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In the evening I sent a report of the situation back to Vancouver by the steamboat, retaining a large Hudson's Bay bateau which I had brought up with me.
Presently, the bell sounded once more, and the piston rod slowly rose out of the cylinder, and then slowly descended again. "They are going very slowly," said Marco. "Yes," replied Forester, "the water is low, and I suppose that the channel is narrow." Just at this moment, they perceived a strange sensation, as if the steamboat had been suddenly pushed backwards. Marco was startled.
When our expedition came out of the Arkansas River, January, 18,1863, and rendezvoused at the river-bank, in front of the town of Napoleon, Arkansas, we were visited by General Grant in person, who had come down from Memphis in a steamboat.
They thought it, apparently, fine amusement to be attending two white women; they carried us into the path of the steamboat, which was going out, and paddled with all their force, rather too fast, indeed, for there was something of a swell on the lake, and they sometimes threw water into the canoe. However, it flew over the waves, light as a sea-gull.
I remember how I laughed aloud at the glimpse of the name of a London County Council steamboat that ran across me. Caxton it was called, and another was Pepys, and another was Shakespeare. They seemed so wildly out of place, splashing about in that confusion. One wanted to take them out and wipe them and put them back in some English gentleman's library.
The shout of laughter that greeted this story was interrupted by the appearance of Billy Brackett at the door. "Come out here, boys!" he cried. "There's a steamboat on fire and coming down the river!" This startling announcement emptied the "shanty" in a hurry. Even Binney Gibbs forgot his aches and joined his mates outside.
Monsieur would like them extremely, so I took the card that the concierge wrote for me, and forthwith started for the river, in order that I might take a steamboat for Meudon. By one of those coincidences which happen so often, being quite inexplicable, I had not gone twenty paces down the street before I ran directly into the arms of Eugene d'Ardeche.
The old Bowery, where they used to take your tintype by force and give ye knockout drops before having your palm read, is now called the Wall Street of the island. The wienerwurst stands are required by law to keep a news ticker in 'em; and the doughnuts are examined every four years by a retired steamboat inspector.
The moment the steamboat came within sight and hearing, there was a waving of handkerchiefs, and a screaming and bawling of salutations, and felicitations, that baffle all description.
But I reckon it's the best they've got. I'm tired enough to take what's offered and keep still," Bill Banney declared. I, too, wanted to keep still. I had only a faint memory of a real city. It must have been St. Louis, for there was a wharf, and a steamboat and a busy street, and soft voices speaking a foreign tongue.
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