CHAPTER VI.
From the moment of my election I had determined that our only hope of safety lay in flight. I had seen enough of the morale of our citizens to know that any attempt to engage in conflict with the enemy could only end in disaster. The flight must be an orderly, well-organised exodus, and above all I must persuade each and every man that salvation was only possible by union and combination. As I proposed to remove every man woman and child in the city it seemed to me that the river offered our sole chance of escape. A cross-country journey in waggons would be so replete with hardships that putting aside the terrible risk of total annihilation by the foe, a large proportion of our caravan would inevitably perish on the road. Where again should we obtain a sufficient supply of horses to remove even our diminished population?
I reckoned that at the least six large river steamers would be required to convey us, allowing sufficient space for the large stock of necessaries we must take. For well I knew that we were about to make no holiday trip, but a migration to some distant region where we might find nothing but the bare soil to welcome us. Now there was but one of these steamers just then lying at the wharves of Jefferson city, and although we might do much by towing, I was not satisfied to put all our eggs in one basket. But where to get others?
After considering the matter long and anxiously, I determined to send William Gell, the only man I could thoroughly trust, with a posse of engineers and two good river pilots, down to St. Louis, more than a hundred miles down stream, on board our one steamboat. The risk was great, for if anything happened to this vessel our retreat was absolutely cut off. But I saw no other course open to me, and felt sure that at St. Louis sufficient vessels would be found to take us all on board with our household gods.
It was on the 21st June—Midsummer Day—that Gell and his crew started. I could not expect to see them the next day, but when the third day passed without any sign I became terribly anxious, and by the end of the fourth I was almost in despair. But with the dawn of the 25th despair was turned to triumph as I saw Gell's boat, the "Bâton Rouge," steam up with colours flying, followed by six fine vessels of the largest size.
Gell reported that they had found St. Louis quite deserted, the only living thing being a poor little child of six, half starved, who was discovered lying upon the quay, and who had said, crying bitterly, that its father had told it to wait there until he returned. They had brought the little waif with them, and it was much petted by the crew. It was evident that the emigration had taken place a very few days previous. The houses and shops were full of wares, and Gell had very wisely spent a day in loading the vessels with such provisions as seemed most likely to prove useful. More time had been occupied in overhauling the machinery of the steamers, and the best part of twenty four hours had been consumed on the return journey.
And now preparations began in earnest. Orders were sent round the town that each citizen should take on board the vessel to which he was assigned all such things as he and his family would require, and provisions if possible for three months. Few, of course, could comply with the latter injunction, but the very largeness of the demand made each man feel that it was no trifling expedition that was meditated, and exert himself to the utmost. Day after day the quays presented the most lively scene, not surpassed in the most palmy days of our city's prosperity. Men women and children, bearing goods and provisions of all sorts, thronged to and fro in busy confusion all day long. And in the background, across the river, the dismal hosts of machines kept watch and ward (or seemed to do so) on all our movements.
By the Second of July all was ready; on the Third I paraded all the citizens and took a careful census; and on the Fourth we started. The total number of souls on board our seven vessels was 3231, including the St. Louis foundling. Before starting I addressed. those who were near enough to hear as follows:—
"Citizens," said I, "this is the anniversary of the day on which our forefathers threw off the yoke of a foreign rule. You all know, even you young children, how they and their descendants in less than two centuries made their country the greatest and richest in the world. Up to last year it seemed that nothing could destroy our position and prosperity. Where is it now? What has become of the great American nation with its genius, its learning, and its wealth? So far as we know it is gone for ever. But let us remember that those great qualities of union and self-reliance will enable us to do again the noble deeds of our ancestors. Few as we are, we are enough to found a new Jefferson in some other land, and revive, if God will, the glory of our nation elsewhere than in our old home. This is the last Fourth of July we shall spend in our dear country. But though we never see it again, if only we do our duty I feel as certain as I stand here that our sons or grandsons will reconquer this great inheritance which now we have lost, and raise up a new America, greater and nobler, may be, than the old."
So we steamed away, the tears standing on the cheeks of the men and the women, many of them sobbing aloud at quitting the dear homes and graves of their loved and lost. But presently the requirements of practical life overcame this sentimental sorrow, and before long all were busy arranging for the comfort and health of the children the sick and the weakly, and finally of themselves. I was on one vessel, Gell on another, a third had been assigned to the orphans, who were in charge of Aurelia, assisted by several good women who had no ties of their own, while the other vessels were placed under the command of the most experienced and trustworthy of the pilots whom I could select. Each steamer towed behind it a barge, containing reserves of provisions sufficient to make us independent of chance supplies for a considerable time.
We had not proceeded far when we discovered to the general consternation that our wary foe was not going to let us escape so easily. He had struck camp, and was following us along the left bank at no great distance behind. At this sight the last sparks of courage that animated our feeble folk died away. Had it not been for the exercise of the sternest discipline I verily believe that our crews would have flung themselves overboard in utter despair. With much difficulty and many threats mingled with persuasion, we prevailed upon these heroes not to commit suicide from panic, and satisfied them that they were in no more danger in the middle of the stream than they had been on one side of it.
We steamed on all day, making good progress with the aid of the rapid current, and ever accompanied by our persistent foe, till, as the sun went down, we came in sight of the spires and palaces of St. Louis. And here, to our great joy, we shook off our pursuers. For at this spot is the junction of the Missouri and Mississippi, two of the mightiest rivers in the world, and the bridges having been destroyed by the inhabitants before their flight, the machines were completely hemmed in between two impassable floods.
And now our journey assumed a more agreeable character, as the spirits of all revived, under the influence of the change of scene, the novelty of the life, and the removal of the incubus of fear. For several days we journeyed on with nothing to record more remarkable than the occasional stranding of a vessel on a mudbank, and collisions, threatened or actual, with "snags," as the floating drift timber is locally called. Whenever we passed a town or village we stopped, blew our whistles, hoisted flags, or if it were at night threw up rockets as signals, but always without result. The whole country seemed deserted; the riparians, at all events, had fled en masse.
At last, on the evening of the 11th, we found ourselves nearing the City of New Orleans, where I hoped to find some vessel or vessels that would take us away from this monster-haunted continent. At the urgent entreaty of my daughter Aurelia, who complained that the children were suffering from the heat and confinement of the steamboat, I anchored the vessels, and allowed her, with a number of her small charges, to go on shore, that they might run about and take the exercise they so much needed. The delight of the little troop was extreme. As they landed from the boats and felt their feet press their mother earth once more the shouts, laughter, and cheering did our hearts good to listen to. Two hours they were to have, and no more, and the boats' crews were ordered to lie alongside to take them on board at the expiration of that time.
The two hours had not elapsed when it became clear to us from the confused sounds on shore that something unexpected had occurred. We were anchored under the opposite bank, and a spit of land concealed from us the exact spot where the children were at play. We could, however, see the boats lying under the shore, and concluded all was well. Just at this moment the sun set, and darkness came on with the rapidity usual in these latitudes. The confused cries increased, and with them our anxiety. Soon we could perceive the boats hastily unmooring and putting off. What had occurred? We waited anxiously for the tidings.
In a few minutes the boats had come alongside, and there poured on board a weeping, terrified crowd of children, very different from the bright, happy throng whom we had landed so short a time before. But where was Aurelia? No doubt she was seeing the last child safe out of the boats before coming on board herself. But when the last child had stepped on deck and the boatman had called "all out," and still Aurelia did not appear, a terrible dread paralysed my heart. Twice I tried to speak before I could ask the question to which I trembled to receive an answer.
"Where—where is my daughter—Aurelia?"
And for answer there came a torrent of sobs.