In the middle of the stream we swung round, the current caught us, and
away we flew like a great winged bird. Only it didn't seem as if we were
moving. The shore, with the countless steamboats, the tangled rigging of
the ships, and the long lines of warehouses, appeared to be gliding away
from us.

It was grand sport to stand on the quarter-deck and watch all this.
Before long there was nothing to be seen on other side but stretches of
low swampy land, covered with stunted cypress trees, from which drooped
delicate streamers of Spanish moss--a fine place for alligators and Congo
snakes. Here and there we passed a yellow sand-bar, and here and there a
snag lifted its nose out of the water like a shark.

"This is your last chance to see the city, To see the city, Tom," said
my father, as we swept round a bend of the river.

I turned and looked. New Orleans was just a colorless mass of something
in the distance, and the dome of the St. Charles Hotel, upon which
the sun shimmered for a moment, was no bigger than the top of old Aunt
Chloe's thimble.

What do I remember next? The gray sky and the fretful blue waters of the
Gulf. The steam-tug had long since let slip her hawsers and gone panting
away with a derisive scream, as much as to say, "I've done my duty, now
look out for yourself, old Typhoon!"

The ship seemed quite proud of being left to take care of itself, and,
with its huge white sails bulged out, strutted off like a vain turkey.
I had been standing by my father near the wheel-house all this while,
observing things with that nicety of perception which belongs only