On the last day of April the long preparations were finally completed. The eight steamers lay along the Levee with flags floating from their forward peaks and the black smoke pouring from their funnels. A great crowd had gathered on the river bank to watch the departure; and while drays and wagons rattled over the cobblestones and long lines of negro roustabouts ran back and forth across the gang-planks of the steamers, carrying on board the last packages of freight, Al stood at the boiler deck rail of the Island City, General Sully's headquarters boat. He waved his hand and smiled, more cheerfully than he felt at that moment, to his mother and Annie and Uncle Will, who stood in the wide doorway of the wharf-boat below, looking up at him. Now that the final moment had come, Mrs. Briscoe's heart was torn at parting with her boy, who had so loyally and unselfishly devoted himself to her wellbeing since her husband's death. But she bore it as bravely as a good mother always bears such trials, smiling brightly at him through her tears as the head-lines were slipped from the Island City's bow and her great stern wheel began slowly to revolve. Al, his own eyes misty, watched his mother until in the distance she became blurred with the crowd. The steamer swung gracefully out into the swift current of the Mississippi, described a wide, sweeping curve to the middle of the channel, and then, rounding up stream at the head of the majestic line of her consorts, forged up past the smoky city on the first mile of the long journey into the Northwestern wilderness.

Until the cheering crowd on the Levee was quite blotted out by distance and intervening steamers along the bank, Al stood at the rail looking back. When at last he turned away, with a strange feeling of depression and loneliness, he found Lieutenant Dale standing behind him.

"Come, boy," said he, slapping Al's shoulder, "brace up! We are going to have a great time this Summer, and you'll be mighty glad you came. I know it's hard leaving your folks. I felt just the same way less than three years ago when I marched off from home to Washington and the first Bull Run. But it does no good to feel blue over it; you'll come back again all right, anyway. Get busy; that's the best remedy for blues. Are those last goods that were brought on board checked up yet? No? Well, you better go down and check them, hadn't you?"

Al acted on the suggestion, and by the time he was through, the fleet had entered the mouth of the Missouri and was approaching St. Charles, a picturesque little old city straggling up over the rugged, wooded hills on the north bank of the Missouri. The boats did not stop at the town, but continued running until nearly dark, when they laid up for the night at Penn's Woodyard, four miles above. Excepting in high water, when the channel is broad and deep, it is very unusual for boats to run at night on the Missouri owing to the danger of striking snags or going aground on sandbars. Next morning, after replenishing their fuel supply at the woodyard, they started at daylight and ran without mishap or halt, excepting to take on wood several times, until dusk found them just below the mouth of the Gasconade River, where they again tied up to wait for daylight.

In the Spring of 1864 there had been little rain in the Missouri Valley, and the river was very low for the season, a fact which greatly disturbed General Sully; he foresaw that the trip would probably be painfully slow and that he would not be able to reach the Indian country until so late that the campaign would have to be a hurried one. Early next morning, at the mouth of the Gasconade, they encountered the first of the obstacles which they had been dreading. As is usual below the mouths of tributaries, where the eddy created by the muddy current of the main river coming in contact with that of the tributary causes the mud and sand to sink to the bottom, a sandbar here extended across the Missouri's channel. The Island City, in the lead and running near the south shore along the base of the bluffs, notwithstanding the caution of her pilot, stuck her bow into it and stopped short. Al, who was in the main cabin, ran forward as he felt the boat shiver and careen and looked down over the bow.

"Why, we've stuck fast!" he exclaimed to Captain Feilner, whom he found standing by the rail. "What will they do now?"

"Send out a boat and sound for a passage," the Captain answered.

Even as he spoke, Alexander Lamont,—or, Alex Lamont, as he was usually called,—the tall, bronzed captain of the Island City, leaned out over the rail and shouted up to the hurricane deck above,

"Lower away the yawl, there! Step lively, now!"

They heard the shuffle of feet on the sanded tar roof overhead, the creak of falls and tackles, and in a moment the boat, its long oars manned by six stalwart deck hands and carrying, besides, a steersman at the stern and a leadsman with a sounding pole at the bow, pulled around the side of the steamer and out into the shoal water ahead. Meanwhile, the long line of steamers behind them also came to a stop.

"How much water must there be for us to get through?" asked Al.

"We are drawing three and a half feet," answered Captain Feilner, "and we ought to have four feet to go on, but we can do it on three and a half by sparring or warping. Have you never seen those things done? Well, you will probably have a chance in a few minutes,—and plenty more before we are through with this trip. Some of the other steamers do not draw quite as much as we do but none of them seem to be going to try to pass us."

The yawl gradually worked its way diagonally across and down the river, following the crest of the bar, until it had approached quite near to the north bank, the leadsman constantly thrusting his pole down to the river bottom. Then the boat suddenly turned around and came rapidly back to the Island City.

"There's three and a half, large, over there," said the pilot who had acted as leadsman as he came aboard, speaking to Captain Lamont. "We can go over but you'll likely have to set spars."

He ascended to the pilot-house and jerked the whistle rope. A warning bellow roared out over the river, re-echoing from the forest-clad bluffs on either side. One by one the steamboats behind them took up the refrain, until the noise resembled that of a manufacturing city at the noon hour.

"What on earth is all that whistling for?" asked Al. "Are they trying to scare the bar out of the river?"

"No," laughed Captain Feilner. "That is a signal that we are going to back up. There isn't room to turn in this channel and all the others must back up, too, so that we won't run into each other."

The fleet backed for a half mile, then the Island City reversed her wheel and started up again, running this time, however, close in by the north shore. As she went ahead the strokes of her pistons became more and more rapid until, as she approached the crossing, she was going at a great speed for a steamboat.

"He's going to try to belt her through," exclaimed Lieutenant Dale, coming up at this moment. "We'll get a jolt. I hope nothing breaks."

Hardly had he finished speaking when there came a loud grating sound from the bow as the boat's flat bottom began to scrape over the sand. Her timbers quivered and groaned, her speed diminished so quickly that those who were standing on her decks were nearly thrown down, and then, after scraping along for a few feet slowly and painfully she came to a full stop. For a moment the stern wheel continued to churn the water into white foam; then the pilot, with an impatient gesture, jerked the wire to the stopping-bell down in the engine room, and the ponderous wheel came to a halt.

"No use," he cried to Captain Lamont, leaning out of the pilot-house window. "She's nearly over but you'll have to set the spars!"

There was a great shouting and commotion on the lower deck as the spars, two long, heavy timbers like telegraph poles, one on each side of the bow, were swung out and erected in position, their lower extremities resting on the river bottom, the upper, fitted with tackle blocks, rising high above the level of the boat's top deck. Through the tackle blocks ran heavy cables fastened at one end to the boat's gunwale and at the other to the steam capstan. When the spars had been set, the capstan began to revolve, winding up the cable and thus hoisting the bow of the boat until it hung suspended on the spars. At the same time the wheel was slowly revolved, forcing the boat ahead until the spars had tilted forward so far as to let the bow down again into the sand. Then they were dragged forward and set upright once more, and the process was repeated. Before a great while the crest of the bar was passed, and the Island City floated on into deeper water and continued her journey. But though it had not been what river men would consider a hard crossing, she had lost nearly six hours in sounding and sparring, and it was noon by the time she had left the Gasconade out of sight behind her. The vessels following her each forced its way across the bar in the same manner as she had done, excepting the Chippewa Falls and the Alone, boats of smaller dimensions and lighter draft, which were able to slip over without sparring. By the time the last one had passed the Gasconade, it was evening again, and the fleet was strung out for miles up the river. The Island City anchored out for the night to a bar just below Kate Howard Chute, so called for a beautiful packet of that name which had sunk there in 1859. The point was only thirty miles above the Gasconade, so that twenty-four hours had been consumed in covering that insignificant distance. The Island City was towing a large barge, intended for use when they should reach the Indian country, but it was very much in the way and retarded her progress considerably.

That evening Al asked Captain Lamont how far it was from St. Louis to the mouth of Cannonball River, Dakota, where it was expected that the actual campaign against the Indians would begin, and was told that it was about fourteen hundred miles. He did some figuring and found that if they continued to progress at the same rate as they had done that day it would be more than six weeks, or past the middle of June, before they would reach their destination. It seemed an astonishingly long time to him but, as the event proved, he had considerably overestimated the average speed which the fleet could maintain. For days they continued travelling through the State of Missouri, contending with sandbars and head winds. The interior of the State was in a deplorable condition as a result of the war. Guerillas were overrunning it everywhere, and the boats rarely landed at a town without hearing either that some of the marauders had just left on the approach of the fleet or that they had been raiding there a day or two before. General Sully's vessels were so numerous and well armed that the guerillas did not dare attack them. All Missouri River boats at that time were more or less fortified around the pilot-house with timber or boiler-iron bulwarks, to protect the pilots from the bullets of guerillas on the lower river and from those of Indians in the upper country, while the piles of cordwood on the main deck afforded some protection to the men there. Yet the fleet seldom passed a downward-bound boat which had not been fired into or boarded, and fortunate was the vessel which had escaped without the loss of one or more people on board killed or wounded.

There were plenty of men in the expedition who would have been glad to encourage such attacks had they been made, for, as was always the case among the class of men who worked as laborers on the steamboats, there were many hardened and even desperate characters in the crews of Sully's vessels. Not a few of them were deserters from the Confederate army, tired of fighting but still rebels at heart; and others were Southern sympathizers, fleeing from the draft in the Northern States. Most of these men hoped, when they should draw near to Montana, to find opportunities for slipping away from the expedition and making their way to the gold fields which were just being opened in the placer deposits around Bannack, Last Chance Gulch, Alder Gulch and other places, and which were attracting a wild rush of adventurers from all over the country. Such men were naturally hard to handle and it took steamboat officers of firmness and courage to keep them in control.

Since the beginning of the voyage Al had not had much occasion to mingle with the crew of the Island City. The cargo of the steamboat consisted chiefly of corn for the use of the cavalry horses in the Indian country and, once it was on board, required little attention. He therefore seldom had any reason for going to the lower deck except to while away the time, which, indeed, was the principal occupation of the army officers on board. As might naturally be supposed, he was usually with some of them. But one day he was standing on the main deck near the boilers when one of the deck hands, a young fellow a few years older than himself, came by carrying a couple of heavy sticks of cordwood to the furnaces. Al had once or twice in the past noticed this fellow staring at him in a disagreeable way and felt instinctively that it must be because the deck hand was envious of the apparently easy and pleasant time which he was having. Al's back was turned toward him and neither saw the other until one of the sticks collided heavily with Al's shoulder, almost throwing him down. Al turned and though bruised, was on the point of apologizing for being in the way, when the fellow, an ugly, red flush overspreading his face, shouted, with a plentiful sprinkling of oaths between his words,

"Get out of my road, you little Yankee snipe! What are you loafing around here for, anyhow?"

"I'm sorry I got in your way," replied Al, controlling his temper, "but I didn't see you."

"Well, you'd better stay upstairs with your blue-bellied Yankee officers. They oughtn't to let their little pet run around this way."

Hearing loud words, several other deck hands gathered round, grinning at the excitement, their sympathies evidently with their companion.

"As for my being down here," Al answered, feeling that it would not do to let such language pass unnoticed, especially before the other men, "I have as much business here as you have. As for being a Yankee, I suppose everybody on a United States ship is a Yankee. If they're not, they'd better go ashore."

"It would take a mighty big lot of such spindle-legged doll babies as you to put me ashore," shouted the young ruffian, flinging down his wood and advancing on Al with clenched fists. "Down South we don't use anything but boats we've kicked the Yankees off of."

Several of the other deck hands crowded closer, exclaiming,

"Aw, let the kid alone, Jimmy. He ain't done nothin' to you."

"Look out, Jimmy; you'll get in trouble, talkin' that way."

"So you're a rebel deserter, are you?" asked Al, his eyes flashing. "I thought so. If you're so much attached to them, why didn't you stay down there and take some more Yankee boats?"

The fellow, quite beside himself with rage, did not wait to reply but sprang at Al like a bull-dog. Al knew little about boxing, but he was quick. As his assailant rushed at him, he jumped forward and planted one fist with all his strength on the point of the fellow's chin. The rowdy's feet flew from under him and he fell to the deck with a heavy thud, completely dazed for a moment. Then he scrambled to his feet with a string of imprecations pouring from his lips, and jerking an ugly, broad-bladed knife from a sheath on his belt, again leaped at Al. Seeing his intention, his companions rushed forward to stop him, but Al had snatched up a stoking iron from the floor beside him and swung it back over his shoulder. His face was pale, but not with fright, and as his assailant looked into his steady eyes something in them caused him suddenly to lower his knife and hesitate.

"Come one step nearer and I'll brain you," said Al, his voice very low and quiet. "You miserable, cowardly bully, attacking a fellow who is unarmed and who has done nothing to you. Now, if you want to stay on this boat you've got to quit that kind of talk about Yankees or I'll see that you are put off. It's very plain you are a rebel and you've no business getting your living under the protection of the Union as long as you feel that way. Next time you want to try anything with me I shall be ready for you, and I warn you, you won't get off so easily again."

He threw down the stoking iron and, turning his back on the crest-fallen rowdy, deliberately walked away, followed by ejaculations from the group of onlookers such as,

"Bully boy!" "Served him right." "You're all right, kid!"

Later in the day he mentioned the occurrence to Lieutenant Dale and Captain Feilner, who promptly wished to have the deck hand put ashore.

"Not on my account, unless he does some more secesh talking," said Al. "I can take care of myself with him. Besides, it may be a good lesson for him and teach him to be decent after this."

The fellow, as it turned out, had been pretty thoroughly beaten and he made no more trouble for Al during the voyage, though he always gave him an ugly look when they chanced to meet.

Lieutenant Dale decided from the incident that Al ought to learn the art of boxing, in which he himself was quite expert, having learned it in college. So thereafter they spent an hour or so every day in sparring. By the time the voyage was over, Al had become as skilful as his instructor, and General Sully, Captain Feilner and the other officers often gathered to watch their bouts and to encourage them to greater efforts.

At Glasgow, his old home, Al had an opportunity to go ashore for a short time and he was astonished and grieved to note the changes which three short years had wrought in the familiar old town. The levee was deserted save by a few indolent loafers who, without recognizing him, stared at him suspiciously as he went past; for in that terror-haunted country, fear and suspicion of everybody and everything had become the habit of the people. Climbing the hill to the main part of town, he found grass growing in the once bustling business streets and many buildings locked and vacant. His father's old store was among them, closed as he had left it. He saw no familiar faces; most of the men and boys he had known were off in one of the armies, Confederate or Union, and the women were not often venturing from their houses in such times. In the residence section the scene was still worse. House after house stood deserted and going to decay. With slow steps Al went on to the place which had been the home of his family in the dear old days when they were happy and prosperous. The gate was fallen from the hinges, weeds were growing thickly over the gravel walks, several panes of glass were broken out of the windows, and a loose shutter creaked dolefully in the wind. He rested his hand on a weather-beaten fence picket and gazed out into the garden he remembered so well, where he and Tommy and Annie had played; and beyond that into the orchard, where the summer apples used to grow so large and red and juicy. The cords of his throat tightened and a mist swam before his eyes. Weeds and grass and broken limbs strewed the ground; silence and desolation were everywhere. He turned away abruptly and hastened back to the levee, never stopping until he was once more on the boiler deck of the Island City, where General Sully and several other officers were smoking and playing cards. It seemed to him as if a ghost were following him, the ghost of dead days, so tenderly remembered that the thought of them was unendurable, and for the time being he wanted only to plunge into the present and forget.