Showdown in Blue Cane

Chapter I. A Gunman Plays Possum

The horse’s hooves thundered along a lonely stretch of road as the young rider spurred him on to even greater speed. Ahead was a bend in the road, and as the rider approached, he leaned inward, straining against saddle and the brisk autumn wind. Finally, the path straightened and the rider slowed the horse to a trot, looking back over his shoulder. Quickly, he dismounted and led the horse into some nearby brush. Waiting for what seemed to be a very long time, he watched in the direction from where he came. Fortunately, the moonlight gave him a clear view as he waited in ambush. He cocked his pistol, and gently put his finger on the trigger. Everything was quiet, except for the sound of the wind rustling in the trees.

And then, the young rider was surprised when he heard the sounds of a light gallop from the opposite direction. Apparently, his opponent had circled around him and was now at an unexpected location. The tall gunman appeared and was about fifty yards away. The young rider turned and instinctively fired. With a loud whinny, the gunman’s horse reared up startled and spun around. Falling from his horse, the tall gunman moaned as he hit the ground. Finally, he rolled over on his stomach.

The young rider walked briskly toward the gunman. The downed man lay very still. Not a breath did he take. The young man was excited and sure that he had killed him. He walked up close. Slowly, he reached down to get the gun. Suddenly, the gunman rolled over, pointed his gun at the young rider, and fired. The blast hit the young man right in the belly. He yelled out, lurched backward, grasped his abdomen, and fell to the ground, writhing in pain. Then as quickly and quietly as the tall gunman appeared, he vanished into the night, on horseback.

Morning found the tall gunman sitting by a campfire. He was a few miles east of Brinkley, Arkansas. Taking out his knife, he began to cut, just a little at a time, the tough metal of the gun barrel. Finally, there was yet another notch in his Colt 45 revolver. He turned the pistol in his hands looking it over very carefully. In the late 1870s this was considered one of the finest weapons available. The gunman then stood up, spun the six-shooter a few turns, and slipped it into his holster. An inscription on his belt above the gun handle read: W. F. Lovejoy.

No one really remembers this incident from long ago, with all its reasons long forgotten. The exact details, including the young rider’s identity, are now forever lost in failed memories or even perhaps shrouded in secrecy. But as insignificant and faded as it became, its essence gives a glimpse of things to come.

Chapter II. The Poker Game

As Bill Lovejoy entered the Brinkley Hotel saloon, he looked beyond the bar and through the bluish haze to see some old friends. He slowly approached them, each step deliberately taken. Gentlemen, may I join your game? he asked.

Well, Bill Lovejoy, greeted the old man with the white beard. Haven’t seen you for awhile. What brings you to Brinkley?

Just got out of our lodge meeting. Lovejoy took a seat with his back facing the wall.

Oh yeah? The old man pushed his black derby hat back on his head and slouched a little in his seat. Well, how did your meetin’ go?

You’re getting into the Mason’s territory now, and it ain’t none of your damn business.

Just trying to chew the fat a little, Bill. I ain’t meant no harm, none.

The two other men at the table studied their cards intently and did not utter a word. Bill Lovejoy watched this hand finish. Earlier that day, Lovejoy rode from his farm in St. Francis County into Brinkley, Arkansas to attend a meeting of A.F. & A.M. Lodge No. 295. That meeting ended and he walked down to the Brinkley Hotel and Saloon, as he was eager to have a drink and play a little poker.

As the next hand was dealt, Lovejoy poured himself a shot of whiskey. He peeked at his cards and tossed a silver dollar in the ante. The game was five-card draw. They placed a round of bets, and the old man called. Lovejoy asked for two cards, the old man took three, the third man took two, and the other dropped out. Then they began betting in earnest. Lovejoy had high card and opened: I’m betting two, as he rolled two cartwheels into the pot. Then he chugged down the whiskey, and wiped his mustache.

The third man put in two dollars likewise, but the old man declared: I see yer two and raise you one! slamming down a coin as he spoke.

Call, Lovejoy muttered, placing another coin in the pot.

The third man folded.

Let’s see what you got! The old man laid down three kings.

Lovejoy smiled. Sorry pal. He laid down a full house of two aces and three tens, and then he raked in the pot.

After several hands were played, and the small talk continued, Lovejoy began to bluff. He won a couple of real big pots even though his cards weren’t that good. Already one of the men gave up and left.

Seated at the bar was a man dressed in a dark blue business suit with vest. His small derby hat perched jauntily on his head, and his foot rested gently on a brass rail that ran the entire length of the stained-oak bar. He watched the card game very intently while he smoked a pipe and sipped his whiskey.

Lovejoy was getting annoyed with the old man and decided it was time to put him away. As time passed, the old man became little tipsy; he would hiccup when he had a good hand. So Lovejoy would fold when he sensed the old man held a strong hand and would bluff otherwise. After winning a couple of pots, Lovejoy had more money and bet higher amounts.

Dang it Bill, why directly you are goin’ to run me out of money, the old man declared.

Well, you better learn to play your hands better, or get lucky, Lovejoy countered.

Lovejoy knew a few card sharp techniques, such as dealing from the bottom, mucking cards, and incomplete shuffles. He managed to move the poorer cards from the discard pile to the top of the deck, while taking cards from winning hands and putting them near the bottom. The incomplete shuffles would tend to maintain this arrangement. He dealt to his opponents from the top, and to his own hand from the bottom. The mechanic’s grip on the deck concealed some of these tricks.

Finally, after several more hands, the old man decided to quit. He muttered a complaint, and got up to leave.

Lovejoy looked up and taunted him. You had enough, old timer? Maybe you should go home and learn a little more about poker before coming back.

Now only Lovejoy and one other man, with a felt cowboy hat, were left to play. Lovejoy looked around the saloon. He called out to the well-dressed businessman at the bar. Well looky here, Mr. Big Bug? Say, would you like to try your hand at some poker?

I think I will. The well-dressed man slowly got up, and walked over to the table.

Lovejoy lit a cigar and then took the deck. He shuffled a couple of times, and then looked up at the businessman and the man with the felt cowboy hat. Let’s play five-card stud! He dealt the first card face up, and then the second face down for each player.

The businessman had three of clubs, the low card, and had to pay the ante. He placed a silver dollar in the pot. Lovejoy had the highest card showing, the queen of hearts. So he raised one dollar, the businessman matched the bet, and the man with the felt cowboy hat called.

Then Lovejoy dealt each player another face-up card, but the businessman spoke out, Where is the burn card?

The burn card is taken from the top of the deck and placed in the discard pile, without showing, prior to the second round dealing. It is used in poker to thwart cheating by marked cards and second or bottom dealing.

Oh we don’t need to play with those rules, Lovejoy protested.

You will if you play me, the businessman replied.

Lovejoy glared at the man. The whole saloon was hushed. Finally after an uncomfortably long pause, Lovejoy muttered, Oh well, what the hell.

The hand continued. In each of the three remaining rounds, each player was dealt a face up card and then bets were placed. And, the burn card was discarded in every round.

Finally, Lovejoy had the winning hand. He took a long drag from his cigar after raking in the pot.

Several more hands were played but no particular winning trend had developed. Lovejoy tried bluffing once, but it didn’t work.

In a game of five-card draw with deuces wild, the businessman asked for two cards. Lovejoy opened the betting with two silver dollars. The businessman tossed in two silver dollars and then raised by a half eagle, which was a five dollar gold piece. Lovejoy’s eyes bugged out and he declared: Hell fire man, what are you doing?

I thought you wanted to play some poker?

I guess you do, answered Lovejoy.

Although Lovejoy called, the man with the felt cowboy hat folded. The businessman won the pot, despite it not being very large.

The businessman continued to play shrewdly, and for some reason Lovejoy wasn’t as successful at bluffing as before. When the businessman held a reasonably strong hand, he would raise by large amounts, often up to five dollars. The man with the felt cowboy hat finally dropped out, leaving Lovejoy and the businessman. The two men decided to keep playing.

The next few hands were uneventful. However, in a game of five-card draw, Lovejoy was holding a full house, and he raised two dollars. The businessman reached into his pocket purse and then laid down a full eagle, a ten-dollar gold piece. This was a lot of money back then, considering that a horse was worth between $75 and $100.

Lovejoy decided to go all out. I’ll see your eight and raise five. He put in the eight silver dollars and then five more.

The businessman responded, I’ll see your five and raise another five. He dropped another full eagle into the pot.

Lovejoy was a little unnerved, so he called.

The businessman laid out his hand: Four Jacks. That beats a full house so he took the very large pot. He said nothing as he raked the pile of coins to his side of the table.

After this round, Lovejoy’s stack of dollars was noticeably shrinking.

They played a few more hands, and the businessman was betting heavily. On occasion he would lose, and although it might be a large pot, he seemed to have an endless supply of money.

Lovejoy was finally down to a half-dozen silver dollars, which was barely enough to play a hand. Lovejoy dealt the cards and declared, Five-card draw, guts.

After the ante and the first round, the businessman asked for three cards and Lovejoy two. And then, Lovejoy opened the betting with one dollar. The businessman saw the one and raised four, which was all that Lovejoy had left. With no money left on the table, his only choice was to call.

At that point, the guy who made the last raise, the businessman, was obligated to show his cards first. Prior to this, he kept his left hand under the table. With his right hand he laid down the cards. It was two pair. As he did, he warned Lovejoy, Don’t try no funny business, my gun’s pointin’ straight at you!

Lovejoy glanced at the cards, and knew he had lost. All right, I won’t. Just put that thing away! He pleaded.

With his gun still ready, the businessman raked in the pot with his right hand. But then, he tossed a silver dollar to Lovejoy. Here, go get us some whiskey.

Lovejoy slowly took the coin and stood up. He walked over to the bar where the bartender was already getting two shot glasses out.

When he returned, he put the two drinks on the table. Then he calmly sat down and then asked, Who are you?

Captain Jack Leonard.

My name is Bill Lovejoy.

Pleased to meet you.

The two men laughed and then downed their drinks. Lovejoy kept both hands on top of the table and Captain Leonard put away his derringer.

So, what brings you to the Brinkley Hotel tonight? Asked Lovejoy.

"I am on my way to the St. Francis River. Tomorrow morning, I catch the train to Madison. I’m boarding the sternwheeler Rene MacReady. Gonna go up all the way up the St. Francis River, to buy some timberland."

How did you get to be called ‘Captain’? Bill asked.

Oh, well, Leonard began. In the war, I got the rank of captain. I had been to a military school, in New York, before the war. When it broke out, I enlisted, but they found out I had some military training and I ended up a captain.

You sure are a good poker player, Lovejoy declared. Where did you learn to play?

Leonard chuckled. I learned the hard way, playing against all the good riverboat gamblers and card sharps. There’s a little houseboat anchored up the St. Francis River from Cottler Donick at Dead Man’s Pocket. It’s called the Cute’s Nest. That’s where I really learned the gambling game, just a couple of years ago.

I tried several times to bluff you, but it didn’t seem to work, Lovejoy complained.

Leonard laughed. Well, here is a tip, Bill. When you have a weak hand and you’re getting ready to bluff, don’t signal it by pushing your hat back on your head each time.

All right, I guess you had some time to watch me in action before playin’ me, Lovejoy chuckled.

Do you live here in Brinkley? Leonard inquired.

No, I have a farm several miles east of here, in St. Francis County.

Married?

Yes, my wife Mary Francis and my little daughter, Mollie, live there with me, Lovejoy explained.

What do you raise? Leonard asked.

Cotton mostly, and some corn and hogs. I have a few nigger sharecroppers helpin’ me.

That is interesting. Farming is a noble undertaking. I always wanted to own one. But for now, I make my money as a barrel stave dealer and if I don’t mind saying so, I’ve been pretty successful. And, I’m looking to make even more money in northeastern Arkansas, if everything works out.

Is the loggin’ pretty good up there? Lovejoy queried.

Oh yeah. There is a lot of swampland along the St. Francis and a few sawmills have been started up there along Crowley’s ridge. There’s a lot of money in it.

I’ve done a little loggin’ in Alabama myself, Lovejoy added. The money’s good. But it is hard work.

Bill, here, take this half eagle. Leonard tossed the gold coin to Lovejoy. You might need it on your trip home.

Thank you very much, Captain, Lovejoy answered. I guess I better hit the road. It’s gettin’ late.

Yes, I need to get a little ‘shut-eye’ myself. Got to catch that early morning train, Leonard agreed.

The two men shook hands, and Lovejoy departed. Outside of the hotel, he mounted his horse and rode east on Cypress Street, and then along the Memphis and Little Rock Railroad tracks. This was the main route from Brinkley into St. Francis County, where the Lovejoy farm was, so Bill headed east and disappeared into the night.

Chapter III. The Late Planting

Whuhhh-WhisssSSH-SNAAAP!!! The crack of the whip broke the morning silence outside of the small log cabin. Bill Lovejoy gathered the leather cords together, and shouted, Wake up in there. Get out here now! You hear!

A female Negro voice replied, Laws a me! What’s dat? Who is dat ar?

Bill Lovejoy here. Brown! Are you in there?

Yas, Mas’r, Ah is a-comin’. The wooden door creaked open just a small crack and two bugged-eyes peeped out. The trembling black man was still only partially dressed with ragged gray pants, white undershirt, and one suspender on with the other dangling. He slowly opened the door a little wider and emerged ever so carefully.

Pleeze Mas’r Lovejoy, don’t whup me. Ah is gwineter do whut eva yo’ want.

Why aren’t you people out there planting th’ cotton? Lovejoy demanded.

Well Mas’r Lovejoy, we ain’t got no seed yet. Mas’r Shockley ain’t brung us none. We is fixin’ to plant dar cotton jus’ as soon as we git dat seed.

Well damn it! It’s almost the middle of May. Most years the plantin’ is done by the end of April! Brown, you better git all the workers up right now and get out there! I’ll see about the seeds. Lovejoy mounted his horse, and rode off at a fast gallop.

Sam Brown went back inside the little log cabin. Laws a me, Mas’r Lovejoy sho is mad.

He don’t know what he’s talkin’ bout none, the woman said. We was gwineter work hard fo’ dis plantin’ time, but Mas’r Shockley ain’t got no seed.

Brown finished putting on his clothes, and then sat on the wooden plank floor to put his boots on. They lived in a typical sharecropper’s shack, which was about twenty feet square and nine feet high. The cypress logs were hewn about fourteen inches square, and held together with wooden pegs. The structure had no windows, but had a fireplace and chimney on one end. Ah is gwine to git all o’ de udder’uns up and den we walks down to see Mas’r Shockley.

Lovejoy rode to the other end of the farm to his house looking for Shockley, a paid laborer, who also helped oversee the sharecroppers. Lovejoy entered the house and then asked his wife, Have you seen James?

Oh, I think he went over to the barn, Mary Francis said.

Lovejoy left the house, and walked about fifty yards away to the large red barn. He opened the door and encountered Shockley there. Well James, Brown tells me that we ain’t got no seeds for planting. What’s goin’ on?

All our stock got wet, and was no good, Bill. I left yesterday, and bought a wagonload of cottonseed from Park’s store in Brinkley. Come see. Shockley walked over past the horse stall and into larger open area beyond. The wagon was sitting there with sacks of seed stacked neatly in it.

All right, Lovejoy replied as he cut open a sack with his knife and sifted the fine cotton seeds with his hand. You better get them over to Brown’s cabin so they can git started.

Yes sir Mr. Lovejoy. I’ll get right on it, Shockley replied. He turned and went over to bring a horse to hitch to the wagon.

For the rest of the day, the sharecroppers were out in the fields planting cotton. Bill Lovejoy was satisfied, for now, that the planting had began. Back in Georgia, where he was born, his father oversaw a plantation with many slaves. The family later moved to Alabama for a similar situation, but the Civil War changed all that. By 1870, he and his father, Samuel, moved to Arkansas to homestead. Naturally, he returned to farming after the war, and he used sharecroppers. Lovejoy treated them little better than slaves.

In late afternoon, Lovejoy made his rounds then returned to his house. It was a modest single story wood-frame structure with a front porch, front room, kitchen, and two bedrooms.

As he entered the front room, Mollie, his twelve-year old daughter, got up from the piano and greeted him at the door. She had a big smile and her hair was braided into two long tails. Hi Daddy.

Hello darling, Lovejoy replied. He reached down and patted her on the head, and then went into the kitchen.

Mary Francis greeted him, Hi sweetie. They embraced.

What’s fer supper? Bill asked.

I made my special chicken pie. Mrs. Lovejoy opened the squeaky oven door to show him. It’ll be ready in pretty near a half-hour.

That looks really good, I’m hungry.

Mary Francis closed the oven door and walked out into the front room. Mollie, you still have some more piano practicin’ to do. Jus cause Daddy came in don’t mean you can stop.

Yes ma’am, Mollie politely replied. She got back onto the piano bench and straightened up the music book and slowly began to pick out the notes for Beautiful Dreamer.

After awhile, the family gathered at the dinner table. Bill Lovejoy sat at the end with Mary Francis and Mollie on each side. The table was neatly set with silverware, napkins, and the chicken pie set right in the middle.

Can I say grace, Mamma? Mollie asked.

Well go right ahead, my dear.

Mollie put her hands together and bowed her little head.

"God is great and God is good,

And we thank God for our food,

By God's hand we must be fed,

Give us Lord, our daily bread. Amen."

The three raised their heads and then reached for their silverware and began to eat. I got a letter today, Mary Francis declared.

Really, Bill replied.

Yes, my sister Louisa wrote us. They are having real hard times since Sam died. Seems like she has to do a lot of farm chores now in addition to all the housework. It must be hard for her, Mary Francis reported.

Yeah, it is too bad that Sam is gone, Bill reminisced. Why I still ‘member how happy we all were at our double wedding. You and me, Sam and Louisa.

We were happy indeed, even with all the hard times of the war. My daddy was so proud of us at the ceremony there, on his front porch, back in Short Creek.

Yeah, Joe Carrington sure was a fine man, Bill agreed. God rest his soul. And I know things must be hard for Louisa, now that Sam is gone.

Of course, Mary Francis agreed. You know Louisa has five children to raise, all by herself. And just because her brother John lives near them, doesn’t make it easier. Since the war, he has not been right in the head. She took another bite and then wiped her lips with a napkin. She had a worried look on her face. But there is something else, Bill. Hellen has been sick. She is the oldest at fifteen. But when she gets sick, she can’t help her mamma.

Times sure are tough back in Alabama, Bill mused.

I wish they could come here to live. Then, Louisa and I can be together again.

Lovejoy sighed and then pondered, Well, Fanny, maybe that would be good. We’ll have to think about that some more.

Chapter IV. The Bold Maneuver

The packet Rene MacReady steamed gently downstream in the early morning light. Heading southwest from Marked Tree with a load of lumber and passengers, the pilot knew that the river was nearly at low stage, and was careful not to gain too much speed. Going downstream on the St. Francis River was always more difficult because the current tended to push the boat along, creating a tendency to overshoot the heading.

The St. Francis River begins in Iron County, Missouri, in the Ozark Mountain foothills. It flows southward to form part of the Missouri-Arkansas border through the small town of St. Francis, Arkansas. From there, it goes generally southwest, parallel to Crowley’s Ridge. At the place called the Sunken Lands, the river goes through a dense swamp. The New Madrid earthquakes of 1811 caused this area to drop about eight feet in elevation. The river flows south to Marked Tree then southwest down to Madison, Arkansas. From there it flows into the Mississippi River above Helena, Arkansas. The river is about 470 miles long. At high water, it is navigable by steamboat up to St. Francis, Arkansas. The tributaries are: Little River, Little St. Francis River, Tyronza River, and the L’Anguille River.

In the pilothouse, a small group had assembled, as is customary. The mate was there along with a couple of visiting pilots and a passenger or two. [i] The pilot liked to tell tall tales about his experiences, and his listeners were equally quite interested in the stories.

"It was nighttime on the White River and I took the advice from one of the boys on the Lady Boone [ii] about the Point Ferry crossing. We started out fifty yards from the bluff reef on the false point, and hanged onto the cabin under Point Ferry till I raised the reef, quarter-twain, then straightened up headin’ into the middle bar till I got abeam of the old cypress snag in the bend, and then put my stern on the snag and head on the low place above the point, and came through aboomin’ eight and a half."

A visiting pilot asked, Fairly good crossing ain’t it?

Yes, but the bar is working down fast.

Another dandy chimed in. I don’t beg to differ wid your leadsman, but that’s lot of water for Point Ferry.

Everyone agreed with a nod and a yeah as this quiet rebuff dropped on the show-off and settled him.

The sidewheeler Rene MacReady was owned by the Memphis and St. Francis Packet Co. It was 125 feet long, 26 feet wide, and drew four feet of water.

By mid-afternoon it had reached the Tyronza River. The cries of the leadsman gave a new depth sounding: Half less twain! The pilot pulled the two bell ropes, and the loud clanging sounds were answered by jingling far below in the engine room. The boat slowed, and steam pressure increased to the point of lifting the safety cock. Steam whistled out in a loud noise. As the pilot struggled to spin the steering wheel down quickly, one of the visiting pilots assisted at the tiller. Visiting pilots are useful as they were generally always willing and able to assist the pilot or even the mate in any way they could.

Depths are sounded in fathoms, which is six feet to a fathom. Mark twain, a well-known riverboat phrase, means two fathoms. Mark three is three fathoms. Quarter twain means two and a quarter fathoms and quarter less twain means one and three quarter fathoms of water and so forth. The St. Francis River was shallower than the Mississippi, and its steamers are designed with a shallower draft than their Mississippi counterparts. Generally, either eight feet or half less twain would be the point at which a St. Francis River pilot had to begin taking more care.

After maneuvering around Rock Island, which was about 26 miles above Wittburgh, the pilot resumed normal speed. Captain Joplin entered the pilothouse and inquired about Goose Island, [iii] which is about a half mile above Wittsburgh Landing. Will we get through the Goose Island crossing before nightfall?

The pilot pushed his cap back and sighed, Well, we’ll give her some more steam and see, but a lot depends on the soundings, I reckon.

The onlookers were absolutely silent. Everyone knew how treacherous the Goose Island crossing was. Daytime was bad enough, but at night it was quite a dangerous undertaking. The idea was that if the Goose Island crossing could be made before nightfall, then the Rene MacReady could continue steaming through the night and Madison would be reached the next morning. Otherwise about 12 hours would be lost.

Goose Island is 800 feet long and about 120 feet wide. At low stage, all the water goes to the east side. The distance from the island to the east bank is about 200 feet.

After the Captain left, the talk resumed, but now it focused on the Goose Island crossing. Everyone kept a close eye on their watches and on the steamboat’s speed. There was a minor delay at the Bay Ferry Bar when a new leadsman relieved the watch and got mixed up on his soundings.

It seems that the pilot was so busy talking, that when he heard the incorrect sounding, he lost his nerve and yelled down the speaking tube to the engineer, "Quick Charlie back her down! Back the immortal soul out of her!"

The paddle wheel started going backwards, churning a foamy mist. Steam was hissing, and all the passengers and pilothouse crowd were bracing themselves or falling down.

Then the mate shouted down to the leadsmen, Larboard lead there!

The reply came, Quarter twain!

Starboard lead there!

Quarter twain!

Then everyone realized what had happened, that the leadsman had called out the wrong sounding. Laughter followed, and the pilot was mightily embarrassed. He spoke not a word to anyone but rang the bells signaling the engine room ahead one-third. Slowly the Rene MacReady began to resume its forward speed, but several valuable minutes had been lost.

This was a very crucial lesson for this pilot. His job is to know the river at all places and at all times. They must memorize the bends and their shapes. A pilot must be certain of his knowledge of the river. This is such that a good pilot will recognize when he is hearing an erroneous sounding and will not respond incorrectly to a false one. The leadsmen yell the soundings repeatedly all day long, and the pilot must associate the sequence of soundings with each particular river feature, like a bend or a sand bar crossing. Training for master pilots takes years of practice on the river, paying attention to every detail, water coloration, bank markings, depths, and characteristics of their steamboats.

A couple more passengers came up from the hurricane deck to the pilothouse to see what was going on. Someone reminded the group that only a couple of nights earlier, the pilot had to land the boat for the night, because the especially difficult passage through the Sunken Lands above Marked Tree was ahead. Indeed in that instance, the pilot rang three bells (signal to land,) and Captain Joplin came out of his stateroom and entered the pilothouse. The pilot informed him, Sir, we will lay here all night.

Very well sir, Captain Joplin replied.

And that was it. There were no questions or discussion. The pilot’s word was final. The boat pulled up to shore and the engines shut down. In those days, a pilot could do as he pleased and was not obligated to ask the Captain’s permission.

But now it was late afternoon and the boat headed ever closer to the notorious Goose Island crossing. The suppressed excitement continued, as all eyes were on their watches and the speed the Rene MacReady was making.

About an hour before sunset, Mr. Allen came up from his stateroom and entered the pilothouse. It was now time for his regular watch. When the watches change, it is customary for the two pilots to talk for several minutes. Mr. Allen began to put on his gloves and light his pipe while the retiring pilot reviewed some recent highlights.

We had quarter less twain in the middle of Short Bend, and the lower bar is working down a little from what I can tell.

Mr. Allen took a puff from his pipe and replied, Oh yeah. As from what I could surmise from my trip last spring, I think that it has indeed.

As Mr. Allen took the wheel, the retiring pilot gave their present location and status: We are abreast of the Calhoun Plantation, just ahead of Johnson’s Bend, and so on.

Inconspicuously, a new guest, Captain Jack Leonard entered the pilothouse. He smiled at the other guests, who looked at him indignantly, but said nothing and propped his left foot up on a locker and leaned against the port side window.

For the next half hour, the restless guests and visiting pilots held their timepieces in hand, nervously glancing at them and at each other. The tension in the pilothouse continued to rise until finally someone said, Goose Island is just over there!

Then someone else declared, Yeah, but now we can’t make it. Everyone looked down in silence, and slowly slipped their watches back into their pockets.

Another chimed in, Too bad. If only we could have been there a half-hour earlier. Gloom and disappointment dominated the mood.

One guest gave a sigh of disgust and left. And then another followed. The huge orange sun finally dropped below the distant tree line. Captain Leonard watched Mr. Allen, the pilot. He nervously adjusted the steering wheel back and forth. He was noticeably anxious and seemed in a rather conflicted mood.

Captain Leonard turned to the pilot and asked: Do you really believe, like they do, that we have to 'put in’ for the night?

Uh, well, I ain’t ‘xactly sure, Mr. Allen replied.

Haven’t you piloted through this crossing before? Leonard asked.

Well, yes, but, the pilot replied timidly. Ah dunno.

Captain Leonard stood up straight and stepped close to Mr. Allen. In a low whisper he said, I watched you earlier in handling this boat, sir. You had all the confidence in the world. Surely this crossing isn’t beyond your abilities, is it? Are you going to let a few of these ‘worry warts’ scare you?

Mr. Allen smiled, but said nothing. He tipped his hat to Captain Leonard, and then he stood up erect and looked straight ahead. Despite what all the previous guests had expected, there was still no three-bell signal to land.

One by one, the guests slowly returned to the pilothouse. Occasionally, the onlookers gave each other curious glances, which seemed to say, What is going on? Captain Leonard returned to his portside perch and remained quiet.

More inquiring looks were given. The Rene MacReady bore steadily down the river as the darkness of night descended. The men gathered close, standing shoulder to shoulder behind Mr. Allen, as the apprehension became almost unbearable.

Then Mr. Allen pulled the cord and the bell rang twice. There was a brief pause then another ring followed. The Watchman called out, Labboard lead, there! Starboard lead!

Cries from the leadsmen began to echo, Quarter twain! M-a-r-k twain! M-a-r-k twain! Quarter-less-twain! Quarter-less-twain! Half-less-twain!

The sound of two bells clanged and the engine room answered with its barely audible jingle. Venting steam began to hiss, and the Rene MacReady slowed down. The leadsmen continued their haunting cries as the night sky became pitch black. Everyone was watching now, eyes fixed on Allen. Occasionally he put the wheel down and calmly stood on a spoke while the onlookers were restless and fidgety. The steamer slowly turned larboard as Allen lined her up with almost invisible marks on the surface of the water. From time to time someone would speak out enough to be heard over the background whispering and murmuring. There now, we just got over the first reef all right!

Then awhile later someone declared, "Her stern is coming around almost perfect, by golly!"

She’s in the marks! Going over steady!

Someone else whispered, "Beautiful, it was done just beautiful!"

The engines were all stopped and the boat drifted along with the current. Even in the blackness of the night, the head of Goose Island appeared in the dark shadows. The steamer was closing in. Everyone knew the peril that lay ahead. Still Mr. Allen stood by the wheel, silent, and intent as the edgy guests stood lined up at his back.

We’ll not make it, someone muttered. The water was shallower and shallower by the leadmen cries until: "Six and a half! S-i-x feet! S-i-x feet! Five and a half!

Mr. Allen alerted the engineer, Sam, better stand by now!

Aye-aye, sir!

F-i-v-e feet! Four and a half! Four!

CRRRUNNNCHHHH!! The Rene MacReady hit bottom! Instantly Mr. Allen set off a rapid succession of bells ringing, and shouted down the speaking tube. Now let her have it, give it everything you got! Then he turned to his partner and yelled, Put her hard down! Snatch her! Snatch her!

The bottom of the boat dragged, making loud rasping sounds as it ground through the sand, poised at the edge of disaster for a brief moment, and then over she went!

Suddenly a great cheer rose from behind Mr. Allen that shook the pilothouse like never before!

There was no problem after that. Mr. Allen was truly a hero that evening. Some time passed before this feat ceased to be talked about by the riverboatmen of the St. Francis.

In order to fully comprehend the skill and precision needed to place the fine steamer in her marks, one should know that the boat must thread its way between the snags and reefs. Next, it must shave the head of the island so close as to brush the overhanging tree limbs with the stern. But at one point, she must pass within a yard of a sunken and invisible wreck, that would surely tear the hull timbers if she should hit it, with the loss of hundreds of thousands of dollars in cargo, and dozens of human lives in the process.

The guests slowly left the pilothouse. Now besides the pilot, only Captain Leonard remained. He sighed, and once again stepped close to Mr. Allen. Uttering in monologue and complete reverence, Mr. Allen, by the fires of Hell, you are one cracker-jack pilot!

[i] Mark Twain, Clemens, Samuel L., Life on the Mississippi,, Penquin Books, first published 1883, reprint 1986. The above story was adapted from Chapter 7, A Daring Deed.

[ii]Huddleston, D., Rose S., Wood, P., Steamboats and Ferries on the White River, University of Arkansas Press, 1998

[iii] Koons, H.L. Report of the Chief of Engineers Office of the Chief of Engineers, Washington D.C. October 20, 1871. See pages 356 to 361.

Chapter V. Going to Grandpa’s House

Here comes Uncle Allen! Mollie exclaimed. Yeaaay! Now we can go to Grandpa’s House!

Allen Lovejoy rode his horse up to the front porch, got off, and hitched the horse to a post. The bright sun was high in the blue sky on a very lovely summer day.

The handsome young man with a cowboy hat had ridden in from Brinkley where he worked as a clerk in the Barter & Dillard’s store. He was about 25 years old and was Bill Lovejoy’s closest brother. Allen bounded up the steps onto the porch, and gave little Mollie a big hug. How is my pretty little niece doing?

I’m so happy to see you, Uncle Allen. We are going to have fun going to Grandpa’s house.

We sure are.

Well, how was your trip from Brinkley? Bill Lovejoy asked.

Oh just fine Bill, everything went well.

How is the store?

We are adding on in the back and going to enlarge the women’s clothing department, Allen replied. I’m sure our girls will like that.

I’ll bet, Bill replied. Let’s git in the wagon and go. Fanny, you ready?

The wagon and team of horses had been waiting alongside the house. It was loaded and ready for the long trip. Bill and Mary Francis climbed in the front seat, and Mollie sat in the back on top of a trunk. Allen rode his own horse, and led the way in front.

The party headed south on the Lee County road to Marianna, which was about 35 miles away. Along the hot dusty road, they passed through an area known as Big Prairie, which was wide-open flat land with mostly tall grass and occasional woods along small streams. As they went further south, cotton fields began to appear as they entered farming country.

Look Daddy, the bridge! Mollie cried.

Yep, we are at Big Creek, Bill said. The timbers creaked as they crossed the one-lane wooden bridge.

On they went, past the green cotton fields, and little sharecropper shacks. Then they entered an area known as Little Prairie, which was a low-lying area with tall grasses similar to Big Prairie.

Look out! Rattlesnake! Allen yelled. His horse reared up and almost threw him off. Fortunately, the horse moved away from the coiled serpent on the right edge of the road. Allen was still having trouble getting control of the horse, however.

Whoa! Bill Lovejoy stopped the two horses pulling the wagon, and got out. He ran toward Allen and pulled his revolver. The problem was that he couldn’t get a clear shot at the snake because the horse was in between.

As Bill moved closer, Allen’s horse became even more excited, and whinnied as he reared up again, this time moving dangerously close to the rattlesnake.

Daaadddy! Mollie shrieked. She began crying and screaming uncontrollably.

Mary Francis hugged Mollie and tried to calm her down.

Bill moved to the left opposite side of the road from the snake and quickly ran past Allen and the frantic horse. KAAAPOWWW! Bill fired, but the bullet missed. It kicked up dust and for a few seconds, he couldn’t see his target. Allen fell off the horse, and landed dangerously close to the tightly coiled snake, with rattlers shaking violently.

Bill took careful aim and fired again. This time the shot hit the snake, just in time.

Allen crawled away and got up. Whew, that was close, he declared as he dusted himself off, and put his hat back on.

Bill calmly walked over and picked up the dead snake by the tail. It was diamond-back rattler, five-feet long. He pulled out his hunting knife and cut the snake’s rattles off, and brought them to Mollie.

I was so scared, Mollie said, as she shook the rattles.

Me too, Bill replied. I thought Allen or his horse was a goner.

Allen finally calmed his horse down, and brought it over to the wagon.

Allen are you all right? Mary Francis asked.

Yeah, I think so, Allen replied as he straightened his hat.

Well, after all this commotion, I think we should rest a bit and have some lunch, Mary Francis suggested. She opened a sack and pulled out some sandwiches and apples. As everyone ate, they still talked about the rattlesnake.

Finally the party got re-organized and headed down the road. After a few more hours, they reached Marianna, a small village on the L’Anguille River. The French word means the eels. It is a small and narrow river.

They stopped at a small general store to get some water and to rest a bit. Bill and Allen visited a saloon on Main Street and had a drink while Mrs. Lovejoy and Mollie shopped for a little while in the general store.

After a while, the group reassembled and then headed south along Alabama Street. It was past noon, and they still had a few more hours to go. They passed by LaGrange, then later Barton, which was at the crossroads of the old Clarendon and Helena road.

Finally, Spring Creek and Grandpa’s farm was in sight. They were very tired and it was nearly dark. Two hound dogs ran out to meet them.

Well howdy everybody, Samuel Lovejoy greeted them. He was getting old and feeble, but was glad to see them. Come on in!

Allen unhitched the wagon and brought all the horses to the barn. Bill, Mary Francis, and Mollie went inside. They were greeted by Edith, who was Samuel’s wife and Samuel Jr., who was about 18 years old.

We killed a rattlesnake, Grandpa! Mollie showed him the rattle.

Oh my, I’ll bet that was scary. Samuel hugged Mollie.

I’ve got a big supper for y’all, Edith announced.

Slowly everyone entered the dining room and got a place at the table. Samuel Lovejoy sat at the head of the table and everyone else finally got settled. Samuel said the grace:

"Dear Lord thank you for this day,

and the safe trip for our family,

as they traveled from Brinkley.

And thank you Lord, for keeping them safe from the rattlesnake.

Lord, forgive our sins and bless this food, Amen."

Mollie sniggered just a little when Samuel mentioned the rattlesnake, but her mother prodded her and she quickly settled down.

Everyone began eating. Edith had prepared a typical southern meal of ham, sweet potatoes, black-eyed peas, and turnip greens.

This meal sure is good, Edith. The smoked ham is great, Bill declared.

Why thank you, Bill, Edith replied.

They all continued eating, and occasionally Edith would ask someone if they wanted more.

After a while everyone finished. Then, the men folk wandered out to the front porch where they could smoke and talk about politics. The ladies stayed in the kitchen to clean up.

Samuel lit his cigar, and took a big puff. Hey Bill, whatdaya think about Henry Rector supporting the Greenbacks?

"Well, I read about that in the Brinkley Argus. But, Ah reckon that Ah don’t understand it none. Rector must be unhappy with the Democrats, but that Greenback Party ain’t nuttin’ but a replacement for th’ damn Republicans."

Who is Henry Rector, Pa? Samuel Jr. asked as he patted one of the hounds.

Oh, he was Governor when the Civil War started, Samuel replied. He asked the Arkansas Legislature to vote to secede from the Union.

But why is he supporting the black people now? Sam Jr. inquired.

We don’t really know, he just must have some disagreements with the Democrats is all Ah can figure, the old man answered.

The men spoke in low voices with a slow cadence. Samuel was the oldest one present at about 72 years old. He had been a plantation overseer during the slave days. He was too old to fight in the Civil War, but after the war he continued farming. He had been a Democrat all of his life, as most white southerners were.

Rector is kinda like Governor Miller, one of them ‘New Departure’ Democrats, Allen offered. They wanna help farmers, but they want the blacks and whites to be friendly to each other.

Well the politicians here in Phillips County sure showed ole Miller, Samuel declared. We got Thomas Churchill nominated instead of Miller to run against the Greenbacks this fall. We simply gotta keep the colored folk in their place.

The ladies picked up all the dishes and were helping each other wash and put them away. Mary Francis began talking about her sister Louisa. After that, my brother-in-law Samuel Williams died, and left Louisa with five children to raise by herself.

Oh what a shame, Edith replied.

Yeah and on top of that, Hellen has gotten sick again, Mary Francis complained. I told Bill that I wish they can come live with us.

Wouldn’t that be a long, hard move? Edith asked.

I guess. I’m gonna ask Bill to go over there in a few weeks to see if he can help out some. He’ll just stay a few days and do some chores for Louisa. But I sure do miss them. Maybe they can come and live here with us someday.

Yeah, and I would have some cousins to play with, Mollie added.

Edith started cutting a pecan pie, and put the pieces on serving dishes. Here Mollie, bring this to your Daddy. Mollie brought pecan pie to Bill, and then went back in to get pieces for rest of the men as they continued discussing politics and farming.

I jus’ don’t understand why cotton prices keep fallin’, Samuel bemoaned. Why, it was twelve cents a pound five years ago, but only about ten cents now.

Well, it’s because cotton has become more plentiful, Bill explained. The railroads make it easier to get it to market, and the farmers are gettin’ more efficient.

I hope they can maintain the price for a while longer, until I die.

The railroads are expanding, and that’s gonna make prices even lower, Bill asserted. Why, we got the Memphis & Little Rock Railroad near our farm, and you have the Arkansas Midland running from Clarendon to Helena. I hear that soon there will be a line running up from Clarendon to Brinkley and then on up north, past Jonesboro. That will really open up the cotton market. He bit into his pie.

Hmmm, times are a-changin’, and it gits harder to keep up, Samuel complained.

Yeah, that is why I want to do something new, Bill declared. There has got to be some better opportunities than just cotton, without having to own huge farms. Our farm is only 160 acres. Right now, it is too expensive to git more land. Then, you gotta get more sharecroppers. Them people are sometimes hard to deal with.

What about hogs? Allen asked.

Oh, we have some hogs. But you gotta grow corn or something to feed them, and that takes land away from cotton, Bill explained. But it is a way to make more money if the cotton price drops too much.

Meanwhile, Mollie had been out on the porch too, petting the hounds with Sam Jr. and listening to the men talk.

Mollie, called Mary Francis, You better come in now, it’s getting late.

Aw Mamma, can’t I stay up a little later?

Mary Pauline! You git in this house right now!

Yes ma’am, I’m coming. Mollie went into the house and changed into a nightgown her mother handed her.

Can I give Grandpa a hug? Mollie asked, with her little lip pressed down, and a sad look on her face.

Mary Francis laughed, All right, go give them a quick hug, and then you better go to bed.

Mollie opened the front door and went back out on the porch. Daddy, I’m going to bed now. She gave him a big hug. And then, she went over to Samuel and gave him a big hug. Goodnight Grandpa. Finally, Allen hugged her too.

Guess what little girl? Samuel asked. We are going to the Mississippi River tomorrow!

Oh really? Mollie asked. Can we go really?

Yes darling. We are all going to the levee, and watch the steamboats come in. We’ll have a fun time, Samuel explained. Goodnight now.

Mollie grinned and then ran inside.

After awhile, the men slowly got up and went inside. Everyone went to their assigned rooms and went to sleep.

Chapter VI. Steamboat A-comin’

The Lovejoy families rose early on a Saturday morning in July, 1880. Edith Lovejoy had fixed a nice breakfast of eggs, bacon, grits, and biscuits. Everyone was eating and talking about the trip.

Allen finished his last biscuit and said, I’ll git your wagon hitched, Bill.

Can you help Pa with his too? Bill suggested.

Yeah. I’ll git his horses out, also. Pa, you mind showin’ me which ones you want?

Sure Allen. Jus’ git Bill’s wagon first, and then call me. I’ll be along directly, Samuel replied.

By and by, the two wagons were waiting, and finally, the women emerged from the house with their bonnets on. Mollie ran up to Samuel and gave him a hug. We gonna have some fun, today, huh Grandpa?

You betcha, Samuel answered.

Everyone got in the wagons, and Allen mounted his horse, and rode in the lead. The party headed north on the dusty road. The sun was shining, and it was a breezy day.

When they reached the Old Clarendon and Helena Road, they turned right, and headed east toward Helena, which was only about 13 miles away. They passed through the small village of Bushville, and then started across the southern tip of Crowley’s Ridge, which was very hilly and wooded, in contrast to the surrounding flat delta land. After going over several hills, the horses were breathing heavy, but once they topped the last one, the town of Helena and the Mississippi waterfront were in plain sight below. The trip took only about an hour and a half. They entered the town along Perry St. and went all the way into the heart of the city.

Let's stop at the Almer Store, Edith requested.

All right, answered Samuel. Then he hollered to Allen, who was a half a block ahead of them. Allen, turn left on Columbia Street!

The party turned left, and headed two blocks to Miller St., and stopped in at the store. Everyone was thirsty, so they went to the drugstore section for fountain drinks. Can I have a strawberry ice cream soda? Mollie asked.

Why sure. Anything for my little girl, Samuel replied.

Everyone made selections, and then began to browse around the store while they sipped their drinks.

The ladies looked at the clothing section while the men looked over the hardware. Finally, they all gathered at the candy counter, with its sweet aroma of dozens of different kinds of candies. Mollie picked out licorice and lemon drops, and Sam Jr. picked out some chocolate squares and caramel to buy.

You have to be in a river town to git this kinda stuff, Samuel noted.

They left the Almer Store, and climbed back into their wagons and went down to Cherry St. Then, they turned right on and rode six more blocks along some large wooden stores and larger brick buildings. Finally,