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    Chapter 26

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    Chapter 26
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    Chapter 26
    Under Fire

    TALK began to run upon the war now, for we were getting down
    into the upper edge of the former battle-stretch by this time.
    Columbus was just behind us, so there was a good deal said
    about the famous battle of Belmont. Several of the boat's
    officers had seen active service in the Mississippi war-fleet. I
    gathered that they found themselves sadly out of their element
    in that kind of business at first, but afterward got accustomed
    to it, reconciled to it, and more or less at home in it.
    One of our pilots had his first war experience in the Belmont
    fight, as a pilot on a boat in the Confederate service.
    I had often had a curiosity to know how a green hand might feel,
    in his maiden battle, perched all solitary and alone on high
    in a pilot house, a target for Tom, Dick and Harry, and nobody at
    his elbow to shame him from showing the white feather when matters
    grew hot and perilous around him; so, to me his story was valuable--
    it filled a gap for me which all histories had left till
    that time empty.

    THE PILOT'S FIRST BATTLE

    He said--

    It was the 7th of November. The fight began at seven in the morning.
    I was on the 'R. H. W. Hill.' Took over a load of troops from Columbus.
    Came back, and took over a battery of artillery. My partner said he was going
    to see the fight; wanted me to go along. I said, no, I wasn't anxious,
    I would look at it from the pilot-house. He said I was a coward, and left.

    That fight was an awful sight. General Cheatham made his men strip
    their coats off and throw them in a pile, and said, 'Now follow me
    to hell or victory!' I heard him say that from the pilot-house;
    and then he galloped in, at the head of his troops. Old General Pillow,
    with his white hair, mounted on a white horse, sailed in, too, leading his
    troops as lively as a boy. By and by the Federals chased the rebels back,
    and here they came! tearing along, everybody for himself and Devil take
    the hindmost! and down under the bank they scrambled, and took shelter.
    I was sitting with my legs hanging out of the pilot-house window.
    All at once I noticed a whizzing sound passing my ear.
    Judged it was a bullet. I didn't stop to think about anything,
    I just tilted over backwards and landed on the floor, and staid there.
    The balls came booming around. Three cannon-balls went through the chimney;
    one ball took off the corner of the pilot-house; shells were screaming
    and bursting all around. Mighty warm times--I wished I hadn't come.
    I lay there on the pilot-house floor, while the shots came faster and faster.
    I crept in behind the big stove, in the middle of the pilot-house.
    Presently a minie-ball came through the stove, and just grazed my head,
    and cut my hat. I judged it was time to go away from there. The captain
    was on the roof with a red-headed major from Memphis--a fine-looking man.
    I heard him say he wanted to leave here, but 'that pilot is killed.'
    I crept over to the starboard side to pull the bell to set her back;
    raised up and took a look, and I saw about fifteen shot holes
    through the window panes; had come so lively I hadn't noticed them.
    I glanced out on the water, and the spattering shot were like a hailstorm.
    I thought best to get out of that place. I went down the pilot-house guy,
    head first--not feet first but head first--slid down--before I struck
    the deck, the captain said we must leave there. So I climbed up the guy
    and got on the floor again. About that time, they collared my partner
    and were bringing him up to the pilot-house between two soldiers.
    Somebody had said I was killed. He put his head in and saw me on the floor
    reaching for the backing bells. He said, 'Oh, hell, he ain't shot,'
    and jerked away from the men who had him by the collar, and ran below.
    We were there until three o'clock in the afternoon, and then got away all
    right.

    The next time I saw my partner, I said, 'Now, come out, be honest,
    and tell me the truth. Where did you go when you went to see that battle?'
    He says, 'I went down in the hold.'

    All through that fight I was scared nearly to death.
    I hardly knew anything, I was so frightened; but you see,
    nobody knew that but me. Next day General Polk sent for me,
    and praised me for my bravery and gallant conduct.
    I never said anything, I let it go at that. I judged it wasn't so,
    but it was not for me to contradict a general officer.

    Pretty soon after that I was sick, and used up, and had to go
    off to the Hot Springs. When there, I got a good many
    letters from commanders saying they wanted me to come back.
    I declined, because I wasn't well enough or strong enough;
    but I kept still, and kept the reputation I had made.

    A plain story, straightforwardly told; but Mumford told me
    that that pilot had 'gilded that scare of his, in spots;'
    that his subsequent career in the war was proof of it.

    We struck down through the chute of Island No. 8, and I went below
    and fell into conversation with a passenger, a handsome man,
    with easy carriage and an intelligent face. We were approaching
    Island No. 10, a place so celebrated during the war.
    This gentleman's home was on the main shore in its neighborhood.
    I had some talk with him about the war times; but presently
    the discourse fell upon 'feuds,' for in no part of the South
    has the vendetta flourished more briskly, or held out longer
    between warring families, than in this particular region.
    This gentleman said--

    'There's been more than one feud around here, in old times, but I
    reckon the worst one was between the Darnells and the Watsons.
    Nobody don't know now what the first quarrel was about, it's so long ago;
    the Darnells and the Watsons don't know, if there's any of them living,
    which I don't think there is. Some says it was about a horse or a cow--
    anyway, it was a little matter; the money in it wasn't of no consequence--
    none in the world--both families was rich. The thing could have been
    fixed up, easy enough; but no, that wouldn't do. Rough words had been passed;
    and so, nothing but blood could fix it up after that. That horse
    or cow, whichever it was, cost sixty years of killing and crippling!
    Every year or so somebody was shot, on one side or the other; and as fast
    as one generation was laid out, their sons took up the feud and kept
    it a-going. And it's just as I say; they went on shooting each other,
    year in and year out--making a kind of a religion of it, you see--
    till they'd done forgot, long ago, what it was all about. Wherever a
    Darnell caught a Watson, or a Watson caught a Darnell, one of 'em was going
    to get hurt--only question was, which of them got the drop on the other.
    They'd shoot one another down, right in the presence of the family.
    They didn't hunt for each other, but when they happened to meet,
    they puffed and begun. Men would shoot boys, boys would shoot men.
    A man shot a boy twelve years old--happened on him in the woods,
    and didn't give him no chance. If he HAD 'a' given him a chance,
    the boy'd 'a' shot him. Both families belonged to the same church
    (everybody around here is religious); through all this fifty or
    sixty years' fuss, both tribes was there every Sunday, to worship.
    They lived each side of the line, and the church was at a landing
    called Compromise. Half the church and half the aisle was in Kentucky,
    the other half in Tennessee. Sundays you'd see the families drive up,
    all in their Sunday clothes, men, women, and children, and file up the aisle,
    and set down, quiet and orderly, one lot on the Tennessee side of the church
    and the other on the Kentucky side; and the men and boys would lean their guns
    up against the wall, handy, and. then all hands would join in with the prayer
    and praise; though they say the man next the aisle didn't kneel down,
    along with the rest of the family; kind of stood guard. I don't know;
    never was at that church in my life; but I remember that that's what used
    to be said.

    'Twenty or twenty-five years ago, one of the feud families
    caught a young man of nineteen out and killed him.
    Don't remember whether it was the Darnells and Watsons,
    or one of the other feuds; but anyway, this young man rode up--
    steamboat laying there at the time--and the first thing
    he saw was a whole gang of the enemy. He jumped down behind
    a wood-pile, but they rode around and begun on him, he firing back,
    and they galloping and cavorting and yelling and banging away
    with all their might. Think he wounded a couple of them;
    but they closed in on him and chased him into the river;
    and as he swum along down stream, they followed along the bank
    and kept on shooting at him; and when he struck shore he was dead.
    Windy Marshall told me about it. He saw it. He was captain
    of the boat.

    'Years ago, the Darnells was so thinned out that the old man
    and his two sons concluded they'd leave the country. They started
    to take steamboat just above No. 10; but the Watsons got wind of it;
    and they arrived just as the two young Darnells was walking up
    the companion-way with their wives on their arms. The fight
    begun then, and they never got no further--both of them killed.
    After that, old Darnell got into trouble with the man that run
    the ferry, and the ferry-man got the worst of it--and died.
    But his friends shot old Darnell through and through--filled him
    full of bullets, and ended him.'

    The country gentleman who told me these things had been reared
    in ease and comfort, was a man of good parts, and was college bred.
    His loose grammar was the fruit of careless habit, not ignorance.
    This habit among educated men in the West is not universal, but it
    is prevalent--prevalent in the towns, certainly, if not in the cities;
    and to a degree which one cannot help noticing, and marveling at.
    I heard a Westerner who would be accounted a highly educated man
    in any country, say 'never mind, it DON'T MAKE NO DIFFERENCE, anyway.'
    A life-long resident who was present heard it, but it made no impression
    upon her. She was able to recall the fact afterward, when reminded of it;
    but she confessed that the words had not grated upon her ear at the time--
    a confession which suggests that if educated people can hear such
    blasphemous grammar, from such a source, and be unconscious of the deed,
    the crime must be tolerably common--so common that the general ear has
    become dulled by familiarity with it, and is no longer alert, no longer
    sensitive to such affronts.

    No one in the world speaks blemishless grammar; no one has
    ever written it--NO one, either in the world or out of it
    (taking the Scriptures for evidence on the latter point);
    therefore it would not be fair to exact grammatical perfection
    from the peoples of the Valley; but they and all other peoples
    may justly be required to refrain from KNOWINGLY and PURPOSELY
    debauching their grammar.

    I found the river greatly changed at Island No. 10.
    The island which I remembered was some three miles long
    and a quarter of a mile wide, heavily timbered, and lay
    near the Kentucky shore--within two hundred yards of it,
    I should say. Now, however, one had to hunt for it with
    a spy-glass. Nothing was left of it but an insignificant
    little tuft, and this was no longer near the Kentucky shore;
    it was clear over against the opposite shore, a mile away.
    In war times the island had been an important place,
    for it commanded the situation; and, being heavily fortified,
    there was no getting by it. It lay between the upper and lower
    divisions of the Union forces, and kept them separate, until a
    junction was finally effected across the Missouri neck of land;
    but the island being itself joined to that neck now, the wide river
    is without obstruction.

    In this region the river passes from Kentucky into Tennessee,
    back into Missouri, then back into Kentucky, and thence into Tennessee again.
    So a mile or two of Missouri sticks over into Tennessee.

    The town of New Madrid was looking very unwell;
    but otherwise unchanged from its former condition and aspect.
    Its blocks of frame-houses were still grouped in the same
    old flat plain, and environed by the same old forests.
    It was as tranquil as formerly, and apparently had neither grown
    nor diminished in size. It was said that the recent high water
    had invaded it and damaged its looks. This was surprising news;
    for in low water the river bank is very high there (fifty feet), and
    in my day an overflow had always been considered an impossibility.
    This present flood of 1882 Will doubtless be celebrated
    in the river's history for several generations before a deluge
    of like magnitude shall be seen. It put all the unprotected
    low lands under water, from Cairo to the mouth; it broke down
    the levees in a great many places, on both sides of the river;
    and in some regions south, when the flood was at its highest,
    the Mississippi was SEVENTY MILES wide! a number of lives
    were lost, and the destruction of property was fearful.
    The crops were destroyed, houses washed away, and shelterless men
    and cattle forced to take refuge on scattering elevations here
    and there in field and forest, and wait in peril and suffering
    until the boats put in commission by the national and local
    governments and by newspaper enterprise could come and rescue them.
    The properties of multitudes of people were under water for months,
    and the poorer ones must have starved by the hundred if succor
    had not been promptly afforded.interesting description of the great flood, written on board
    of the New Orleans TIMES-DEMOCRAT'S relief-boat, see Appendix
    A]> The water had been falling during a considerable time now,
    yet as a rule we found the banks still under water.
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