Chapter 37 The End of the ‘Gold Dust’

For, three months later, August 8, while I was writing one of these foregoing chapters, the New York papers brought this telegram—­

A terrible disaster.

Seventeen persons killed by an explosion on the steamer ‘gold dust.’

’Nashville, Aug. 7.—­A despatch from Hickman, Ky., says—­

’The steamer “Gold Dust” exploded her boilers at three o’clock to-day, just after leaving Hickman.  Forty-seven persons were scalded and seventeen are missing.  The boat was landed in the eddy just above the town, and through the exertions of the citizens the cabin passengers, officers, and part of the crew and deck passengers were taken ashore and removed to the hotels and residences.  Twenty-four of the injured were lying in Holcomb’s dry-goods store at one time, where they received every attention before being removed to more comfortable places.’

A list of the names followed, whereby it appeared that of the seventeen dead, one was the barkeeper; and among the forty-seven wounded, were the captain, chief mate, second mate, and second and third clerks; also Mr. Lem S. Gray, pilot, and several members of the crew.

In answer to a private telegram, we learned that none of these was severely hurt, except Mr. Gray.  Letters received afterward confirmed this news, and said that Mr. Gray was improving and would get well.  Later letters spoke less hopefully of his case; and finally came one announcing his death.  A good man, a most companionable and manly man, and worthy of a kindlier fate.

Chapter 38 The House Beautiful

We took passage in a Cincinnati boat for New Orleans; or on a Cincinnati boat—­either is correct; the former is the eastern form of putting it, the latter the western.

Mr. Dickens declined to agree that the Mississippi steamboats were ‘magnificent,’ or that they were ’floating palaces,’—­terms which had always been applied to them; terms which did not over-express the admiration with which the people viewed them.

Mr. Dickens’s position was unassailable, possibly; the people’s position was certainly unassailable.  If Mr. Dickens was comparing these boats with the crown jewels; or with the Taj, or with the Matterhorn; or with some other priceless or wonderful thing which he had seen, they were not magnificent—­he was right.  The people compared them with what they had seen; and, thus measured, thus judged, the boats were magnificent—­the term was the correct one, it was not at all too strong.  The people were as right as was Mr. Dickens.  The steamboats were finer than anything on shore.  Compared with superior dwelling-houses and first-class hotels in the Valley, they were indubitably magnificent, they were ‘palaces.’  To a few people living in New Orleans and St. Louis, they were not magnificent, perhaps; not palaces; but to the great majority of those populations, and to the entire populations spread over both banks between Baton Rouge and St. Louis, they were palaces; they tallied with the citizen’s dream of what magnificence was, and satisfied it.