Freight and passenger way-traffic remains to the steamers.  This is in the hands—­along the two thousand miles of river between St. Paul and New Orleans—–­of two or three close corporations well fortified with capital; and by able and thoroughly business-like management and system, these make a sufficiency of money out of what is left of the once prodigious steamboating industry.  I suppose that St. Louis and New Orleans have not suffered materially by the change, but alas for the wood-yard man!

He used to fringe the river all the way; his close-ranked merchandise stretched from the one city to the other, along the banks, and he sold uncountable cords of it every year for cash on the nail; but all the scattering boats that are left burn coal now, and the seldomest spectacle on the Mississippi to-day is a wood-pile.  Where now is the once wood-yard man?

Chapter 23 Traveling Incognito

My idea was, to tarry a while in every town between St. Louis and New Orleans.  To do this, it would be necessary to go from place to place by the short packet lines.  It was an easy plan to make, and would have been an easy one to follow, twenty years ago—­but not now.  There are wide intervals between boats, these days.

I wanted to begin with the interesting old French settlements of St. Genevieve and Kaskaskia, sixty miles below St. Louis.  There was only one boat advertised for that section—­a Grand Tower packet.  Still, one boat was enough; so we went down to look at her.  She was a venerable rack-heap, and a fraud to boot; for she was playing herself for personal property, whereas the good honest dirt was so thickly caked all over her that she was righteously taxable as real estate.  There are places in New England where her hurricane deck would be worth a hundred and fifty dollars an acre.  The soil on her forecastle was quite good—­the new crop of wheat was already springing from the cracks in protected places.  The companionway was of a dry sandy character, and would have been well suited for grapes, with a southern exposure and a little subsoiling.  The soil of the boiler deck was thin and rocky, but good enough for grazing purposes.  A colored boy was on watch here—­nobody else visible.  We gathered from him that this calm craft would go, as advertised, ’if she got her trip;’ if she didn’t get it, she would wait for it.

‘Has she got any of her trip?’

’Bless you, no, boss.  She ain’t unloadened, yit.  She only come in dis mawnin’.’

He was uncertain as to when she might get her trip, but thought it might be to-morrow or maybe next day.  This would not answer at all; so we had to give up the novelty of sailing down the river on a farm.  We had one more arrow in our quiver:  a Vicksburg packet, the ‘Gold Dust,’ was to leave at 5 P.M.  We took passage in her for Memphis, and gave up the idea of stopping off here and there,