On a certain Saturday morning, when I had determined on the trip, I found that two boats, the “Swamp Fox” and the “St. Charles,” were advertised to leave the same evening for the Red River. I went to the levee, and finding the “St. Charles” to be the better of the two, I asked her clerk if I could engage a state-room. There was just one state-room berth left unengaged; I was requested to place my name against its number on the passenger book; and did so, understanding that it was thus secured for me.
Having taken leave of my friends, I had my luggage brought down, and went on board at half-past three,—the boat being advertised to sail at four. Four o’clock passed, and freight was still being taken on,—a fire had been made in the furnace, and the boat’s big bell was rung. I noticed that the “Swamp Fox” was also firing up, and that her bell rang whenever ours did,—though she was not advertised to sail till five. At length, when five o’clock came, the clerk told me he thought, perhaps, they would not be able to get off at all that night,—there was so much freight still to come on board. Six o’clock arrived, and he felt certain that, if they did get off that night, it would not be till very late. At half-past six he said the captain had not come on board yet, and he was quite sure they would not be able to get off that night. I prepared to return to the hotel, and asked if they would leave in the morning. He thought not. He was confident they would not. He was positive they could not leave now before Monday,—Monday noon. Monday at twelve o’clock,—I might rely upon it.
Monday morning the Picayune stated, editorially, that the floating palace, the “St. Charles,” would leave for Shreveport at five o’clock, and if anybody wanted to make a quick and luxurious trip up Red River with a jolly good soul, Captain Lickup was in command. It also stated, in another paragraph, that if any of its friends had any business up Red River, Captain Pitchup was a whole-souled veteran in that trade, and was going up with that remarkably low-draught favorite, the “Swamp Fox,” to leave at four o’clock that evening. Both boats were also announced, in the advertising columns, to leave at four o’clock.
As the clerk had said noon, however, I thought there might have been a misprint in the newspaper announcements, and so went on board the “St. Charles” again before twelve. The clerk informed me that the newspaper was right,—they had finally concluded not to sail until four o’clock. Before four I returned again, and the boat again fired up, and rung her bell. So did the “Swamp Fox.” Neither, however, was quite ready to leave at four o’clock. Not quite ready at five. Even at six—not yet quite ready. At seven, the fires having burned out in the furnace, and the stevedores having gone away, leaving a quantity of freight yet on the dock, without advising this time with the clerk, I had my baggage re-transferred to the hotel.
A similar performance was repeated on Tuesday.
On Wednesday I found the berth I had engaged occupied by a very strong man, who was not very polite when I informed him that I believed there was some mistake,—that the berth he was using had been engaged to me. I went to the clerk, who said that he was sorry, but that, as I had not stayed on board that night, and had not paid for the berth, he had not been sure that I should go, and he had, therefore, given it to the gentleman who now had it in possession, and whom, he thought, it would not be best to try to reason out of it. He was very busy, he observed, because the boat was going to start at four o’clock; if I would now pay him the price of passage, he would do the best he could for me. When he had time to examine, he would probably put me in some other state-room, perhaps quite as good a one as that I had lost. Meanwhile, he kindly offered me the temporary use of his private state-room. I inquired if it was quite certain that the boat would get off at four; for I had been asked to dine with a friend at three o’clock. There was not the smallest doubt of it,—at four they would leave. They were all ready at that moment, and only waited till four because the agent had advertised that they would,—merely a technical point of honor.
But, by some error of calculation, I suppose, she didn’t go at four. Nor at five. Nor at six.
At seven o’clock the “Swamp Fox” and the “St. Charles” were both discharging dense smoke from their chimneys, blowing steam, and ringing bells. It was obvious that each was making every exertion to get off before the other. The captains of both boats stood at the break of the hurricane-deck, apparently waiting in great impatience for the mails to come on board.
The “St. Charles” was crowded with passengers, and her decks were piled high with freight. Bumboatmen, about the bows, were offering shells, and oranges, and bananas; and newsboys, and peddlers, and tract distributors were squeezing about with their wares among the passengers. I had confidence in their instinct; there had been no such numbers of them the previous evenings, and I made up my mind, although past seven o’clock, that the “St. Charles” would not let her fires go down again.
Among the peddlers there were two of cheap “literature,” and among their yellow covers each had two or three copies of the cheap edition (pamphlet) of “Uncle Tom’s Cabin.” They did not cry it out as they did the other books they had, but held it forth among others, so that its title could be seen. One of them told me he carried it because gentlemen often inquired for it, and he sold a good many; at least three copies were sold to passengers on the boat....