 | The spectre steamer, and other tales |  |
THE BIVOUAC;
OR A NIGHT AT THE MOUTH OF THE OHIO.
a Sketch of Western Doyaging.
A few years since I was on my way to St.
Louis, and took passage at Cincinnati on
board the steamer Chief Justice Marshall,
which was bound to New Orleans, but from
which I was to disembark at the mouth of the
Ohio, there to wait for some New Orleans
boat going up to take me to my destination.
Our travelling party consisted of three ladies
—a mother and two lovely daughters—deep
in their teens, and a young gentleman and
his bride from Louisiana, with her brother
just from college. The boat was large and
comfortable; a spacious state-room offered
us all the retirement of a private apartment
in a dwelling.
It was a bright morning in October when
we got under head-way from the landing,
and bending our course down the river, left
the queen city receding in the distance. The
prospect from the decks as we swept round
the noble curve which forms the peninsula of
this great metropolis, was unequalled for
beauty and variety. To the eye of the voyager,
who gazes on the city and its opposite
suburban shore, the river seems to flow
through a valley peopled for centuries, rather
than a region but fifty years ago a desolate
wilderness. Crowded population, taste,
wealth, and a high degree of agriculture on
the banks, all indicate the home of a long
settled people, instead of the emigrant of
yesterday. Astonished at what he beholds,
the traveller's mind is overpowered at the
contemplation of the future destiny of the
land. This feeling is not only awakened by
the sight of Cincinnati and its environs, with
its fleets of steamers, but it is kept alive as
he proceeds down the winding and romantic
river. On either bank noble farms descend
with their waving fields to touch the lip of
the laughing wave, and at short intervals
thriving villages meet his never wearying
sight. Unlike the monotony of the Mississippi,
the Ohio ever presents objects of interest.
The voyager of taste is ever upon
deck, as he is borne through the picturesque
regions, and exclamations of surprise are
exhausted only to be repeated and renewed
again and again.
The next morning after quitting Cincinnati
approached presenting a scarcely less business
like air than that of her rival city.
Situated just above the `Falls,' it was then
the head of large boat navigation. But a
deep canal has since then been constructed
around the falls nearly two miles in length,
by which steamers laden in New Orleans
can pass through without as heretofore,
being detained and transferring their freight
by drays to smaller boats above the falls,
and pursue their way to Cincinnati or Pittsburg.
The river being now unusually high,
the rocks of the rapids were nearly covered,
and with skilful pilotage they might be
ventured. After an hour's delay at the
landing we shot out into the middle of the
stream, and then set the boat's head to
descend the rapids. As we approached
them with the velocity of an arrow, there
was not a word spoken on board save by
the pilot, who stood forward, giving brief
orders to the helmsman. Black rocks appeared
on every side—the rapids reared
and foamed before us, seemingly in our
very path; but onward we went with irresistible
power, the vast steamer rolling to
and fro like drunken. But we passed them
safely, the captain having risked boat and
cargo, and put in jeopardy his own life and
those of all on board. But human life is
of little value in the West, where there is
so much of it floating about, none knowing
whence or whither!
Among our passengers were two, a father
and daughter, that particulary attracted my
attention, from the indifference to danger
which both exhibited during the perilous
descent of the rapids; the elder standing
with folded arms looking upon the deck,
gazing on vacancy,—the younger admiring
with a calm but delighted look the velocity
of the boat—the curling waters around
her, and the wild roar and sublime confusion
of the scene through which she was borne.
He was about fifty-six years of age, with a
noble countenance, which care and grief
had deeply lined, his hair gray and his form
somewhat bent, less with years than sor
row. An air of melancholy pervaded his
appearance and irresistibly interested the
beholder in him. His daughter had fair
hair and blue eyes, and seemed destined by
nature to be happy-hearted; for she spoke
to him always with a sweet smile, and
always smiled at seeing any scenery that
pleased her. But there was a pensiveness
in her look that harmonized with the sadness
upon his brow. Her attentions to him,
I had observed, were tender, devoted, and
full of anxious solicitude to draw him away
from his own thoughts. At times she would
succeed, and he would look up and around
at the green wooded banks and smile with
momentary interest, when she would appear
perfectly happy, and tears would come into
her eyes—tears of joy.
During the course of the day I had an
opportunity of rendering him a slight assistance
as he descended from the deck, for
which the daughter gratefully thanked me,
adding, `My father is a little feeble, sir; I
am in hopes this voyage will be of great
service to him.'
I warmly expressed the same desire, and
as they immediately retired to their staterooms
I saw no more of them that day.
The ensuing morning I ascended the deck
a few minutes after sun-rise and found them
already promenading together, the father
on the daughter's arm. The incident, and
brief interchange of words the day before
had conferred upon me the privilege of approaching
and inquiring after his health.
`Better, sir, I thank you,' he answered
with a grateful look, `but,' he added in a
half tone which I could not help hearing,
`it is not the body—it is the spirit that is
sick.'
`Oh, dear father!' said his daughter,
glancing at me quickly, to see if I had overheard.
`Oh, my son, my son! would to God I
had buried thee in thy infancy,' said Mr.
Townley, for such I learned was his name;
and he wrung his hands and threw himself
upon a seat. His child seemed much distressed,
and I was turning away lest my
seemed solicitous to preserve, when he said,
extending his hand, `Sit down. I am told
you are from the South—from Natchez.'
`Yes,' I replied.
`I am glad to meet you. I am going there,
to —'
`Dear father, hush!' cried the maiden
with a look of distress.
`I will inquire of him, Charlotte. Perhaps
—'
`You can hear nothing, alas, but what
you already too well know. Pray, father,
do not speak of Henry!—Nay, then let
me inquire. `Sir,' she said, clasping his
hand, and looking up in my face with tearful
eyes, `we have a relative—a dear relative,
sir, in Natchez, who, we have heard has
wandered from the path of honor.'
It is my son, sir,' said Mr. Townley,
firmly. His daughter hung her head, and
I could see the blush of shame mounting
her forehead. `He is my only son. He
was a clerk in New Orleans, and in an evil
hour was tempted to gamble and lost all of
his own money, and then embezzled that of
his employer. To escape punishment he
fled and joined the gamblers at Vicksburg.
We have since learned that he has now
become a principal leader among them, and
that he remains mostly in Natchez. I am
on my way to try to reclaim him. It is
painful to a father to speak thus of a son!
Did you ever see him, sir?'
`Townley,' I repeated,—`I never heard
of the name in the South except associated
with men of honor.'
`We have discerned that he goes by the
assumed name of Frank Carter,' said Mr.
Townley.
I could not confess my ignorance; for I
recognized the name of the most notorious
gambler or `sportsman,' in the South, who
from his influence with the different bands
that infested the West, from Louisville to
New Orleans, was called `Prince Frank.'
I gazed upon the father with pity, and upon
the sister with feelings of the most painful
sympathy. I felt that their hope of reclaim
ing him was destined to perish. They
remarked my silence, and the daughter,
now that there was no more to be told to
call the tinge of shame into her cheek,
lifted her head and looked into my face with
anxious interest. Mr. Townley also waited
earnestly to hear at least a reply from one
who might have seen his son, and who could
tell him something about him less evil than
he had heard. I recollected him as a fine
looking, richly dressed young man, who
used to make a dashing appearance at the
St. Catharine's race course, in a barouche
drawn by a pair of spirited bays, with a
beautiful girl, his mistress, seated by his
side. He had become rich by his reckless
profession, and it was said owned several
dwellings in `Natchez under the Hill,' the
empire over which, as `Prince Frank,' he
ruled. But recently, since I had left the
South in May, there had been a war of
extermination against the gamblers, beginning
at Vicksburg and sweeping the whole
South-West. What had become of `Prince
Frank' in this well remembered and bloody
crusade of the roused citizens of Mississippi
to redeem their towns and cities from the
hordes of blacklegs who infested them, I
was ignorant.
`Do you know him, sir? — Pray speak
freely;' asked the daughter, after watching
my countenance for some time.
I frankly informed her that her information
had been correct, and while I expressed
my hopes that their pious journey to effect
his reformation and restoration to society,
might be successful, I told her that I feared
there was little prospect of it.
From this time I saw much of them, for
Mr. Townley loved to sit and talk to me of
his son. At length we approached the
mouth of the Ohio where we were to separate,
myself and my party to wait and take a
boat up to St. Louis, — they to continue
their sad and hopeless voyage for the recovery
of a lost son and brother.
As the boat was rounding too at the beautiful
point of land now the site of the infant
city of Cairo, Mr. Townley came to me and
remain in St. Louis?
On learning it would be but for two days,
and that we should then proceed directly
down the Mississippi to Natchez, he asked
if it would be agreeable to us for himself
and daughter to attach themselves to our
party. This accession was gladly received
by all my friends to whom I had communicated
the interesting object of their journey,
and who were as deeply touched as myself
with their peculiar affliction. Mr. Townley
and his daughter, therefore, quit the boat
with us; and the steamer landing our large
party with our baggage upon the shore,
resumed her swift course down the river,
Captain Clark receiving our good wishes
for his safe and speedy arrival at New Orleans.
It was late in the afternoon when we
landed upon the point, and as we learned a
boat was looked for momentarily from below,
bound to St. Louis, we concluded not
to remove our large quantity of baggage to
the tavern, but remain with it, at least till
night by the river side. Cairo city, as this
place is now denominated, was then comprised
in a two story tavern, called `Bird's
Hotel,' with a double gallery running
around it,—in a sort of grocery store, one
or two log huts and a vast forest of gigantic
trees that covered nearly the whole place
except `the clearing' on the extreme point.
It was a desolate looking spot, especially on
the approach of night. The tavern, too,
had a bad name, the point being, from its
central position, a rendezvous for gamblers,
and from its retired character, and the
peculiar facilities it afforded for evading
justice, the refuge of criminals and all kinds
of desperate characters. Flat boats, also,
always hauled up here on their trips for the
crews to take a frolic, and here were always
sure to be landed from steamers, mutinous
`hands,' or detected rogues. We had
some knowledge of the character of the
spot, and therefore chose to remain as long
as we could on the levee, hoping the boat
would soon appear and render further inti
macy with the suspicious tavern unnecessary.
We therefore placed our trunks in a hollow
square, and seating ourselves upon
them, waited patiently for the expected
boat.—When the sun at length set, and no
signs of her rewarded our long and intense
gazing, we began to wish we had waited at
Cincinnati for a St. Louis boat, as the
Broadway House we all acknowledged, was
far more comfortable than the broad side of
a river bank. The landlord, now, on our
application to him, roughly replied that his
rooms were full. We had observed as we
went to the house, several suspicious men
lurking about the tavern, one of whom I
recognized as a well known Natchez gambler.
We felt no disposition to remain in
their company at the tavern, well knowing
the vindictiveness which they entertained,
since their expulsion, against all Mississippians,
and the annoyance we might expect
if we were recognized to be from the South.
As the night promised to be clear, and the
moon rose as the sun set, we decided on
remaining on the bank all night. We
arranged couches for the ladies with cloaks
and buffalo skins within the space enclosed
by the trunks; and suspending on four
stakes a large crimson Mexican blanket
that belonged to the travelling equipment
of the Louisianian, formed a serviceable
canopy to protect them from the dew. We
then opened our trunks and took out our
knives and pistols, and the brother of the
bride unlocked from his case a new, double-barreled
fowling piece he was taking home.
There were of our party seven men, including
two young merchants returning home
to St. Louis from the East, who were
bivouacked a few paces from us, but who
on invitation joined us. We had arms,—
the double-barreled fowling piece just named,
nine pistols and five bowie knives, and
powder and ball: we therefore felt very sure
of giving a good reception to any who molested
us; for we knew that defenceless
parties of bivouacking travellers had been
attacked by armed banditti, and robbed of
every article of baggage, and their jewelry
also of travellers landing to the point who
never embarked again. We therefore quietly
loaded our arms, and having established
a watch both for security and at look out
for a steamer, and awaken the rest on its
approach, we settled ourselves about our
bivouac for the night. The ladies soon
went to sleep, confiding in our guardianship
as women should ever do. Mr. Townley
all at once showed himself to be a man of
resolute character; for the probable danger
of the party roused him from the contemplation
of his own sorrows to sympathy
with the feelings of those around him.
The moon shone very bright, and the two
great rivers flowed majestically past, their
broad surfaces looking like torrents of
molten steel, meeting a mile below the
point, and blending into one dark flood
which lost itself in the gloomy forests to
the South. It was two in the morning. I
was standing watch with Mr. Townley and
the knight of the fowling piece, and one of
the young merchants, when we observed a
party of men suddenly issue from a path
leading into the forest in the direction of
two or three log huts. Hitherto the night
had been still; the lights had been early
extinguished in the tavern, and the groups
of boatmen that were lingering about the
shore had returned on board their flat boats.
The party which we now saw was, when
we discovered it, about three hundred yards
off, moving at a quick tramp directly
towards our bivouac. We instantly wakened
our companions without disturbing
the ladies, and having prepared our arms to
give them a good reception should they
prove hostile, we remained seated upon our
trunks watching them. The moon now
shone upon them so clearly that we could
count their number—fourteen men, marching
three and four abreast; it also gleamed
upon weapons which some of them carried.
We were now satisfied that we were the
object of an open attack by some of the
desperadoes who infested the point, who
probably expected to find us unarmed and
sleeping, and so pillage our baggage and
persons, if not do murder, if resisted. We
let them advance within fifty paces and
then challenged. One who walked by the
side of the first rank then spoke to them
and they halted.
`If you approach any nearer, be your
errand peaceful or hostile, we shall fire upon
you,' we said firmly.
`Ha! they are prepared!' said one.
`No. It is bravado. Let us on!' shouted
another.
`On, then,' was the general cry, and they
rushed towards us in an irregular body.
We let them come within close pistol
shot,—all fired a regular discharge—but
over their heads.
They suddenly stopped, with a cry of surprise,
fired a pistol or two, and then retreated
a few paces and made a stand.—
One of them was evidently wounded, for we
saw him fall, and with difficulty and groaning
drag himself after his companions.—
The challenge and firing aroused the females
of our party, who at first shrinked, and were
in great terror, but were prevailed upon to
keep their recumbent positions sheltered
from any fire of the assailants, by the trunks
we had fortunately piled around their lodging
place. We now reloaded our pistols,
and prepared to receive them if they again
attempted to molest us. Before we all got
prepared for a second defence, they rushed
upon us, firing pistols as they advanced, the
balls of which whizzed over us, and, as we
afterwards saw, pierced our trunks. Reluctant
as we were to shed blood, we did not
hesitate to return their fire, when they had
got within five yards of us brandishing their
knives and as desperate a looking set of
black-legs as I should ever wish to encounter.
A ball from Mr. Townley's pistol
brought down their leader, and we were in
the act of engaging with our knives, when a
happy diversion was made in our favor by
a shout close at hand, and a crew of gallant
Kentucky boatmen, consisting of a father
and five sons, roused by the skirmishing,
came up from their boat to our rescue.
that, after making slight defence,
they fled into the forests, leaving their chief
dead not four yards from our bivouac. At
he same moment, the deep `boom' of an
ascending steamer reached our ears. We
were congratulating each other upon our
escape, and thanking the brave boatmen,
when a loud wild cry from Mr. Townley
chilled the blood in our veins. We looked,
and saw him leaning over the body of the
slain robber. His daughter flew to him,
gazed at the face of the dead, shrieked and
cast herself upon the body.
It was his son—her brother! He had fallen
by his father's hand. Poor Mr. Townley!
he never came to his reason, to realize the
full extent of his misery. He grew imbecile,
and perished a few months afterwards,
a broken-hearted wreck. Charlotte
Townley still lives, but consumption is
eating the bloom from her cheek, and her
fading form will soon lie in the grave beside
her father's.
| The spectre steamer, and other tales | |