The Riverboat Captain Who Was Everyone’s Personal Errands Boy
Before the age of reliable logistics, the Snohomish riverboat captain was the community’s unofficial delivery service, tasked with everything from baby shoes to engine parts.
The story, cleaned up
A cleaned-up reading of the newspaper page: spelling and layout repaired, one story lifted off a crowded page. It follows the original closely but it is not a transcription. The original page is below; read it if a detail matters.
As the boat touched the bank a half dozen times before reaching the mouth of the river to take on or put off a package, letter or passenger, we were reminded of the good old days of stage coaching. The modern river boatman is as much a messenger and errand boy as ever was the knight of the road. If our river boat captains only knew the hundreds of errands, messages, etc., they are loaded with, they would not blame that the boat is generally behind time. After dinner, the Captain invited us to his room for a cigar. We happened to mention and expressed surprise that people should bother him with such trifling errands. He laughed at our innocence and handed us his memorandum book for the trip up and back. Upon reading it over, we came to the conclusion that such an array of odd errands occurred every trip. No wonder all hands get cross. To be compelled to answer the same question a dozen times in as many minutes, from as many different persons, is enough to make anyone cross at times; and then in addition, to be burdened with every petty want of fallen humanity, from a shoe string for the baby, up through the culinary, millinery, medical, house furnishing, mercantile, mechanical, agricultural and spiritual departments of business, purchasing everything from a postage stamp to a crank pin for a steam engine, is enough to excuse any steamboat captain from letting off a few damns occasionally. Here is a sample, taken from the book: One pair baby shoes to be changed—too large. One pair pants—too small in the legs. One pound laundry starch. One postage stamp. One wheelbarrow. Pay $1.00 for bill and bring receipt. Pay Riley for one keg of beer and not bring another. Bring a fresh salmon from Mukilteo. One hand saw. Hooks for a trolling spoon. Box of hair pins. Bottle of bitter, box of grapes, and three quarters of a beef. Take back one box, content unknown, marked 'keep dry, this side up.' Get one watch key. Leave roll of blankets at the American House. Lime, hair and plaster. Step up to Mr. Bell and enquire after the baby. Tell Smith to come next trip.
“To be compelled to answer the same question a dozen times... and then to be burdened with every petty want of fallen humanity... is enough to excuse any steamboat captain from letting off a few damns.”
While we now enjoy instant delivery through gig economy apps and drone shipments, this 1870s account reminds us that the 'last mile' of local commerce has always relied on the unpaid or under-compensated labor of our transit workers. Just as Captain Charley was expected to be a personal assistant to the entire Snohomish valley, modern delivery drivers often face the same societal expectation to solve every logistical inconvenience for the public.
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