Nan Ryan (29 page)

At just after 4
A.M.
the next morning, while the illustrious passengers onboard the
Roxanne
were sound asleep in their cabins and the old riverboat slid quietly through the waters just north of Baton Rouge, Louisiana, the most dreaded fear of all riverboat travelers happened. A boiler exploded. The powerful blast hurled sleeping passengers on the hurricane deck high into the air and bodies fell back onto the boat and into the river, many in pieces. A giant smokestack collapsed into the hull, pinning screaming men in the wreckage. Within minutes, the boat was ablaze from stem to stern and screams of men and woman filled the still night air as they were scalded to death in their frantic efforts to crawl over each other and get out of the inferno. People trampled each other to death as the flames rushed through the cabins and terrified passengers in the center of the burning boat pushed and crowded those on the outer edges over the side and into the river. Confused victims, most of them in nightclothes, rushed to the bow and stern, jumping overboard onto each other, many going down into the deep never to emerge again. Many who could swim were pulled under and lost by hysterical flounderers.

The bow section of the boat went first, roasting its sleeping passengers in- their beds, leaving the sickening stench of burning flesh to spread through the air. Barrels of whiskey exploded with deafening sounds, spewing their flaming liquids over helpless passengers, burning them to death in minutes. The remaining boilers all exploded and the brave pilot, staying at the wheel while the cabin around him burst into flames, steered for the bank. The tiller ropes burned completely through and the flaming vessel was unmanageable. The captain died at the wheel.

Louis and Abigail, asleep in their cabin near the bow, were among the first to die. With him arms around his wife, Louis threw open their cabin door and was met by heat so terrific that the oxygen was quickly sucked from the small cabin. They were dead within seconds, clinging together, Louis powerless to protect his beloved wife for the first time in their lives. They never felt the scorching flames licking their bodies and burning their nightclothes away. They were smothered to death before the horror of the flames could do their work.

With the first explosion, a section of the deck where Kathleen, Scotty, Hannah, and Daniel slept was blown into the water. The four, stunned, clung to their raft as it floated away from the burning boat. Kathleen held tightly to her crying son and watched in horror as burning bodies flew through the water around them. In a nightmare worse than anything she could ever have dreamed, she lay atop the life-saving wreckage, her nightgown soaked to the skin, while Hannah moaned loudly and her big body shook with terrified sobs. Daniel stared, speechless and afraid. For what seemed an eternity, they clung to their raft and watched helplessly as a scene from hell on earth took place within sight of their frightened, unbelieving eyes. With a sickening certainty, the horrible truth began to dawn on Kathleen. Her mother and father were still on the boat, captive in the roaring flames. A blood-curdling scream mixed with the cries of the dying still trapped on the boat. Kathleen never knew it had come from her.

At Rembert’s home, Hunter sat in the large dining room having his morning coffee with his fully recovered uncle. It was almost 8
A.M.
when an excited Walt, Rembert’s oldest house servant, ran into the dining room waving his arms, his big eyes terrified. “Oh, Doctor Hunter. Sompin awful’s happened. I jest got back from town. Oh, Lawd have mercy. The
Roxanne
done gone down outside Baton Rouge.”

Hunter and Uncle Rembert looked at each other in horror. They rose at the same time and Hunter said, “Walt, do they know … are there many dead? Are they all right?”

“Oh, Doctor Hunter, I’se afraid there be lots dead. I don’t knows ’bout Miz Kathleen and the boy!”

“I must go at once,” Hunter said and started for the front door.

“Hunter, what are you going to do?” his excited uncle followed him.

“I’m going to charter a boat and go to Baton Rouge immediately. Walt, drive me to the river please, I must go.” His soft brown eyes were filled with fear.

Dawson lay asleep in his big suite at the St. Charles Hotel. A knock on the door roused him from a deep slumber. “Just a minute,” he called and pulled on a pair of black trousers. A nervous bellman stood at the door and said, “Sorry to disturb you, Mister Blakely, but there’s a big black man downstairs who says he must see you right away. He says it’s an emergency, sir, and …” Dawson ran back into the bedroom, jerked on a shirt and jacket, slipped on his shoes, and ran down the stairs. Sam was waiting for him, his big eyes wide with fear. “Oh, Cap’n Dawson, the
Roxanne
has gone down just north of Baton Rouge.”

“Oh, God, no,” Dawson said, “are they … is she all right?”

“Cap’n, I don’t know. There’s folks dead, lots of em, I …”

“Come on, Sam, we’re going to Baton Rouge right now.” Dawson ran into the street, hair uncombed, in need of a shave, not stopping to go back for anything. He waved down a carriage and Sam followed him shaking his big head. “Is the
Diana Mine
ready to leave?” Dawson asked the frightened black man.

“Yes, Cap’n, we can be underway in half an hour.”

*   *   *

Hunter stood alone on the bow of a chartered riverboat speeding for Baton Rouge. He stood completely rigid, his brown eyes narrowed. He had been standing in the exact same position since leaving the pier four hours earlier. Fighting the fear welling up in his slim frame, he silently prayed for the safety of the wife and son he adored.

Dawson paced the hurricane deck of the
Diana Mine
. He had been pacing back and forth since the boat left the pier in New Orleans some four hours before. He smoked endlessly and muttered to himself as he walked up and down the bow, his black eyes flashing with fear. A sick feeling gripped his taut middle as he said aloud to himself, “They can’t be dead, they can’t be. I love them too much!”

Hunter arrived in Baton Rouge first. Making inquiries on the busy riverfront, he learned the survivors had been taken to St. Mary’s Catholic Church and he hurried there with his heart loudly pounding in his chest. At the entrance to the church, he paused, took a deep breath, and made his way inside. A mass of humanity greeted the frightened doctor as he made his way amid the injured and dazed lining the walls. Cries of pain filled the air and sobs from friends and family who could not find their loved ones brought a shudder from Hunter. Working his way through the crowd, he carefully peered into every face, searching frantically for his own loved ones. With sheer panic just below the surface of his calm exterior, he felt his hopes running out when suddenly he heard a childish voice call to him. Hunter looked in the direction of the sound and saw them. Huddled together on the floor at the rear of the church, Kathleen sat, blankets pulled tightly around her, her hair a tangled mass around her tired face. Scotty was standing in the circle of her arm and he was smiling. A terrified Hannah sat beside her, crying softly to herself while Daniel patted her back.

Pushing through the crowd, tears of happiness and relief stinging his eyes, Hunter dropped to his knees in front of them. Grabbing his son, he crushed him to his chest saying, “Oh thank God, thank God.” The chubby arms of the small boy were around his neck and Scotty was crying now. Hunter drew back slightly, still holding to the boy’s waist, and leaned down to Kathleen, whispering, “My darling.” As he embraced her trembling form, her arms came around his neck as loud sobs escaped her cold lips. “Oh, Hunter, they’re gone. Mother and Daddy. They’re dead. Hunter, help me.” Hunter released his frightened son and pulled her into his arms, “Darling, darling,” he murmured and caressed her. She collapsed in his arms and the hands on his neck tightened to a viselike grip as she pressed against her strong, understanding husband and transferred part of her grief to him.

When Dawson and Sam arrived in Baton Rouge, the first thing they did was to try to find out if Kathleen and Scott were alive. Almost hysterical, Dawson started asking anyone he saw on the riverfront about their safety.

“Cap’n, come with me,” Sam said and took his arm. “I knows a stoker on the
Natchez
. If he be here, he know everything that’s happening.” Dawson followed Sam to a small shack on the pier. Inside, several black men from various boats were talking of the tragedy. Sam knocked on the door and shouted loudly, “Amos, is you in there?”

A short, stocky black man came to the door and opened it. “Sam,” he called a greeting and came outside.

“Amos,” Sam shook his hand, “the Cap’n here had some friends on the
Roxanne
. Does you know where they might be?”

“Sho, Sam, they take ’em all to St. Mary’s Catholic Church in town. Who is you wantin’ to know ’bout? I bet I can tell you if they made it or not.”

“Kathleen Alexander,” Dawson quickly answered, “and her son, Scotty. Are they alive?” He reached out and took the short man’s arm.

Loosening himself from Dawson’s grip, the short black man said, “Relax, Cap’n, they is all right. They got blowed away from the boat and they floated into sho’. I was there when they was taken out of the water. They’s alive.”

A broad smile came to Dawson’s strained face and he said happily, “Oh, thank God,” and pulled his wallet out of his trouser pocket. Taking all the greenbacks he had out, he thrust them at the short man and said, “Thank you, thank you.” In Dawson’s haste to give the man all his money, he didn’t notice a small white card fall from his wallet to the ground. Sam stopped and picked it up, holding it in his hand while he watched the short black stoker refuse to take Dawson’s money.

“No, suh, I don’t want no money. I’s jest glad I could give you good news, Cap’n.”

“I insist,” Dawson said happily, thrust the money into the man’s shirt pocket, and turned to leave. “Come on, Sam, we’ve got to get to the church, she will need me.” Sam smiled at his black friend when the man handed him Dawson’s money. Sam said, “Thanks, Amos, I’ll give it to the cap’n,” exchanged a few more words with the stoker, and put the money and the white card into his own pocket.

Dawson and Sam were nearing the church, both eagerly walking fast. Sam stopped and grabbed Dawson’s arm, restraining him.

“What are you doing, Sam?” Dawson protested. “We’re nearly there. Let go of me!”

“Cap’n, look over there.” Dawson’s eyes followed his friend’s finger. At the door of the church, Hunter stepped outside, his arm protectively around his wife’s shoulder. His other arm was wrapped around Scotty Alexander who sat atop his father’s slim hip, his little arms tightly clinging to Hunter’s neck. Hannah, wrapped in a blanket, a dazed expression on her sad face, was supported by Daniel. Kathleen’s head was on her husband’s chest and her hands were clutching his shirtfront.

“I guess she doesn’t need me, Sam,” Dawson said tiredly and the two men turned and walked back to the riverfront. They walked in silence for a few yards, tears of relief and frustration stinging Dawson’s eyes. Finally he spoke. “Thanks for your help, Sam. They’re safe, they’re alive, that’s all that matters to me,” and he shrugged his massive shoulders and sighed.

Sam smiled at his friend, “You is right, Cap’n, long as she still be alive, you haven’t lost her fo’ good,” and he patted Dawson’s tired back. They walked a few paces farther and Dawson said, “Sam, what about the Beauregards? Did Amos say they made it?”

Sam shook his head, “I’m sorry, Cap’n, they didn’t. They both got killed in the explosion.”

Dawson said softly, “Poor Abigail, God rest her soul, she was a sweet lady.”

“What ’bout Mistah Beauregard, Cap’n?”

Dawson’s black eyes narrowed into slits and he said evenly, “Sam, may Louis Beauregard find his rightful home for all eternity,” and he spat on the ground.

Back onboard the
Diana Mine
, Dawson stood alone on the bow, returning to New Orleans.

“Cap’n,” Sam came to join him for a minute, “Here be yo’ money back. Amos, he didn’t want to take it.”

“I hate that he wouldn’t accept it, I wanted him to.”

“And here be a card you dropped on the ground. It might be important,” Sam handed the white card to Dawson.

Dawson held it up and read: Craddock Cotton Agency, Talifar Square, London, England, Richard Craddock, President. Dawson had forgotten the man who had given it to him so long ago in Monte Carlo. Richard Craddock had said, “If you should ever change your mind …”

“Sam,” Dawson put the card in his wallet and looked at his friend, “I’m going back to Europe.”

“But, Cap’n, you jest got home. I thought you was gonna go to Natchez for a while.”

“I have changed my mind. I’m going to London to become a cotton agent. There is nothing here for me. It belongs to someone else,” and he smiled at his concerned friend.

Twenty-one

Hunter Alexander got his stunned family safely back to Sans Souci the next day. Two days later at the memorial services for Louis and Abigail, St. Mary’s Cathedral was overflowing with broken-hearted friends and family, as the shocked city turned out to pay their last respects to one of the most prominent, well-liked couples in Natchez. Kathleen stood like a statue, dry-eyed, in a state of shock, her black dress covering her from head to toe, the veil of her black hat covering her face. Barely able to stand, she was supported by Hunter who stood with his arm around her waist, concern and love written plainly on his delicate features. The heat inside the church was oppressive, adding to the misery of the mourners. Kathleen felt her knees buckling under her and had no strength to fight it. The movement of her small body was felt by her husband and he picked her up and carried her from the church while their confused son followed him down the long aisle.

The carriage, with Daniel in the driver’s seat, waited just outside the church and Hunter hurriedly lifted his wife and son inside and told Daniel to take them home. Hannah came waddling out behind them, sobbing as though her heart would break, and Hunter turned to help her up into the carriage. The fresh air did not revive Kathleen and when Hunter pulled her close, her cheek felt cold against his. At Sans Souci, Hunter picked Kathleen up and carried her up the long walk into the house. Without stopping, he started up the stairs and to her bedroom. Hannah followed them, wringing her hands and crying. When Hunter got to Kathleen’s door, he turned, still holding her in his arms, and said to Hannah, “I want you to go to your room and lie down, I’ll come in a little later and see how you are.”