across its surface. Towns there were none, and seldom even a sign of a
settlement greeted the eye on either shore. The only landings were
made at Yellow Banks, where there was a squalid group of log huts, and
Fort Madison, where I spent a pleasant hour with the officers of the
garrison. Occasionally the boat warped in against the bank to
replenish its exhausted supply of wood, the crew attacking the
surrounding trees with axes, while the wearied passengers exercised
their cramped limbs ashore. Once, with some hours at our disposal, we
organized a hunt, returning with a variety of wild game. But most of
the time I idled the hours away alone.

No one aboard really attracted my companionship. The lead miners were
a rough set, boasting and quarrelsome, spending the greater part of
their time at the bar. They had several fights, in one of which a man
was seriously stabbed, so that he had to be left in care of the
post-surgeon at Madison. After the first day Kirby withdrew all
attention from me, and ceased in his endeavor to cultivate my
acquaintance, convinced of my disinclination to indulge in cards. This
I did not regret, although Beaucaire rather interested me, but, as the
gambler seldom permitted the Judge out of his sight, our intimacy grew
very slowly. Thockmorton, being his own pilot, seldom left the
wheelhouse, and consequently I passed many hours on the bench beside
him, gazing out on the wide expanse of river, and listening to his
reminiscences of early steam-boating days. He was an intelligent man,
with a fund of anecdote, acquainted with every landmark, every
whispered tale of the great stream from New Orleans to Prairie du
Chien. At one time or another he had met the famous characters along
the river banks, and through continual questioning I thus finally
became possessed of the story of the house of Beaucaire.