Chapter XIX

_Steamboat Racing_

It is popularly supposed that there was a great deal of racing on

Western rivers in the olden time--in fact, that it was the main

business of steamboat captains and owners, and that the more prosaic

object, that of earning dividends, was secondary. There is a deal

of error in such a supposition. At the risk of detracting somewhat

from the picturesqueness of life on the upper Mississippi as it is

sometimes delineated, it must in truth be said that little real

racing was indulged in, as compared with the lower river, or even

with the preconceived notion of what transpired on the upper reaches.

While there were many so-called steamboat races, these were, for

the most part, desultory and unpremeditated. On the upper river,

there never was such a race as that between the "Robert E. Lee" and

the "Natchez", where both boats were stripped and tuned for the

trial, and where neither passengers nor freight were taken on board

to hinder or encumber in the long twelve hundred miles between New

Orleans and St. Louis, which constituted the running track.

It is true, however, that whenever two boats happened to come

together, going in the same direction, there was always a spurt that

developed the best speed of both boats, with the result that the

speediest boat quickly passed her slower rival, and out-footed her

so rapidly as soon to leave her out of sight behind some point, not

to be seen again, unless a long delay at some landing or woodyard

enabled her to catch up. These little spurts were in no sense races,

such as the historic runs on the lower waters. They were in most

cases a business venture, rather than a sporting event, as the first

boat at a landing usually secured the passengers and freight in

waiting. Another boat, following so soon after, would find nothing to

add to the profits of the voyage.

Racing, as racing, was an expensive if not a risky business. Unless

the boats were owned by their commanders, and thus absolutely under

their control, there was little chance that permission would be

obtained for racing on such a magnificent and spectacular scale as

that usually depicted in fiction.

The one contest that has been cited by every writer on upper river

topics, that has ever come under my observation, was the one between

the "Grey Eagle" (Captain D. Smith Harris), and the "Itasca" (Captain

David Whitten); and that was not a race at all. It is manifestly

unfair to so denominate it, when one of the captains did not know

that he was supposed to be racing with another boat until he saw the

other steamer round a point just behind him. Recognizing his rival as

following him far ahead of her regular time, he realized that she was

doing something out of the ordinary. He came to the conclusion that

Captain Harris was attempting to beat him into St. Paul, in order to

be the first to deliver certain important news of which he also was

the bearer. When this revelation was made, both boats were within a

few miles of their destination, St. Paul.

Here are the details. In 1856, the first telegraphic message was

flashed under the sea by the Atlantic cable--a greeting from Queen

Victoria to President Buchanan. Captain D. Smith Harris had, the

year before, brought out the "Grey Eagle", which had been built at

Cincinnati at a cost of $60,000. He had built this boat with his own

money, or at least a controlling interest was in his name. He had

intended her to be the fastest boat on the upper river, and she was

easily that. As her captain and practically her owner, he was at

liberty to gratify any whim that might come into his head. In this

case it occurred to him that he would like to deliver in St. Paul the

Queen's message to the President ahead of any one else.

There was at that time no telegraph line into St. Paul. Lines ran to

Dunleith, where the "Grey Eagle" was taking in cargo for St. Paul,

and also to Prairie du Chien, where the "Itasca" was loading. Both

boats were to leave at six o'clock in the evening. Captain Harris had

sixty-one miles farther to run than had Captain Whitten. But Harris

knew that he was racing, and Whitten did not, which made all the

difference in the world.

Whitten soldiered along at his usual gait, stopping at every landing,

putting off all cargo at each place, and taking on all that offered,

and probably delayed to pass the compliments of the day with agents

and other friends, as well as discuss the great message that he was

bearing. The "Grey Eagle", on the contrary, stopped at only a few

of the principal landings, and took on no freight after leaving

Dunleith. She did not even put off freight that she was carrying,

but took it through to St. Paul and delivered it on her return trip.

She carried the mail, but in delivering it a man stood on the end of

one of the long stages run out from the bow, from which he threw the

sacks ashore, the boat in the meantime running along parallel with

the levee, and not stopping completely at any landing. Running far

ahead of her time, there were no mail sacks ready for her, and there

was no reason for stopping. The "Grey Eagle" had the best of soft

coal, reinforced by sundry barrels of pitch, from which the fires

were fed whenever they showed any signs of failing. With all these

points in her favor, in addition to the prime fact that she was by

far the swiftest steamboat that ever turned a wheel on the upper

river, it was possible for her to overtake the slower and totally

unconcerned "Itasca", when only a few miles from St. Paul.

The race proper began when Whitten sighted the "Gray Eagle" and

realized that Harris was trying to beat him into St. Paul in order

to be the first to deliver the Queen's message. Then the "Itasca"

did all that was in her to do, and was beaten by less than a length,

Harris throwing the message ashore from the roof, attached to a piece

of coal, and thus winning the race by a handbreadth.

The time of the "Grey Eagle" from Dunleith, was eighteen hours; the

distance, two hundred and ninety miles; speed per hour, 16 1/9 miles.

The "Itasca", ran from Prairie du Chien to St. Paul in eighteen

hours; distance, two hundred and twenty-nine miles; speed, 12 2/3

miles per hour.

The "Itasca" was far from being a slow boat, and had Whitten known

that Harris was "racing" with him, the "Grey Eagle" would not have

come within several hours of catching her.

As a race against time, however, the run of the "Grey Eagle" was

really something remarkable. A sustained speed of over sixteen

miles an hour for a distance of three hundred miles, upstream, is

a wonderful record for an inland steamboat anywhere, upper river

or lower river; and the pride which Captain Harris had in his

beautiful boat was fully justified. A few years later, she struck

the Rock Island Bridge and sank in less than five minutes, a total

loss. It was pitiful to see the old Captain leaving the wreck,

a broken-hearted man, weeping over the loss of his darling, and

returning to his Galena home, never again to command a steamboat. He

had, during his eventful life on the upper river, built, owned, or

commanded scores of steamboats; and this was the end.

The "Northerner", of the St. Louis Line, was a fast boat, and an

active contestant for the "broom". The boat that could, and did

run away from, or pass under way, all other boats, signalized her

championship by carrying a big broom on her pilot house. When a

better boat passed her under way, the ethics of the river demanded

that she pull the broom down and retire into seclusion until she in

turn should pass the champion and thus regain her title. The struggle

on the upper river lay between the "Northerner" and the "Key City".

The "Grey Eagle" was in a class by herself, and none other disputed

her claims, while actively disputing those of all others of the

Minnesota Packet Company, of which the "Key City" was the champion

and defender.

The two rivals got together at Hudson, twenty miles up Lake St.

Croix--whether by accident or agreement it is impossible to say,

but probably by agreement. They had twenty miles of deep water, two

miles wide, with only four close places to run. It was a fair field

for a race, and they ran a fair and a fine one. For miles they were

side by side. Sometimes a spurt would put one a little ahead; and

again the other would get a trifle the most steam and the deepest

water, and so creep ahead a little. When they came into Prescott, at

the foot of the lake, the "Key City" was a clear length ahead, her

engineers having saved a barrel or two of resin for the home stretch.

With this lead she had the right of way to turn the point and head up

the river. Ned West was at the wheel, with an assistant to "pull her

down" for him, and he made a beautiful turn with his long and narrow

craft; while the "Northerner" had to slow down and wait a minute

or two before making the turn. In the meantime the "Key City's"

whistles were blowing, her bell ringing, and her passengers and crew

cheering, while a man climbed to the roof of the pilot house and

lashed the broom to the finial at the top, the crown of laurels for

the victor.

The lower river stern-wheel steamer "Messenger" was also a very fast

boat. On one occasion she came very near wresting the broom from

the "Key City", in a race through Lake Pepin, where also there was

plenty of water and sea room. The "Key City" had a barge in tow and

thus was handicapped. The "Messenger" seemed, therefore, likely to

win the race, as she had passed the former under way. Within four

miles of the head of the lake, Captain Worden of the "Key City"

ordered the barge cast adrift, having placed a few men on board of

it, with an anchor and cable to use in case of necessity. Thus freed

from the encumbrance, he put on steam and passed his rival before

reaching Wacouta, in spite of the most strenuous efforts on the part

of the latter to retain her lead. Running far enough ahead of the

"Messenger" to render the maneuver safe, Worden crossed her bow, and

circling around her ran back and picked up his barge.

In this race, it was said by passengers who were on board the two

boats, that the flames actually blazed from the tops of the tall

chimneys on both craft; and on both, men were stationed on the

roof playing streams of water from lines of hose on the chimney

breechings, to prevent the decks from igniting. Under such conditions

it is easy to see how a boat might catch fire and burn. And yet the

passengers liked it. Had they been the owners of casks of hams,

as legend relates of a passenger on a lower river boat under like

circumstances, there is no doubt they would have made an oblation of

them to the gods of heat and steam, rather than have the other boat

win.

The earliest recorded race run on the upper river was that between

the "Nominee", owned and commanded by Captain Orren Smith, and the

"West Newton" (Captain Daniel Smith Harris), in 1852. In this event

but one boat actually ran, for Harris had no confidence in the

ability of his boat to win, and not possessing the temper that would

brook defeat, he declined to start. The "Nominee" completed the run

from Galena to St. Paul and return, a distance of seven hundred

miles, making all landings and handling all freight and passengers,

in fifty-five hours and forty-nine minutes, an average rate of speed

of 12-1/2 miles an hour, half of it against and half with the

current. This was good running, for the boats of that time. As there

was no other boat to compete for the honor, the "Nominee" carried the

broom until she sank at Britt's Landing, below La Crosse, in 1854.

Bunnell, in his very interesting _History of Winona_, says:

"Captain Orren Smith was a very devout man; and while he might

indulge in racing, for the honor of his boat, he believed in

keeping the Sabbath; and as long as he owned the boats which

he commanded he would not run a minute after twelve o'clock

Saturday night, but would tie his boat to the bank, wherever

it might be, and remain at rest until the night following at

twelve o'clock, when he would resume the onward course of his

trip. If a landing could be made near a village or settlement

where religious services could be held, the people were invited

on board on Sunday, and if no minister of the gospel was at

hand, the zealous Captain would lead in such service as suited

his ideas of duty. But the Captain's reverence and caution did

not save his boat, and she sank below La Crosse in the autumn

of 1854."

Two of the boats on which I served, the "Kate Cassell" and the "Fanny

Harris", while not of the slow class, yet were not ranked among the

fast ones; consequently we had many opportunities to pass opposition

boats under way, and to run away from boats that attempted to so

humiliate us.

There was a great difference in boats. Some were built for towing,

and these were fitted with engines powerful enough, if driven to

their full capacity, to run the boat under, when the boat had no

barges in tow. Other boats had not enough power to pull a shad off a

gridiron. It was the power that cost money. A boat intended solely

for freighting, and which consequently could take all the time there

was, in which to make the trip, did not require the boilers and

engines of a passenger packet in which speed was a prime factor in

gaining patronage.

There is great satisfaction in knowing that the boat you are steering

is just a little faster than the one ahead or behind you. There is

still more satisfaction in feeling, if you honestly can, that you are

just a little faster as a pilot than the man who is running the other

boat. The two combined guarantee, absolutely, a proper ending to any

trial of speed in which you may be engaged. Either one of them alone

may decide the race, as a fast pilot is able to take his boat over a

long course at a better rate of speed than a man not so well up in

his business. If both men are equally qualified, then it is certain

that the speediest boat will win.

What conditions determine the speed of two boats, all observable

terms being equal? Nobody knows. The "Key City" and the "Itasca" were

built for twins. Their lines, length, breadth, and depth of hold were

the same; they had the same number and size boilers, and the parts

of their engines were interchangeable; yet the "Key City" was from

one to three miles an hour the faster boat, with the same pilots at

the wheel. It was a fruitful topic for discussion on the river; but

experts never reached a more enlightening conclusion than, "Well, I

don't know". They didn't.

The boats of the old Minnesota Packet Company averaged better than

those of a later era. In the run from Prairie du Chien to St. Paul,

as noted above, the "Itasca" averaged twelve miles an hour, upstream,

handling all her freight and passengers. The schedule for the Diamond

Jo Line boats, in 1904, allowed eight miles an hour upstream, and

eleven downstream, handling freight and passengers.

[Illustration: THE LEVEE AT ST. PAUL, 1859. Showing the Steamer "Grey

Eagle" (1857; 673 tons), Capt. Daniel Smith Harris, the fastest and

best boat on the Upper River, together with the "Jeanette Roberts"

(1857; 146 tons), and the "Time and Tide" (1853; 131 tons), two

Minnesota River boats belonging to Captain Jean Robert, an eccentric

Frenchman and successful steamboatman. (Reproduced from an old

negative in possession of Mr. Edward Bromley of Minneapolis, Minn.)]