THE REMINISCENCES OF CARL SCHURZ
us behind. Our people cheered back defiantly, and the “Flying Cloud” again put in an extra throb.
So we “were in” for a regular Mississippi steamboat race, and I knew from report that such races were sometimes won not by the swiftest boat, but by the one whose boilers could keep longest from bursting. I had often heard the story told of an old lady who before taking passage on a Mississippi steamboat exacted a solemn vow from the captain that he would not race, but who, when another steamboat tried to run ahead, asked the captain not to permit it, and, when the captain told her he had not fuel enough to make more speed, informed him that she had some barrels of pork among the cargo, and would he not have them put in the fire to make better steam? I must confess, when I saw the “Ocean Wave” trying hard to pass us, I keenly appreciated the psychological truth of that anecdote. I see our captain now before me, as he stood on the upper deck, with his left foot on its low railing, his elbow resting on his knee and his chin on his fist, his cheek full of tobacco, which he was chewing nervously, and his glittering eye fixed upon some spot ahead. From time to time he would turn his head and shout a hoarse order up to the pilot house. The passengers crowding around him, men and women, were almost wild with excitement, which vented itself in all sorts of exclamations, some of which, I regret to say, were quite profane. Suddenly the captain looked up and with as much of a smile as the tobacco quid in his mouth permitted, he muttered: “Now, I've got that ‘Ocean Wave,’ d—- her!” Then we noticed that the “Ocean Wave” suddenly “slowed up” and fell behind, and our “Flying Cloud” shot forward, far ahead. Our passengers sent up triumphant shout and seemed beside themselves with joy. It turned out that the channel had considerably narrowed so as not to be wide enough for two boats, and made at the same time
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