第70章 Uncle Mumford Unloads(1)

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.