Page:ONCE A WEEK JUL TO DEC 1860.pdf/617

. 24, 1860.] daylight, the only lights are a few smoky lamps, locked, and hung from the deck over-head.

Carl and Bertha are fortunate—a couple of berths, one over the other, and close to the hatchway, are a possession to be prized, with more than three hundred people sleeping in the ’tween decks” of the Black Warrior.

A few days, and all the signs of sickness are gone, and the decks are crowded with men smoking and girls knitting all day long. Carl and Bertha felt as they had never felt before. To be associated with those semi-savages of their own land, they had, at first, deemed insupportable; but they soon found that hearts are like hearts, all the world over. A dozen willing hands, dirty though they were, would be eagerly stretched out to hold little Victor, while she prepared the meals; and though they were dirty and poor, they were honest in their poverty—ay, and grateful to Bertha for her small distributions, from her somewhat better store, of food to their sick.

All the men liked Carl, and though he was none of them, as they said, he would sketch their children’s portraits, and sometimes play a game of cards with themselves, too.

Fritz spent his time chiefly in reading novels, of which a German cabin-passenger had a large store, while every flat surface on every part of the vessel—from the anchor-stocks to the lids of the water-casks—bore traces in chalk or charcoal of Herman’s attempts. True it was that in most of his portraits the noses were a little enlarged; still he was a young artist, and never happy without his chalk; so they let him alone.

Victor was hugged, kissed, and fed to an extent that few babies ever were, before or since, and bore it with the native phlegm of his country.

length the voyage was over.

One morning, after some five weeks of this life, a small cloudy speck was seen on the horizon.

“Guess that’s a tow-boat. Mr. Smith, take a glass up into the top and see, sir.”

A tow-boat it was; they were soon alongside.

“How is it this time?” said the Captain to a small dark man who had his den on a deck between the paddles and level with their tops, and who went into a perpetual series of convulsions with a large wheel before him.

“Very bad—hundreds a-day.”

“Don’t say so.”

“Guess I do, though. The Ovens is full now—regular gang at the cemetery on the Shell-road—at it all day—steamers all full.”

This information was conveyed in small detachments, and accompanied by convulsive struggles with the wheel and puffs at a cigar.

“There’ll be no room in the Ovens for the lot you’ll bring: got many? What sort, Dutch?”

“Yes, nearly all Dutch; a few Irish—about 350 total.”

“Well, it’s mighty bad, newcomers drop off like sheep. It’s worse now, I guess, than when I left, for I’ve been down here these three days looking out.”

“You won’t wait for anything else?”

“Guess I shall. I sighted a small brig after you. I’ll wait for her and tow you both; there’s water enough on the bar, and I can spare a few hours.”

In due time the small brig came, and the convulsed allowed some other convulsed cigar-smoker to undergo his torture.

It was discovered by a thoughtful German that these convulsions had some connection with the vessel’s movement, but whether the progressive or the directional he could not at first discover, though he came to the conclusion that it was the latter, after more mature thought.

“Come aboard, Captain?”

“Well! guess, I will now.”

“Mister Lomax, you’ll keep her a little clear of the buoy on the starboard; there’s a snag there I saw coming down; I forgot it till now.”

The active convulsed promised compliance, and continued his agonies till he was superseded once more by his companion, and in some few hours more they reached New Orleans. Here they were boarded by a city officer, who notified to the affrighted cargo, that as the yellow fever was raging, it was the advice of the mayor that those who were going up the country should go to Algiers, the opposite side of the river, and wait the departure of the steam packets.

Carl and Bertha therefore went there, and for a whole week waited patiently. At last the steamer came,—just room for Carl and his party in one of the small steerage cabins at the back of the paddle-wheels. They took the berths, and went on board. Under the grand saloon stretched a long row of bunks for emigrants, with scarcely room to stand upright; there was but the thickness of a board between the squalid poverty from the old world and the ostentatious wealth of the new. On that hot July day the air was suffocating, and glad enough they were to get to their little cabin, through the chinks of which they could see the great wheel with the water dripping from its floats, as though it too laboured and sweated under the hot sun.

“Mister Burke, there’s the owner on the ferry signing you—he means ‘stop. ”

The owner came on board, and called the captain on one side.

“Captain Burke, I was drunk last night: I made a bet that this boat would be at St. Louis before the Belle Isle—she must be there.”

“Can’t be done, sir. The Belle Isle was off this morning at seven o’clock, and it’s now three. Besides, we’re deep. They’ve got next to nothing but passengers on the Belle Isle. Can’t be done, sir.”

“Captain Burke, my bet’s a big one: I made it when I was drunk; I must stick to it. I’ll give you 500 dollars if she’s there before the other, if it’s only by a minute. I’ll allow what wood bill you like; burn plenty of knots: and, Captain, there’s a new craft building at Natchez for us; you shall have her, if you manage this.”

“I can’t do it, sir; these boilers won’t stand it; ask the pilots.”

“Boy, tell Mr. Marbleman and Mr. Garspin they’re wanted.”

“Oh, and send Mr. Farr; he knows more about the boilers than they do,” muttered Captain Burke.

The two pilots and the engineer came at once.