Chapter 117: The Confluence and St. Louis

Waking up in a soft bed is a wonderful thing, even just three nights of sleeping in the dirt was enough to make any grown man grumpy. Amos was sent to bring hot water to Timmons and me, and to see to our morning needs. To awaken clean and have a fresh shave first thing in the morning was a refreshing change. I knew I owed Michelle a trip down here at some point this summer. Right now, we had to focus on moving cargo, so whatever we did in line with trips to St. Louis would have to wait.

We took breakfast in the hotel restaurant while Amos ate at a community table in the slave section. He said the cooks fed him well and he felt like he was going to burst. We were basically finished with St. Charles for this portion of the trip, but we’d both pass through here on many future journeys. We made sure to tip well and treat everyone with utmost respect. I was sure we’d leave a good impression.

Once we got underway again, the three of us quickly stripped and put our work clothes back on. Thankfully they had been laundered yesterday and hung to dry overnight. Our street clothes were carefully stowed; we wouldn’t change back to them until we approached St. Louis later today. Everyone on the boat looked a little more refreshed than usual and everyone seemed a little more prepared when we hit the confluence of the two mighty rivers, where they joined together.

The problem arises because each river has its own volume, velocity, and temperature. The temperature and velocity are the key problems. Injecting a stream of colder water from the Missouri into the warmer Mississippi creates turbulence, and turbulence creates underwater snags that could rip a boat open in the blink of an eye. The surface turbulence wasn’t steadily in one place. It had a habit of popping up to surprise anyone passing through. Thank you, thermal and fluid dynamics. It was easy to be tossed from one of these lightweight wooden boats and it was usually a death sentence for anyone unprepared.

All hands were ready as the current thrust us into the confluence. Every single boatman was equipped with a push pole and on the lookout for surface and submerged flotsam. Both Timmons and Patrick manned the rudder and the sail had been furled. The bank channel was full of boats being pulled upstream so we had little choice but to brave the current and hope to keep our speed.

It was a rough couple of moments with lots of activity by the boatsmen. I and the two other land-lubbers just sat down, held on, and stayed out of the way. The rough ride didn’t bother Amos or me much, but Jeb was absolutely green and ready to hurl. We slid back into calm sailing just in time; Jeb managed to get his stomach under control eventually, though it was clear he could never be a shipwright. With that out of the way, Amos, Timmons, and I changed back into our street clothes and prepared to do business in the town of St. Louis.