The Patriot now stopped to take in passengers, but still no steam was
permitted to escape. On the starting of the boat again, cold water was
forced into the boilers by the feed-pumps, and, as might have been
expected, one of the boilers exploded with terrific force, carrying
away the boiler-deck and tearing to pieces much of the machinery. One
dense fog of steam filled every part of the vessel, while shrieks,
groans, and cries were heard on every side. Men were running hither and
thither looking for their wives, and women wore flying about in the
wildest confusion seeking for their husbands. Dismay appeared on every
countenance.

The saloons and cabins soon looked more like hospitals than anything
else; but by this time the Patriot had drifted to the shore, and the
other steamer had come alongside to render assistance to the disabled
boat. The killed and wounded (nineteen in number) were put on shore,
and the Patriot, taken in tow by the Washington, was once more on her
journey.

It was half-past twelve, and the passengers, instead of retiring to
their berths, once more assembled at the gambling-tables. The practice
of gambling on the western waters has long been a source of annoyance
to the more moral persons who travel on our great rivers. Thousands of
dollars often change owners during a passage from St. Louis or
Louisville to New Orleans, on a Mississippi steamer. Many men are
completely ruined on such occasions, and duels are often the
consequence.

"Go call my boy, steward," said Mr. Jones, as he took his cards one by
one from the table.

In a few minutes a fine-looking, bright-eyed mulatto boy, apparently
about sixteen years of age, was standing by his master's side at the
table.

"I am broke, all but my boy," said Jones, as he ran his fingers through
his cards; "but he is worth a thousand dollars, and I will bet the half
of him."

"I will call you," said Thompson, as he laid five hundred dollars at
the feet of the boy, who was standing, on the table, and at the same
time throwing down his cards before his adversary.

"You have beaten me," said Jones; and a roar of laughter followed from
the other gentleman as poor Joe stepped down from the table.

"Well, I suppose I owe you half the nigger," said Thompson, as he took
hold of Joe and began examining his limbs.

"Yes," replied Jones, "he is half yours. Let me have five hundred
dollars, and I will give you a bill of sale of the boy."

"Go back to your