s I had given him four years ago,
and which he was saving against the day of his funeral and shipment
back to China. So that, on the whole, I did rather well, and I was not
ill content with life as I sat, with the _Pirate's Own Book_ in my
lap, and Partial's head on my knee, looking out over the passing
panorama of the river. The banks now were low, the swamps, at times,
showing their fan-topped cypresses close to where we passed; and all
the live oaks carried their funereal Spanish moss, gray and ghostlike.

We sometimes passed river craft, going up or down, nondescript, dingy
and slow, for the most part. Sometimes we were hailed gaily by
monkey-like deck-hands, sometimes saluted by the pilot of a larger
boat. At times we swept by busy plantation landings where the levees
screened the white-pillared mansion houses so that we could only see
the upper galleries. And now at these landings, we began to see the
freight, made up as much of barrels as of bales. We were passing from
cotton to cane. But though it still was early in the fall, the weather
was not oppressive, and the breeze on the deck was cool. I had very
much enjoyed my breakfast, and so had my shipmates L'Olonnois and
Lafitte, to whom each moment now was a taste of paradise revealed. I
envied them, for theirs, now, was that rare, fleeting and most
delectable of all human states, the full realization of every
cherished earthly dream. It made me quite happy that they were thus
happy; and as to the right or wrong of it, I put that all aside for
later explanation to them.

I looked up to see Peterson, who touched his cap.

"Yes, Peterson?"

"We're on our last drum of gasoline, Mr. Harry," said he. "Where'll we
put in--Baton Rouge?"

"No, we can't do that, Peterson," I answered. "Can't we make it to New
Orleans?"

"Hardly. But they carry gas at most of these landings now--so many
power boats and autos nowadays, you see."

"Very well. We'll pass Bayou Sara and Baton Rouge, and then you can
run in at any landing you like, say twenty miles or so below. Can you
make it that far?"

"Oh, yes, but you see, at Baton Rouge----"

"You may lay to long enough to mail these letters," said I, frowning;
"but the custom of getting the baseball scores is now suspended. And
send John here."

The old man touched his cap again, a trifle puzzled. I wondered if he
recognized Davidson's waistcoat--he asked no more questions.

"John," said I to my Chinaman, "carry this to th