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Authors: Lois Walfrid Johnson
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did, Caleb would never trust her again.
Libby’s thoughts raced.
How can I explain without telling Pa what happened?
Finally she drew a deep breath. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.” Scared now, as well as nervous, she stumbled over the words. “I’ve changed my mind about some of the things I said.”
Again Captain Norstad glanced toward Caleb, then back to Libby. Before her father’s clear eyes Libby’s gaze fell. Someday she would tell him what she now believed about slavery. But not now. Not yet.
When Pa didn’t ask her to explain, Libby felt relieved. Just the same, there was something she knew. When they reached Alton, Illinois, that afternoon, she’d be on deck. She would watch every move Caleb made.
As though she had just heard his whisper, she remembered the words: “Alton. Tomorrow night. The
Christina
.”
CHAPTER 9
Caleb’s Secret
L ate that afternoon Libby and Caleb stood on the hurricane deck of the
Christina
. A few miles above the place where the Missouri River flowed into the Mississippi, Libby caught her first daytime view of Alton, Illinois.
In the rugged hillside on the right bank of the river were large gray buildings with a long wall. “Is that a castle?” Libby asked.
“The Illinois state prison,” Caleb told her.
Tall warehouses hugged the shore. Above them, church steeples pointed to the sky. Somehow they offered comfort to Libby, as though here were people who believed in something. The thought surprised her, for often she felt uncertain about her own beliefs.
When the
Christina
nosed into the flat rock that formed a natural wharf, Caleb hurried down to the main deck. To make sure that she saw whatever he did, Libby followed him.
By now, the setting sun cast long shadows across the river into the town. As the shadows lengthened, the crew started unloading freight. In the growing dusk a watchman placed a torch in an iron basket hung out beyond the bow of the boat. As the pine torch flared up, burning coals dropped into the water.
Like other steamboats her size, the
Christina
used about twenty-five cords of wood during every twenty-four hours of travel. That meant stopping at least twice a day to take on more fuel. The process was called
wooding up
.
In the eerie light of the flickering torch, men began carrying wood from great piles along the river. Up and down the gangplank they hurried with three-foot-long logs balanced on their shoulders. Passengers earning the price of their ticket worked along with the crew, stacking the wood near the furnaces or on deck.
As a cold March wind blew across the water, Libby shivered. Pulling her coat around her, she thought about the wood stove in the cabin. Though its welcome warmth drew her, Libby felt unwilling to leave the deck. What was supposed to happen this night?
Now and then she caught a glimpse of Caleb carrying wood along with the men. When nearly every available space was filled with wood, Libby knew they needed even the place where she stood. She started toward the steps.
Ahead of her, a man carried two heavy logs on his shoulder. Realizing that he could see on only one side, Libby stepped out of his way. Just then the man stepped the same direction, crashing into Libby.
As one of the logs tumbled onto the deck, she leaped back. The heavy piece of wood just missed her feet.
Suddenly Caleb was there. “You’re in the way,” he said. “Why don’t you watch from the steps?”
“That’s where I’m trying to go!” Shaken by her narrow escape, Libby again started in that direction. Partway there, she turned back to see who the wood carrier was.
Just then Caleb stepped between Libby and the man. “You all right?” Caleb asked.
“I’m all right!” Libby exclaimed. But she had no doubt that she could have been badly hurt.
When she reached the stairs, she again tried to get a glimpse of the man’s face. By now his back was toward her and his new-looking pants dragged on the floor. Because his cap was
Libby’s thoughts raced.
How can I explain without telling Pa what happened?
Finally she drew a deep breath. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.” Scared now, as well as nervous, she stumbled over the words. “I’ve changed my mind about some of the things I said.”
Again Captain Norstad glanced toward Caleb, then back to Libby. Before her father’s clear eyes Libby’s gaze fell. Someday she would tell him what she now believed about slavery. But not now. Not yet.
When Pa didn’t ask her to explain, Libby felt relieved. Just the same, there was something she knew. When they reached Alton, Illinois, that afternoon, she’d be on deck. She would watch every move Caleb made.
As though she had just heard his whisper, she remembered the words: “Alton. Tomorrow night. The
Christina
.”
CHAPTER 9
Caleb’s Secret
L ate that afternoon Libby and Caleb stood on the hurricane deck of the
Christina
. A few miles above the place where the Missouri River flowed into the Mississippi, Libby caught her first daytime view of Alton, Illinois.
In the rugged hillside on the right bank of the river were large gray buildings with a long wall. “Is that a castle?” Libby asked.
“The Illinois state prison,” Caleb told her.
Tall warehouses hugged the shore. Above them, church steeples pointed to the sky. Somehow they offered comfort to Libby, as though here were people who believed in something. The thought surprised her, for often she felt uncertain about her own beliefs.
When the
Christina
nosed into the flat rock that formed a natural wharf, Caleb hurried down to the main deck. To make sure that she saw whatever he did, Libby followed him.
By now, the setting sun cast long shadows across the river into the town. As the shadows lengthened, the crew started unloading freight. In the growing dusk a watchman placed a torch in an iron basket hung out beyond the bow of the boat. As the pine torch flared up, burning coals dropped into the water.
Like other steamboats her size, the
Christina
used about twenty-five cords of wood during every twenty-four hours of travel. That meant stopping at least twice a day to take on more fuel. The process was called
wooding up
.
In the eerie light of the flickering torch, men began carrying wood from great piles along the river. Up and down the gangplank they hurried with three-foot-long logs balanced on their shoulders. Passengers earning the price of their ticket worked along with the crew, stacking the wood near the furnaces or on deck.
As a cold March wind blew across the water, Libby shivered. Pulling her coat around her, she thought about the wood stove in the cabin. Though its welcome warmth drew her, Libby felt unwilling to leave the deck. What was supposed to happen this night?
Now and then she caught a glimpse of Caleb carrying wood along with the men. When nearly every available space was filled with wood, Libby knew they needed even the place where she stood. She started toward the steps.
Ahead of her, a man carried two heavy logs on his shoulder. Realizing that he could see on only one side, Libby stepped out of his way. Just then the man stepped the same direction, crashing into Libby.
As one of the logs tumbled onto the deck, she leaped back. The heavy piece of wood just missed her feet.
Suddenly Caleb was there. “You’re in the way,” he said. “Why don’t you watch from the steps?”
“That’s where I’m trying to go!” Shaken by her narrow escape, Libby again started in that direction. Partway there, she turned back to see who the wood carrier was.
Just then Caleb stepped between Libby and the man. “You all right?” Caleb asked.
“I’m all right!” Libby exclaimed. But she had no doubt that she could have been badly hurt.
When she reached the stairs, she again tried to get a glimpse of the man’s face. By now his back was toward her and his new-looking pants dragged on the floor. Because his cap was
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