University of Virginia Library

15. CHAPTER XV.

Staylor took a seat by Ralph as he concluded
his remark about the preacher, and as the shades of
the evening gathered round them, they sat seemingly
each occupied with his own thoughts, but not unconscious
of the pleasure of his companion's company.
Staylor was the first to interrupt the silence, which
he did by remarking:

“I seem lively, I suppose you think, since I have
been on board, but I can't say it's from the heart,
and yet these chaps to-day looked at me as if they
thought I never had a care. I've just parted with
my old mother. Mr. Beckford, and it's touched me
somehow more than I've been touched for years—
she is living with my brother, but, you see, I was
always the favourite. I was the worst, and she
thought more about me, and loved me, maybe, therefore,
the most. She is a pious woman, and I felt
to-day, when she gave me her blessing, that there
was something in it—but I don't know, I'm not lively
—I took several parting-drinks with my brothers,
and when I came aboard—I feel my steam is getting
down now, and I must wood. Come, the least drop
in the world can't hurt you.”

Ralph assented, and they entered the social hall,
and drank together.

“Capting, come take something,” said Staylor,
addressing that worthy, who at this moment entered
the social hall. The captain said he had no objection—the
decanter was handed to him, and Staylor
drank again to be polite. He pressed Ralph to replenish
his glass, but he refused.

“You're right,” said Staylor, “if you don't want
it don't take it, but I'm one of those kind of men
that can't or won't say no to a good horn. And
yet I never was drunk in my life, that is to say, so
far gone that I couldn't navigate. My brain's never
drunk, but my blood often is. We have a man down
south—we had him, the devil has him now—he was
rich, and had everything around him that was splendid—but
I wouldn't be in his shoes for all his lands.
He treated every body bad about him, his sons bad,
his daughters bad, and it was no wonder then that
he treated his niggers bad. His conscience plagued
him awfully in his old age. It plagued him so that
he couldn't get drunk. I've seen him try to drown
it, till the liquor he had in him would have killed any
other man, but drunk wouldn't come. Capting, when
shall we get to Ballton?”

“In about a half an hour,” replied the Captain—
“the Alexander's there, and I'm told she is going to
give us a race.”

“Is she?” exclaimed Staylor; “she's a fast boat,
but the night promises to be cloudy.”

Another half-hour brought the steamer to Ballton,
and, as there had been both a race and a religious
convention, one near the town and the other in it,
on this day, the boat obtained a considerable increase
of passengers. The Alexander had her steam up,
determined to test the speed of the boat on which
Ralph and Staylor were, and which, for the sake of
a name, we will call the Turtle. When the Turtle
stopped, as she was known to have much better accommodations
than the other boat, many of the passengers
of the latter left her, and came on board of
the Turtle.

The night had set in, and a hazy mist prevailed,
through which an occasional star glimmered, watery
and indistinct. Here and there heavy clouds were
gathering in the heavens, which seemed to threaten
a storm, but the pilot observed that he would not be
surprised if a wind arose, and the mist and clouds
were dispelled. The Turtle, finding the Alexander
was anxious to leave port before her, so as to be
a-head, rung her bell as soon as she had taken the
wood-boat in tow, and proceeded onward. Ralph
stood on the guards, watching the bustle and confusion
amidst the passengers and the citizens as the
bell rung, the first hurrying to get aboard, and the
last as much hurried to get ashore. The hasty
leave-taking—the more last words called out from
the departing passenger to his friend ashore, and the
injunction not to forget such and such a message,
echoed back, were all over, and the Turtle held her

way ahead. The Alexander left port but a moment
after her, and came barking on her track, like a
blood-hound from the slip, or like a high-mettled
racer trained for the contest. Just below Ballton
the banks on the river are abrupt and high. Through
the haze to the eye of Ralph they loomed mountainous
and overwhelming, while from the many
short bends in the stream it was constantly seeming
to the beholder as if the boat would dash immediately
against the precipices that often appeared directly
before it as if it dammed up the river, on which the
light from the fires of the steamer cast a strong glare
for a short distance, while beyond the darkness was
deeper from the contrast. The Alexander could
easily have passed the Turtle while the latter had the
wood-boat in tow, had it not been for the narrowness
of the channel in this place. As it was, the Alexander
pressed close behind the Turtle, and her hands
and even passengers called loudly on the latter to
give way, but at this the Turtle threw loose the
lines of the wood-boat, and kept her place ahead,
apparently by her superior speed, for the distance
between them was now increased. Ralph turned to
make some inquiry of Staylor, and found that he
had left his side. After gazing a few moments more
on the scene, Ralph entered the cabin. He found it
crowded with passengers, a number of whom had
clustered round Staylor, who had seated himself on
the end of the table, and, with the front of his hat
cocked up, and the light shining down from the suspended
lamp on his strong features, he was amusing
them with his remarks. As Ralph looked round,
not seeing the preacher among the number, he inquired
of the Captain where he was.

“Gone!” said the Captain; “he couldn't stand
Staylor,” pointing to him. “I tell you what, he cares
for nobody, he's a caution.”

“Talking about drinking,” said Staylor, to those
about him, I know it's wrong, too much of it I mean;
and I met a temperance society fellow the other day,
and he slyly took me to task about it. Well, I didn't
say much, for when I know I'm wrong, I never say
I'm right; but when we stopped I had my own fun,
for this temperance man eat more than any fellow I
ever met with, eating was meat and drink both to
him. When we got into the stage again, I poked
fun at him all day so hard, that he thought proper to
stop and rest, and take the accommodation line, that
stops at night, and we dashed on in the regular mail
line. Temperance is temperance, and if a man eats
too much, it is just as bad as drinking too much, and
then as to his temperance of temper, he didn't pretend
to it. He had no more chance with us, than a
bob tail bull in fly time; we used him up. Ha, ha,
ha! speaking of drinking, I couldn't but laugh at a
neighbour of mine, who killed himself with hard
drink. He died of mania a potu, I think the doctors
call it; I know it's Latin. Luke didn't think so, he
held it plain English, for I went to see him when he
was on his last legs, stretched out on his bed, and

just after a fit, when he had been fancying he
walked on his head, and that the bedstead had stolen
his legs, and wanted to walk off with them; and I
said to him, `Well, Luke, how goes?' `Ah Blazeaway,'
says he, `I shall have to go the journey, the doctor
says I've got the pormanteau.' Ha, ha!” laughed
Staylor heartily, and then after a moment of thought
he added: “And he did go the journey, poor fellow,
and many a worse man has gone it before him.'
Yes, as Bobby Burns says, a chap who loved a glass
himself, I say,
and I'll be —” Staylor was just about adding an
emphatic oath, when a personage joined the group
around, much like him who proclaimed himself a
preacher, and who, judging from his garb, might be
a divine or might not. Staylor hesitated, from a
sentiment of respect, to give utterance to the oath.
At this moment the little black cabin boy, who wished
to send Staylor below, passed by from the ladies'
cabin on some errand, and trod on the foot of the
individual whose presence had abated Staylor's sentence.
The man drew back his afflicted member,
and with a tremendous oath, gave the boy a kick
that certainly hastened his speed. At this Staylor
burst out into a horse laugh, and eyeing the man from
head to foot, he nodded his head to and fro, like one
who has caught a new idea; drawing his knees up
so as to embrace them with both his arms, as he sat
on the table, he exclaimed: “Stranger, I'd give a
fifty dollar bill for your face.”

“What do you mean, sir?” said the stranger,
speaking angrily.

“Mean,” replied Staylor, eyeing him all over, and
laughing, “I mean what I say, I'd give a fifty dollar
bill for your face, for if I had it, I'd make my fortune
selling tracts.”

A loud laugh broke from every one present.
The stranger looked at Staylor, like one who
wished to pick a quarrel, but could not screw his
courage to the sticking point, when he beheld the
huge proportions of his adversary. After gazing at
Staylor a moment irresolutely, he drew his hat over
his brow, and entered the social hall, with no very
social feelings.

“That,” said Staylor, pointing after him, “is one
of your amphibious fellows, there's no telling what
side he's on; he's astraddle of the fence, ready to
serve God or devil, as best suits his pockets; he seesaws
between saint and sinner, determined to take
the strong side. Look at his coat, you can't tell
whether it is methodist or not, or quaker or what-not,
it's shad belly and it a'n't shad belly; his hat has a
broad brim, and a sharp top. Ha, ha, ha! I suspect
he is amphibious in other respects; that while he
pretends to belong to the cold-water society, he
creeps ashore sometimes like an alligator, and lays
down on the sunny side of a distillery. Strangers,

if there is one thing I scorn in this world more than
another, it is hypocrisy. If I enlisted with the devil
himself, it would be on the agreement, that he should
show his flag, his bloody banner, and I would set up
for ensign myself, that it might float free, so that
people should not be taken under false pretence, come
to us as friends, and find us foes. We go very fast,
don't we?” he continued, getting down from the table;
“how the boat shakes, she puffs like a porpoise.
I expect we are racing it.”

“Racing it!” echoed a nervous, gouty man, on
crutches, who had just come in from the guards;
and who had been hobbling about in a state of inquietude
ever since the boats started; “it's awful,
we have been racing it this hour.”

“We're ahead, a'n't we?” asked Staylor.

“Yes,” replied a one-eyed, hard-featured man,
who entered immediately behind Staylor, and who
appeared to be a “river character,” perhaps belonging
to the boat; “we're ahead, and likely to keep
so; and we will, if it takes all old Dobbin's barrels
of rosom. I'll turn in, anyhow.”

“You are right,” said Staylor, turning to go out
and observing the speaker was one-eyed; “you
must make the most of your time, for I see it takes
you twice as long to sleep, as it does another man.”

“Look here, Mister, do you want to pass an insult?”
exclaimed the one-eyed man, while the Cyclopian
member flashed with all the ire that would have

beamed from both, had the other been able to do
duty.

“None in the world, stranger,” said Staylor, good
humouredly—“it's only a joke; it's all in your eye.
Come let's drink together.”

“Agreed,” said the one-eyed man; and he and
Staylor proceeded to the bar and drank deeply to
their better acquaintance; when the former quietly
retired to his berth, and the latter walked out on the
guards and stood by Ralph, who had preceded him.

The scene was one likely to live in the memory
of Ralph. Frowning immediately before him, (for
the river here was very winding, and thus the effect
was produced,) was a bold and high cliff, against
which the boat seemed hurrying to its destruction.
The haze had passed off from the bosom of the
river; but here and there dark clouds floated over
the sky, between which the stars appeared cold but
clear; for though the clouds lay in dark masses between
them, the patches of sky were as blue as if
the heavens were cloudless. Just above the peak of
the precipice a new moon floated through cloud and
sky, like a frail bark on the troubled sea; while the
huge forest, on either side of the river, seemed to
form a channel to direct the eye to it. Immediately
before the boat, the light flashed forth fiercely on
the dark bosom of the wave, appearing like a mass
of molten gold, thrown into a sea of lead. As the
river was low, its banks high, with tall trees upon
them, which increased their apparent height, while

the waves cast back, here and there, the strong reflection
of cloud and sky, it made the heavens appear
much higher and farther off, and struck the beholder,
in connexion with the surrounding scenery,
with sensations of the sublime.

Behind the Turtle, the scene was of a different
character, and Ralph dwelt upon it with fearful interest;
for it was the first time he had ever been a
witness to such a one. The Alexander was not
more than fifteen or twenty feet behind the Turtle,
pressing immediately in her wake. If the Turtle
had run aground, or any accident had happened, to
have stopped her, before the speed of the Alexander
could have been lessened sufficiently to prevent injury,
in all human probability, she would have
dashed, with great violence, against the Turtle.

But what struck Ralph most, was the dark forms
of the fire-men on board the Alexander, as they
moved before the fire, stirring it up and throwing
wood into the furnace. Though the evening was
rather chilly, several of them had, from the heat
and excitement, stripped off their shirts and with
their persons naked to the waist, they were feeding
the fire, which consumed as fast as it was
fed. There was one mammoth negro, who particularly
arrested Ralph's attention. He caught the
large logs of wood up and cast them on the fire,
as easily as a boy would have thrown upon it as
many willow switches. His black form and countenance
glowing in the glare, the energy with which

he laboured, the muscular power that his naked
chest and arms exhibited, together with the occupation
in which he was engaged, brought to the mind
of Ralph, the idea of one of Satan's devils feeding
the infernal flames. Every now and then, the fire-men
would cast their eyes towards the Turtle; and
if they thought they had gained upon her, they would
give a quick, startling yell; which, from the surrounding
scenery, might well call up fancies of the
past, and almost make the white man think the Indian
was pursuing him in one of his own “fire canoes.”

“She's doing her hardest,” said Staylor to Ralph,
“but I don't think she gains much.”

At this moment the voice of the captain of the
Alexander could be distinctly heard and himself
seen as he leaned over the boiler-deck, and looking
at the hands below, called out in an excited and
angry tone—

“Keep the fires up there, boys! give her all the
steam you can. Mate, get out quick a barrel of
rosin from below, and try them. Keep the steam
up, I tell you!”

“That fellow means to go his death,” exclaimed
Staylor, to the crowd around him; for the passengers,
with various feelings, had gathered on the
guards. “He means to go his death. He has spunk,
any how: I like to see it.” And Staylor, who had
become very much excited at the scene, and with
what he had drunk, exclaimed, calling out to the
crew and passengers of the Alexander, “Good-bye,

stranger—you can't do it—good-bye. Which way?
are you for Cincinnati? When we have got there,
done our business, and are leaving, we'll mention
you'll be down in a week or two.”

“Make way!” cried out the pilot of the Alexander—who
could be distinctly heard on board the
Turtle,—with an awful oath, “make way—give us
part of the channel, and we'll pass you now.”

“You may have all of the channel,” retorted
Staylor, “behind us; but—”

“We'll have that before you, too,” interrupted the
pilot of the Alexander, “if we have to ride over
you. I'll mash your mouth when I meet you.”

“Ha! ha! ha!—it takes two to play that game,
stranger. Blazeaway is my motto!”

“It's Blazeaway Staylor, from the lower country,”
remarked the pilot to a man standing beside
him, as Staylor's voice rung in their ears, for he had
the lungs of a Stentor, “if they don't beat us it won't
be his fault.”

According to the order of the captain of the
Alexander, the firemen had thrown on the fire a
considerable quantity of rosin, and in a few moments
it emitted a dark, gloomy smoke, in which innumerable
shining sparks flashed like the stars amidst the
clouds above. It was now evident to all that the
Alexander was gaining on the Turtle.

“Where's the capting?” called out Staylor, as he
observed the advance of the other boat. “He must
use rosin, too—they'll be in to us, or pass us, soon if

we don't. Capting!” he continued, at the top of his
voice, “where the devil is the capting?”

“Here,” replied the captain of the Turtle, who
answered from the roof of the hurricane-deck, where
he stood beside the pilot.

“Capting!” returned Staylor, “a'n't you going to
give us a touch of rosin?”

“No, no!” exclaimed many of the passengers,
whose fears for their safety had become aroused,
“let them pass us.”

“Let them pass us! not without a trial, I hope,”
said Staylor. “Come down, Capting.”

At Staylor's request the Captain descended, when
that worthy grasped him by the shoulder, and pulling
him hastily aside, said—

“The devil, Capting, you are not going to let them
beat you, are you?”

“No,” said the Captain, “I'll be blowed if I am,
let's drink something.”

“Agreed,” replied Staylor, “I'm for a little brandy,
in the way of rosin, myself. They're pressing
hard on us; come, let's be quick.”

They entered the social hall together, and again
drinking heartily, they returned, when the Captain
called out to the firemen to get some rosin. The
order was obeyed, and in a few moments clouds of
smoke, as dark as that of the Alexander, and full of
glittering sparks, were, emitted by the Turtle.

Great excitement prevailed on both boats. The
river was here broader than above, and the Alexander

had advanced so far that her bow was within
a few feet of the stern of the Turtle, but in turning
so as to enable her to get along side of the latter, she
neccessarily lost some headway, and fell a few feet
behind.

“Keep her in the track,” called out the captain of
the Alexander to his pilot, “and if they won't make
way, go over them.”

“Take care of yourself,” called out the pilot of the
Turtle to him of the Alexander, “mind the law.
If you strike us, I'll shoot you, mister. Tom,” he
continued in a lower voice, speaking to the assistant
pilot, “go into my berth, and bring me my rifle,
prime her anew. If that fellow won't mind the law.
I'll inflict the punishment.”

His assistant obeyed his request, and brought him
the rifle.

“Did you prime her?” asked the pilot.

“Yes,” was the reply.

“Did you try if she was loaded?”

“No, I did not, you didn't tell me.”

“Well, try.”

The assistant tried, and said “she is loaded.”

“Well, put her here, then,” rejoined the pilot,
“just at my right. Fair play is a jewel, and if he
won't give the jewel, he shall take the lead.”

In the meantime, Staylor, who knew all about
steamboats, as he had been for many years a pilot
on the western waters himself, had gone below

among the firemen, bearing a bottle of whisky and
a glass. He treated them all round.

“Old Virginny never tire,” exclaimed the negroes
after they had drunk.

“That's right, boys,” replied Staylor, “steamboat
men can't do without steam, at least when they're
for going ahead.”

Under her immense press of steam, the Turtle
trembled in every joint. It seemed as if she must
shake to pieces. Intense excitement possessed the
crew, and some of the passengers, but the most of
them were very much frightened. There were several
ladies on board the Turtle, and as the Alexander
pressed so closely to her side, they shrunk in
their cabin, and advancing to the entrance of the
gentlemen's cabin, implored whoever they saw to
beg the captain to race no longer.

“We have done all we could, madam—we have
done all we could, ladies. Come out yourself and
ask the captain,” said the old gentleman on crutches,
“we shall be blown up—merciful Providence, we
shall be blown up!”

Here Staylor entered the cabin, followed by a
number of the passengers, who sought to find in his
cool recklessness security—in the presence of his
courage, trying to abash their fears.

“She's gaining on us,” said Staylor, throwing
himself into a seat, in the stern of the gentlemen's
cabin, where he could look out of the door leading
on to the guards, on the side where the Alexander

would have to pass them, if she could succeed in doing
so. “She gaining on us, and we have done our
best—the boat shakes like a coward—she quivers too
much. Well, if the other fellow can beat us fairly,
let him do it. Yes,” he continued, looking through
the door at the Alexander, who had got her bows
nearly aside of the wheel house of the Turtle, “she
gains on us amazing. There must have been something
wrong in her machinery at first, and they've
found it out, and righted it. The last time she turned
her bows to pass us, she fell back. Now you see
she's got nearly on to the other side of the river, and
yet has gained. I thought this was a better boat.
She's for taking the start on us at Turner's point, I
see what she's after. You see we have the advantage
of her, because we'll hug the shoulder of the
point, and not have so much water to go over, she
expects to dart ahead there, and she takes the other
side to come on ahead of us, as it's shoal between.
This is a good place for passing, if she has the
speed.”

In a few moments the Turtle reached Turner's
Point, and the other boat had gained on her so much
as to be thought, on the opposite side of the river,
nearly side and side with her.

“Ah!” exclaimed Staylor, as the Turtle was turning
the Point, “now's the time! You see we have
her a little—that's because she has to turn her bows
this way, and that makes her lose ground. Now
she goes it! You see her bows are pointed right at

us: she's taking too short a turn; but she can't afford
to lose time.”

“She looks as if she was coming right into us!”
exclaimed several of the passengers at once, in great
alarm.

“That's a fact,” replied Staylor, rising from his
chair, and looking through the door, over the heads
of those who stood on the guards, “she comes on
finely.”

“Can't you,” said Ralph to Staylor, “get the
captain to put an end to this; the ladies are terribly
frightened.”

Staylor looked at Ralph with a sarcastic smile, to
see if any of the alarm had communicated to him;
but, discovering by Ralph's tone and features, that
he did not seem to fear much on his own account,
Staylor replied, laying his hand on Ralph's shoulder—

“Wait a moment; if they don't get ahead of us
here they'll give it up. I swear I forgot we had
ladies on board; frightened men never worry me,
but a frightened woman's a different thing: they've
a right to be frightened—and no shame neither—it's
natural to them.”

“My God, she'll be into us!” exclaimed several
of the passengers on the guards opposite the Alexander;
and, as they spoke, they hurried into the cabin
in such haste that some fell and others pitched over
them.

The exclamations, from many voices, of “Stop

her!” “Do you mean to run us down!” mingled
with the prayers of the women, the imprecations of
the men, and the splash of the water, together with
the noise made by the engines, and the attendant
danger from the approximation of the boats themselves—for
the Turtle was close into the shore, and
could not avoid the contact of the Alexander, if her
pilot should so choose—formed a scene of dread and
dismay seldom surpassed. Many of the females had
rushed into the gentlemen's cabin to obtain that mental
relief which danger finds in companionship, and
clinging to the hope that they would be assisted by
the sterner sex.

The man on crutches, at this crisis, danced about,
in the agony of his fear, upon them, as though they
had endowed him with a power of locomotion beyond
all others.

Staylor looked at him for a moment in a kind of
wonderment, and then said to him, as though he
was calmly making an inquiry—

“You look frightened, stranger?”

“Yes, sir. Oh, my God! I am frightened!—
what's to become of me!”

“That's the question,” replied Staylor, putting a
quid between his teeth, “for the fact is, stranger, if
this boat goes down, the only part of you that ever
gets to shore, will be your sticks!”

At this moment, the glare from the fire of the Alexander,
flashed fearfully through the cabin windows
of the Turtle—the women screamed and covered

their heads—the men started to their feet, when a
sharp noise like the report of a rifle was heard. A
wild cry was uttered by the crews of both vessels,
and in a moment more, the Alexander came against
the Turtle with such a tremendous crack, that those
on their feet were thrown prostrate on the floor of the
cabin—the suspended lamp was broken to pieces—
and the lights on the tables, and most of the tables
themselves, were thrown on the floor. There was
a moment of awful suspense; “the boldest held his
breath for awhile,” and the next instant, Staylor called
out through the door, “Put out your fire—quick—
let off your steam, you fools.”

Brought somewhat to their senses by Staylor's
voice, many of the passengers, particularly several
gentlemen given to dress, sprang to take charge of
their baggage.

“Here, let's look to the women,” said Staylor, lifting
an unextinguised light from the carpet; but the
gentlemen were too much engaged with themselves.
In the midst of their confusion, the little black cabin
boy darted into the cabin, wringing his hands in the
violence of his fright, and exclaiming:

“The biler'll burst, O! the biler will burst.”

“Here,” said Staylor, addressing the boy with
a voice cool as an undertaker's, but not so mournfully
modulated, “here boy, are you particularly engaged?”

“No, sir,” ejaculated the affrightened urchin.

“Then,” rejoined Staylor, “while these gentlemen
are taking care of their baggage, do you take care
of mine.”

Struck with his cool self-possession, every one,
notwithstanding the critical situation, turned to look
at Staylor, who put his hand in his pocket, and deliberately
drawing forth a clean sham shirt collar,
he handed it to the black boy, and turning to the one-eyed
man who had been asleep when the boats
struck, and who was huddling his clothes together,
he said:

“Why, stranger, you tumbled from that upper
berth, all in white, like a rat from a meal bin.”

“Who the devil are you,” asked the one-eyed man,
turning his head round to enable his remaining organ
of sight to take a full view of Staylor's person. Before
Staylor could reply, an explosion, loud as the
roar of many pieces of artillery burst upon every ear,
and as it died away, reverberating over the hills and
waters, shrieks, groans and cries arose, that froze
every heart with horror.

Staylor glanced quickly round at his fellow passengers,
and perceiving no one appeared hurt, he
exclaimed:

“We or the other boat has burst its boiler;” he
sprang towards the door and hurried out. In a moment
he discovered from the smoke and cries, that
the accident had happened on board the Alexander,
whose bow had struck, in a slanting manner, the wheel
house of the Turtle, and smashed it into a thousand

pieces. If the former had hit the latter plumply, she
would, in all probability, have sunk her. As it was,
both boats were much injured, and were jammed together.
Staylor at a leap, lit upon the deck of the
Alexander, and beheld a most appalling sight. Dead,
mangled, burnt and scalded bodies lay around him.

“Pitch me over, Master, for God sake, or give
me water!” exclaimed the Herculean negro fireman,
whom we have described, as in unutterable agony
he lay upon the deck, and not knowing what he did,
tore the flesh from his scalded body by the handful,
like pealings from an onion. As he spoke, he dragged
himself to the edge of the boat, and attempted to
throw himself overboard, when he was prevented by
Staylor.

The scene was too shocking to describe. Five
firemen, two women, a child, and three men, deck
passengers, were scalded to death. Five others
were scalded badly, it was thought mortally, and
nine others were seriously injured. The wounded
were immediately placed in berths, or laid on the
floor of the cabin on beds, and every possible attention
that circumstances would allow was shown to
them; but it was a poor consolation, to the friends of
those who died, to remember that had their lives
been guarded half as well as their wounds were
dressed, the awful accident would not have happened.

Ralph Beckford exerted himself, with true philanthropy,
to the utmost of his power; but the recollection

of the scene, whenever he thought of it, though
long afterwards, made him shudder in every nerve.

It is marvellous and most melancholy to observe
the reckless disregard of life and limb, which exists
in this and other respects, on the western waters.
It will never be remedied until Congress takes hold
of the subject, and, by severe enactments, makes all
those who have control on such occasions, penally
responsible for all injuries that occur from their carelessness
or ignorance. Justice as well as humanity
demand such enactments: travelling never will be
half as safe on the western waters as it should be,
until they are made.

“Yes,” said one of the hands of the Alexander,
as he assisted in removing the dead body of one of
his companions, “this never would have happened
if it hadn't been for the pilot of the Turtle—he ought
to be strung up for it.”

“Strung up for what?” inquired the pilot of the
Turtle, who stood within hearing, though on the
deck of his own boat, with his arms folded and looking
sullenly on the scene. “Strung up for what?
Blast you, I'd give you a bullet for much.”

“Try it!” replied the fireman—a white man—
speaking fiercely.

“Come,” said Staylor, “there's enough of this.
Did you shoot the pilot of the other boat?”

“I did,” replied the pilot, “and I'll abide by it.
Was he not coming right down on us? didn't I warn
him off often enough?”

“He would have kept off if you hadn't a shot
him,” replied the fireman, “and I say that you
ought to be taken and given up to justice.”

“Take me, then, if you think so,” replied the
pilot, though his voice evidently faltered a little;
but he continued and addressed Staylor, saying:

“He was coming right down on us; I warned
him off, but he came ahead; and if he meant to
come into us, did I not serve him right? I tell you,
sir, I thought besides that I might save the lives of
our people if I dropped him. He was coming right
into us, and if the Alexander was left to herself, I
thought the tide, as we were going down river,
would keep her off—so it would if she hadn't been
under such headway. What headway she was
under is now plain to every body; for what made
her boiler burst?”

“Stranger,” said Staylor to him, “I don't know
you; there may be some truth in what you say, and
the whole business was in hot blood. I tell you
what, unless you mean to stand a tough time of it,
you had better be off.”

The pilot took the hint; for, half an hour afterwards,
as the alarm and confusion subsided, when
it was talked of among the passengers of both boats
as expedient and proper to arrest and give him up
to justice, it was discovered he had gone ashore, no
one knew where.