During a couple of days, we frequently answered these hails.  Sometimes there was a group of high-water-stained, tumble-down cabins, populous with colored folk, and no whites visible; with grassless patches of dry ground here and there; a few felled trees, with skeleton cattle, mules, and horses, eating the leaves and gnawing the bark—­no other food for them in the flood-wasted land.  Sometimes there was a single lonely landing-cabin; near it the colored family that had hailed us; little and big, old and young, roosting on the scant pile of household goods; these consisting of a rusty gun, some bed-ticks, chests, tinware, stools, a crippled looking-glass, a venerable arm-chair, and six or eight base-born and spiritless yellow curs, attached to the family by strings.  They must have their dogs; can’t go without their dogs.  Yet the dogs are never willing; they always object; so, one after another, in ridiculous procession, they are dragged aboard; all four feet braced and sliding along the stage, head likely to be pulled off; but the tugger marching determinedly forward, bending to his work, with the rope over his shoulder for better purchase.  Sometimes a child is forgotten and left on the bank; but never a dog.

The usual river-gossip going on in the pilot-house.  Island No. 63—­an island with a lovely ‘chute,’ or passage, behind it in the former times.  They said Jesse Jamieson, in the ‘Skylark,’ had a visiting pilot with him one trip—­a poor old broken-down, superannuated fellow—­left him at the wheel, at the foot of 63, to run off the watch.  The ancient mariner went up through the chute, and down the river outside; and up the chute and down the river again; and yet again and again; and handed the boat over to the relieving pilot, at the end of three hours of honest endeavor, at the same old foot of the island where he had originally taken the wheel!  A darkey on shore who had observed the boat go by, about thirteen times, said, ’clar to gracious, I wouldn’t be s’prised if dey’s a whole line o’ dem Sk’ylarks!’

Anecdote illustrative of influence of reputation in the changing of opinion.  The ‘Eclipse’ was renowned for her swiftness.  One day she passed along; an old darkey on shore, absorbed in his own matters, did not notice what steamer it was.  Presently someone asked—­

‘Any boat gone up?’

‘Yes, sah.’

‘Was she going fast?’

‘Oh, so-so—­loafin’ along.’

‘Now, do you know what boat that was?’

‘No, sah.’

‘Why, uncle, that was the “Eclipse."’

‘No!  Is dat so?  Well, I bet it was—­cause she jes’ went by here a-SPARKLIN’!’