A MISSOURI tramp was the boat "Pauline"

An' she ran in '78;

She was warped in the hull an' broad o' beam,

An' her engines sizzled with wastin' steam,

An' a three-mile jog against the stream

Was her average runnin' gait.

Sing ho! fer the rickety "Pauline" maid,

The rottenest raft in the Bismarck trade,

An' her captain an' her mate.

The new "North Queen" come up in June,

Fresh launched from the Saint Joe ways,

As speedy a craft as the river'd float—

She could buck the bends like a big-horn goat—

An' she hauled astern o' that "Pauline" boat

On one o' them nice spring days.

Sing ho! fer the "Pauline," puffin' hard,

With her captain up on the starboard guard,

A-watchin' the "North Queen" raise.

The "Queen," she drew to the "Pauline's" wheel

An' her captain come a-bow;

"I'll give yeh three miles the lead," says he,

"An' beat yeh at that into Old Santee."

"Come on," says the "Pauline's" chief, "an' see!

I'm a-waitin' fer yeh now."

Sing ho! fer the captains, grim an' white

With the smothered hate of an old-time fight

An' the chance fer a new-time row.

So the sassy "Queen" strung out behind

An' let the distance spread,

Till the "Pauline" headed Ackley's Bend

An' herself come in at the lower end;

Then her slow-bell speed begun to mend

Fer the space that the old boat led.

Sing ho! fer the clerks an' the engineers

A-swabbin' the grease on the runnin' gears

An' settin' the stroke ahead.

Puff-puff! they went by the flat sand-bars,

Chug-chug! where the currents spun,

An' the "Pauline's" stokers were not to blame

Fer her tall, black stacks were spoutin' flame,

But the "Queen" crawled up on her, just the same,

Two miles to the "Pauline's" one.

Sing ho! fer the steam-chest's poundin' cough,

A-shakin' the nuts o' the guy-rods off

To the beat o' the piston's run.

The "Queen" pulled up on the old boat's beam

At the mouth o' Chouteau Creek,

An' the "Pauline's" captain stamped an' swore,

Fer the wood bulged out o' the furnace door,

An' the steam-gauge hissed with the load it bore,

But she couldn't do the trick.

Sing ho! fer the pilot at the wheel

A-shavin' the choals on a twelve-inch keel,

Enough to scare yeh sick.

The "Queen" was doin' her level best

An' she wasn't leadin' far—

Fer the "Pauline" stuck like a barber's leech—

But she let her siren whistle screech

When she led the way into Dodson's Reach,

Three miles from Santee Bar.

Sing ho! fer the "Pauline's" roustabout

A-rollin' the Bismarck cargo out,

Big barrels o' black pine tar.

The "Pauline's" chief was a sight to see

As he stood on the swingin' stage.

"I'll beat that pop-eyed levee-rat

If he banks his fires with bacon fat;

Pile in that tar an' let her scat

An' never mind the gauge!"

Sing ho! fer the boilers singein' red

An' the black smoke vomitin' overhead

From the furnace' flamin' rage.

An' she gained, that rattle-trap mud-scow did,

While her wake got white with spray,

An' forty rods from the landin'-plank

Her bow was a-beam o' the "North Queen's" flank

An' her pilot rushin' her fer the bank

To block the "North Queen's" way.

Sing ho! fer the boilers' burstin' roar

As they hurl them loose from the splittin' floor,

An' tear the decks away.

But the captain bold of the ex-"Pauline,"

He didn't stop a bit,

Fer he flew with the wreckage through the air,

An' fell on the landin', fair an' square,

An' the "Queen" run in an' found him there,

R'ared up from where he'd lit.

An' he yelled: "You rouster, I've won the race!

Go git a boat that can keep my pace,

Yer 'North Queen' doesn't fit!"