To catch a ride up the Columbia River, passengers had to get up early. The boats heading up river from Portland loaded all night. Lines of drays would be strung
out along Front Street for blocks waiting their turn to drive out on the big
two-level company dock at Ash Street. At 4:30 in the morning the passengers
would begin to arrive, and a little before 5:00 am the last freight would be stowed and
the pilot climbed into the pilot house.
As the vessel was loaded the wheel turned lazily, but as the boat prepared to head upriver black smoke rolled from the tall
stack. Late passengers would rush up the landing stage, and the lines were cast
off. The big wheel shoved through the water, pushing the prow of the boat away from
the dock and a column of steam shot from the tall escape pipe. White foam bubbled around the long white vessel as it turned into the current.
The trip up river took two days. during this trip twice the passengers and cargo had to be unloaded and hauled by either wagons or a short track train around first the Cascade Rapids and then Celilo Falls. The boats were luxurious for the times, with men's and ladies salons, a fine eating restaurant, gambling rooms, cabins, and other amenities.
My hero and heroine meet on the trip up river when the hero saves the heroine and her younger sister from some thugs at one of the stops.
Excerpt for Gambling on an Angel.
A large, ruffian snaked his arm out
from behind a pile of freight, grabbing a woman around the waist. A wide-eyed
girl, with the woman, clutched a tattered carpetbag as the man’s accomplice
stepped into the melee.
The scene on the loading dock below
didn’t set well with Bas Slocum. He wasn’t a do-gooder, but damn, he couldn’t
let this pass without doing something.
He glanced at his high-priced
shipment of glasses and whiskey being unloaded and hauled around the first
portage on his two-day trip up the Columbia River.
“Boys, handle those boxes like your
first born is sleeping inside,” he shouted at the laborers before heading at a
brisk trot down the wood planking.
As Bas moved between the piles of
freight on the dock, he saw the smaller man snatch the girl around the waist.
Bas quickened his steps, his heart pounding. Nothing ate at him more than men
taking advantage of helpless women.
The dock was empty. Passengers from
the Carrie Ladd were farther up the
embankment boarding the small train of coaches and flat freight cars. The short
trek around the rough water to a sternwheeler farther up the river was all a
part of traveling the Columbia.
“Damn, gal, all I want is a little
kiss.” The man growled as the woman’s small fists beat uselessly on his chest.
Laughing, he dipped his head.
“Turn your liquor drenched breath
on someone else,” she said, pushing his face away with the heel of her hand.
Bas stretched his long legs as far
and fast as they would go.
The sun beat down and no air
movement between the piles of goods was stifling. He wiped a sleeve across his
forehead with one arm while his other hand rested on the pistol strapped to his
right hip.
The large man held the woman’s petite face
with one hand while the other arm anchored her slender middle. The girl swung
her head back and forth as she tried to stomp on the toes of the skinny man
retaining her.
“Blast, you little bugger,” the man
cursed when the girl’s heel met its target. He raised a hand to hit her.
“No!” The woman’s voice pierced the
air as Bas lunged for the man and the girl. He grasped the raised hand,
wrenching it behind the skinny man’s back and pointed his gun at the larger
man.
“Let the lady go.” Bas kept his
gaze and his gun pointed at the larger man clutching the woman. The raspy, pitiful
sounds of the girl, now clinging to the woman’s waist, set Bas’s anger up a
notch. What did these men think to gain by harming these females? You could
easily see they had nothing of value.
“Let the lady go and you walk
away.” Bas kept the gun trained on the man detaining the woman.
“We’re just having a little fun.”
The man smiled, showing tobacco-stained teeth.
“She doesn’t appear to be having
fun.” Bas allowed his gaze to drift to the woman’s face. He cleared his throat
as a wave of gut wrenching recognition sliced through him. He’d never met her
before, but the intelligence and disillusion staring back at him from
translucent green eyes was something he recognized. The angry eyes of the
slight woman reflected his feelings on life.
He clicked the hammer back on the
pistol.
“She ain’t worth getting shot
over.” The larger man raised his hands and stepped away from the woman and
girl.
Bas shoved the skinny man in his
grasp forward.
The woman hugged the girl and
stepped beside Bas. “You should be ashamed of yourselves,” she admonished,
shaking a finger at the two men. “See the kind of trouble drinking the Devil’s
brew can get you into.”
The prim set of her chin and the
pure white ribbon that dangled from a button on her dress made Bas groan. A Sister of the Temperance Movement.
He turned his attention back to the
men. How could someone so pretty be connected with something he called an
enemy? He didn’t want to think about what she would have to say should she
discover he owned a saloon.
“I don’t want to see either of you
near these women for the rest of the trip. No tellin’ if I’ll be able to
control my trigger finger.” He pointed the gun just above their heads and let
loose two bullets over the water. The men scrambled away as the shots echoed
along the riverbank. Deck hands and the passengers boarding the train turned to
stare.
Bas shrugged his shoulders and
slipped the gun back in the holster slung low on his hip. He turned his
attention to the woman on the dock, hugging the girl to her bosom. She stared
at him with distrust and a smattering of curiosity.
Wisps of dark brown hair had come
loose from the severely knotted bun on the back of her head. The tendrils clung
to her perspiration-sheened face. Heightened color on her cheeks enhanced her
bronze complexion. His gaze moved lower enjoying the sights. The white
temperance ribbon contrasted with the dark dress she wore—reminding him of her
dedication to her cause.
Good post, Paty. I wonder if the passengers who had booked cabins could board the night before launch so they didn't have to get up so early.
ReplyDeleteHi Caroline, From what I researched(long ago) the people with cabins weren't allowed on any earlier unless they were allowed by the captain(his guests).
ReplyDeleteI grew up in the Pacific Northwest on Puget Sound and often saw the relics of old steamboats sitting olong the many rivers, outlets, and lakes that connect with the sound.
ReplyDeleteI bought your book,Paty. I love reading westerns set in the PacicNorthwest.
Mesadallas, Thanks! Enjoy!
ReplyDeleteWhat an eye opener. I always thought of paddle wheelers as on the Mississippi (Mark Twain) and never gave much thought to other rivers large enough. Things were both less and more advanced in the good old days, weren't they?
ReplyDeleteIt's good to know that the Mississippi doesn't have the corner on paddle-wheel boats.
ReplyDeleteWe just visited the Marine Museum at Astoria a couple weeks ago! Great post, Paty. :) Love those old sternwheelers.
ReplyDeleteEllen, That's what I thought, too, until my research uncovered this information. And there were even a couple smaller versions on the Willamette and Snake Rivers. I need to see how they managed to get the boats over to the Snake and what their exact range was up and down that river. That could make for another interesting book.
ReplyDeleteAlison, Thanks for commenting.
Jacquie, That's a museum I need to go visit. I've only been to Astoria once and it was a quick trip.
Wow, didn't know steamboats were that far out west. What a gorgeous cover, too!
ReplyDeleteMeg, Yep, they were. Thanks! I like that cover too.
ReplyDelete