Chapter XIII

_An Initiation_

I have said that in addition to "knowing the river", and knowing that

he knows it, the young pilot must also be fortified with a large

measure of self-reliance, or all else will go for nothing. The time

of trial comes to every one, sooner or later, and the manner in which

it is met usually determines the standing of the young novitiate in

the estimation of river men. The reputation of every man on the river

is common property the length of his run, from St. Louis to St. Paul.

It was proverbial that river men "talked shop" more than any others,

in those early days, probably because they were more interested in

their own business than they were in that of other men. Possibly

because, as one government engineer stated it, they didn't know

anything else. However, the doings of all the river men were pretty

thoroughly discussed sooner or later, from the latest dare-devil

exhibition of fancy piloting by "Ned" West, to the mistakes and

mishaps of the youngest "cub". Sooner or later, each and all were

served up at the casual meetings of river men, at whatever port they

might foregather.

My own "baptism"--not of "fire", but of water and lightning--came on

the very first trip I made alone on a steamboat. I had been running

with Charley Jewell on the "H. S. Allen", from Prescott to St. Croix

Falls. Mr. Jewell fell sick and was laid off at Prescott. On the

levee, the day he went home, was a steamboat load of rope, rigging,

boats, and camp-equipage, together with a couple of hundred raftsmen

landed from a down-river packet that did not care to make the run

up the lake. The disembarked men were anxious to reach Stillwater

with their cargo, that night. Our regular starting time, as a United

States mail boat, was at 7 o'clock in the morning. They offered

extra compensation if we would take them up that night, and the

proposition was accepted by Captain Gray. All hands were set to work

loading the stuff. I felt quite elated at the prospect, as it was a

bright evening, and I felt sure of finding my way, for there were

only three or four close places to run in the thirty miles of lake

navigation between Prescott and Stillwater.

We got everything aboard, and I backed her out and started up the

lake. There had been some lightning in the north, where there was a

bank of low-lying clouds. So far away were they, apparently, that no

one thought of a storm, certainly not a serious one. We were running

toward it, however, and as we soon discovered, it was coming to meet

us at a rattling pace. We met when about six miles above Prescott.

First a terrific wind out of the north, followed by torrents of rain,

and incessant lightning, which took on the appearance of chain-mail

as it shimmered and glittered on the falling rain drops. I put up

the breast-board, and let down the head-board as far as I could and

still leave room between to look out ahead; but the fierce wind drove

the rain in sheets into the pilot house, and in a minute's time I

was completely soaked. The lightning and thunder were terrifying in

brilliancy and in sharpness of sound, the flash and the report coming

so closely together as to leave no doubt that the bolts were getting

seriously close to the smokestacks. The pilot house was not the place

I would have chosen from which to enjoy these effects, had I my

choice. The place I really longed for was somewhere down below, where

I would have felt less conspicuous as a target.

I managed to work my way around the Kinnickinnic bar, and made the

run up to the Afton (or "Catfish") bar, around which the channel

was quite narrow and wofully crooked. Thus far, the high banks had

sheltered us somewhat from the wind. Here, however, the low-lying

prairie came down to the water's edge. The sweep of the wind was

terrific, while the downpour of rain was such that at times it was

impossible to see any landmarks a hundred feet away. Captain Gray,

wrapped in his storm clothes, who had, since the tempest broke, staid

on the roof, one eye on the banks, when he could see them, and the

other on the young man at the wheel, finally called up and wanted to

know if I did not think we had better feel our way ashore and tie up

until the storm abated, even at the risk of being late in getting

back to Prescott to take up our regular trip in the morning. I was

shivering so that my teeth chattered, and the captain would have

been fully justified in assuming that I was shaking as much from

fear as from cold. I had a deal of pride in those days, however,

and a fair allowance of inherited courage, with perhaps a dash of

pig-headedness. I did not wish to have it bulletined from one end of

the river to the other that the first time I was left in charge of a

steamboat, I had hunted a tree to tie up to because it happened to

thunder and rain a little. That would have been the popular version

of the incident, in any case. I replied, therefore, that if Captain

Gray would send his waiter up with a glass of brandy, I would take

the steamer to Hudson levee before taking out a line, and from there

to Stillwater and back to Prescott in time for our morning run. The

captain said nothing, then or thereafter, but sent his "boy" up with

the brandy. This was applied inwardly, and served to take the chill

off.

Thus fortified--temperance people will please not be horrified

at this depravity of a nineteen-year-old novice, under such

extraordinary provocation--I worked around "Catfish" and followed

along the west shore as far as Lakeland. From Lakeland across the

lake to the Hudson levee, is about three-quarters of a mile. It was

still blowing a gale, and the rain came down in torrents, so that the

opposite shore could not be seen--in fact one could not distinguish

an object ten rods ahead. I had felt my way along, sometimes under

the "slow bell", until the present. I must now cut loose from the

west shore, and make the crossing to Hudson. There was plenty of

water everywhere; but I could not see any landmarks on the opposite

side of the lake. I got a stern bearing, however, and headed across.

In a minute's time I could see nothing, either ahead or astern, and

having no compass I had to rely on the "feel" of the rudders to tell

me which way she was swinging. As it turned out, this was of little

value, owing to the strength of the wind. For five minutes I ran

under full head, and then slowed, trying to get a glimpse of the east

bank, and "find myself". When I did, the "H. S. Allen" was headed

squarely down the lake, and fully a mile below the Hudson landing.

The force of the wind on the chimneys had turned her bow down-wind

and downstream. As the rain began to slacken and I could see my

marks, it took but a few minutes to straighten her up and make the

run to the landing.

On leaving Hudson there were two ways of running the big bar opposite

and below the mouth of Willow River. One, the longest, was to cross

back to Lakeland and then run up the west shore--all of it straight

work. The other, was to run squarely out into the middle of the lake,

turn north and run half a mile, then quartering west-north-west

across the lake to the opposite shore. This crossing saved a mile

or more of steaming over the other course; but it was crooked and

narrow, and the possibility of hanging up was much greater. Captain

Gray asked me, when backing out, which crossing I would make. I

replied that I was going to take the upper to save time. He said

nothing, but again took his place by the bell. He made no suggestion,

nor offered any opinion as to my decision. That was a part of the

river etiquette, which he adhered to even in the case of a boy; for

which I sincerely thanked him in my inner being, while accepting it

outwardly quite as a matter of course--which it would have been, with

an older and more experienced man at the wheel.

I made the crossing without calling for leads, or touching bottom,

and the rest of the way was easy. When we made Stillwater the stars

were out, and the storm-clouds hung low on the southern horizon. I

went below and got into dry clothes, and had a few hours sleep while

the freight was being put ashore. Along about two o'clock in the

morning I started back, with the mate on the roof. In confidence he

confided to me the gratifying news that the "old man says you're all

right. He says that you've got nerve enough to last you through". As

"nerve" was one of the things needed in the business, I was certainly

proud that my night's work, alone on a heavily-loaded boat, in one of

the worst of storms, had given me a standing with the "old man"; and

I felt reasonably certain that his report would carry weight among

the river men who might chance to discuss the merits of the young

"cub", and his equipment for serious work.

I may, I hope, be pardoned for dwelling at such length upon an

incident of such common occurrence on the river as to attract little

or no attention when the man at the wheel was an old and experienced

pilot. But this was my "trying-out" time, which made a difference.

Even if no one else ever gave the incident a second thought, I

should have felt the shame of it to this day, had I "craw-fished" on

that first trial.

I have never seen or heard anything to compare with the storms we

used to have on the river. The river men had a theory of their

own--not very scientific, and probably without foundation in

fact--that the vapors from the lowlands and islands formed clouds

which were more than ordinarily charged with electricity. _Why_ they

should be more highly charged than vapors arising from lowlands or

islands elsewhere, they did not attempt to explain, and could not

had they attempted. The fact remains, that our thunder storms were

something out of the ordinary, and were so regarded by people from

the East who experienced them for the first time. Many steamboats

were struck by lightning, but few were burned, the electrical bolt

being diffused through the iron of the boilers and machinery, and

finding ready escape through the water-wheel shafts into the river.

I have heard it stated that engineers have often received serious

shocks from bolts thus passing from the chimneys to the water, by way

of the machinery, but I never heard of one being killed. I do know

that when these pyrotechnics were going on, the engineers kept their

hands off the throttle-wheel, except in cases of dire necessity.

The pilot was seemingly in more, but really less danger than the

engineers. However, under such circumstances, a man had to hang on

to his nerve as well as his wheel; and I doubt if many pilots ever

became so hardened as not to feel "creepy" when the storm was on.