, for his insatiable interest in every aspect

of nature and human nature urged him ashore and kept him there till the

last moment before the gang-plank was drawn in. It was useless for him

to argue with me that my uncle would not allow him to be left, even if

he should forget himself so far as to be in any danger of that. I could

not believe that a disaster so dire should not befall us, and I suffered

a mounting misery till one day it mounted to frenzy. I do not know

whether there were other children on board, but except for the officers

of the boat, I was left mostly to myself, and I spent my time dreamily

watching the ever-changing shore, so lost in its wild loveliness that

once when I woke from my reverie the boat seemed to have changed her

course, and to be going down-stream instead of up. It was in this crisis

that I saw my father descending the gang-plank, and while I was urging

his return in mute agony, a boat came up outside of us to wait for her

chance of landing. I looked and read on her wheel-house the name _New

England_, and then I abandoned hope. By what fell necromancy I had been

spirited from my uncle's boat to another I could not guess, but I had no

doubt that the thing had happened, and I was flying down from the

hurricane roof to leap aboard that boat from the lowermost deck when I

met my uncle coming as quietly up the gangway as if nothing had

happened. He asked what was the matter, and I gasped out the fact; he

did not laugh; he had pity on me and gravely explained, "That boat is

the _New England_: this is the _New England No. 2_" and at these words I

escaped with what was left of my reason.

I had been the prey of that obsession which every one has experienced

when the place where one is disorients itself and west is east and north

is south. Sometimes this happens by a sudden trick within the brain, but

I lived four years in Columbus and as many in Venice without once being

right as to the points of the compass in my nerves, though my wits were

perfectly convinced. Once I was months in a place where I suffered from

this obsession, when I found myself returning after a journey with the

north and south quite where they should be; and, "Now," I exulted, "I

will hold them to their duty." I kept my eyes firmly fixed upon the

station, as the train approached; then, without my lifting my gaze, the

north was back again in the place of the south, and the vain struggle

was over. Only the other day I got out of a car going north in Fourth

Avenue, and then saw it going on south; and it was only by noting which

way the house numbers increased that I could right myself.

I suppose my father promised a reform that should appease my unreason,

but whether he could deny himself those chances of general information I

am not so sure; we may have both expected too much of each other. As I

was already imaginably interested in things of the mind beyond my years,

he often joined me in my perusal of the drifting landscape and made me

look at this or that feature of it, but he afterward reported at home

that he never could get anything from me but a brief "Yes, indeed," in

response. That amused him, yet I do not think I should have disappointed

him so much if I could have told him I was losing nothing, but that our

point of view was different. The soul of a child is a secret to itself,

and in its observance of life there is no foretelling what it shall

loose or what it shall hold. I do not believe that anything which was of

use to me was lost upon me, but what I chiefly remember now is my

pleasure in the log cabins in the woods on the shores, with the blue

smoke curling on the morning or the evening air from their chimneys. My

heart was taken with a yearning for the wilderness such as the

coast-born boy feels for the sea; in the older West the woods called to

us with a lure which it would have been rapture to obey; the

inappeasable passion for their solitude drove the pioneer into the

forest, and it was still in the air we breathed. But my lips were

sealed, for the generations cannot utter themselves to each other till

the strongest need of utterance is past.

I used to sit a good deal on the hurricane-deck or in the pilot-house,

where there was often good talk among the pilots or the boat's officers,

and where once I heard with fascination the old Scotch pilot, Tom

Lindsay, telling of his own boyhood in the moors, and of the sheep lost

in the drifting snows; that also had the charm of the wilderness; but I

did not feel the sadness of his saying once, as we drifted past a row of

crimson-headed whisky barrels on a wharf-boat, "Many a one of those old

Red Eyes I've helped to empty," or imagine the far and deep reach of the

words which remained with me. Somewhere in the officers' quarters I

found a sea novel, which I read partly through, but I have not finished

_The Cruise of the Midge_, to this day, though I believe that as sea

novels go it merits reading. When I was not listening to the talk in the

pilot-house, or looking at the hills drifting by, I was watching the

white-jacketed black cabin-boys setting the tables for dinner in the

long saloon of the boat. It was built, after a fashion which still holds

in the Western boats, with a gradual lift of the stem and stern and a

dip midway which somehow enhanced the charm of the perspective even to

the eyes of a hungry boy. Dinner was at twelve, and the tables began to

be set between ten and eleven, with a rhythmical movement of the negroes

as they added each detail of plates and cups and knives and glasses, and

placed the set dishes of quivering jelly at discrete intervals under the

crystals of the chandeliers softly tinkling with the pulse of the

engines. At last some more exalted order of waiters appeared with

covered platters and spirit-lamps burning under them, and set them down

before the places of the captain and his officers. Then the bell was

sounded for the passengers; the waiters leaned forward between these

when they were seated; at a signal from their chief they lifted the

covers of the platters and vanished in a shining procession up the

saloon, while each passenger fell upon the dishes nearest himself.

About the time I had become completely reconciled to the conditions of

the voyage, which the unrivaled speed of the _New England No. 2_

shortened to a three-days' run up the river, I woke one morning to find

her lying at the Pittsburg landing, and when I had called my father to

come and share my wonder at a stretch of boats as long as that at

Cincinnati, and been mimicked by a cabin-boy for my unsophisticated

amazement, nothing remained for me but to visit the houses of the aunts

and uncles abounding in cousins. Of the homeward voyage nothing

whatever is left in my memory; but I know we came back on the _New

England No. 2_, though we must have left the boat and taken it again on

a second trip at Wheeling, after a week spent with my mother's people at

Martin's Ferry. My father wished me to see the glass-foundries and

rolling-mills which interested him so much more than me; he could not

get enough of those lurid industries which I was chiefly concerned in

saving myself from. I feigned an interest in the processes out of regard

for him, but Heaven knows I cared nothing for the drawing of wire or the

making of nails, and only a very little for the blowing of the red,

vitreous bubbles from the mouths of long steel pipes. With weariness I

escaped from these wonders, but with no such misery as I eluded the

affection of the poor misshapen, half witted boy who took a fancy to me

at the house of some old friends of my father where we had supper after

the long day. With uncouth noises of welcome, and with arms and legs

flying controllessly about, he followed me through a day that seemed

endless. His family of kindly English folk, from the life-long habit of

him, seemed unaware of anything strange, and I could not for shame and

for fear of my father's reproach betray my suffering. The evening began

unduly to fall, thick with the blackness of the coal smoke poured from

the chimneys of those abhorred foundries, and there was a fatal moment

when my father's friends urged him to stay the night and I thought he

would consent. The dreams of childhood are oftenest evil, but mine holds

record of few such nightmares as this.