The Cass County Republican. [volume] (Dowagiac, Mich.) 18??-1880, 1860-11-22

From the Atlantic Monthly for September.
The PILOTS Story.
hearers,
Keeping his hand on the wheel, and his eyes on the
globe of the jack staff,
Holding the boat to the shore and out of the sweep
of the current;
Lightly turning aside the heavy logs of drift wood,
Widely stunning the snags that made us sardonic
obeisance.
An the soft damp air was full of delicate perfume
From the young willows in bloom on either bank
of the river
Faint delicious fragrance, trancing the indolent
senses
In luxurious dream of the river and land Of the
Not yet out of the west the roses of sunset we're
withered:
In the deep blue above light clouds of gold and Of
crimson
Frosted in slumber serene, and the restless river
beneath them
Rushed away to the sea- with vision of rest in its
busom.
For on the eastern shore lay dimly the swamps Of
the cypress;
Dim before as the islands grew from the rivers
expanses,-
wood-grown isles,-with the CLEAN of
tho .wort ;bnndation
Seen through the swaying boughs and slender
trunks of their willows;
And on the shore beside us the cotton-trees rose
in the evening,
yearningly, YEARLY, with the inscru-
table saGness
)f the mute race Of trees. While hoarsely the
steam from her 'scape-pipe
Shouted, then whispered moment, then shouted
again to the silence,
through all her frame with the mighty
pulse of her engines,
Slowly the boat ascended the swollen and broad
Mississippi,
Bank full, sweeping on, with nearing masses of
drift-wood
Daintily breathed about with hazes of silvery va
por,
Where in his airy fight the twittering swallow
alighted,
And the belated blackbird paused on the way to its
nestlings.
Il was the pilots story They both came aboard
there, at Cairo,
From New Orleans boat, and took passage with
us for ST. Louis
She was beautiful woman, with Just enough blood
from her mother,
Darkening her eyes and her hair to make her race
known to the trader;
You would have thought she was white. The man
that was with her,-you see such,-
Weakly, good-natured and kind, and weakly good
natured and vicious,
hating
I was youngster then, and only learning the riv-
Not overfoud of the wheel used 70 watch them
at monte,
Down in the cabin at night, and learned to know
all of the gamblers
So when saw this weak one stalking his money
against them,
Betting upon the turn of the cards, knew what
was coming;
They never left their pigeons single feather to fly
with.
The next day saw them mtogether,-the stranger
and the gambler;
Picturesque rascal he was, with long black hair and
moustaches,
Black-slouch hat drawn down to his eyes from his
villainous forehead
On together they moved, still earnestly talking in
whispers.
On toward the forecastls, where sat the woman
alone by the gangway.
Reused by the fall of feet she turned, and behodng
her master,
Greeted him with smile that was more like .
wife's than another's,
Rose to meet him fondly, and then, with the dread
apprehension t
Always haunting the slave fell her eye on the face
Of the gambler, 4i
Dark and lustful and fierce, and full of merciless
cunning r
was spoken SO low that could not hear
what the words were;
Only the woman started, and looked from one to
the other.
With imploring eyes, bewildered hands, and a tre-
NOR
All through her frame; saw her from where
was standing, she shook so,
'.Say! is it so?" she cried. On the weak, white
lips of her master
Died sickly smile, and he said-'Louise, Ihave
sold you,' -H a5E
God is my Judge May never see such q look of
despairing. s
Desolate anguish, as that which the woman cast ON
her master,
Gripping her breast with her little hands, as if he
"a had stabbed her,
Standing in silence a-space, as fixed as the Indian
woman,
Carved out of wood. on the pilot-house of the old
Pocahontasl
Then with gurgling moan, like sound in the
throat of the dying,
Came back her voice, that, rising futtsred through
the wild incoherence, w
Into terrible shrek that stopped my heart when
she answered -
Sold me' sold me ? sold -, And you promised
to give me my freedom -
Promised me for the cake of our boy in Saint Louis
what will you say to boy, when he cries for me