"Day after day, day after day,
We stuck,--nor breath, nor motion,--
As idle as a painted ship
Upon a painted ocean."
ANCIENT MARINER.
It was about the time of the events related in the preceding chapters,
at the close of a variable day, in which the storm and sunshine seemed
to struggle for the ascendency, that a plain-looking, home-made sort of
man might have been seen attempting to effect a safe transit of the
steamboat levee at New Orleans. This personage was no other than Mr.
Nathan Benson, commonly called at home "Uncle Nathan." He was one of the
better class of New England farmers, an old bachelor, well to do in the
world, and was now engaged in the laudable enterprise of seeing the
country.
Uncle Nathan, though he laid no claims to gentility in the popular
signification of the term, was, nevertheless, a gentleman,--one of
Nature's noblemen. He was dressed scrupulously neat in every particular,
though a little too rustic to suit the meridian of fashionable society.
He presented a very respectable figure, in spite of the fact that the
prevailing "mode" had not been consulted in the fashioning of his
garments. His coat was, without doubt, made by some village tailoress,
for many of the graces with which the masculine artist adorns his
garments were entirely wanting in those of our worthy farmer. His hat
was two inches too low in the crown, and two inches too broad in the
brim, for the style; still it was a good-looking and a well-meaning hat,
for it preserved the owner's phiz from the burning rays of the sun much
better than the "mode" would have done. His boots, though round-toed and
very wide, were nicely polished when he commenced the passage of the
levee, but were now encased in a thick coating of yellow clay.
Uncle Nathan was a medium-sized man, and preserved as much of nature's
grace as a man can who has labored for five-and-thirty years at the
stubborn soil of New England. His hair was sandy, and his full,
good-natured physiognomy was surrounded by a huge pair of reddish
whiskers.
The superficial, worldly-minded man would have deemed Uncle Nathan's
_principles_ rather too ultra for common, everyday use; but he, good
soul, found no difficulty in applying them to every action he performed.
He was, to use a common phrase, a "professor of religion;" but, less
technically, he was more than a professor, and strove to live out the
spirit of truth and righteousness.
After much difficulty, Uncle Nathan succeeded in effecting a safe
passage to the planking which formed the landing for the boats. After a
glance of vexation at the soiled condition of his boots (Uncle Nathan
was a bachelor!), he commenced his search for an upward-bound steamer,
for he was about to begin his homeward tour. Two columns of dense black
smoke, the hissing noise of escaping steam, and the splashing paddles of
a boat a short distance down the stream, attracted his attention, and
towards her he directed his steps. Approaching near enough to read her
name, he was not a little surprised to find the boat he had seen
advertised to start a week before. Concluding, in his innocence, that
some accident had detained her, he hastened on board. Entering the
cabin, the scene which was there presented did not exactly coincide with
his ideas of neatness or morality. Uncle Nathan had read descriptions of
the magnificence of Mississippi steamers; but the Chalmetta (for this
was the name of the boat) fell far below them. Even the best boats on
the river he considered vastly inferior to the North River and Sound
steamers.
After a hasty survey of the Chalmetta's capability of making him
comfortable for a week or more, he concluded to take passage in her for
Cincinnati, and accordingly he sought for the captain. To his inquiries
for that personage a thin, cadaverous-looking man presented himself, and
drawled out a civil salutation.
"How long afore you start, cap'n?" inquired Uncle Nathan.
"We shall get off in about ten minutes," replied Captain Brawler.
"John," continued he, turning to a waiter near him, with a wink, "tell
the pilot to be all ready, and ring the bell."
"Why, gracious!" said Uncle Nathan, hastily, as the waiter dodged into
the pantry, "I shan't have time to get my trunk down."
"How far up do you go?" inquired Captain Drawler.
"To Cincinnati, if you can carry me about right," replied Uncle Nathan,
with an eye to business.
"Well, as you are going clear through, I will wait a few minutes for
you," suggested the captain.
Uncle Nathan thought him very obliging, and after some little
"dickering" (for he had heard that Western steamboats were not
particularly uniform in their charges), he engaged a passage, applying
to the bargain the trite principle that "no berth is secured till paid
for," which had been reduced to writing, and occupied a conspicuous
place in the cabin. Without waiting to see the berth he had paid for, he
hastened to the hotel for the large hair trunk, which contained his
travelling wardrobe.
Our worthy farmer made it a point never to cause any one an unnecessary
inconvenience; never to read the morning paper more than half an hour
when an impatient crowd was waiting to see it; and never in his life
stopped his five-cattle team in the middle of a narrow, much-frequented
road, to the annoyance of others. So the captain did not have to wait
more than five minutes beyond the stated time. Depositing his trunk upon
a heap of baggage in the cabin, and turning with pious horror from the
gaming-tables there, Uncle Nathan seated himself in an arm-chair on the
boiler deck, to await the departure of the boat, and, in anticipation,
to feast his vision with the wonders of the Father of Waters. He waited
very long and very patiently, for Uncle Nathan considered patience a
cardinal virtue, and strove manfully against every feeling of
uneasiness. The tongue of the hugs bell over him at intervals banged
forth its stunning cadence, the hissing steam let loose from its pent-up
cells, the water which the wheels sent surging far up upon the levee,
all were indications, to his unsophisticated mind, of a speedy
departure.
Two hours he waited, with the same exemplary patience; but still the
Chalmetta was a fixture.
Night came, and the music of the bell, and the steam, and the surging
water, ceased. Uncle Nathan, thinking patience no longer a virtue,
cardinal or secondary, hastened to the captain, with some appearance of
indignation on his honest features. The worthy officer very coolly
informed him that, owing to the non-arrival of the mail, he should be
unable to get off till the next morning.
Uncle Nathan uttered a very peculiar "O!" and, seemingly perfectly
satisfied with this explanation, asked to be shown his berth. The
captain consulted the clerk, and the clerk consulted the berth-book,
which conveyed the astounding intelligence that the berths were all
taken!
"All taken!" exclaimed Uncle Nathan, aghast. "Haven't I paid for one?"
The gentlemanly clerk acknowledged that he _had_ paid for one, and
kindly offered him a mattress on the floor, assuring him that there
would be plenty of berths after the boat got off.
Uncle Nathan did not see how this could be, and was informed that many
berths taken were not claimed.[1]
[Footnote 1: Western steamers seldom start at the time they advertise,
but wait until they are full of freight and passengers. The latter are
boarded on them from the time they take passage, if they wish,--often a
week or ten days. Berths are often engaged by "loafers," who eat and
sleep on board, and grumble at the detention, but who suddenly decamp
when the boat starts.]
Contenting himself with this explanation, Uncle Nathan sought the boiler
deck again, to obtain the only possible oblivion for his uneasiness in
the society of mongrel gentlemen and monstrous mosquitos. Those who have
been subjected to these steamboat impositions will readily perceive that
Uncle Nathan was in no very agreeable state of mind. He was, to a
certain extent, home-sick. There was something in his expectant state,
and something in the gloomy aspect of the low city with its cheerless
lights, in the damp atmosphere and the clouds of mosquitos, to produce a
sigh for home and its joys. If any one had hummed "Sweet Home" in his
ears, it would have brought the tears to his eyes. He thought of
everything connected with his hallowed home: of the good-natured
spinster who was his housekeeper, and of the ten-acre lots upon his
farm; of the red steers and the gray mare; of the shaggy watch-dog and
the tabby-cat; of home in all its minutiæ. Its familiar scenes visited
him with a vividness which added ten-fold to their influence. He was as
far abstracted as the mosquitos, which gathered in swarms upon every
tenable spot of his flesh, would permit, when his meditations were
disturbed by the gentleman who occupied the next chair. He wore the
uniform of the army, and was battling the mosquitos with the smoke of a
plantation cigar, which bore a very striking resemblance to those rolls
of the weed vulgarly denominated "long nines."
This gentleman was Henry Carroll, who had been in waiting three days for
the sailing of the Chalmetta. On his return from Georgia he had not
deemed it prudent to visit Bellevue. Of the startling events which had
transpired there since his departure he was in entire ignorance.
"No prospect of getting off to-night, is there?" said he to Uncle
Nathan.
"Not the least," replied the latter. "The cap'n just told me the mail
hadn't come, so he should have to wait till mornin'."
Henry turned to Uncle Nathan rather sharply, to discover any mischief
which might lurk in his expression. Perceiving that he looked perfectly
sincere, and was innocent of any intention to quiz him, he merely
uttered, in the most contemptuous tone, the single word "Humbug!"
"You seem a leetle out o' sorts," returned Uncle Nathan, piqued at the
coldness with which his intelligence was received.
"Well, sir, I think I have very good reason to be so," returned Henry;
"for I have lain about this boat, like a dead dragoon, for three days,
in suspense."
"You don't say so!" responded Uncle Nathan, with interest. "When did
they tell you they should start?"
"The captain said in about ten minutes," answered Henry, with a smile.
"Good gracious! he told me the same thing!" said Uncle Nathan,
astonished at the coincidence.
"But I knew he lied, when he said so; yet the boat seemed full of
passengers, and I did not expect to wait so long."
"Don't you think they will get started to-morrow?"
"I cannot venture an opinion, having been so often deceived. The captain
is trying to get a freight of soldiers on deck. The city is full of them
now, returning to their respective states."
"Then he has taken me in most outrageously," said the New Englander,
with emphasis.
"A very common occurrence, sir," replied Henry, who now explained to his
companion some of the tricks of Western steamboat captains.
"Is there no remedy?" asked Uncle Nathan, anxiously.
"Certainly; you can go in the next boat, if you choose. I shall take the
'Belle of the West,' which I am pretty well assured will sail
to-morrow, if this one does not. But I prefer this, as many of my
friends go in her."
"But will they give you back your passage-money again?" asked the
economical Yankee.
"I have not paid it yet," replied Henry, now understanding the position
of his fellow-traveller.
"Then how did you secure a berth? The sign in the cabin says 'No berth
secured till paid for.'"
"I see how it is. You have been dealing with these fellows as though
they were honest men." He then explained that there is no security
against imposition for travellers who pay their passage in advance, in
case the boat gets aground, or the captain pleases to detain them an
unreasonable time; that the "old stagers" never show their money till
the trip is up; and much more useful information for the voyager on the
Western rivers.
"And I have no berth yet! The fellow promised me one when we got off,"
said Uncle Nathan, chopfallen; for, if any one is keenly sensitive to an
imposition, the Yankee is the man.
"There you are lame again," replied Henry. "You may get one, and you may
not. As you have paid your fare, you had better keep quiet, and
to-morrow I will assist you in securing your rights."
"Thank ye," replied Uncle Nathan, truly grateful for the kind sympathy
of the officer. "I had no sort of idee that they played _such_ tricks
upon travellers."
"Fact, sir; this New Orleans is said to be a very naughty place,"
returned Henry, amused at the simplicity of his companion.
"True as gospel!" ejaculated Uncle Nathan, fervently.
"Have you been here long?"
"Only about ten days; but I have seen more iniquity in that time than I
supposed the whole airth contained."
Henry smiled at the fervid utterance of his companion.
"You are from the North, I perceive," said he.
"Yes, sir, I am from Brookville, State of Massachusetts, which, thank
the Lord, is a long way from New Orleans!"
"Still, there are some excellent people here," suggested Henry, who had
known and appreciated Southern kindness and hospitality.
"Well--yes--I suppose there is; but their morals and religion are
shockin'. It made my blood run cold, and my hair stand on eend, to see a
company of soldiers marchin' through the streets last Sabba' day, to the
tune of 'Hail Columby;' and then to think of balls and theatres on the
Lord's day night, really it's terrible. I wouldn't live in sich a place
for all the world!"
"Very different from New England, certainly," replied Henry,
good-naturedly, for it must be confessed he was not so much shocked at
these desecrations.
Uncle Nathan discoursed long and eloquently on Sabbath-breaking,
gambling and intemperance, which prevail to such an extent in the
luxurious metropolis of the South,--as long, at least, as the patience
of his new-found military friend would permit. At his suggestion they
retired to a hotel for the night, for the mosquitos were in undisturbed
possession of the Chalmetta.