24 A RAFT PILOT'S LOG 



Eagle," two hundred and fifty feet long, could turn 

 around in Galena harbor. When I was there, a few 

 years ago, with the "Helen Blair," we had to back all 

 the way out of the river, and turn in Harris Slough. 

 The "Helen Blair" was only one hundred and eighty 

 feet long. The old, deep Fevre river has been filled up 

 by the soil from the cultivated hills. Besides the large 

 steamers that ran to Saint Louis or Saint Paul, there 

 were smaller ones, like the "Alice Wild," "Charles 

 Rogers," "Belle of Bellevue," the "Sterling," and the 

 "Willie Wilson," engaged in local work, towing wood, 

 sand, and lumber, coming and going to and from the 

 Mississippi. 



I have in memory a few days that stand out with 

 more than ordinary interest. One was a fine afternoon 

 when Matt Lorrain, a boy two or three years older than 

 I, took me out rowing in a nice skiff named "Mab," and 

 generously shared with me a sack of peanuts, which he 

 said cost five cents. I recall nothing of the three hun- 

 dred and sixty-four other days of that year. 



One of Galena's noted characters, in those days, was 

 a little Irishman called Conny O'Ryan. Conny had a 

 strong dislike for steady employment. He didn't object 

 to a short job now and then, if the pay was good and the 

 jobs didn't come too close together. He spent most of 

 his winters in jail. Once, toward spring, Owen M'- 

 Gaughy, one of Conny's old pals, took him up some 

 tobacco, and, when about to leave, asked "Will you be 

 soon out, Conny?" He replied, "Me time is pretty near 

 up, but Mr. Pittam says I may stay in, a few weeks 

 longer, if I behave mesilf." One day, as winter was 

 coming on, we asked him what he was going to do this 

 winter, as they would not keep him in jail there any 

 more. He answered, quite cheerfully, "I'll go over to 



