Captain La Barge had many of these hunters in his employ during his career. Henry Chatillon, the same who appears in Francis Parkman’s “Oregon Trail,” was one. He was a fine man, an excellent hunter, and sensible and gentlemanly in all his relations. The Captain’s favorite hunter, however, was Louis Dauphin, who was more fearless than Chatillon and equally skillful as a hunter. He had a very long career on the Missouri River. He seemed to delight in danger, and was never afraid of the Indians; but his lack of prudence at last cost him his life, and he was killed by the Sioux near the mouth of Milk River in 1865.
PASSENGERS AND CARGO.
Such are some of the peculiar features of Missouri River navigation as it existed fifty years ago. To bring back more of the reality of what has now become only a reminiscence, let us follow one of these steamboats on a typical voyage up the river. The principal event on the annual trip was the embarkation at St. Louis. The cargo consisted of a heterogeneous assortment of goods, designed for the Indian trade and for the equipment of hunting and trapping parties. It frequently included also the government annuities for the various tribes, and stores for the Indian agencies and military posts. The passengers composed an even more heterogeneous mixture than the cargo itself. There were, first, the regular boat crew, numbering from thirty to forty. Very likely there were several Indians returning home from St. Louis, or even from Washington. Then there were recruits for the various trading companies, consisting of hunters, trappers, voyageurs, and mountaineers, and possibly a company of soldiers for some military service. Nearly always there were passengers distinguished for wealth or scientific attainment, who were making the journey for pleasure or research. Government exploring parties generally traveled by boat to the initial point of their expeditions. In all there were from one hundred to two hundred people on board, with sufficient variety to insure vivacity and interest, however monotonous the journey might otherwise be.
DEPARTURE FROM PORT.
The departure from port was always attended with more or less carousing and revelry, particularly in the keelboat and early steamboat days, when a trip up the river might mean years of absence. The kind of farewell that captured the fancy of the average voyageur was a general debauch, which often disqualified him from being ready when the hour of departure arrived. Sometimes these delinquents who failed to appear hied themselves across the country to St. Charles, and joined the boat there. In order to protect itself from loss, the American Fur Company made all its payments to the men conditional upon a certain amount of service. It made an allowance of clothing and blankets, but never delivered them until the men were on board and out of port. Wages were never advanced except to trusted employees.
As the boat swung out into the stream a running salute of musketry was kept up by the mountaineers and others until it was out of hearing. The roll was then called, and the engagés were given their parcels of clothing. Next began the work of putting the boat deck in order for the trip. The bales of goods, which were strewn about in disorderly heaps, were carefully stowed away, and before night the boat was reduced to the appearance which it would wear during the remainder of the trip.
SETTLING CHAMPIONSHIP.
There still remained to be settled a final preliminary to a successful and harmonious voyage—the championship for physical prowess among the engagés on the boat. As in a herd of cattle, so here, someone must be recognized as the strongest—able to whip anybody else in open contest. The crew being largely strangers to each other in starting, there were more or less friction and bickering until a settlement by fist force was reached. Usually the contest would settle down to a small number in a short time. It was a favorite pastime with that veteran mountaineer, Etienne Provost, who was often sent up in charge of recruits, to compel an early settlement which would determine all blustering and quarreling. He would form a ring on the forecastle and compel every braggart to make good his claims before the assembled passengers and crew. One after another would succumb, until one man would emerge from the contest victorious over all the others. He would then be awarded the championship, and receive a red belt in token thereof.
YANKEE JACK.
Captain La Barge recalled an interesting incident of this kind in which he himself had a hand. It was on the Robert Campbell, in 1863. He had on board a large quota of Irish engagés, in fact they were mostly of this nationality; but there was one well-built, quiet, rawboned American, whose full name he had forgotten, but who was commonly known as Yankee Jack. In modern slang, the Irishmen “had it in” for this Yankee, and made his life as uncomfortable as possible. Two men in particular made it a point to harass and annoy him in every conceivable way, until the Captain finally asked Jack why he did not resent their conduct. Jack, who had a higher respect for authority than his persecutors, had not felt at liberty to take the matter up on the boat, but now told the Captain that, if he would permit it, he would settle the matter once for all very promptly. The Captain told him to go ahead, and himself arranged the preliminaries, and told the Irishmen that they would have to stand up and “take their medicine.” With a good deal of contempt for the Yankee they made ready for the fray. A place was cleared on the deck and one of the men stepped out before Yankee Jack, and the battle began; but before the Irishman knew “where he was at” he lay sprawling upon the floor totally hors de combat. The next man stepped up and was led to the slaughter with as little ceremony as the other. For the rest of the voyage the Yankee was unmolested.