But you see the little
accident might have happened. It has happened; and if to a mule, why not
to a more docile animal? On our journey up the Mississippi, I give you
my honor we were on fire three times, and burned our cook-room down.
The deck at night was a great firework--the chimney spouted myriads of
stars, which fell blackening on our garments, sparkling on to the deck,
or gleaming into the mighty stream through which we labored--the mighty
yellow stream with all its snags.
How I kept up my courage through these dangers shall now be narrated.
The excellent landlord of the "Saint Charles Hotel," when I was going
away, begged me to accept two bottles of the very finest Cognac, with
his compliments; and I found them in my state-room with my luggage.
Lochlomond came to see me off, and as he squeezed my hand at parting,
"Roundabout," says he, "the wine mayn't be very good on board, so I
have brought a dozen-case of the Medoc which you liked;" and we grasped
together the hands of friendship and farewell. Whose boat is this
pulling up to the ship? It is our friend Glenlivat, who gave us the
dinner on Lake Pontchartrain. "Roundabout," says he, "we have tried to
do what we could for you, my boy; and it has been done de bon coeur" (I
detect a kind tremulousness in the good fellow's voice as he speaks).
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