on board a man to cook and steer and clean—a silent man who answered questions, but never once looked at us; also a youth of nineteen, a carpenter from Tom's town down the river, who had run away from home, and was now returning through his townsman's kindness; and, lastly, a little tough, red-headed fellow of fifteen, the mule-driver,—another Tom,—who had a phenomenal voice deep down in his chest, from roaring at the mules, and who swore more profoundly and unconsciously than any one I had known up to that time. In this respect, however, little Tom, we found, was distanced by competitors on the tow path.
Once on board no one spoke to us or noticed us. Their indifference was Indian-like. About an hour after boarding the boat Captain Tom came up from the cabin kitchen-bedroom of the ship's company, and, without looking at us, said:
"If you fellows want some bean soup there's plenty of it down there, and you're very welcome."
"Much obliged, captain," said Smith; "and perhaps you would'nt mind taking a little of this—for the malaria. And a cigar."
The captain came down without waiting to be shot.
We had plenty of provisions with us, and we
