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    Chapter 50

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    Chapter 49
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    Chapter 50
    The 'Original Jacobs'

    WE had some talk about Captain Isaiah Sellers, now many years dead.
    He was a fine man, a high-minded man, and greatly respected both ashore and on
    the river. He was very tall, well built, and handsome; and in his old age--
    as I remember him--his hair was as black as an Indian's, and his eye
    and hand were as strong and steady and his nerve and judgment as firm
    and clear as anybody's, young or old, among the fraternity of pilots.
    He was the patriarch of the craft; he had been a keelboat pilot before the day
    of steamboats; and a steamboat pilot before any other steamboat pilot,
    still surviving at the time I speak of, had ever turned a wheel.
    Consequently his brethren held him in the sort of awe in which illustrious
    survivors of a bygone age are always held by their associates.
    He knew how he was regarded, and perhaps this fact added some trifle
    of stiffening to his natural dignity, which had been sufficiently stiff
    in its original state.

    He left a diary behind him; but apparently it did not date back
    to his first steamboat trip, which was said to be 1811, the year
    the first steamboat disturbed the waters of the Mississippi.
    At the time of his death a correspondent of the 'St. Louis Republican'
    culled the following items from the diary--

    'In February, 1825, he shipped on board the steamer "Rambler," at Florence,
    Ala., and made during that year three trips to New Orleans and back--
    this on the "Gen. Carrol," between Nashville and New Orleans. It was during
    his stay on this boat that Captain Sellers introduced the tap of the bell
    as a signal to heave the lead, previous to which time it was the custom
    for the pilot to speak to the men below when soundings were wanted.
    The proximity of the forecastle to the pilot-house, no doubt, rendered this
    an easy matter; but how different on one of our palaces of the present day.

    'In 1827 we find him on board the "President," a boat of two
    hundred and eighty-five tons burden, and plying between Smithland
    and New Orleans. Thence he joined the "Jubilee" in 1828,
    and on this boat he did his first piloting in the St. Louis trade;
    his first watch extending from Herculaneum to St. Genevieve.
    On May 26, 1836, he completed and left Pittsburgh in charge
    of the steamer "Prairie," a boat of four hundred tons, and the
    first steamer with a STATE-ROOM CABIN ever seen at St. Louis.
    In 1857 he introduced the signal for meeting boats, and which has,
    with some slight change, been the universal custom of this day;
    in fact, is rendered obligatory by act of Congress.

    'As general items of river history, we quote the following marginal
    notes from his general log--

    'In March, 1825, Gen. Lafayette left New Orleans for St. Louis
    on the low-pressure steamer "Natchez."

    'In January, 1828, twenty-one steamers left the New Orleans wharf
    to celebrate the occasion of Gen. Jackson's visit to that city.

    'In 1830 the "North American" made the run from New Orleans
    to Memphis in six days--best time on record to that date.
    It has since been made in two days and ten hours.

    'In 1831 the Red River cut-off formed.

    'In 1832 steamer "Hudson" made the run from White River
    to Helena, a distance of seventy-five miles, in twelve hours.
    This was the source of much talk and speculation among
    parties directly interested.

    'In 1839 Great Horseshoe cut-off formed.

    'Up to the present time, a term of thirty-five years, we ascertain,
    by reference to the diary, he has made four hundred and sixty round
    trips to New Orleans, which gives a distance of one million one hundred
    and four thousand miles, or an average of eighty-six miles a day.'

    Whenever Captain Sellers approached a body of gossiping pilots,
    a chill fell there, and talking ceased. For this reason:
    whenever six pilots were gathered together, there would always
    be one or two newly fledged ones in the lot, and the elder
    ones would be always 'showing off' before these poor fellows;
    making them sorrowfully feel how callow they were, how recent
    their nobility, and how humble their degree, by talking
    largely and vaporously of old-time experiences on the river;
    always making it a point to date everything back as far as they could,
    so as to make the new men feel their newness to the sharpest
    degree possible, and envy the old stagers in the like degree.
    And how these complacent baldheads WOULD swell, and brag, and lie,
    and date back--ten, fifteen, twenty years,--and how they did enjoy
    the effect produced upon the marveling and envying youngsters!

    And perhaps just at this happy stage of the proceedings,
    the stately figure of Captain Isaiah Sellers, that real and only
    genuine Son of Antiquity, would drift solemnly into the midst.
    Imagine the size of the silence that would result on the instant.
    And imagine the feelings of those bald-heads, and the exultation
    of their recent audience when the ancient captain would begin
    to drop casual and indifferent remarks of a reminiscent nature--
    about islands that had disappeared, and cutoffs that had been made,
    a generation before the oldest bald-head in the company had ever set
    his foot in a pilot-house!

    Many and many a time did this ancient mariner appear on the scene
    in the above fashion, and spread disaster and humiliation around him.
    If one might believe the pilots, he always dated his islands back to
    the misty dawn of river history; and he never used the same island twice;
    and never did he employ an island that still existed, or give one
    a name which anybody present was old enough to have heard of before.
    If you might believe the pilots, he was always conscientiously particular
    about little details; never spoke of 'the State of Mississippi,'
    for instance--no, he would say, 'When the State of Mississippi was
    where Arkansas now is," and would never speak of Louisiana or Missouri
    in a general way, and leave an incorrect impression on your mind--
    no, he would say, 'When Louisiana was up the river farther,' or 'When
    Missouri was on the Illinois side.'

    The old gentleman was not of literary turn or capacity, but he used to jot
    down brief paragraphs of plain practical information about the river,
    and sign them 'MARK TWAIN,' and give them to the 'New Orleans Picayune.'
    They related to the stage and condition of the river, and were
    accurate and valuable; and thus far, they contained no poison.
    But in speaking of the stage of the river to-day, at a given point,
    the captain was pretty apt to drop in a little remark about this
    being the first time he had seen the water so high or so low at
    that particular point for forty-nine years; and now and then he would
    mention Island So-and-so, and follow it, in parentheses, with some
    such observation as 'disappeared in 1807, if I remember rightly.'
    In these antique interjections lay poison and bitterness for
    the other old pilots, and they used to chaff the 'Mark Twain'
    paragraphs with unsparing mockery.

    It so chanced that one of these paragraphsof it, in the captain's own hand, has been sent to me from New Orleans.
    It reads as follows--

    VICKSBURG May 4, 1859.

    'My opinion for the benefit of the citizens of New Orleans:
    The water is higher this far up than it has been since 8.
    My opinion is that the water will be feet deep in Canal street
    before the first of next June. Mrs. Turner's plantation at
    the head of Big Black Island is all under water, and it has not
    been since 1815.

    'I. Sellers.']>

    became the text for my first newspaper article. I burlesqued
    it broadly, very broadly, stringing my fantastics out to the extent
    of eight hundred or a thousand words. I was a 'cub' at the time.
    I showed my performance to some pilots, and they eagerly rushed it into
    print in the 'New Orleans True Delta.' It was a great pity; for it did
    nobody any worthy service, and it sent a pang deep into a good man's heart.
    There was no malice in my rubbish; but it laughed at the captain.
    It laughed at a man to whom such a thing was new and strange and dreadful.
    I did not know then, though I do now, that there is no suffering comparable
    with that which a private person feels when he is for the first time
    pilloried in print.

    Captain Sellers did me the honor to profoundly detest me from that day forth.
    When I say he did me the honor, I am not using empty words.
    It was a very real honor to be in the thoughts of so great a man as
    Captain Sellers, and I had wit enough to appreciate it and be proud of it.
    It was distinction to be loved by such a man; but it was a much greater
    distinction to be hated by him, because he loved scores of people;
    but he didn't sit up nights to hate anybody but me.

    He never printed another paragraph while he lived, and he never again
    signed 'Mark Twain' to anything. At the time that the telegraph
    brought the news of his death, I was on the Pacific coast.
    I was a fresh new journalist, and needed a nom de guerre;
    so I confiscated the ancient mariner's discarded one,
    and have done my best to make it remain what it was in his hands--
    a sign and symbol and warrant that whatever is found in its
    company may be gambled on as being the petrified truth; how I
    have succeeded, it would not be modest in me to say.

    The captain had an honorable pride in his profession
    and an abiding love for it. He ordered his monument
    before he died, and kept it near him until he did die.
    It stands over his grave now, in Bellefontaine cemetery, St. Louis.
    It is his image, in marble, standing on duty at the pilot wheel;
    and worthy to stand and confront criticism, for it represents a man
    who in life would have stayed there till he burned to a cinder,
    if duty required it.

    The finest thing we saw on our whole Mississippi trip, we saw as we approached
    New Orleans in the steam-tug. This was the curving frontage of the crescent
    city lit up with the white glare of five miles of electric lights.
    It was a wonderful sight, and very beautiful.
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