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They boarded the Princess in a light drizzle at six o’clock on the morning of the last day of March. River steamboats such as this were a common sight along the levy, being essential to the disbursement of the myriad goods that came into the city. Lizzie had never expected to sail on one.
The arrangements had been hastily made. Jack had visited a number of vessels before he found a captain agreeable to the terms he presented. Once the bargain was sealed, they had packed their belongings and left the boarding house without so much as a goodbye to Madame Marie. Now here they were about to embark on a new adventure.
This boat was much smaller than the SS Empire City on which they had come to New Orleans nearly a month before. It was also much less aesthetically pleasing. The main deck was little more than a large open shed chock full of cargo: wagons, animals, household goods, sacks, bales, boxes, barrels, and massive stacks of cordwood for fueling the roaring fireboxes that would propel the boat. Deck passengers milled in and among these objects vying for the best place to pass their uncomfortable journey upriver. It was with relief that Lizzie followed Jack to the stairs at the rear and up to the cabin deck.
Here was a toned-down version of the luxury she had experienced on the Empire City. A central saloon some eighteen feet wide and twelve feet high extended down the length of the boat, a distance she judged to be over two hundred feet. There were a lush carpet underfoot, skylights in the roof to admit the gray morning light, crystal chandeliers for evening lighting, and wall mirrors to reflect the light and add the illusion of greater space. Tables of various sizes, sofas, settees and easy chairs invited passengers to pass the time of day, and several wood-burning stoves provided warmth. Staterooms lined the saloon from front to back, those for the ladies occupying the rear third with the gentlemen’s quarters accounting for the remaining two-thirds. A curtain, now pulled back for boarding, separated the two areas.
Boarding cabin passengers and their personal servants searched for their rooms. Jack consulted the tickets he was holding and stopped in front of a door marked with the number five. He opened it and handed her the carpetbag he had been carrying for her.
“Your room. Mine is number forty-two at the far end. I shall see you at breakfast after we are underway.”
Lizzie was glad they would be housed in separate rooms, the implied scandal of their arrangement on the Empire City still burning like a hot coal in her memory. She murmured agreement and stepped over the threshold into the stateroom.
The interior was considerably darker than the main saloon, which itself was not all that bright on a rainy morning. She had an immediate sense of confinement, the space in which she was to live being, she judged, perhaps eight feet square. A two-tiered bunk occupied the right-hand wall. She could make out a shelf in the far left corner on which rested a basin and pitcher. A single chair rested against the wall beside it. There were two doors into the room, the one through which she had just entered and another directly across from it that she assumed led out onto the promenade guards. There were transoms over each door for ventilation and whatever poor light there was.
She was taking it all in when a high-pitched girlish voice startled her with, “Well, and who might you be?”
She peered up in the direction from which the voice had come and saw a head leaning over the top bunk. The face was a small pale oval surrounded by hair of an astonishing flame-red color.
“I am Miss Hamilton,” she answered. “I believe this is my stateroom.”
The girl sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bunk. Jumped down and extended her hand. “I am Cora. Apparently we are to be roommates.”
Lizzie accepted the hand, which was attached to a petite body barely five feet tall. She was pretty in a pixie-like way and older than Lizzie’s initial assessment of eleven or twelve. Her modestly-developed body now suggested an age of fifteen or sixteen.
“I am pleased to meet you, Miss... ?”
It took the girl a moment to understand what she was asking. “Oh, my family name is Fielding, but you may address me as Cora. I do not believe in the silly conventions of modern society. If God is happy to know us by our baptismal names, then who are we mortals to put on airs?”
Lizzie was too taken aback by the girl’s forward demeanor to respond.
Taking Lizzie’s silence as acquiescence, she continued, “So then, what is your Christian name?”
Lizzie recovered herself and said in frosty tones, “My name is Elizabeth. However, Miss Hamilton will do for you. As it happens, I do believe in the conventions of polite society, and I feel quite confident our Lord wishes us to address one another with respect and dignity. Especially when discoursing with our elders.”
If she expected to cow the young lady, she was to be disappointed. Cora simply tossed her head in a dismissive gesture and said, “Why should I be surprised by such sentiments? From your drawling speech, I assume you are from the South. No doubt a product of the misguided, slave-holding plantation culture.”
Lizzie had no time to respond to this insult to her heritage before the girl heaved a huge sigh and continued, “But never you mind. We must make the best of it since we are to share this room for some time to come. How far do you travel?”
How far, indeed? A tricky question to which Lizzie had no answer. “Far enough,” she said. “And you?”
Her blue eyes sparkled. “Oh, all the way to St. Joseph in the state of Missouri. We are to meet Papa and Carl in St. Louis. Then we shall all take another steamer up the Missouri River to our destination, where we shall begin our long overland journey to California. A more exciting adventure one could not hope to experience!”
Lizzie’s inner self groaned. It seemed she was to share this room with a wretched abolitionist, child or no, for the foreseeable future, and she must arm herself to survive it. She turned her back, placed her carpetbag on the foot of the lower bunk and began to unpack it. The task required little effort as the bag contained only her essential toilette articles. All else was in her trunk, which would be stacked with those of the other passengers in an alcove next to the barbershop. She would need to commission the boat’s chambermaid to retrieve her gowns as needed since she had no lady’s maid, a fact she once again found embarrassing, although she doubted whether this radical-minded young miss would know the difference—or care.
Giving the girl her back proved useless. She continued to chatter as if she had Lizzie’s full and rapt attention.
“Mama and Lilly and I have just completed a visit with my older sister, Edith. Her husband owns a dry-goods store on Canal Street in New Orleans, and they have a fine house on Camp Street near Coliseum Place. They have been married just a little over a year and already have a strapping baby boy. Poor Edith. She is quite devastated that we are moving so far away. Mama could not bear to go without one last visit, for who knows if we shall ever see her again?”
She leapt back up to the top bunk and sat with legs swinging. “You might wonder how a girl from Indiana met such a fine fellow as Otto Pickering from New Orleans. It is oh so romantic a story. Otto was traveling up the Ohio River on his way to Cincinnati to buy goods for his store when he took dreadfully ill. Pneumonia of the worst sort. The captain put him off at Evansville, and of course, Papa took him right into our home for treatment. Papa is a wonderful doctor, and sure enough, he recovered. But not before he had stolen our Edith’s heart. He continued on to Cincinnati, but on the return trip he stopped again, and before we knew it, he had asked for Edith’s hand.”
She made a face. “Can you imagine? Asking for her as if she were a prize mare! Of course, Papa was happy to oblige, but it seems sinful for a woman to be bartered away like that. One day we shall have the vote, and then things will change!”
Lizzie sighed. An abolitionist and a suffragette. And a loquacious one, at that. She was trying to decide how best to extricate herself from the girl’s clutches when she heard the long low bellow of the ship’s horn. The deck beneath her feet vibrated with additional power. They were about to leave the dock.
“Oh!” Cora exclaimed. “We are sailing! Come, we must see every last detail.” With that, she bounded down, wrenched open the outer door, and ran out onto the guards.
Lizzie waited several minutes, then poked her head out onto the deck. A crush of people stood at the railing, but she did not see Cora’s distinctive bright head among them. By the time she had found a place to wedge her way through, the levy with its backdrop of Cathedral Square was slowly slipping away. She stood there until the river made a wide bend and the spire of St. Louis Cathedral disappeared from view.
∞∞∞
Lizzie sat in the stateroom’s only chair while Maisie the chambermaid dressed her hair. She considered herself fortunate that Maisie had once been lady’s maid to the mistress of a cotton plantation in the state of Arkansas. Her master’s death had necessitated the sale of all his property, and Maisie had been bought by the current owner of this and two other river steamboats.
She was a sturdy soul of early middle age dressed in simple gray muslin and the usual white kerchief. She had a complexion the color of fresh-brewed coffee, a round, flat-featured face, and nimble hands. At first, Lizzie had despaired of engaging her long enough to prepare her toilette, but she soon discovered that the highest demand on the maid’s services occurred before dinner and supper when those who had no servant at hand sent her scrambling to the baggage pile for the appropriate gown, then availed themselves of her assistance in dressing. At a little before ten o’clock, however, most of the lady passengers were either in bed or lounging in the ladies’ cabin. Lizzie alone was preparing for an extended evening.
Young Cora sat cross-legged on her bunk and watched the proceedings with avid interest. She had made every attempt to engage the maid in conversation, having elicited the few details now known about her but failing in her attempt to probe beyond those basic facts. Lizzie suspected it was because of such statements as, “Surely you would rather be free than kowtow to those who are no better in the eyes of God than you,” or, “It is not a sin to strain against the yoke of unjust bondage,” or, “Have you heard of the Underground Railroad whereby those such as yourself are whisked to freedom? I could make inquiries on your behalf.” A slave who engaged in such conversation could find herself in serious trouble. Thus, she had ignored Cora’s attempts to draw her out, giving Lizzie perverse satisfaction to see the young abolitionist thwarted by the very person she longed to help.
She had seen no evidence that the remainder of the Fielding family shared this daughter’s seditious views when she had sat with them at dinner earlier. The dining tables were placed down the length of the saloon for each meal, and Lizzie had soon seen that the sexes tended to segregate for this activity as they did for onboard leisure-time pursuits. Despite Jack’s suggestion that they meet for breakfast, she had not even seen him among those seated at table for that meal. At dinnertime, she had seen him at the far end, but he was surrounded by gentlemen and had not even looked her way. Therefore, she had taken a seat among the ladies and had found herself across from Cora and a plump middle-aged woman whose red hair was several shades darker than her daughter’s and shot through with gray. A young girl with mouse-brown hair and a pale complexion sat on the woman’s far side, and Lizzie assumed her to be the younger sister.
Cora had grinned up at her and said in an altogether too-loud voice, “Here she is, Mama, the one I have been telling you about. My roommate, Elizabeth.” Then, catching Lizzie’s frowning stare as well as the sharp look of her mother, “Or rather, Miss Hamilton.” To Lizzie, “This is my mama, and beyond her is my little sister, Lilly.”
Lizzie acknowledged the introduction and cringed when Cora blasted forth with, “I see you have not brought along your own personal slave as have these other people.” A dismissive gesture toward the several ladies whose maids stood behind their chairs waiting on their mistress’s pleasure. “But surely you are of the slaveholding class, are you not?”
Lizzie saw Mrs. Fielding give her daughter a discreet nudge in the ribs, hissing, “Cora, mind your manners! And for heaven’s sake, lower your voice.”
A fake pout. “You needn’t be such a grouch, Mama. Are we not entitled to know whence comes this person with whom I am to share lodgings for lo these many days? Unless she is ashamed to admit to her origins.”
“Cora! You will control your tongue or retire to your room with no dinner at all.” Then to Lizzie with an apologetic smile, “Please forgive my daughter. She has the unfortunate habit of speaking before her brain can filter her words. One can only hope she will learn the finer points of propriety in time.”
The woman’s tone was warm enough and quite sincere. Lizzie returned the smile and said, “Of all people on this earth, I can best understand her propensity for impetuosity as it was a failing that plagued me as well far into womanhood. As for my background, I am most happy to admit that I grew up on a fine plantation in South Carolina. Adversity propelled me away from my roots, but I cherish every memory to this day.” She paused a moment to let her words penetrate the incorrigible Cora’s mind. Then, to turn the conversation away from herself, “I understand you and your family are in the process of emigrating to California. From Indiana, I believe?”
“Indeed. My husband and Cora’s twin brother Carl have been making their way to St. Louis with our belongings these past few weeks while we visited our eldest daughter in New Orleans. We are on our way to meet them.”
Lizzie would like to have known what precipitated such a rash disruption in the family’s life, but the conversation was interrupted by the arrival of their food, and there had been no graceful way to return to the subject thereafter. Thinking about it now as she sat beneath Maisie’s ministrations, she could only assume it demonstrated a lack of appreciation for their dismal northern culture, a mind-set that would never occur to those of her native land, who held their proud heritage in indisputable regard. Yet had she not, in essence, done the very same thing by fleeing her life in Charleston with nary a backward glance?
The thought came unbidden and caused a strange twisting in her belly. She was glad to be distracted by Maisie handing her the mirror to assess her new coiffure. The candle Mrs. Fielding had thought to provide gave off a poor light, but it was enough to assure her that Maisie was every bit as competent as the maid Jack had hired in New Orleans. She was wearing one of her new gowns, an emerald green silk that picked up the color of her eyes. Satisfied that she looked her best for this debut among the boat’s gamblers, she smoothed on her gloves and picked up a handkerchief.
When she rose, Cora blurted,“You still have not told me why you are dressed in such a high and mighty fashion at such a late hour.”
Not for lack of your asking, Lizzie thought to herself.
The girl pressed on. “Is there a dance in the cabin tonight? If so, I heard nothing of it from Mama.”
“I have an engagement, if you must know,” said Lizzie. “But you are right. It is late, too late for nosy young girls to be awake.” To Maisie, “You may blow out the candle before leaving. It is time for Miss Cora to go to sleep.” She swept out of the room and shut the door to blunt any rejoinder the silly child might choose to send after her.
There were still a few ladies lounging in the main cabin. Lizzie did not miss their raised eyebrows and furtive glances. They would no doubt be deep in gossip the moment she slipped around the curtain dividing this from the gentlemen’s cabin. She felt her face flame as she passed by.
Jack had caught up with her after supper and whispered that he planned to set up his faro bank in the boat’s barbershop at ten o’clock and she should join him then. She was uncertain how this was going to work. They had talked about it as they prepared to depart from New Orleans. It seemed that faro was still a desired game on the steamboats, but no more so than the various other card games such as poker, Mexican monte, and ace-deuce-jack. Her role would be diminished where these games were concerned. Indeed, she got the impression he could well do without her, a suspicion that caused her some inner anxiety.
There had been no time for her to learn the intricacies of these games. He had simply explained the various tricks he had perfected to give himself the advantage. His only request was that she watch for his signal, which might be a discreet cough, a prolonged stroking of his chin, or a shift of his cigar from one hand to the other. At such a time, she was to create a distraction by calling attention away from the table while he accomplished a particularly delicate sleight-of-hand. All the while, she was to play the innocent southern belle that she was. Or had been before she embarked on this foolish adventure.
She walked with careful dignity through the gentlemen’s cabin, which was foul with billowing cigar smoke. Many card games were in progress around tables littered with empty drink glasses, each table having its own cuspidor at hand for the disposal of the many chewers’ tobacco juice. She dipped her head and offered genteel smiles to those she passed, having learned over the past weeks to disguise her disgust over these ubiquitous male vices. The bow end of the boat held the clerk’s office, the bar where spirits as well as decks of cards and checks for gambling could be purchased, and the barbershop. Here gentlemen could sit in a chair that reclined and had an adjustable headrest and footrest to receive a shave or haircut. At the moment, no one was availing himself of this service. Instead, a group of eight or nine gentlemen were seated around a table where Jack had laid out his faro tools. Others stood about with drinks in their hands to observe. When she walked in, all heads turned.
Jack rose and came to meet her. “Here is my charming assistant, Miss Hamilton.” He led her to the table and took his place once again, Lizzie at his shoulder. He adjusted the dealing box to his satisfaction, grinned around at one and all, and said, “Let the play begin.”