Because of his slight build, Hans was already an alto, but the cadence of his voice was epicene rather than feminine. If Hannah was to be accepted, her intonation would need to be more feminine. I spent an hour walking the promenade of the cabin deck with her, helping with her voice. It would not erase years of habit, but progress was made. At the end, I escorted her to the lady’s cabin, where she could listen to the piano and singing while taking refreshment.

Becky soon followed, driven in from the awning between the women’s and men’s cabins by a torrential downpour that broke upon us. She looked discouraged, for her hairdressing offers had either been met with disdain, or politely rejected.

“I have an idea, Becky. You need a subject to exemplify your work.”

“I don’ understand dem big words.”

“Well, if the ladies saw you working on someone – who turned out beautiful – they might give you their custom.”

“Who do dat? Your hair be way too short.”

“He, he. No, not me. Sandy or Hannah, or maybe both.”

“You got sumpin der girl!”

“I’ll get Sandy.”

She was playing a board game, Pope and Pagan, with three girls and a young boy. The game aimed to instill children with both Christian virtue and a horror of papism and the religions of the East. After my experience with Fr. Albright, I was uneasy at this line of education, and so had no scruple in interrupting.

“Sandy, your hair is a mess, I want to let the colored woman have a go at it.”

She looked puzzled, then got the idea. “Yes, my curls are strung out. Do you think she could fix them?”

“I believe she could – and she is only charging girls 25c. … If you girls like how she does Sandy’s hair, you could ask your mothers if she can do yours.”

The girls seemed excited at the prospect and watched closely as Becky washed and used her tongs to curl Sandy’s hair. When she was done, they ran to find their mothers. Later, I repeated the performance with Hannah.

When the rain ceased, I went to the bow to take in the river. About noon, the Linn reached Wheeling, Virginia. There it loaded three heavy wagons with its steam boom while their oxen were herded up the gangway. Meanwhile, the Wheeling passed out of sight downriver.

I luncheoned in the men’s cabin – a most unpleasant experience during which I almost choked on cigar smoke, much to the amusement of the older men. Finishing as quickly as possible, I took a mug of tea to the bow, only to find the stench of manure unbearable. Eventually, I found a wonderful vantage on the roof of the crew’s quarters near the pilot house. The master, sitting on a stool near the pilot, nodded at me and returned to his business.

The view was magnificent as we passed 100 feet under the first cables of the bridge Charles Ellet was building for the National Road – the longest in the world at 1,010 feet.* I felt proud to be part of a country making such progress, and wished I could contribute more to it.

As the Linn gathered speed, the rushing wind refreshed me. My hair blew as only a boy’s could. I wondered, would I ever go back to being a girl? I was lost in my reverie when I heard a voice next to me.

“That’s a nasty scar there on the back o’ yer head, lad.” It was Captain Burch.

“How?”

“The wind kicked yer hair up, I hope yer not mindin’ me askin ’bout it. … How’d ya come by it?”

I thought how I should respond. “You saw Sandy at breakfast. I am the child’s tutor. I was shot in a kidnap attempt.”

“Oh, so that’s why you have that lump of a gun in yer trouser pocket. … Yes I saw it when you was in the galley, but I says ‘Maybe the lad has his reasons.’”

“Yes, Sandy’s uncle gave it to me to protect the child.”

“Well, so long as it stays in yer pocket.”

“I have no plan to use it.”

“Good! … You seem interested in the river.”

“I am.”

“Would you like to see in the pilothouse?”

“Very much.”

“You may, but only when I invite you – an’ only if you don’t ever talk to the pilot or to me when I’m busy.”

“You are the master!”

“That I be.”

The pilothouse was dominated by a many-handled wheel to guide the boat. It was so big – maybe 6 feet across – that the deck was cut away to accommodate its lower portion. Next to it was a pedal to sound the whistle. Above were wires running across the roof from left to right ending in pull rings. These sounded bells to signal the engineer of his duty. I thanked the captain for his kindness and returned to my place.

Shortly, the rain returned with a vengeance and I retired to our stateroom for a nap. I was awakened when Becky and Hannah brought us supper from the lady’s table.

“Look at what dey’s cooked,” Becky enthused. There was fish, two kinds of meat, vegetables, potatoes, muffins, pie slices and more on the tray she carried – too much, I feared, for the four of us. I was wrong, for we were ravenous and consumed the lot! I felt at once quite sated and guilty for my gluttony.

During dinner, Becky dominated the conversation. “I’s goin’ be rich! Look here! I make $1.50 t’day. One lady, she want me for to be a maid, but I says no – cuz I be makin more dis way. Besides, when she see I got me a baby inside, she be firin' me.”

“I am very happy for you dear.”

“Thank you Miss Nancy! I’s got you to thank!”

“I just got you started. You did the work.”

After dinner, Sandy brought out a deck of cards he had been given and taught us a card game her mother had taught her, called "whist." We played a number of hands, with Sandy and I, as partners, winning most of the early ones and Becky and Hannah winning more later. We played until it was too dark to read the cards by the cabin lamp, then retired.

In the morning, I again rose at first light. The Linn was tied to some trees along the north bank and the captain was using a speaking trumpet to direct the crew in freeing the boat. This did not require going ashore as the ropes had been looped about the trees with both ends secured to the vessel. So, they had only to loosen one end and pull in upon the other.

Once we were safely underway, the master invited me to join him in the galley. He directed Johnson, the colored cook, to bring me ham, "grits" or white corn meal, and eggs as he consumed thick coffee.

“So, how old be you, Bill?”

“Sixteen years, sir.”

“And where be yer parents?”

“Both dead, sir – taken by the yellow jack along with John, my older brother, when I was but eight years.”

“That be sad. I lost my wife and daughter to cholera last year.”

“I am sorry to hear of it,” as I truly was.

A wave of emotion passed over him, but he was soon in control again. “So, what are you thinking of doing by way of a trade – once you have done yer duty by the child?”

“I do not know, sir. Maybe be a private tutor as I am now, or teach in a school. I met a priest on the way to Pittsburgh who offered admission to the university in St. Louis – if I can afford it.”

“That seems a tame life for an adventurous lad like you.”

“Perhaps, but as we passed under Mr. Ellet’s bridge at Wheeling, it put me to mind that I want to do something to build this country. If I knew more, I might.”

“A noble thought lad. … I can see it in you that you like the river.”

“I do. The water … it turns in ways almost magical.”

“You know, steamboats be the life of this country – from Pittsburgh to N’Orleans – and into the Missouri country, we be what ties the country together.”

“I can see that.”

“So, I was thinking …” He paused almost in embarrassment. “Maybe – when yer duty be done by the child – being as you are an orphan and all – you might want to ’prentice with me?”

“I am honored by the offer. I will need time to consider it.”

“Of course! Of course! … Here’s my address in Cairo. You can write me there.”

“I will, regardless of what I decide.”

“Well, you best see to your litl’ crew. When yer done, you can join me in the pilothouse if it suits you.”

My three girls were sharing breakfast in our cabin. I chatted with them a while. Then Sandy when off to play and Becky to meet a woman she had been unable to serve the day before. Poor Hannah did not know what to do when I suggested she stroll among the deck passengers where I heard German spoken. So, I was left free to join the captain in the pilothouse.

He smiled broadly when he saw me – almost relieved that he had not alienated me. He spent the morning teaching me the rudiments of river reading. A vee in the water betokened a snag. A pattern of ripples, up-welling and smooth water signaled a bar, and so on. In the afternoon he schooled me in the engine bell and whistle. For example, five short blasts called the crew to quarters for an emergency while five long blasts called aid to a vessel in distress.

We passed innumerable landings, only stopping when someone flagged us or a passenger was to be put off. These stops took only a minute. The Linn would gently run aground, holding herself in place by slow turns of her great wheels, lower her gang plank for maybe 15-30 seconds, then back off and be on her way once more. About 8:30 or 9:00 we again tied up as navigating low water on a moonless night was dangerous.

We had a longer stop in Cincinnati where we unloaded the wagons and their oxen, and took on machinery for Paducah. That gave me time to visit the telegraph office. There I found a message from three days earlier.

Van der Leyden arrested. Proceeding St. Louis via your route. Karl.

Once we were underway again, the captain told me about the Falls of the Ohio at Louisville. These are not a fall like Niagara. Instead, the river drops 22 feet in a series of rapids – although during low water a single drop of four feet was exposed. In the past, boats had unloaded above the Falls at Louisville, and reloaded below it. Now, there was a canal we would lock through. He invited me to join him in the pilothouse to take all this in.

As we approached, I was back in the pilothouse. From my vantage I could see a chain of islands ahead with white water on either side. The captain lent me his glass to examine the scene. Scanning, I pointed out a man on a point spying us.

“That’s the mouth of Beargrass Creek, where boats wait their turn to enter the canal. We shall be there shortly.”

As the captain said this, I saw the man running back from the point, waving his arm to signal come ahead. We were nearly to the creek mouth when two black plumes shot up over the trees. Soon the Wheeling emerged under full steam -- headed straight for us.

Captain Burch yelled, “Bastard! Hard a port! Sound the alarm.” The pilot spun the wheel as fast as he could, and stomped five short blasts. Meanwhile, the captain yanked the engine bells. The left engine hastened, while the right machinery screeched, emitted a great cloud of steam and halted. The Linn’s timbers shuddered and creaked as her starboard wheel stopped. The captain rang again and slowly, but with increasing speed, the right wheel reversed. The bow swung toward the mid-river islands, then passed into open water on the Indiana side. The engine bell rang again, the engineer responded with a short blast of his ready whistle, and the right wheel reversed once more. I could hear John and James swearing as they hurled log after log into the furnaces. Jets of flame shot from our stacks as we sped forward faster than ever before. My tension faded at the captain’s adroit avoidance of collision.

My relief was short lived. The Wheeling was in full pursuit and our speed was alarming – faster than the train to Manhattan. How could that be? Looking down, the river’s smooth passage to the sea had become a tumultuous boil sweeping us irresistibly on.

Meanwhile, as the Wheeling passed the head of the island chain, both its wheels shuddered and reversed. They spun back mightily, but to no avail. The current swept her after us.

Why were we not fighting the current as was the Wheeling? Instead, the captain and pilot worked the helm furiously: first right, then left, as our wheels drove us on. I prayed that God guide our passage. In my prayer it came to me that we could only steer by going forward. This was confirmed when the Wheeling emitted five long whistle blasts. Her stern was moving left and her bow right. Her wheels stopped and began turning forward, but it was too late. Her bow struck an outcrop and held fast. As her stern swung round, the current tipped her sideways, submerging her left boiler. It exploded with such force that fragments of her works rained down upon us – 300 yards away. I could only pray for those aboard as steam enveloped her. Then, a second explosion echoed the first.

Ahead, a thin line of boiling water extended from bank to bank. The Linn’s bow passed over it with a horrid scrapping before we, like the Wheeling, were held fast – our foredeck hanging four feet in the air. Our timbers moaned their death knell. If only I could swim! I prayed desperately as the Linn gradually tipped forward – despite her bulk being above the falls! The impounded water lifted our stern and then, suddenly, shot us over and drove our bow into the river. A huge wave carried away all that was loose on the foredeck. I was commending my soul to God when the bow rose, the water drained, and the river calmed. Ahead, two rapids ruffled, but did not boil, the river. The pilot stood alone at the wheel as Captain Burch rang the engines down to standard and sent the second officer to inspect the boat.

------------
* John Roebling, who competed for the Wheeling bridge contract and later designed the Brooklyn Bridge, predicted that Ellet’s bridge would fail in high winds. Shortly after 3:00 PM on May 17, 1854, it did. http://www.historic-structures.com/wv/wheeling/wheeling_susp...