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    Chapter 28

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    Chapter 28
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    Chapter 28
    Uncle Mumford Unloads

    ALL day we swung along down the river, and had the stream almost
    wholly to ourselves. Formerly, at such a stage of the water,
    we should have passed acres of lumber rafts, and dozens of big
    coal barges; also occasional little trading-scows, peddling
    along from farm to farm, with the peddler's family on board;
    possibly, a random scow, bearing a humble Hamlet and Co.
    on an itinerant dramatic trip. But these were all absent.
    Far along in the day, we saw one steamboat; just one, and no more.
    She was lying at rest in the shade, within the wooded mouth
    of the Obion River. The spy-glass revealed the fact that she
    was named for me--or HE was named for me, whichever you prefer.
    As this was the first time I had ever encountered this species
    of honor, it seems excusable to mention it, and at the same time
    call the attention of the authorities to the tardiness of my
    recognition of it.

    Noted a big change in the river, at Island 21. It was a very large island,
    and used to be out toward mid-stream; but it is joined fast to the main
    shore now, and has retired from business as an island.

    As we approached famous and formidable Plum Point, darkness fell,
    but that was nothing to shudder about--in these modem times.
    For now the national government has turned the Mississippi
    into a sort of two-thousand-mile torchlight procession.
    In the head of every crossing, and in the foot of every
    crossing, the government has set up a clear-burning lamp.
    You are never entirely in the dark, now; there is always a beacon
    in sight, either before you, or behind you, or abreast.
    One might almost say that lamps have been squandered there.
    Dozens of crossings are lighted which were not shoal
    when they were created, and have never been shoal since;
    crossings so plain, too, and also so straight, that a steamboat
    can take herself through them without any help, after she has been
    through once. Lamps in such places are of course not wasted;
    it is much more convenient and comfortable for a pilot to hold
    on them than on a spread of formless blackness that won't
    stay still; and money is saved to the boat, at the same time,
    for she can of course make more miles with her rudder
    amidships than she can with it squared across her stern and
    holding her back.

    But this thing has knocked the romance out of piloting, to a large extent.
    It, and some other things together, have knocked all the romance out of it.
    For instance, the peril from snags is not now what it once was.
    The government's snag-boats go patrolling up and down, in these
    matter-of-fact days, pulling the river's teeth; they have rooted out
    all the old clusters which made many localities so formidable; and they
    allow no new ones to collect. Formerly, if your boat got away from you,
    on a black night, and broke for the woods, it was an anxious time with you;
    so was it also, when you were groping your way through solidified
    darkness in a narrow chute; but all that is changed now--you flash out
    your electric light, transform night into day in the twinkling of an eye,
    and your perils and anxieties are at an end. Horace Bixby and George
    Ritchie have charted the crossings and laid out the courses by compass;
    they have invented a lamp to go with the chart, and have patented the whole.
    With these helps, one may run in the fog now, with considerable security,
    and with a confidence unknown in the old days.

    With these abundant beacons, the banishment of snags, plenty of
    daylight in a box and ready to be turned on whenever needed,
    and a chart and compass to fight the fog with, piloting, at a good
    stage of water, is now nearly as safe and simple as driving stage,
    and is hardly more than three times as romantic.

    And now in these new days, these days of infinite change, the Anchor
    Line have raised the captain above the pilot by giving him the bigger
    wages of the two. This was going far, but they have not stopped there.
    They have decreed that the pilot shall remain at his post, and stand his
    watch clear through, whether the boat be under way or tied up to the shore.
    We, that were once the aristocrats of the river, can't go to bed now,
    as we used to do, and sleep while a hundred tons of freight are
    lugged aboard; no, we must sit in the pilot-house; and keep awake, too.
    Verily we are being treated like a parcel of mates and engineers.
    The Government has taken away the romance of our calling; the Company has
    taken away its state and dignity.

    Plum Point looked as it had always looked by night, with the
    exception that now there were beacons to mark the crossings,
    and also a lot of other lights on the Point and along its shore;
    these latter glinting from the fleet of the United States
    River Commission, and from a village which the officials have built
    on the land for offices and for the employes of the service.
    The military engineers of the Commission have taken upon
    their shoulders the job of making the Mississippi over again--
    a job transcended in size by only the original job of creating it.
    They are building wing-dams here and there, to deflect the current;
    and dikes to confine it in narrower bounds; and other dikes to make
    it stay there; and for unnumbered miles along the Mississippi,
    they are felling the timber-front for fifty yards back,
    with the purpose of shaving the bank down to low-water mark
    with the slant of a house roof, and ballasting it with stones;
    and in many places they have protected the wasting shores with rows
    of piles. One who knows the Mississippi will promptly aver--
    not aloud, but to himself--that ten thousand River Commissions,
    with the mines of the world at their back, cannot tame that
    lawless stream, cannot curb it or confine it, cannot say to it,
    Go here, or Go there, and make it obey; cannot save a shore
    which it has sentenced; cannot bar its path with an obstruction
    which it will not tear down, dance over, and laugh at.
    But a discreet man will not put these things into spoken words;
    for the West Point engineers have not their superiors anywhere;
    they know all that can be known of their abstruse science;
    and so, since they conceive that they can fetter and handcuff
    that river and boss him, it is but wisdom for the unscientific man
    to keep still, lie low, and wait till they do it. Captain Eads,
    with his jetties, has done a work at the mouth of the Mississippi
    which seemed clearly impossible; so we do not feel full confidence
    now to prophesy against like impossibilities. Otherwise one would
    pipe out and say the Commission might as well bully the comets
    in their courses and undertake to make them behave, as try to bully
    the Mississippi into right and reasonable conduct.

    I consulted Uncle Mumford concerning this and cognate matters;
    and I give here the result, stenographically reported, and therefore
    to be relied on as being full and correct; except that I have
    here and there left out remarks which were addressed to the men,
    such as 'where in blazes are you going with that barrel now?'
    and which seemed to me to break the flow of the written statement,
    without compensating by adding to its information or its clearness.
    Not that I have ventured to strike out all such interjections;
    I have removed only those which were obviously irrelevant;
    wherever one occurred which I felt any question about, I have
    judged it safest to let it remain.

    UNCLE MUMFORD'S IMPRESSIONS

    Uncle Mumford said--

    'As long as I have been mate of a steamboat--thirty years--
    I have watched this river and studied it. Maybe I could have learnt
    more about it at West Point, but if I believe it I wish I may be WHAT
    ARE YOU SUCKING YOUR FINGERS THERE FOR ?--COLLAR THAT KAG OF NAILS!
    Four years at West Point, and plenty of books and schooling, will learn
    a man a good deal, I reckon, but it won't learn him the river.
    You turn one of those little European rivers over to this Commission,
    with its hard bottom and clear water, and it would just be a holiday
    job for them to wall it, and pile it, and dike it, and tame it down,
    and boss it around, and make it go wherever they wanted it to,
    and stay where they put it, and do just as they said, every time.
    But this ain't that kind of a river. They have started in here
    with big confidence, and the best intentions in the world;
    but they are going to get left. What does Ecclesiastes vii. 13 say?
    Says enough to knock THEIR little game galley-west, don't it?
    Now you look at their methods once. There at Devil's Island,
    in the Upper River, they wanted the water to go one way, the water wanted
    to go another. So they put up a stone wall. But what does the river
    care for a stone wall? When it got ready, it just bulged through it.
    Maybe they can build another that will stay; that is, up there--
    but not down here they can't. Down here in the Lower River, they drive
    some pegs to turn the water away from the shore and stop it from slicing
    off the bank; very well, don't it go straight over and cut somebody
    else's bank? Certainly. Are they going to peg all the banks?
    Why, they could buy ground and build a new Mississippi cheaper.
    They are pegging Bulletin Tow-head now. It won't do any good.
    If the river has got a mortgage on that island, it will foreclose,
    sure, pegs or no pegs. Away down yonder, they have driven two rows
    of piles straight through the middle of a dry bar half a mile long,
    which is forty foot out of the water when the river is low.
    What do you reckon that is for? If I know, I wish I may land
    in-HUMP YOURSELF, YOU SON OF AN UNDERTAKER!--OUT WITH THAT COAL-OIL, NOW,
    LIVELY, LIVELY! And just look at what they are trying to do down
    there at Milliken's Bend. There's been a cut-off in that section,
    and Vicksburg is left out in the cold. It's a country town now.
    The river strikes in below it; and a boat can't go up to the town
    except in high water. Well, they are going to build wing-dams in
    the bend opposite the foot of 103, and throw the water over and cut
    off the foot of the island and plow down into an old ditch where
    the river used to be in ancient times; and they think they can persuade
    the water around that way, and get it to strike in above Vicksburg,
    as it used to do, and fetch the town back into the world again.
    That is, they are going to take this whole Mississippi,
    and twist it around and make it run several miles UP STREAM.
    Well you've got to admire men that deal in ideas of that size and can
    tote them around without crutches; but you haven't got to believe
    they can DO such miracles, have you! And yet you ain't absolutely
    obliged to believe they can't. I reckon the safe way, where a man
    can afford it, is to copper the operation, and at the same time buy
    enough property in Vicksburg to square you up in case they win.
    Government is doing a deal for the Mississippi, now--spending loads
    of money on her. When there used to be four thousand steamboats
    and ten thousand acres of coal-barges, and rafts and trading scows,
    there wasn't a lantern from St. Paul to New Orleans, and the snags
    were thicker than bristles on a hog's back; and now when there's
    three dozen steamboats and nary barge or raft, Government has
    snatched out all the snags, and lit up the shores like Broadway,
    and a boat's as safe on the river as she'd be in heaven.
    And I reckon that by the time there ain't any boats left at all,
    the Commission will have the old thing all reorganized, and dredged out,
    and fenced in, and tidied up, to a degree that will make navigation
    just simply perfect, and absolutely safe and profitable; and all
    the days will be Sundays, and all the mates will be Sunday-school
    su-WHAT-IN-THE-NATION-YOU-FOOLING-AROUND-THERE-FOR, YOU SONS
    OF UNRIGHTEOUSNESS, HEIRS OF PERDITION ! GOING TO BE A YEAR GETTING THAT
    HOGSHEAD ASHORE ?'

    During our trip to New Orleans and back, we had many conversations with
    river men, planters, journalists, and officers of the River Commission--
    with conflicting and confusing results. To wit:-

    1. Some believed in the Commission's scheme to arbitrarily
    and permanently confine (and thus deepen) the channel,
    preserve threatened shores, etc.

    2. Some believed that the Commission's money ought to be spent
    only on building and repairing the great system of levees.

    3. Some believed that the higher you build your levee,
    the higher the river's bottom will rise; and that consequently
    the levee system is a mistake.

    4. Some believed in the scheme to relieve the river, in flood-time,
    by turning its surplus waters off into Lake Borgne, etc.

    5. Some believed in the scheme of northern lake-reservoirs to replenish
    the Mississippi in low-water seasons.

    Wherever you find a man down there who believes in one of these
    theories you may turn to the next man and frame your talk upon
    the hypothesis that he does not believe in that theory; and after
    you have had experience, you do not take this course doubtfully,
    or hesitatingly, but with the confidence of a dying murderer--
    converted one, I mean. For you will have come to know, with a deep
    and restful certainty, that you are not going to meet two people
    sick of the same theory, one right after the other. No, there will
    always be one or two with the other diseases along between.
    And as you proceed, you will find out one or two other things.
    You will find out that there is no distemper of the lot but
    is contagious; and you cannot go where it is without catching it.
    You may vaccinate yourself with deterrent facts as much as you please--
    it will do no good; it will seem to 'take,' but it doesn't;
    the moment you rub against any one of those theorists, make up
    your mind that it is time to hang out your yellow flag.

    Yes, you are his sure victim: yet his work is not all to your hurt--
    only part of it; for he is like your family physician, who comes
    and cures the mumps, and leaves the scarlet-fever behind.
    If your man is a Lake-Borgne-relief theorist, for instance,
    he will exhale a cloud of deadly facts and statistics which will lay
    you out with that disease, sure; but at the same time he will cure
    you of any other of the five theories that may have previously got
    into your system.

    I have had all the five; and had them 'bad;' but ask me not,
    in mournful numbers, which one racked me hardest, or which
    one numbered the biggest sick list, for I do not know.
    In truth, no one can answer the latter question.
    Mississippi Improvement is a mighty topic, down yonder.
    Every man on the river banks, south of Cairo, talks about it
    every day, during such moments as he is able to spare from
    talking about the war; and each of the several chief theories
    has its host of zealous partisans; but, as I have said,
    it is not possible to determine which cause numbers
    the most recruits.

    All were agreed upon one point, however: if Congress would make
    a sufficient appropriation, a colossal benefit would result.
    Very well; since then the appropriation has been made--
    possibly a sufficient one, certainly not too large a one.
    Let us hope that the prophecy will be amply fulfilled.

    One thing will be easily granted by the reader; that an opinion from
    Mr. Edward Atkinson, upon any vast national commercial matter, comes as near
    ranking as authority, as can the opinion of any individual in the Union.
    What he has to say about Mississippi River Improvement will be found
    in the Appendix.

    Sometimes, half a dozen figures will reveal, as with a lightning-flash,
    the importance of a subject which ten thousand labored words,
    with the same purpose in view, had left at last but dim and uncertain.
    Here is a case of the sort--paragraph from the 'Cincinnati Commercial'-

    'The towboat "Jos. B. Williams" is on her way to New Orleans with
    a tow of thirty-two barges, containing six hundred thousand bushels
    (seventy-six pounds to the bushel) of coal exclusive of her own fuel,
    being the largest tow ever taken to New Orleans or anywhere else
    in the world. Her freight bill, at 3 cents a bushel, amounts to
    $18,000. It would take eighteen hundred cars, of three hundred and
    thirty-three bushels to the car, to transport this amount of coal.
    At $10 per ton, or $100 per car, which would be a fair price for
    the distance by rail, the freight bill would amount to $180,000,
    or $162,000 more by rail than by river. The tow will be taken
    from Pittsburg to New Orleans in fourteen or fifteen days.
    It would take one hundred trains of eighteen cars to the train
    to transport this one tow of six hundred thousand bushels of coal,
    and even if it made the usual speed of fast freight lines, it would
    take one whole summer to put it through by rail.'

    When a river in good condition can enable one to save $162,000 and a whole
    summer's time, on a single cargo, the wisdom of taking measures to keep
    the river in good condition is made plain to even the uncommercial mind.
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