Into her ear Luis Dupré has whispered sweet words—a speech telling her, that not only are his lands, houses, and slaves at her disposal, but along with them his heart and hand.
It is but repeating what he said on the night of the Natchez ball; his impulsive Creole nature having then influenced him to speak as he felt.
Now, on the gliding steamboat, he reiterates the proposal, more earnestly pressing for an answer.
And he gets it in the affirmative. Before the “Belle of Natchez” has reached fifty miles from the Red River’s mouth, Luis Dupré and Jessie Armstrong have mutually confessed affection, clasped hands, let lips meet, and tongues swear, never more to live asunder. That journey commenced upon the Mississippi is to continue throughout life.
In their case, there is no fear of aught arising to hinder the consummation of their hopes; no stern parent to stand in the way of their life’s happiness. By the death of both father and mother, Luis Dupré has long since been emancipated from parental authority, and is as much his own master as he is of his many slaves.
On the other side, Jessie Armstrong is left free to her choice; because she has chosen well. Her father has given ready consent; or at all events said enough to ensure his doing so.
The huge “high-pressure” steam craft which ply upon the western rivers of America bear but a very slight resemblance to the black, long, low—hulled leviathans that plough the briny waste of ocean. The steamboat of the Mississippi more resembles a house, two stories in height, and, not unfrequently, something of a third—abode of mates and pilots. Rounded off at stern, the structure, of oblong oval shape, is universally painted chalk-white; the second, or cabin story, having on each face a row of casement windows, with Venetian shutters, of emerald green. These also serve as outside doors to the state-rooms—each having its own. Inside ones, opposite them, give admission to the main cabin, or “saloon;” which extends longitudinally nearly the whole length of the vessel. Figured glass folding-doors cut it into three compartments; the ladies’ cabin aft, the dining saloon amidships, with a third division forward, containing clerk’s office and “bar,” the last devoted to male passengers for smoking, drinking, and, too often, gambling. A gangway, some three feet in width, runs along the outside façade, forming a balcony to the windows of the state-rooms. It is furnished with a balustrade, called “guard-rail,” to prevent careless passengers from stepping overboard. A projection of the roof, yclept “hurricane-deck,” serves as an awning to this continuous terrace, shading it from the sun.
Two immense twin chimneys—“funnels” as called—tower above all, pouring forth a continuous volume of whitish wood-smoke; while a smaller cylinder—the “scape-pipe”—intermittently vomits a vapour yet whiter, the steam; at each emission with a hoarse belching bark, that can be heard reverberating for leagues along the river.
Seen from the bank, as it passes, the Mississippi steamboat looks like a large hotel, or mansion of many windows, set adrift and moving majestically—“walking the water like a thing of life,” as it has been poetically described. Some of the larger ones, taking into account their splendid interior decoration, and, along with it their sumptuous table fare, may well merit the name oft bestowed upon them, of “floating palaces.”
Only in point of size, some inferiority in splendour, and having a stern-wheel instead of side-paddles, does the “Belle of Natchez” differ from other boats seen upon the same waters. As them, she has her large central saloon, with ladies’ cabin astern; the flanking rows of state-rooms; the casements with green jalousies; the gangway and guard-rail; the twin funnels, pouring forth their fleecy cloud, and the scape-pipe, coughing in regular repetition.