Atween decks of the steamer, secured at the end of the wharf,
another scene of bustle and confusion presents itself. A passenger
is not quite sure his baggage is all on board, and must needs waste
his breath in oaths at the dumb porter, who works at his utmost
strength, under the direction of Mr. Mate, whose important figure is
poised on the wharf. Another wants to "lay over" at Richmond, and is
using most abusive language to a mulatto waiter, who has put his
trunk on one side of the boat and carpet bag on the other. A third,
a fussy old lady with two rosy-faced daughters she is, against her
southern principles, taking to the north to be educated, is making a
piteous lamentation over the remains of two bonnets-just from the
hands of the milliner-hopelessly smashed in her bandbox. The
careless porter set it on a pile of baggage, from where it tottled
over under the feet of an astonished gentleman, who endeavours to
soothe the good lady's feelings with courteous apologies. On the
upper deck, heeding no one, but now and then affecting to read a
newspaper, as passengers pace to and fro, is the stranger, seated on
one of the side seats. The engineer moves his valve now and then,
the cross-head ascends, the steam hisses below, the condenser
rumbles, the steam from the funnel roars furiously forth, spreading
its scalding vapour through the air. Again, the man, almost
imperceptibly touches the iron rod with his finger, the magic
monster again moves its piston downward, the wheels make a turn, the
massive vessel surges upon her lines, as if eager to press forward
on her course.
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