Chapter IX

_The "Old Man"_

It would be interesting to trace the origin of this term, which is

universally applied to the captain in nautical circles, either on

shipboard, among deep-sea sailors, on the great lakes, or on the

inland waters. He may not be half as old as the speaker; still, in

speaking of him, not to him, he is the "old man." It is used in

no disrespectful sense; indeed, it is rather an endearing term.

In speaking to him, however, it is always Captain, or Sir. But in

detailing what the Captain has said or done the narrator says that

the "old man" says so, or is about to do so, and his auditors, if

river men, know of but one "old man" aboard the boat, although the

steamer may be freighted with octogenarians.

The captain usually reaches the "roof" from one of two directions,

either going up from mate, or coming down from the pilot house.

Occasionally he emerges from the clerk's office, or from the

engine-room; but the line of promotion is usually drawn from mate

or pilot to captain, these being also the normal lines of education

for that post. Perhaps the greater number of captains serving on the

river in the early days, down to 1860, began their careers on the

river as pilots, very often combining the two offices in one person.

The captain's official requirements are not altogether ornate. It

is true that he must have sufficient polish to commend himself to

his passengers. That is essential in popularizing his boat; but in

addition he must thoroughly know a steamboat, from stem to stern, and

know what is essential to its safety, the comfort of his passengers,

and the financial satisfaction of its owners. Nearly every old-time

captain on the river could, in case of necessity, pilot his boat

from St. Paul to Galena. Every captain could, and of necessity

did, handle the deck crew, with the second mate as go-between,

during the captain's watch on deck. Some few might have gone into

the engine-room and taken charge of the machinery, but these were

exceptional cases. All were supposed to know enough about the

business of the office to enable them to determine between profit and

loss in the running of the steamer.

After leaving port, the captain on the river was as autocratic as his

compeer on the ocean. He might without notice discharge and order

ashore any officer or man on board, and he could fill vacancies en

route to any extent; but these appointments were subject to the

approval of the owner or manager on arrival at the home port. Many,

if not most, of the captains owned interests in the boats which they

commanded. Many were sole owners, in which case they were amenable to

no one for their actions, except to the civil authorities in case of

legal technicalities, or to the unwritten laws of the service, which

custom had made binding upon all. Such, for instance, was the rule

that the captain was not to interfere with the pilots in the running

of his boat, even if he might know, or think he knew, better than

they the proper course to take in certain cases, or under certain

conditions; even though he might himself have a pilot's license

hanging in his stateroom. Neither was it considered good form to

interfere with the duties of his mate, or the engineers, or the chief

clerk, in the way of countermanding their orders when given in the

line of duty. He might call them to account in his office, and not

only caution, but command them not to repeat the error. Only in cases

where such interference was necessary for the safety of the boat was

it deemed permissible; and a captain who so far forgot himself as to

interfere, lost caste among all classes of rivermen, high and low.

Nevertheless, the "old man" had supreme power, and had the authority

to interpose his veto on any command or any action, by any of his

officers or men. This supremacy threw the burden of responsibility

upon his shoulders, and set him apart as a man by himself.

The seat of power was in the forward part of the "Texas", where

a commodious and handsomely-furnished cabin served as office,

audience-room, sitting-room, and whenever he so willed, as

dining-room. Connected with it was a sleeping apartment, larger and

better furnished than the ordinary staterooms in the passenger cabin.

From the windows on the front and on two sides of his sitting-room

he could look out ahead, or on either side, and see everything that

was going on. It was here that he entertained favored guests when in

relaxation, or hetcheled contumacious officers when in tenser moods.

From his berth, directly under the pilot house, he could read the

sounds of shuffling feet as the man on watch danced from side to side

of his wheel; he could note the sounds of the bell-pulls, as signals

were rung in the engine-room; and he could tell very nearly where

the boat was at such times, and judge very cleverly as to the luck

the pilot was having in running an ugly piece of river, or working

out a crooked crossing. He could look out and see if his mate was

asleep alongside the big bell, in the drowsy hours of the morning

watch, if he cared to confirm a shrewd bet that the mate was asleep.

He could tell by the roar of the forced draft in the tall chimneys

in front of him, that there was another boat in sight, either ahead

or behind, and that Billy Hamilton had the "blowers" on in response

to a suggestion from Tommy Cushing, at the wheel, that an excess of

steam was desirable, and that at once. This last was a perennial, or

nocturnal, source of annoyance to our "Old Man", and one that wrung

from him more protests than any other shortcoming under his command.

It burned out more wood than was justified by the end attained;

but what was of more serious import, it suggested the carrying of

a greater head of steam than was consonant with perfect safety. At

a time when boiler explosions were not infrequent on the Western

rivers, any suggestion of extra steam-carrying was sufficient to put

the "old man" on the alert; and this led to more interference with

his officers than any other cause that came under my observation

during my brief experience on the river. A scantily-clad apparition

would appear on deck forward of the "Texas", and a request, "Mr.

Cushing, please ask Mr. Hamilton to cut off the blowers", would

be passed down the speaking tube to the engine-room. While it

always came in the form of request, it carried with it the force of

command--until it was concluded that the "old man" was again asleep,

when the blowers were cautiously and gradually reopened.

While it was not always expected that the captain should take the

place of the engineer or pilot, it was required that he should be

thoroughly acquainted with the handling of a steamboat under all

circumstances. He must be a man possessed of nerve and courage, quick

to see what was required, and as quick to give the necessary commands

to his crew. As on deeper water, the code of honor on the river held

that the captain must be the last to leave his sinking or burning

boat; and many a brave commander has gone down to honorable death

while upholding this code. In case of fire he must, with the pilot,

instantly decide where lay the greatest chances of safety in beaching

his boat. In case of snagging, or being cut down by ice, it is his

first duty to save his boat, if possible, by stopping the break, at

the same time providing for the safety of his passengers by beaching

her on the nearest sand-bar. In case of grounding--"getting stuck on

a sand-bar", as it is popularly known--all his knowledge of every

expedient to extricate his vessel known to river men is called in

play at once. An hour's time, or even a few minutes, lost in trying

cheap experiments, is sufficient to pile up the shifting sands about

the hull to such an extent as sometimes to consume days, or even

weeks, in getting free.

Our own boat, the "Fanny Harris", drifted upon a submerged bank on

the lower side of the cut-off between Fevre River and Harris Slough,

with a falling river. She did not get off that day, and within three

days had less than a foot of water under some parts of her hull. Her

freight had to be lightered, and then it took two steamboats, pulling

on quadruple tackles, "luffed" together, to pull her into deep water.

The power applied would have pulled her in two, had it come from

opposite directions.

"Sparring off" was a science in itself. Just how to place your spars;

in what direction to shove the bow of the boat; or whether to "walk

her over" by setting the spars at a "fore and aft" angle, one on each

side, and thus push the boat straight ahead--these were questions

to be answered as soon as reports were received from the pilot who

was sent out in the yawl to sound the whole bar. To a landsman, the

use to which were to be put the great sticks of straight-grained,

flawless yellow (or Norway) pine, standing on either side of the

gangway, was quite unknown until the boat brought up on the sandy

bottom of the river. Then, if it was the first time these timbers

had been called into play that season, the lashings were cut away

with a sharp axe; the detail from the crew sent to the roof eased

away on the falls, until the derricks leaned forward at an angle

of forty-five degrees. The crew on the forecastle overhauled the

great four-by-five, or five-by-six ply falls, and hooked the lower

block into the iron ring under the steamer's quarter, just above

the load-line. This ring was attached to the hull by massive bolts,

extending through several feet of timbers on the inside of the

sheathing--the timbers running back the length of the hull, in

well-built boats, so that with sufficiently solid footing for the

spars, and with sufficient power, the steamer might be lifted bodily

off the bar, without "hogging" the boat--the technical term for

bending or breaking the hull out of shape.

When it was decided by a conference of the captain, the pilots, and

the mate, or by the captain's judgment alone, in what direction the

bow of the boat was to be thrown, the foot of the spar was shoved

clear of the guards and lowered away by the derrick-fall until its

foot was firmly fixed, and the spar at the proper angle, and in the

proper direction. The hauling part of the tackle (or fall, as it is

called) was then passed through a snatch-block and carried to the

capstan, around the barrel of which six or seven turns were taken,

and the best man in the crew given charge of the free end. If the

case was a very bad one--if the boat was on hard--the double-purchase

gear was put on the capstan, to give additional power, and steam was

turned on the hoisting engine, (or "donkey") which also operated the

capstan by a clutch gear. Ordinarily the boat quickly responded to

all this application of power, was slowly pushed off the reef and

headed for the channel, and the wheel was soon able to drive her

ahead and away from the bar.

This taking care of the free end of the tackle as it came from the

capstan, was a work of more importance than might appear to the

novice. The barrel of the capstan is concave; the line feeds on to

it at the thickest part, either at the top or the bottom of the

capstan. After it reaches a certain point all the turns must slip

down to the narrowest part, and the work of winding upward begin

over. The man who is handling the free end of the line must often

slack a little--just enough to start the slipping--and then hold

hard, so that it may go down easily, without giving any further

slack. It looks easy, but it isn't. I have seen a careless man give

so much slack to his line, when there was a very heavy strain upon

it--in fact when the whole weight of the forward end of the steamer

was pendant upon the spar--that the recoil of the tackle, though not

over an inch or two, would let the hull drop with a force that would

almost shake the chimneys out of her, and could be felt the length

of the boat. It was also a post of some danger, as I have heard

of instances in which the recoil snapped the tackle, and severely

injured the men under and about the spar and capstan.

The spars are shod with heavy iron points about a foot in length,

which would grip the solid clay or gravel underlying the superficial

layers of sand forming the bar. When there was "no bottom" to the

sand, and the applied power, instead of lifting the steamer only

shoved the spar into the quicksand, another footing was used--a

block built of two three-inch sections of oak about eighteen inches

in diameter, bound and crossed with iron, and having a hole in the

centre through which the iron point of the spar was passed until the

shoulder rested on the block. This block could not be driven deeply

into the sand, and usually gave a secure footing. A rope attached to

a ring in the block served to haul it out of the sand after the spar

was hoisted aboard.

The spectacle afforded by the "sparring off" process was always

one of great interest to the passengers, and of excitement to the

officers and crew. There were drawbacks to this interest, however,

when the passengers were in a hurry, and the boat lay for hours,

sometimes for days, before being released, the crew working day and

night without sleep, and with little time even to eat. We once lay

three days on Beef Slough bar; and the "War Eagle" was eight days

on the same bar, having been caught on a falling river, being only

released after passengers and freight were transferred to other and

lighter boats.

For the officers and crew, there was no halo about an incident

of this kind. In low water, it was to some boats of almost daily

occurrence, somewhere on the river, even with the most skilful

pilots. The fact was, that there were places where there was not

enough water in the channel for a boat to pass without striking; and

if one got out of the channel by ever so little, it was of course

still worse. There were several places where it was to be expected

that the boat must be hauled over the reef by taking out an anchor

ahead, or by hauling on a line attached to a tree on the bank, if

the channel ran near enough to render the latter expedient possible.

I have injected this description of sparring off into the chapter

devoted to the "Old Man", not because the process necessarily

devolved upon him alone; but because as captain his will was law in

any disputed point, and because upon him rested the responsibility

of navigating his boat. He naturally took an active interest in the

work, and was always on hand when it was done. But quite often the

mate knew more of the _finesse_ of poling a boat off a bar, than did

the captain; and some captains were shrewd enough to give the mate

practically full control, only standing on the roof for appearance

sake, while the latter did the work. It was, however, every man's

work, and if any one had a practical idea, or a practical suggestion,

whether pilot, engineer, mate, or carpenter, it was quickly put to

the test. The main thing was to get off the bar, and to get off

"quick."