Nothing daunted, I walked to the levee, where lay the steamer Platte
Valley, almost ready to leave, and besought Hattie, who was ever my
counselor, to pay our passage, and, in spite of repulse, enjoy the river
scenery. In her judgment it seemed better not to do so, but to use our
railroad passes, as usual. I cheerfully accepted her decision. The Platte
Valley started on her trip with brilliant prospects for a safe and
successful passage, but seven miles below Memphis she sank in the deep
waters of the Mississippi. Many of her passengers, especially the female
portion, were taking supper in the lower cabin, and, having no means of
escape, perished. Hence I had reason to be thankful to Hattie's decision,
to the agent's rude rebuff, and to that over ruling power which ofttimes,
in our blindness, we fail to discern.

At Chattanooga I, of course, visited the National Cemetery, where lie the
ashes of so many fallen heroes. Ascended Lookout Mountain to the scene of
the "Battle in the Clouds," and I could almost evoke the presence of
General Joe Hooker, with his once grand proportions and noble mien, so
deservedly famed as The Hero of Lookout Mountain. I afterward ascended
another hill, which, although a pigmy in comparison with the Leviathan
Lookout, would, in the monotony of our prairie country, be ranked as a
mountain. It was upon its top were constructed the government water works,
and upon which my brother William was employed for two years, occupying as
a residence during that time a little cabin on the height, which was
plainly perceptible from the window of my hotel quarters, but which I
desired to visit in person, a source of real pleasure, perhaps enhanced by
the obstacles I had to surmount in the ascent.

At Vicksburg, Miss., I was followed by the same tidal wave of success, in
spite of the sad stringency of the times and the cruel effects of war.