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| The famous Far West on the Missouri River |
A Missouri River steamboatman
Back when the west was wild and unsettled, it took a special kind of man to pilot a steamboat up the mighty Missouri River. A few of the things pilots encountered: elusive, ill-defined, ever-changing channels, stranding in low water, snags, whirlpools, Indian attacks....to name but a few.
"Truly must he be a man of rare natural gifts of memory of localities, quick observing comprehension, a sure hand, rapid judgment, determination of will, iron nerve, even temper, and good habits." ~ Magazine writer, 1870
The type of boat Huck pilots is a "mountain boat" (sternwheeler). These boats were smaller and lighter, equipped with spars (a bit like stilts to help the boat "walk" over obstacles). One of the best-known mountain boats was the Far West, piloted by Captain Grant Marsh.
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Far West pilothouse replica
Courtesy Dave Thomson Gallery |
A replica of the Far West pilot house shows a pair of antelope antlers, mounted to indicate it was a "fast boat" -- Grant made a record-breaking run down the Missouri River in 1876 after he picked up the wounded from the Battle of Little Big Horn.
Packet steamboating on the Missouri River lasted from the 1820s to the 1880s, with the greatest period of activity between 1840 and 1860. The railroads contributed primarily to the demise of steamboating by siphoning off long-haul passenger and freight business. In 1867, there were 71 steamers regularly plying the Missouri River. Three years later there were only 9. (Wild River, Wooden Boats, Michael Gillespie, Heritage Press).
Some of the landing points mentioned in Taming Huck Finn were busy ports in the 1870s: Weston, Missouri, Sioux City, Iowa, Fort Sully in the Dakota Territory, Kansas City, and eventually St. Louis, where the Missouri and Mississippi rivers converge.
Huck the steamboatman becomes Huck the guardian
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| Downtown Atchison, KS, 1870s |
When the story opens, we meet Huck on the riverfront in Atchison, Kansas. He's a confirmed bachelor with a penchant for adventure and no plans to settle down. In the space of one day, his footloose life changes completely after he discovers he's been named the sole guardian of an eight-year-old orphaned boy—a nephew he never even knew he had!
At first, he wants nothing to do with this responsibility. Until a sharp-tongued spinster shows up and demands he turn over the boy to her care. That’s something Huck can’t bring himself to do, knowing how miserable he was when he had to live with an old maid. He decides to settle Tad with "a good family" -- one with a dependable father and a loving mother.
The best-laid plans... Well, you know how the rest goes. It doesn't work out quite the way Huck envisions.
After Hallie MacBride arrives in Atchison in search of her nephew, she and Huck have an initial meeting that goes poorly, to say the least. When Huck and Tad set off on an unplanned adventure, she follows, determined to discredit Huck and gain custody of Tad.
Here’s a scene set in Sioux City, when Huck decides to take Tad into town for a little fun. Unbeknownst to Huck, his nephew believes if the two adults fighting over him would get married, he’d have the family he wants. But how can he arrange such a match?
Excerpt from Taming Huck Finn:
The trip north from Atchison to Sioux City took four days, just as Huck thought it would. Heading downriver would go even faster, and with a little luck, they’d arrive in St. Louis ahead of schedule. Things couldn’t be going better, far as he was concerned.
He stepped out of the barber’s shop, rubbing his bare chin. The evening air felt good and so had that hot bath. He didn’t care what Miss MacBride thought about his long hair and beard, but when Tad had started complaining, he reckoned it better come off. Now, he was ready for some entertainment. One of the benefits of being a pilot was having time off when the boat laid up at the levee. He had the whole evening free.
He propped his hands on his hips and smiled down at his charge. “Well, Tad, you ready to explore this old town? Sioux City has lots of interesting, uh…” Brothels? Saloons? “Things. Lots of interesting things.” With a boy in tow, he couldn’t pursue his usual distractions. Yet another reason he weren’t cut out to be a father.
His nephew regarded him with wide eyes. “Geeminy, you look different, Uncle Huck.”
“Different?” Well, he’d own that description, having been different all his life. “You didn’t say better, so I reckon a haircut and shave didn’t improve me none.”
“Different is good,” Tad insisted.
“S’at so?” Huck grinned. He’d never claimed to be part of the tribe of normal, so it pleased him to no end that his nephew liked the fact that he was unique.
His smile faltered. Miss MacBride didn’t think much of his differences. His pride still smarted from her snide insinuation about his worthlessness as a guardian. It had stung all the more because he hadn’t expected cruelty, though perhaps he should have, as desperate as she was get control of the boy. He understood her reasons, even felt badly for what had happened to her. But that didn’t mean he was giving Tad over to be raised by a woman with no husband. His nephew needed a father, and he was going to see that Tad got one—a good one.
They started down a boardwalk, past freshly painted buildings that overlooked a wide, muddy street. Sioux City no longer resembled the frontier outpost he recalled from a few years back. With the coming of the railroad, the town overflowed with people—walking, on horseback, in wagons—and everybody appeared to be in a hurry.
Tad jerked on Huck’s sleeve. “Can we go in there?”
Huck squinted in the direction the boy was pointing. Apparently, his nephew wanted to visit a mercantile and dry goods store just beyond that caravan of wagons lined up for supplies. It wasn’t on his list of fun places to visit, but he might as well get a change of clothes, a shaving kit, toothpowder, and a few other things they needed. “Well, what do you know? You found just the place I was looking for.”
He caught Tad’s arm before they stepped out onto the street. After that odd spate of misbehaving, his nephew had been good as gold. But the boy had more pent-up steam than the Hesperia and might inadvertently run out in front of a horse or wagon.
“No, I don’t mean there.” Tad tugged his hand, dragging him in the direction of a small storefront next to the mercantile. “I mean there.”
Huck tipped his head back to read the sign overhanging the door. “Why do we need a tailor? We can buy readymade.”
“But he isn’t just a tailor. That sign says he is a gentleman’s tailor. We got to see him.”
What the dickens was the boy carrying on about? “This other store has things ready to wear,” Huck explained patiently. “I’m sure they have something to suit you. We got no time for a tailor to make us clothes.”
Tad’s dark eyes pleaded. “Can’t we just talk to him?”
Huck heaved a weary sigh. The child weren’t making any sense, but for some reason, he seemed set on visiting the tailor. Well, they had the whole night, so a few minutes in a tailor’s shop wouldn’t hurt. “All right, but we got things to buy and I’m getting hungry. You got ten minutes to talk to this tailor, then we’re leaving.”
A bell tinkled as they opened the door. The little shop, no bigger than a pilothouse, smelled of new wool. A scale sat on the counter, same as every other business in town, so miners coming down from Montana on their way back east could pay for their goods in gold.
Tad wandered over to a collection of advertisements pinned to the wall. Huck peered over his nephew’s shoulder at what had caught the boy’s interest. There were pictures of men dressed in the “latest fashions”—according to what the paper said. When had Tad started to care about what he wore? He’d seemed more interested in shedding his clothes when they were on the island.
They both turned at a shuffling sound. A wrinkled-up gnome of a man emerged from a darkened doorway behind the counter. His lips drew back, revealing a mouthful of gleaming dental work. “What can I do for you gentlemen?”
Tad stepped up to the counter. “Oh, we ain’t gentlemen. Not yet.”
The old fellow’s bushy eyebrows shot clear up to his balding pate. Huck choked back a laugh. Whatever Tad was up to, it was worth the price of a show.
“You got any clothes that look like that?” Tad pointed at the pictures.
The old man kept a-smiling like he had eight-year-old customers walk in his door every day. “I can make whatever you want, young man.”
“It’s not for me. It’s for my uncle so he can be a gentleman.”
Huck scowled when the proprietor started chuckling. It weren’t so funny as all that. “Tad, I told you we don’t have time to get clothes made.”
His nephew’s shoulders drooped. “But you can’t be a gentleman without the right clothes. Says so right there on that picture.”
Hell’s bells, he’d had enough of this. Huck clamped a hand around Tad’s arm and firmly ushered him out the door. Once outside, he turned him by the shoulders in the direction of the mercantile and gave him a push. “I don’t mind a little nonsense every now and then, but you were wasting that man’s time.”
Tad’s heels scraped the ground. “No, I wasn’t. You got to look like a gentleman, and that man can help you.”
This was going to end here and now.
In front of the mercantile, Huck guided Tad closer to the building to avoid getting walloped by sacks of flour being loaded into a waiting wagon. He knelt down and looked his nephew in the eye. “Tell me why you’re going on like this. Has your Aunt Hallie been filling your head with notions?”
Tad’s eyes widened a split second before he shook his head. “No, she didn’t say nuthin’. I just reckoned steamboat pilots was s’posed to look like gentlemen.”
“Boy, you best learn to lie better than that if you plan on making it a practice.”
His nephew’s face twisted in a look of sorrowful guilt, and Huck’s irritation dissolved.
This wasn’t Tad’s fault. His starchy aunt was determined to make him into a “gentleman” and no doubt set into him every minute they were together. She still hadn’t figured out all that polishing only produced men who were shiny and smooth on the outside so you couldn’t see how rotten and wormy they were on the inside.
“Clothes don’t make a gentleman, Tad. I learnt that a long time ago.” Huck rose to his feet, weary at the thought of going back into battle, even if it was with a woman half his size. She’d been cleaning that wall she was supposed to be painting and scratching in that notebook of hers for the better part of three days. He reckoned she would wash and scribble as long as possible until she got a chance to slide away once they got closer to home. If he could get ahold of that book, he could expose her little secret—that she wasn’t an artist—and get her put off the boat. He didn’t want to shame her, but it couldn’t be helped. He had to get rid of her before she drove both of them crazy.
The hairs on the back of his neck prickled and he tensed. He’d had this feeling before when he was being watched. He turned real slow and glanced up the walk. As the crowd cleared, he spotted a woman in a dark dress duck behind a wagon. He frowned as she hurried across the street with her back to them.
There was no mistaking that slender form. Miss MacBride was tailing him.
Why? Did she not trust him with Tad’s safety, or was there another reason for her to be skulking about? His instincts warned him she was up to something. He’d known it as soon as she’d started asking him all those questions. Now she was hoping to catch him doing something that would prove he was an unfit guardian.
Anger stoked him hotter than a boiler. There was nothing worse than a sneak…except maybe a devious woman bent on getting her way at all costs. By God, he’d call her bluff.
But wait. He could do one better than that. Why not turn the tables on the little spy?
What one word best describes Huck Finn based on what you currently know about him?
Don't forget to enter the raffle for a free copy of an ARC of Taming Huck Finn (one paperback and one eBook).
Ever Changing Channels: The Missouri River has never liked to stay in predictable channels. According the Mark Twain’s writings, 19th century pilots on the Mississippi River could memorize that river enough to run at night. But steamboats on the Missouri River would only travel during the day when the pilots could actually observe the river because it changed so often. The course they took on the trip upriver could be entirely different from the one they encountered coming back downriver.
Spilling over its banks: This aerial photo from KMBC-News in Kansas City shows historic flooding in Platte County, MO (about a half hour north of where I live). While doing research for Taming Huck Finn, I read about a famed Mississippi River steamboat pilot who made one journey up the Missouri River in the early 1870s, and declared he would never do it again. He said only a madman would attempt to pilot such a wild, unpredictable river. It sounded to me like the kind the river that would appeal to Huck Finn.
