On my return, when the ladies had gone up into the saloon, I went aft on the main deck to take a look at the water. The steamer was moored with her head to the shore, so that her stern was out in the river. I was afraid, as we had had no rain for some days, not even a shower, that the river would fall so as to endanger our getting over the shoal, two miles below, where we had not had more than an inch to spare in coming up. I measured the depth where I had done it every day I had been on board since our arrival, and I found it was two inches lower. I was rather alarmed, for I did not like the idea of spending several weeks in this locality, excellent as the hunting was, for I knew that the party would soon tire of it.
While I stood at the stern thinking of it, I heard a noise which I thought came from the inside of the paddle-box. I listened for some time but did not hear it again, and I concluded that a young alligator, or some other water animal, had crawled into the opening.
I started to return to the stairs which led from the main deck forward to the space in front of the saloon. I was passing between two piles of lightwood on my way, when I heard the report of a pistol. A bullet whistled uncomfortably near my head. I don't claim to be bullet-proof, and I was startled by the sound, and by the whizzing of the ball so near my head. I made up my mind on the instant that the shot was intended for me, and that my life was in actual danger. Buck and Hop were attending to the mules on shore, and I saw no one on the lower deck.
Moses Brickland and Ben Bowman were in their rooms, and I called them. I told them what had happened. They had heard the shot; but some one was shooting about all the time in the vicinity of the boat, and they paid no attention to such sounds. We searched every part of the lower deck, even opening the trap into the paddle-box, made to allow a workman to get in when repairs were necessary. We could find no person.
"I believe this steamer is haunted, and I wouldn't sail in her another month if you would give her to me," said Ben, who was not a highly-educated person, though he knew a steam-engine as well as though he had been through college. "I have heard all sorts of noises by night and by day."
"What sort of noises, Ben?" I asked with interest, not that I was impressed with the idea that the Wetumpka was haunted.
"Well, footsteps where no person could be found," replied the engineer. "Now, you say you have been fired at, and no one on board could have done it."
"I don't believe ghosts use fire-arms, Ben," I added, as I saw Cornwood come on the forward deck.
He had been hunting with the sportsmen, to assist them with his knowledge of the game of the country. The moment he saw us he hastened aft, and asked me what the matter was. As we had not exhibited to him the evidences that anything was the matter, I was rather surprised at the question.
"Nothing is the matter, except that a shot was fired at me a little while ago," I replied, as though it were a matter of not much consequence.