The weekly Butte record., 1866-06-09

Coptdi.
Well, We are aboard the Southern
Republic, the last bell has sounded, the
last belated trunk has been trundled
over the plank, and we are yf, the cal
liape screaming Dixie ike ten thousand
devils, and the crowds ON the bank
waving us bon voyage.
The main saloon of the boat was
spacious apartment, a hundred feet
long by thirty in breadth, gorgeously
decorated with modern paint and bril-
liantly lighted. The galleries leading
to the state-rooms, rising tier upon tier,
ran entirely around it, while above
them skylight of tinted glass shed a
soft, warm light.
There are offices, card rooms, bar
rooms, barber shops, and even faro
banks, aboard all these boats and as
the down trip occupies from forty-eight
to seventy according to the state
of the river, and the luck Of running
aground, performance to be expected
at least once in each trip-we become
quite mutual amusement community
by the time it is over.
This trip the boat was very crowded,
and at supper the effect of the line Of
small tables, filled with officers in uni
form, ladies tastefully dressed, and a
sprinkling of homespun coats, all re-
aected in the long mirror, was very
bright and gay. After meals thereis a
general promenade on the upper decks
(sans soucl, where people talk, smoke,
inspect each other and flirt. Then
they adjourn to state-room, saloon or
card room, and lounge, or read to kill
time, for the Alabama is anything but
picturesque stream, with its low,
marshy banks, only varied by occasion
al "slides" and negro quarters.
This night was splendidly clear, the
moon bright as day, and Styles and l,
after seeing ''the Colonel'' well tucked
in, staid on deck to scrape up acquaint-
ance with the pilot, and the small, seedy
Frenchman who officiated the calliope.
He was an original in his way-''the
Professor his head likea bullet,
garnished with hair of the most wiry
blackness, cut as close as the scissors
could hold it, looking like the most un-
compromising porcupine. Of course he
was political refugee.
''Dixie Aire, nationale! pas bon
chose !" he exclaimed, seating himself
at his instrument, and twirling huge
mustache. ''Voila lie Marsailleise Eat
make national hymn for you!" and he
made the whistle roar and shrek in a
way to have sent the red caps into the
air hundred miles away.
''Grand! splendid - roared Styles
above the steam. "Why, Professor,
you're genius. Come and take some
brandy"
The Professor banged down his in
strument, led the way instanter down to
our state-room, and once there did take
something, and then something else, and
finally some more, till he got very thick
tongued and enthusiastic.
''Grand aire of ze Liberte - he cried
at last, mounting again to his perch by
the smokestack. Song composed by
me for one grand man-ze Van Dorm. |
make this and dedicate to him;" and he
banged away at the keys till he tortured
the steam into the Liberty duetto,"
from Puritani.
''How you find Eat, eh Dat makes
ze hymn for souse. Me, | am republi-
cain! Viola | wear re mustache of re
revolutioniste-my hairs are cut en- men
content! Were re colors more red as
red, would be zat!' and the Professor
was so struck with the brilliancy of his
idea, that he played the air again and
again, till it rang like phantom chorus
over the still plantations. At last he
was overcome by emotion and brandy,
slid from the stool and sank at the foot
of the smoke-stack muttering, ''Zat is
re Observation-Disclosures to re General
and ze-hic-country." and then he
slept the sleep of the just conscience.
"That's the Senator, and she's gain
in on We" said the pilot, and he walked
forward, pointing to the thin column of
smoke rising out Of the trees just abreast
Of us.
''How far astern -
"a matter of about two miles around
shat point.
"Splendid night for race, muttered
Styles.
''Will she overtake us, Captain ~
SWELL, maybe,' replied the old river
dog, while the most professional grin
shot over his hard, wooden features
Especially if ease up this ar old gall"
"Ha, Jones now we'll have it. We
won't turn in now,' chuckled Styles,
banging me in the back.
Almost imperceptibly our speed
slackened, and the thin dark column
crept nearer and nearer around the
trees on the point in our wake, till at
last the steamer burst into sight, not
pistol shot astern.
There is sharp click of the pilots
bell, a gasping throb, as if our boat
took deep, long breath, and just as
the Senator makes our wheel, We dash
on again, with every stroke of the pis-
el Il &