t; and now, having lost
all, they go bravely to work, even taking the places of their old
servants in their grand old homes. It's hard for them, though, I assure
you."

On Tuesday, January 25th, I paddled down the Peedee, stopping at the
plantations of Dr. Weston and Colonel Benjamin Allston. The latter
gentleman was a son of one of the governors of South Carolina. He kindly
gave me a letter of introduction to Commodore Richard Lowndes, who lived
near the coast. From the Peedee I passed through a cut in the marshes
into the broad Waccamaw, and descended it to Winyah Bay.

Georgetown is located between the mouths of the Peedee and Sampit
rivers. Cautiously approaching the city, I landed at Mr. David Risley's
steam saw-mills, and that gentleman kindly secreted my boat in a back
counting-room, while I went up town to visit the post-office. By some,
to me, unaccountable means, the people had heard of the arrival of the
paper boat, and three elaborately dressed negro women accosted me with,
"Please show wees tree ladies de little paper boat."

Before I had reached my destination, the post-office, a body of men met
me, on their way to the steam-mill. The crowd forced me back to the
canoe, and asked so many questions that I was sorely taxed to find
answers for these gentlemen. There were three editors in the crowd: two
were white men, one a negro. The young men, who claimed the position of
representatives of the spirit of the place and of the times, published
"The Comet," while the negro, as though influenced by a spirit of
sarcasm, conducted "The Planet." The third newspaper represented at the
canoe reception was the "Georgetown Times," which courteously noticed
the little boat that had come so far. The "Planet" prudently kept in the
dark, and said nothing, but "The Comet," representing the culture of the
young men of the city, published the following notice of my arrival:

"Tom Collins has at last arrived in his wonderful paper boat. He
has it hitched to Mr. Risley's new saw-mill, where every one can
have a view. He intends shooting off his six-pounder before
weighing anchor in the morning. Hurrah for Collins."

I left Mr. Risley's comfortable home before noon the next day, and
followed the shores of Winyah Bay towards the sea. Near Battery White,
on the right shore, in the pine forests, was the birth-place of Marion,
the brave patriot of the American revolution, whose bugle's call
summoned the youth of