Destitute of means, these children of circumstance resolve never to say die.  Their ship has gone down, but their pride is left, and they will not go home till they have “done” the river; and so, repairing to the first landing, they ship in pairs upon freighters descending the stream.  Some months later they return to their homes with seedy habiliments but an enlarged experience, sadder but wiser men.

And so the great flood of river life goes on, and out of this annual custom of shanty-boat migration a peculiar phase of American character is developed, a curious set of educated and illiterate nomads, as restless and unprofitable a class of inhabitants as can be found in all the great West.

After leaving my camp near Blennerhasset’s Island, on December 9, the features of the landscape changed.  The hills lost their altitude, and seemed farther back from the water, while the river itself appeared to widen.  Snow squalls filled the air, and the thought of a comfortable camping-ground for the night was a welcome one.  About dusk I retired into the first creek above Letart’s Landing, on the left bank of the Ohio, where I spent the night.  The next forenoon I entered a region of salt wells, with a number of flourishing little towns scattered here and there upon the borders of the stream.  One of these, called Hartford City, had a well eleven hundred and seventy feet in depth.  From another well in the vicinity both oil and salt-water were raised by means of a steam-pump.  These oil-wells were half a mile back of the river.  Coal-mines were frequently passed in this neighborhood on both sides of the Ohio.

After dark I was fortunate enough to find a camping-place in a low swamp on the right bank of the stream, in the vicinity of which was a gloomy-looking, deserted house.  I climbed the slippery bank with my cooking kit upon my back, and finding some refuse wood in what had once been a kitchen, made a fire, and enjoyed the first meal I had been able to cook in camp since the voyage was commenced.

Cold winds whistled round me all night, but the snug nest in my boat was warm and cheerful, for I lighted my candle, and by its dear flame made up my daily “log.”  There were, of course, some inconveniences in regard to lighting so low-studded a chamber.  It was important to have a candle of not more than two inches in length, so that the flame should not go too near the roof of my domicile.  Then the space being small, my literary labors were of necessity performed in a reclining position; while lying upon my side, my shoulder almost touched the carlines of the hatch above.

Saturday was as raw and blustering as the previous day, so hastily breakfasting upon the remains of my supper,—­cold chocolate, cold corned beef, and cold crackers,—­I determined to get into a milder region as soon as possible.