After a moment’s pause he began again: “Is this your firsht trip to the tropics?”
“Yes, I want to see them before I die.”
“Better wait till you die. It’s a —ll of a place for a live man. I’m going to set the ship on fire at five o’clock. I’ve been drinking, but I’m as shober as blue blazes now, and I’m going to shelebrate—she-(hic)elebrate.”
Seeing my chance to do some missionary work, I asked him why he didn’t join a temperance club, and thus relieve himself of all temptation to drink.
“No club for me, sir. Had enough clubbing when I’s a boy. Rather be hit by a cocktail. W’iskey’s the life of temper’nce clubs. Keeps ’em going (hic). W’iskey causes more good resolutions than bad ones—makes people wish to be better. An’ what’s better’n that?”
He stopped talking and stood grinning at me as I moved slowly away and faintly returned his smile. I then and there resolved never to take too much liquor again in any form. All men should sign the pledge before they die, as I expect to do. But as it was, I feared I might never have a chance to drink anything but Mississippi River water after five o’clock, when the ship was to burn. However, I calculated that since we would not be out of the river and away from land until six or seven o’clock, which would be from one to two hours after the fire, we could all save ourselves with life-preservers. So I went to my stateroom and finding that my life-preservers had real cork in them, instead of old-fashioned pig-iron, tied one to my valise and two to my trunk. Then I went back on deck and, being prepared for the danger, soon forgot all about it.
After speeding around many river-bends for two hours we went down to lunch, and the pilot, who ate with us, told us among other things that we were just four miles from New Orleans, across country. I told him not to hurry so, but to remember that “the more haste the less speed;” that on the Chicago River we would have traveled many miles in two hours, and that in Chicago we could walk faster than this boat ran; we could walk four miles in one hour. The pilot thought that I was in earnest and winked at the captain, who was of English descent and knew that a wink meant a joke. So he winked at both of us, and asked no questions. I afterward learned that the mention of Chicago was the joke they meant.
Although it was the third week of December, the shores were green and the scenery was interesting all the way, and the weather was warm enough to enable us to enjoy it. The delta presented the appearance of numerous small lakes with strips of meadow land between them, instead of branching streams as marked on the maps. We saw some fine plantations and a fine herd of cattle. Indeed, the district appeared to be an ideal one for raising cattle, as grass and water were plentiful, shelter unnecessary and fences superfluous.
Soon after six o’clock we came to the outlet which was indicated by a jetty on our left and the open sea ahead. The jetty was a pier built where the current could strike it and hollow out its own channel, the same as it does all along the river when it strikes the banks at the bends. A lighthouse and searchlight were, of course, on the end of the pier, which was a much smaller and simpler structure than I had considered necessary. The simple device was, as usual, the successful one.
The pilot got off here, but stopped and shook hands with me, and asked if I had enjoyed the ride. He told me that we had made one of the quickest runs to the mouth of the river on record for a fruit boat. I said: “As far as I’ve got I can’t conscientiously say that I am exhilarated by the speed. Bananas that want to ripen while they ride can’t complain, however. The river takes two dips sideways to every one forward like the best engineer who came aboard half seas over, and I can’t comprehend how a man as sober and steady as you seem to be can keep the ship going that way without forgetting himself at times and letting it take a straight and proper step or two occasionally and run into the shore.”