This page is borrowed in its entirety from
Kansas
State Library
One-Way Ticket to Kansas, the autobiography
of Frank M. Stahl, as told and illustrated by Margaret Whittemore.
University of Kansas Press, 1959. Transcribed by John D. Meredith
31
VIII – Heading up the Missouri
Our packet, the New
Lucy, was a marvel of beauty, a dazzling white palace
floating on the water. Her hull was 225 feet long, with 33-foot
beam. She was built in St. Louis in 1852 and had the reputation
of being about the fastest boat on the Missouri. When running
light on long summer days, she could go from Jefferson City
to Kansas City between daybreak and dark.
Progress on our trip in March was much slower.
The boat was heavily laden, taxing her freight capacity of
416 tons. Two tall smokestacks, ornamented at the top, threw
out clouds of smoke as she chugged steadily upstream against
the current. The vessel was frequently brought to landings
to receive or discharge cargo or to take on wood for fuel.
This had been sawed into cord lengths and stacked by farmers
at convenient points along the river bank.
On the main deck of the boat were four cylindrical
boilers, having a steam pressure of 165 pounds—high for
those times. They were placed over huge wood-burning furnaces.
Two smoothly running engines supplied motive power to rotate
two immense paddle wheels, twenty feet or more in diameter,
one on either side. By backing down on one wheel and going
ahead on the other, a twin-engined sidewheeler showed great
maneuverability and could practically turn in its own length.
The years 1855 to 1860 stand out as the "golden
era" of steamboating. An endless stream of people made
their way up the river, intent on building an empire in the
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West. The rush to Kansas was on. Our deck was
crowded with all sorts of merchandise, household goods, and
farm tools, as well as a motley array of emigrants. Although
I had a first-class ticket, I wondered whether I could find
a spot to lie down on at night. As it turned out, Holman and
I had a comfortable stateroom together.
Looking over the deck rail, I was amazed at
the countless shore birds—ducks, geese, and plovers—fringing
the sandbars. The water was literally alive with winged fowl.
Flocks of wild turkeys fed along the banks.
"Quite a spectacle, isn't it, son?"
remarked someone at my side.
A tall pleasant-faced gentleman, who smiled
down at me, proved to be thoroughly familiar with this river.
He knew all about steamboats and the grand old captains who
manned them. From him I learned that Captain Tom Brierly of
St. Joseph owned and operated the finest, fastest, and most
beautiful side-wheel steamers that ever plied the Missouri.
The New Lucy was one of them, and he was master on many of
her trips. The clerk on our boat, Captain James Kennedy, spent
his entire life on river craft. I learned later that, at the
age of ninety-three, he was still serving as wharf master
in Kansas City.
We were running twenty-four hours a day and
I wondered how we managed to avoid snags at night.
"That's the supreme test of a pilot's skill," my
companion explained. "Boats under full steam narrowly
escape snags and shifting sandbars even in full daylight.
A good pilot develops an unerring memory for landmarks. He
often determines his location at night by the echo of the
steam whistle as it resounds from the bluffs. Only an expert
can cope with this untamed stream."
33
Our steamboat tickets included meals; as I was
about to question my new acquaintance on this subject, he
remarked, "The steward will soon announce dinner. If
you stay close to me, I'll see that you get a good seat."
I was only too glad to accept his offer. We
took our places at a long table in the cabin. It was an elegant
room, painted in pure white, and equipped with the very finest
furnishings. Our meal was a hearty one, with wild turkey for
the main dish. After the tables were cleared, a stringed orchestra
played lively tunes while gaily dressed ladies in hoop skirts
and innumerable flounces joined their partners in the Virginia
Reel.
Gambling often went on in such boats day and
night. Not only gold and silver pieces, but watches and jewelry
went into the jackpot. A few Southern planters became so excited
that they even bet their slaves in a game of cards. Many incidents
arose from the slavery question. Most people were wary about
expressing any opinions, for party spirit ran high and there
was no way of knowing whether the stranger at your side was
proslavery or free-state, friend or foe.
Most of the wood carried aboard was handled
by Negro roustabouts. At landings along the bank our first
mate seemed to consider it his duty to curse and strike the
Negroes as they struggled up the gangplank under their heavy
burdens. Up to this time my knowledge of slavery had come
entirely through reading and hearsay. The brutality I now
witnessed added fuel to the flame already kindled. I realized
that Uncle Tom's Cabin was not mere fiction.
When the New Lucy finally docked in Kansas City,
the passengers were hurried from the vessel just before
34
supper under the impression that they might
otherwise be carried on to Leavenworth. Holman and I made
our way along the levee past boxes, cartons, and all kinds
of merchandise piled wherever space could be found. Slaves
were everywhere. There was a moving mass of wagons, animals,
and men. The cracking of ox whips, cries of drivers, and braying
of mules all added to the confusion. Facing the wharf were
a few brick buildings that served as warehouses and outfitting
stations for emigrants. Behind these rose high precipitous
bluffs, seamed by hollows where blackjacks had taken root.
Backing into the bluff was a boarding-house
or hotel where we engaged a room for the night. Since my funds
were getting low, I decided to go without supper. Then it
suddenly occurred to me I might be entitled to another meal
on the New Lucy. I returned to the levee, where members of
the crew were still busy unloading freight. Dashing up the
gangplank, I boldly entered the cabin and took my place at
the table. I gulped down the food, all in a tremble lest the
boat should get under way; and even wrapped some morsels in
a napkin to serve for another meal.
When I returned to the hotel, Holman had just
finished his dinner. This popular place, kept by H.W. Chiles,
was known then as the Western Hotel, and later as the Gillis
House. During the years 1856 and 1857 it is said to have had
27,000 customers. One of these was Andrew H. Reeder, first
territorial governor of Kansas who had participated in the
formation of a provisional free-state government. In May 1856,
when proslavery leaders brought indictments for treason against
him, he concealed himself in the Western Hotel and later escaped,
disguised as a
35
woodcutter. He took passage on a Missouri River
steamboat bound for Illinois.
Just two months after my voyage on the New Lucy,
she carried Kansas' fourth territorial governor, Robert J.
Walker, to Leavenworth to take over the reigns of office.
The boat stopped at Quindaro, where a waiting crowd at the
wharf demanded a speech. They applauded as the new governor
appeared on the upper deck and spoke briefly to his first
Kansas audience.
Late in November of that same year, 1857, when
the New Lucy was held up by the ice floes near DeWitt, Missouri,
she caught fire through the carelessness of a watchman, and
quickly burned to the water's edge. What little remained sank
to the bottom of the channel. During her brief span of five
years she had endeared herself to the people of the lower
Missouri valley and was long remembered as one of the finest
boats that ever plied the river.
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