CHAPTER IX.
TOWING.
Monday, Nov. 16, 1903.—The engine bucked yesterday, for a change, so we 'phoned to Meredosia and secured the services of the Celine, a gasoline launch of five-horse-power. She started at once, but arriving in sight of Naples she also stopped and lay two hours before she condescended to resume. About 3 p. m. we got under way, the Celine pushing, with a V of two-by-fours for her nose and a strong rope reaching from her stern to each after corner of the scow. Then our own engine awoke, and ran all day, as if she never knew what a tantrum was. We made Florence, a town of 100 people, and tied up for the night. An old "doctor" had a boat with a ten-horse-power gasoline tied up next us. He travels up and down the river selling medicines. As these small towns could scarcely support a doctor, there is possibly an opening for a real physician, who would thus supply a number of them. Telephonic communication is so free along the river that he could cover a large territory—at least better than no doctor at all.
LAUNCH TOWING.
During the night it blew hard, and rain, thunder and lightning made us feel sorry for the poor folk who were exposed to such dangers on shore. This morning we got off about 7:15, with a dull, lowering sky, fog, but a wind dead astern and a strong current, so that we are in hopes of a record run. So far our best has been 22 miles in one day.
The right bank shows a series of pretty high bluffs, the stratified rock showing through. Ferries grow numerous. A good deal of timber is at the riverside awaiting shipment—a good deal, that is, for Illinois—and remarkably large logs at that. It seems to go to Meredosia. The boy and his father had made a gangway plank, and a limber affair it was; so the boys are taking it to pieces and setting the two-by-fours up on edge, which gives more strength. There is a right and a wrong way of doing most things, and we invariably choose the wrong till shown better.
Bought some pecans at Meredosia—$3.00 a bushel. It ought to pay to raise them at that price, which is rather low than high. The river is said to be lined with the trees, and one woman says she and her two daughters made $150 gathering them this season. Hickory nuts cost 80 cents to $1.20, the latter for big coarse nuts we would not gather in the East.
Tuesday, Nov. 17, 1903.—Kampsville, Ill. Yesterday Mr. Hauser brought us this far with the gasoline launch Celine, and then quit—too cold. Cost $12 for the tow. By the time we got here the northeast wind was blowing so fierce and cold that we tied up. The town seems very lively for so small a place, having a number of stores. They charged us 25 cents a gallon for stove gasoline, but only 8 cents a pound for very fair roasting beef. We were moored on a lee shore, with our port bow to land, lines from both ends to stakes on shore, and the gangway plank roped to the port corner side and staked down firmly; the anchor out from the starboard stern, so as to present that side to the wind and current. She swung easily without bumping, but the plank complained all night. We scarcely felt the waves from the Bald Eagle when she came in, but the wind raised not only whitecaps but breakers and we rocked some. It grew so cold that there was a draft through the unlined sides of the boat that kept our heads cold. Fire was kept up all night and yet we were cold.
We now see as never before how much harm was done by the old boat, that compelled us to remain so long in this northern latitude and get the November storms. But for this we would have been well below Memphis, and escaped these gales.
We got new batteries here, but this morning all the gasolines are frozen up, and we lay at our moorings, unable to move. They wanted $20 to tow us 29 miles to Grafton, but have come down to $15 this morning. We will accept if they can get up power, though it is steep—$5.00 being about the usual price for a day's excursion in summer. All hands are stuffing caulking around the windows and trying to keep in some of the heat. Sun shining, but the northeast wind still blows whitecaps, with little if any sign of letting up. The launch that proposes to tow us is busy thawing out her frozen pump. We have put the canoe and skiff on the front "porch," so as to have less difficulty steering.
The little Puritan still sits on the stove in the cabin, and easily furnishes two gallons of water a day when sitting on top of the stove lid. Four times we have turned on the water and forgotten it till it ran over. We might arrange it to let a drop fall into the still just as fast as it evaporates, if the rate were uniform, but on a wood stove this is impossible. Last night it burned dry and some solder melted out of the nozzle, but not enough to make it leak. It did not hurt the still, but such things must be guarded against.
The weather is warmer, sun shining brightly, but we must wait for our tow. The boys are getting tired of the monotony, especially Jim, who likes action. We have the first and only cold of the trip, contracted the cold night when our heads were chilled.
This afternoon Jim and the boy went one way for pecans and squirrels, and the three women another for pecans alone. This is the pecan country, the river being lined with the trees for many miles. In the cabin-boat alongside, the old proprietor is still trying to get his engine to work, while both his men are drunk. And he never did get them and the engine in shape, but lost the job. He did not know how to run his own engine, which is unpardonable in anyone who lives in such a boat or makes long trips in it.
Thursday, Nov. 19, 1903.—Another tedious day of waiting. Cold and bright; but the cold kept us in. After dark Capt. Fluent arrived with his yacht, the Rosalie, 21-horse-power gasoline; and at 9 a. m. we got under way. Passed the last of the locks at 9:15, and made about five miles an hour down the river. Passed Hardin, the last of the Illinois river towns. Many ducks in the river, more than we had previously seen. Clear and cold; temperature at 8 a. m. 19; at 2 p. m., 60. About 3:25 p. m. we swung into the Mississippi. The water was smooth and did not seem terrible to us—in fact we had passed through so many "wides" in the Illinois that we were not much impressed. But we are not saying anything derogatory to the river god, for we do not want him to give us a sample of his powers. We are unpretentious passers by, no Aeneases or other distinguished bummers, but just a set of little river tramps not worth his godship's notice.
Grafton is a straggling town built well back from the river, and looking as if ready to take to the bluffs at the first warning. The Missouri shore is edged with willows and lies low. We notice that our pilot steers by the lights, making for one till close, and then turning towards the next, keeping just to the right or left, as the Government list directs: Probably our craft, drawing so little water, might go almost anywhere, but the channel is probably clear of snags and other obstructions and it is better to take no chances. It was after 6 when we moored in Alton. Day's run, 45 miles in nine hours. We picked up enough ducks on the way down for to-night's dinner—two mallards and two teal.
Friday, Nov. 20, 1903.—Cold this morning, enough to make us wish we were much farther south. Capt. Fluent has quite a plant here—a ferry boat, many small boats for hire, etc. In the night a steamer jolted us a little, but nothing to matter. Even in the channel the launch ran over a sunken log yesterday. We note a gasoline launch alongside that has one of the towing cleats and a board pulled off, and hear it was in pulling her off a sand bar; so there is evidently wisdom in keeping in the channel, even if we only draw eight inches.
A friend called last evening. Waiting at the depot he saw our lights and recognized the two side windows with the door between. It was good to see a familiar face.
We are now free from the danger of ice blockade. The current at the mouth of the Illinois is so slow that ice forming above may be banked up there, and from this cause Fluent was held six weeks once—the blocking occurring in November. But the great river is not liable to this trouble. Still we will push south fast. This morning we had a visit from a bright young reporter from an Alton paper, who wrote up some notes of our trip. The first brother quill we had met, so we gave him a welcome.
At 9 a. m. we set out for St. Louis, Mrs. Fluent and children accompanying her husband. The most curious houseboat we have yet seen lay on shore near our mooring place. It was a small raft sustained on barrels, with a cabin about six feet by twelve. A stovepipe through the roof showed that it was inhabited. Reminded us of the flimsy structures on which the South American Indians entrust themselves to the ocean.
The Reynard and her tender are following us, to get the benefit of Fluent's pilotage. A head wind and some sea caused disagreeable pounding against the front overhang, which alarmed the inexperienced and made us glad it was no wider. But what will it do when the waves are really high?
"BLUFF." THE DESPLAINES.