"Well, Jerry, thet wus a bowed stave, an' I spit on the bowed side of hit, an' by rights the bowed side oughter hev cum down—but hit did't, Jerry."
"No."
Then Cap'n Smiff looked hard at his Lieutenant, as though he was trying to shape some unfamiliar thoughts into words.
"No, hit didn't, Jerry. The bent side didn't come down—it come up. An' it war agin science, Jerry; but hit come up an' we tuk toh the chute, an'—an' mought hev sumthin'—thar mought somebody—I dunno—I swar I dunno!" and, as though the unfamiliar thoughts were muddling his brain, Cap'n Willum Smiff walked back to the stem of the "steer'n o'r," and slowly straddling it, deluged his surroundings in tobacco juice, while he lost himself in profound meditation.
There are others than unsophisticated Captain William Smith who have pondered deeply on the same subject, and been lost at sea far from the lighthouse of Faith.
That evening found the "Roarer" with a line out to a check post on the levee below the city of Vicksburg. On parting from the crew of the flatboat Bertha had distributed all she had of value about her person among them, and bestowed upon Cap'n Smith a glittering diamond cluster ring from off her hand. Cap'n Willum Smiff at first refused to take it, but comprehending that he would hurt the young lady's feelings by refusing longer, he suspended the jewel with a piece of tow about his neck, and vowed that there it should stay 'till death did them part. Alas, for the fragile nature of human vows! In less than a week the diamonds glistened on the person of a New Orleans bar-tender; hypothecated for drinks; while Cap'n Willum Smiff and Lieutenant Jarphly were on one of their "Reg'lar Pelican Sprees! A howlin' Wilderness! You bet!"
After Bertha had been comfortably cared for in bed at the hotel, where she immediately retired under the direction of a physician, Ben, first refreshing himself with a good meal, which she insisted upon his eating, went to the telegraph office and sent the following message to Mr. Charles Braster of the firm of Braster & Chetwick, Poydras Street, New Orleans: "Your niece is here safe. Is Mr. Braster in the city?" And then with a beating heart he awaited a reply. For Ben had formed new hopes, and thought that perhaps the disaster on the Argenta might after all have been a stroke of good fortune in his favor. In the course of half an hour an answer was returned, and as the boy delivered it to him, he had not the courage to look at it. He unfolded the dispatch, trembled, then folding it up again without reading, placed it in his pocket and hastened toward the hotel. Having walked a block he gained heart, and slowly taking the dispatch from his pocket, unfolded it and read:
"Thank God. Arthur and myself are both here safe. Come down on the Natchez to-night."
(signed) "Charles Braster."
That was all. But it was quite enough. His last hope lay in the dust. "Arthur and myself are here safe." He read it again as if hoping against hope. Blackoat was saved! Blackoat was safe and the idol of his life had passed from his grasp.