Clotelle; or The Colored Heroine | Page 7

old, and my name is Tobias, but they calls me
Toby."
"Well, Toby, or Mr. Tobias, if dat will suit you better, you are now
twenty-three years old; dat's all,--do you understand dat?"
"Yes," replied Toby.
Pompey now gave them all to understand how old they were to be
when asked by persons who were likely to purchase, and then went and
reported to his master that the old boys were all right.
"Be sure," said Jennings, "that the niggers don't forget what you have
taught them, for our luck this time in the market depends upon their
appearance. If any of them have so many gray hairs that you cannot
pluck them out, take the blacking and brush, and go at them."


CHAPTER IV
THE BOAT-RACE
AT eight o'clock, on the evening of the third day of the passage, the
lights of another steamer were seen in the distance, and apparently
coming up very fast. This was the signal for a general commotion on
board the Patriot, and everything indicated that a steamboat-race was at
hand. Nothing can exceed the excitement attendant upon the racing of
steamers on the Mississippi.
By the time the boats had reached Memphis they were side by side, and

each exerting itself to get in advance of the other. The night was clear,
the moon shining brightly, and the boats so near to each other that the
passengers were within speaking distance. On board the Patriot the
firemen were using oil, lard, butter, and even bacon, with wood, for the
purpose of raising the steam to its highest pitch. The blaze mingled
with the black smoke that issued from the pipes of the other boat,
which showed that she also was burning something more combustible
than wood.
The firemen of both boats, who were slaves, were singing songs such
as can only be heard on board a Southern steamer. The boats now came
abreast of each other, and nearer and nearer, until they were locked so
that men could pass from one to the other. The wildest excitement
prevailed among the men employed on the steamers, in which the
passengers freely participated.
The Patriot now stopped to take in passengers, but still no steam was
permitted to escape. On the starting of the boat again, cold water was
forced into the boilers by the feed-pumps, and, as might have been
expected, one of the boilers exploded with terrific force, carrying away
the boiler-deck and tearing to pieces much of the machinery. One dense
fog of steam filled every part of the vessel, while shrieks, groans, and
cries were heard on every side. Men were running hither and thither
looking for their wives, and women were flying about in the wildest
confusion seeking for their husbands. Dismay appeared on every
countenance.
The saloons and cabins soon looked more like hospitals than anything
else; but by this time the Patriot had drifted to the shore, and the other
steamer had come alongside to render assistance to the disabled boat.
The killed and wounded (nineteen in number) were put on shore, and
the Patriot, taken in tow by the Washington, was once more on her
journey.
It was half-past twelve, and the passengers, instead of retiring to their
berths, once more assembled at the gambling-tables. The practice of
gambling on the western waters has long been a source of annoyance to
the more moral persons who travel on our great rivers. Thousands of

dollars often change owners during a passage from St. Louis or
Louisville to New Orleans, on a Mississippi steamer. Many men are
completely ruined on such occasions, and duels are often the
consequence.
"Go call my boy, steward," said Mr. Jones, as he took his cards one by
one from the table.
In a few minutes a fine-looking, bright-eyed mulatto boy, apparently
about sixteen years of age, was standing by his master's side at the
table.
"I am broke, all but my boy," said Jones, as he ran his fingers through
his cards; "but he is worth a thousand dollars, and I will bet the half of
him."
"I will call you," said Thompson, as he laid five hundred dollars at the
feet of the boy, who was standing on the table, and at the same time
throwing down his cards before his adversary.
"You have beaten me," said Jones; and a roar of laughter followed from
the other gentleman as poor Joe stepped down from the table.
"Well, I suppose I owe you half the nigger," said Thompson, as he took
hold of Joe and began examining his limbs.
"Yes," replied Jones, "he is half yours. Let me have five hundred
dollars, and I will give you a bill of sale of the boy."
"Go back to your bed," said Thompson to his