The regular route of the Grand is from Memphis to Mhoon's Landing, on the Arkansas River, a round trip of 120 miles, with thirty landings.
I asked Mrs. Johnson if she had ever been shipwrecked. Indeed she had! Her former ship, the Nettie Johnson, struck thin ice one night in the Arkansas River and went down.
"What did you do?" I asked.
"I reached after an iron ring," she replied, "and clumb on up into the rigging. She went down about four-thirty a. m. and we stayed on her till daylight; then we all swum ashore. I tell you it was cold! There was icicles on my dress; my son Emery put his arms around me to keep me warm, and his clothes froze onto mine."
"How long a swim was it to shore?" I asked.
"Oh," put in her husband, "it didn't amount to nothing. She was only swimming about two minutes."
This statement, however, was repudiated by the captain. "Two minutes, my foot!" she flung back at her spouse. "It was more than that, all right!"
Mrs. Johnson has done flood rescue work for the Government, with the Grand. In the spring previous to our visit she rescued sixty families from one plantation, besides towing barge-loads of provisions to various points on the Mississippi and Arkansas rivers.
Captaining and piloting a river boat are clearly good for the health. Mrs. Johnson looks too young to be a grandmother. Her skin is clear, her cheeks are rosy, her brown eyes flash and twinkle, her voice, somewhat hoarse from shouting commands, is deep and strong, and her laugh is like the hearty laugh of a big man.
"Are you a suffragist?" I asked her.