How to Travel. Thomas Wallace Knox
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the better is the choice of rooms.
Meals are not included in the price of the ticket. They are served on nearly all boats, sometimes at a fixed price, as at the railway stations, and sometimes a la carte. The latter system appears to be gaining in popularity, as it is now adopted on many lines that formerly adhered to the old method.
On the great lakes there are propellors on the general model of the ocean steamer, and in summer they ply to all the principal ports. Interesting excursions may be made on these steamers, provided the traveler is not disturbed by a little roughness of the water now and then; of late years the voyage around the lakes has become highly popular, and is very pleasurable in Summer. Paddle steamers also abound on the lakes, but they do not equal those of the Hudson and Long Island sound, either in size or in the splendor of their accommodations.
On the Western rivers the model of the boat differs materially from the Eastern one. The main saloon is quite above the engine-room, which is on the lower deck, where the freight is piled and the steerage passengers are congregated. The Eastern and lake boats are propelled by low-pressure engines, while the craft of the Mississippi and its tributaries are generally high-pressure, and sometimes work a hundred and thirty pounds to the square inch. Explosions are less frequent now than formerly, but there are still enough of them to make traveling a trifle hazardous. Not infrequently fifty or a hundred lives will be lost by a steamboat explosion, and on one occasion the number of deaths by the blowing up of a steamboat and her consequent destruction by fire exceeded fifteen hundred.
Steamboat racing was once one of the amusements of the Mississippi and is not altogether unknown at present, though it has greatly declined. In the annals of the West there are many famous races recorded, where large sums of money were risked on the result, and where the passengers were as much excited over the event as the owners of the boats. In 1853 there was a race from New Orleans to Louisville, between the steamers Eclipse and Shotwell, on which seventy thousand dollars were staked by the owners of the rival craft, and probably the private bets were fully equal to that amount. The two boats were literally "stripped for the race;" they were loaded to the depth that would give them the greatest speed, and their arrangements for taking fuel were as complete as possible. Barges were filled with wood at stated points on the river and dropped out to mid-stream as the boats approached; they were taken alongside and their cargoes of wood transferred without any stoppage of the steamer's engines. At the end of the first twenty-four hours the Eclipse and Shotwell were side by side, 360 miles from New Orleans. They continued in almost this way to Louisville, and, though the race was supposed to have been won by the Eclipse, there was so much dispute about it that the wager was never paid.
Passenger travel on the Western rivers has been greatly reduced in the last twenty years, owing to the creation of lines of railway parallel to the rivers, and the majority of the boats now running are far behind those of the palmy days between 1850 and 1860. Fares are lower than on the railways, and they include rooms and meals as of old, but the table is less bountifully supplied than formerly, and the number of servants is not so large. There is less competition, and the schedule of fares is generally adhered to. In the old days there was comparatively little regularity, and the clerk or captain of each boat could do pretty much as he liked about terms to passengers. On the Red river the clerks were accustomed to graduate the fare according to the locality where the passenger came on board. The more fertile and wealthy the region, the higher was the price of passage. Travelers from the cotton districts paid more than those from where tobacco was the staple product, and those from the sugar country paid more than any other class. With few exceptions there was no ticket system, every man paying his fare when it best suited him to do so. At present on a changé tout cela.
The departure of a steamboat from one of the great landings is a matter of some uncertainty. If she is advertised to leave at a certain time, those familiar with the business will understand that she will not leave before that hour, and her departure after it will be guided by circumstances. She will go when her freight and passenger-list are sufficiently full to make the trip a profitable one, unless she belongs to a line performing a regular service, in which case she is held to her schedule. The writer once took passage on a Mississippi steamer that remained at the wharf twenty-nine hours after her advertised time, and all the while she had steam up and her whistle was blown every half hour or so to indicate that she was "just going." And a friend of his once took passage on a steamboat from St. Louis to Cincinnati before the days of the railway. He lived on board for nearly a week with the boat tied up to the landing. At the end of that time the trip was abandoned, as the boat could not obtain a cargo for Cincinnati, and the passage-money was refunded in full.
When you go on board a Western steamboat proceed at once to the office and pay your fare. The clerk will hand you the key to your room or assign you to a berth in one that already contains a passenger, and then you can make yourself at home. You will find the manners of the Western waters more free than those of the East, and it is quite possible that your room-mate, if you have one, will commence the cultivation of your acquaintance with an invitation to drink; the custom of shooting a man who declines this politeness does not prevail at present, and the records of its having ever occurred are shrouded in obscurity. Western and Southwestern passengers are often rude and uncouth, but the rudeness is almost always unintentional, and the coarse exterior is very apt to cover a warm heart. The stranger will find much to amuse and interest him, and there are few places where human nature can be studied to better advantage than in the saloon of a Western steamboat.
The gambler once flourished on the Mississippi. He is less abundant than of yore, but the supply is still quite equal to the demand. He is generally not so polished as his confrere of the eastern boats and railway trains, but his ways are no less winning, so far as the taking of money is concerned, and he goes much further in the science of cheating. The unsophisticated stranger who takes a fourth hand with a trio of the light-fingered fraternity, "just to make up a game," might as well hand over his pocket-book at the start, unless he prefers going through the form of losing his cash.
Never be in a hurry on a western boat, as the time of arrival at your destination is a matter of more or less uncertainty. Delays at the landings, to take or discharge freight, are sometimes vexatious, and the journey may require double the time that was expected at the start. In the season of low water the boat is liable to get aground, and may lie there for hours, days, or even for weeks, before she is again afloat.
The dangers of the western waters are greater than those of the east. The boats are more liable to take fire, owing to their form of construction, and, as their engines are on the high-pressure principle, the chance of explosion of the boilers is much greater. The navigation of the rivers is hazardous, as the sand-banks are constantly shifting, and the course to be followed by the pilots is rarely the same for three months at a time. Snags and sawyers present dangers quite unknown to eastern waters, and in the Missouri river especially they are very numerous. A snag is a log or tree-trunk imbedded in the bottom of a river, with one end at or near the surface. The current causes it to incline down stream, and it is more dangerous to an ascending boat than to a descending one. The flat bottom of the boat is pierced by it, and sometimes the craft is impaled as one might impale a fly with a pin. On one occasion, on the Missouri river, some twenty years ago, a snag pierced the hull of a steamer, passed through the deck and cabin, and actually killed the pilot in the wheel-house. The sawyer is a tree that is loosely held by the roots at the bottom of the river, while its branches are on the surface; the current causes it to assume a sort of sawing motion, and hence its name. It is nearly if not quite as dangerous as the snag, and some of the pilots hold it in greater dread, for the reason that sawyers frequently change their position, while the snags, being more firmly imbedded, are less likely to drift away.
The current of the lower Mississippi is very strong, and it is a common remark that when a man falls into that stream his chances of escape are small. Many good swimmers have been drowned in it, and the great majority of those who dwell on its banks have a wholesome dread of attempting to bathe in its waters.
When we go westward beyond the valley of the Mississippi we find very few inland lakes and streams that are navigable. Great Salt Lake maintains a steamer or two for excursion purposes, and the waters of California had at one time a fair-sized fleet of boats that navigated San