Down the River; Or, Buck Bradford and His Tyrants, Oliver Optic [reading like a writer TXT] 📗

mother's name?"

"Mrs. Goodridge."

"And yours?"

"Emily Goodridge."

"Where do you live?"

"In New Orleans. My father is a merchant there. I have been sick, and the doctor said I must go to the North; but my mother—"

She could say no more, for her sobs choked her utterance. I assured her I would do all I could to ascertain the fate of her mother. I went into the other room, and changed my clothes, and wrote down the names which Emily gave me, so that I need not forget them. After assuring myself that [231]everything was right in the house, I went out and hoisted the sail. Taking the steering oar, I ran the raft up to the shore on the Missouri side, as the wind was favorable in that direction. I secured the craft in the strongest manner, in order to make sure that she did not go adrift during the night.

I knew there was a village not far above, for I had seen the lights of it through the window as I was talking to Emily. I went on shore, and walked about a mile, which brought me to the place. I went into a store that I found open on the levee, and inquired of the keeper in what manner I could get to Cairo. He told me I could only go by a steamboat, and that I might have to wait an hour, or a couple of days, for one. But, while I was talking with him, a man came in and said there was a boat coming up the river. The person who brought this pleasing intelligence was rough looking, and I offered him a dollar if he would put me on board of her. He accepted my proposition so good-naturedly that I concluded the boat was coming up to the town; but she did not, and he put me into a bateau, and pulled off to her. At first she would not stop.[232]

"Great news!" I shouted, at the top of my lungs.

Curiosity did what good-nature would not, and the boat stopped her wheels long enough for me to jump on her deck.

"What do you mean by great news?" demanded a gentleman, who, I soon found, was the captain. "Did you say that to make me stop the boat? If you did, I'll heave you overboard."

"No, sir; I did not," I replied, with becoming promptness after the threat he had used.

"What's your great news, then?" demanded he.

"Do you know what two steamers went up the river about two or three hours ago?" I asked.

"Certainly I do—the River Queen No. 4 and the Centurion. They passed me this morning. But what's your news, boy?"

"The Centurion blew up about seven o'clock, as she was going into the Ohio River."

"The Centurion!" exclaimed he.

"Yes, sir."

"Is that so, or are you making up this story?"

"It is true, sir. I saved a young lady who was a passenger. I left her below this village, and I [233]want to go up and find out whether her mother was lost, or not."

"What is her name?"

"Emily Goodridge."

"Goodridge? Do you know her father's name?"

I looked at my paper, and found the name was Edward F. Goodridge.

"He is one of the heaviest merchants in New Orleans," added the captain, thoughtfully.

My news proved to be all I had represented it, and I was plied with questions which I could not answer, by the passengers interested in the fate of those on board of the unfortunate steamer. I could only tell them that the boat had been blown all to pieces, and that there was plenty of assistance at hand to save those who were thrown into the water.

In less than an hour my news was fully confirmed on the arrival of the steamer at Cairo. We were informed that the River Queen No. 4 was still there, with the survivors of the disaster on board, and I hastened to find her.

CHAPTER XXI.[234] FLORA AND HER PATIENT.

There was no difficulty, in finding the River Queen No. 4, for she was the centre of a circle of melancholy interest, and a crowd of people had gathered on the levee to hear the latest tidings of woe from her cabin, now changed into a hospital. I care not to dwell upon the sad scene which greeted my vision as I went on board of her, nor to describe the horror with which I glanced at the long row of ghastly corpses which had been taken from the water.

It was a sickening sight, and terrible were the groans and the wailings of the sufferers which resounded through the boat. I learned that the captain of the ill-fated steamer was among the dead. If it had not been so, an hour in the midst of this horrible din of sighs, and wails, and groans would [235]have been an all-sufficient punishment, if he had a human heart in his bosom, for the base crime of sacrificing those precious lives to the stupid rivalry of the hour.

The officers and passengers had been engaged in making up lists of the wounded and the dead. Among the latter I found the name of Mrs. Goodridge and Mr. Spear. I shuddered as I realized that the worst fears of Emily were confirmed. I informed the clerk of the boat that I had saved one of the passengers, and her name was stricken from the list of the dead, and added to that of the living.

I learned that the body of Mrs. Goodridge had been recovered, and that friends on board of the steamer would take charge of it. There was nothing more for me to do, and I fled, sick at heart, from the awful spectacle. I went to a small hotel near the landing, and though I slept heavily, awake or in my slumber, the scenes of death and woe I had beheld still haunted my mind. I took an early breakfast, and then endeavored to find a boat bound down the river. There was none in Cairo that [236]would start that day, and it might be several days before I could obtain a passage. I could not think of prolonging the agonizing suspense of our passenger on the raft, or of leaving the two females to the care of so heavy a thinker as Sim Gwynn. If a squall or a sudden rise of the river occurred, my assistant would be helpless; and if the raft broke loose, he would not have wit enough to bring it up to the shore again.

I walked up and down the levee, thinking what I should do. I could not charter a steamer, and there was no conveyance on the other side of the Mississippi. While I was thus fretting at the delay, I came to a yard where boats were kept for sale. Most of them were for the use of steamers, and were far beyond my means; but I found a second-hand skiff, which I purchased for ten dollars, including in the price a pair of good oars. It would be a handy thing to have on the raft, and if I had had it when I first saw poor Emily Goodridge in the water, I could have saved her without any difficulty.

In this light boat I embarked at nine o'clock.[237] The raft was ten or twelve miles below Cairo; but the swift current would speed me on my way with little labor at the oars. I pulled steadily, and with just power enough to give me steerage-way; and when I reached the raft, I found I had made the passage in little more than two hours.

"Hookie!" ejaculated Sim, with a stupid stare, as I ran the skiff up to the raft.

"Catch the painter!" I called, throwing him the rope.

"I hain't seen no painter," he replied, staring around him, and letting the rope run off the raft, and the skiff go adrift.

I pulled up to the raft again, and succeeded in making my deck hand understand that he was to hold on to the rope attached to the boat.

"Where did you get that boat?"

"Catch hold, and haul it up," I replied; for I seldom found it practicable to answer Sim's questions.

"Did you find this boat?" he asked when he had pulled it up on the platform.

"No; how is the girl we saved?"[238]

"Did you make this boat?"

"No; I bought it; gave ten dollars for it. How is the girl?"

"O, she's sick! Leastwise, she ain't very well, and didn't sleep much."

I did not suppose she had slept very well; for one with such a fearful anxiety on her mind must have suffered intensely during the long night. I hastened into the house, and found dear Flora making some tea for her patient. I surmised that the poor child had also spent a sleepless night, for she looked pale and ill herself, and I trembled for her welfare, devoted and self-sacrificing as she was in the presence of the heavy woe of her charge.

"How is Emily?" I asked.

"She is very sick, I fear," replied poor Flora, sadly, for she seemed to make her patient's sufferings her own. "She has hardly closed her eyes during the night."

"And you have not slept yourself, Flora."

"No, I have not. The poor girl has talked about her mother all night long. What news do you bring, Buckland?"[239]

"I hardly dare to speak it," I replied, in a whisper.

"It can be no worse that her fears. She is already reconciled to the worst," added my sister, with a sympathetic tear.

"Flora," moaned Emily.

The devoted little nurse hastened to her patient. I had not the courage to follow her, and face the torrent of woe which my news must carry to her aching heart. Perhaps it was cowardly in me, but I could not help it. I stood at the door and listened.

"Your brother has come. I heard his voice," said Emily, in a tone convulsed with emotion.

"He has come, dear," replied Flora; and I heard her kiss the grief-stricken maiden.

"You have no good news to tell me. I know you haven't," wailed the sufferer. "I did not expect any. I knew she was—"

And then I heard her sob. She was calmer than I had anticipated, and I ventured to go into the room. My heart was in my throat as I gazed upon her pale face and hollow eyes. She wept bitterly, as I confirmed her worst fears; and Flora, with her arm twined around the poor girl's neck, wept with [240]her, and frequently kissed her. As gently and tenderly as I could I told her the sad truth, and assured her that kind friends had taken charge of her mother's remains.

I left her with Flora then, for she was the best comforter. As I put on my working clothes in the adjoining room, I heard my sweet sister speaking to her the tenderest of pious consolations. She breathed the name of Jesus in her ear, and pointed her to the Rock of Ages for hope, for the joy which this world cannot give and cannot take away. Great rough fellow as I was, I wept with them; for never had my heart been so deeply touched before.

On the platform I found Sim, still employed in examining the skiff I had purchased, apparently filled with astonishment that a little thing like that had borne me safely down the river for ten miles. He wanted to ask more questions about it; but I told him to cast off the fasts, and in a few moments we were again borne on by the current of the Father of Waters. The day was bright and pleasant, and a fresh wind from the north-west was blowing. I hoisted the sail and trimmed it, and [241]taking my place at the steering oar, I brooded over the bitter lot of my passenger. I pitied her, and loved her for her misfortunes.

As the raft continued on its way, I began to consider what should be done with her. She was quite sick, and the rough house on the raft was not a suitable place for her. But she had no friends nearer than New Orleans. I asked myself whether I ought not to abandon the raft, and take passage in a steamboat; but I had not money enough to pay the passages of the party, and I was obliged to answer the question in the negative. But I could pay Emily's fare, and place her in charge of the officers of some boat. I concluded to adopt this course at the first large town we reached, where a steamer would be likely