While everyone on New Orleans was asleep, the leading edge of a flock of passenger pigeons crossed over the river. The flock flew from north to south, a mass of birds stretching some 250 miles from Lake Erie into Virginia. The next morning when the crew woke, the decks of the New Orleans were spotted with droppings, and the sky overhead was still dark.

“What do you make of it?” Roosevelt asked Andrew Jack, the pilot.

“Sometimes these migrations can take days to pass,” Jack said.

Lydia waddled down the walkway and now stood outside the door as well.

“I don’t like that sound,” she said. “Like the beating of tiny drums.”

“A few more minutes and we’ll be under way,” said Jack. “Once we’re a few miles downstream, we should be out of the migration path.”

That night, after they tied up alongshore, Roosevelt supervised the deckhands as they washed New Orleans from stem to stern. Tomorrow they would stop for a few days in Henderson, Kentucky, to visit friends. Roosevelt wanted New Orleans to look her best. Even with all the strange events, his enthusiasm was undiminished.

Nicholas Roosevelt was a constant source of optimism.

New Orleans’s itinerary was Pittsburgh to New Orleans — a trip never before attempted by a steamship. The trip was part of a well-funded and well-planned play for Roosevelt and his partners. Their goal was to secure a patent on western steamboat traffic. At the time of the voyage, laws pertaining to steamships were still in their infancy. In New York State, Robert Fulton’s company had managed to patent steamboat travel on the Hudson River, creating, at least for a time, an extremely lucrative monopoly. Now Fulton, along with partners Robert Livingston and Nicholas Roosevelt, wanted to do the same on the Mississippi River. The planning for his trip had been meticulous and detailed. First, the trip needed to be successfully completed. If the boat sank, no investor would want to ante up. Second, the trip needed to be completed quickly, to prove to investors the economic benefit of steam over paddle.

Robert Fulton, the inventor of the world’s first functional steamboat, had designed New Orleans, while Robert Livingston, a wealthy New York businessman who was a confidant of Thomas Jefferson, had provided the funding. Roosevelt, himself no slouch when it came to powerful contacts, was a descendant of the Dutch settler who had purchased Manhattan Island from the natives, as well as a close friend of John Adams. The previous year, Nicholas and Lydia had made a test journey down the river on a flatboat, stopping to visit influential people along the way.

Nothing was left to chance, but there are some things that cannot be predicted.

New Orleans was 116 feet in length with a 20-foot beam. Constructed of yellow pine — not Roosevelt’s first choice, but the only wood available within their rushed timetable — the vessel featured a rounded belly like that of a trout.

The middle section of New Orleans’s deck was open, housing the 160-horsepower steam engine, copper boilers, and walking beam that transferred power to the pair of side-wheel paddles. Having the machinery in the open gave the ship an unfinished appearance. Two masts with wrapped sails were stationed to each side of the open engine pit. From the stem mast flew the flag of the United States, a red, white, and blue cloth featuring seventeen stars and seventeen stripes. A pair of rectangular cabins, men’s forward and women’s aft, sat on the deck to each side of the engine pit. In the forward cabin was an iron cooking stove, and atop the ladies’ cabin were a table and chairs covered by an awning. In the stem, constantly diminishing piles of firewood gave the boat a rough edge. All in all, New Orleans was a crude but functional-looking affair.

The morning after the comet passed, New Orleans continued downriver. By ten that morning, the ship was fifty miles from Cincinnati and steaming at eight miles per hour. This was the third day since leaving Pittsburgh, and the crew was finding a routine. Andrew Jack, the pilot who was guiding the newfangled steamship downriver, was tall, nearly six feet five inches in his work boots. Lean, with long narrow feet, he came across as a bit of a stork. His cheekbones were pronounced and his jaw square and defined. Jack had sandy-colored hair combed to the left. Bushy eyebrows topped pale gray eyes that looked far into the distance. He was twenty-three years old.

Belowdecks was the domain of Nicholas Baker, a dark-haired man who stood five feet nine inches and weighed 150 pounds. Baker had a face that was square and sturdy and without contrasts. His appearance might be called plain, save for his bright smile and warm eyes. With help from the six Cajun and Kaintuck deckhands, Baker tended to the engines and kept the boiler’s fires stoked and the steam at a steady 60 pounds.

At least New Orleans was blessed with an experienced crew.

Painted an unusual sky-blue, the vessel steamed around the port bend in the Ohio River above Cincinnati. The pile of firewood on the rear deck was less than four feet by four feet, barely enough to make the city docks, since New Orleans burned fuel at the rate of six cords a day. A single cord of wood measures four feet high by four feet wide by eight feet long. When the steamboat was fully stocked with a full day of fuel, she looked like a lumber barge on her way to the mill.

“Sweep up the scraps of bark,” Roosevelt said to one of the Cajun deckhands, “and straighten the rear deck.”

“Yes, sir,” the man drawled.

“We need the boat to look her best,” Roosevelt said as he walked forward, “for as of this instant she’s the most famous ship in the Western Territories.”

At that instant, the shriek of the steam whistle ripped through the air.

“Cincinnati dead ahead,” Jack shouted from the pilothouse door.

As soon as New Orleans was tied fast to the dock, a crowd of citizens went to the waterfront to view the oddity up close. Nicholas Roosevelt was in rare form, and the bizarre events of the journey so far seemed behind them. With a showman’s zeal, he led groups aboard the steamboat.

“Come one, come all,” he shouted, “see the future of travel firsthand.”

As the crowds filtered aboard, Engineer Baker explained the workings of the steam engine while Captain Jack demonstrated the steering from the pilothouse. Roosevelt even allowed the guests to tour the cabins and dining room. Other than the grumbling of a spoilsport, who claimed the vessel would never make it upstream against the current, the visit was proving successful.

It was dark and growing cold by the time the last guests left.

A chill wind blew from the east. The pregnant Lydia was tired and cold. She was resting in the dining room with a blanket around her legs. Her feet were propped up on a chair. Nicholas chased the last of the guests off New Orleans, then pulled the gangplank back aboard. Entering the dining room, he walked over to his wife.

“We couldn’t fire the cookstove because of all the people aboard,” Lydia said, “so we’re having cold roast beef sandwiches for dinner.”

Nicholas nodded wearily.

“The cook did have a chance to slip ashore and buy milk, however,” Lydia said, “so you can have a cold glass of milk with your sandwich.”

Nicholas pushed the clasp on his gold pocket watch, and the top popped open. Staring at the roman numerals inside, he could see it was nearly 7 P.M. “I need to go ashore for pipe tobacco. The store closes soon. Do you need anything?”

Lydia smiled. “If there’s a pickle barrel, a few dills would be good.”

“The baby, my dear?” Roosevelt asked.

“Yes,” Lydia agreed, “it seems he craves sour.”

“Be right back,” Roosevelt said.

“I’ll be waiting with your sandwich,” Lydia shouted after her retreating husband.