I had heard the story before.  It had been told me by the river boatmen, and the newspapers of the country had also repeated it.  The common version of it was, that a poor man, desirous of supporting his large family of children, had undertaken to row on a bet from Philadelphia to New Orleans.  If successful, he was to receive five thousand dollars.  The kind-hearted people along the river had shown much sympathy for Mr. John C. Cloud in his praiseworthy attempts to support his suffering family, and at any time during his voyage quite a liberal sum of money might have been collected from these generous men and women to aid him in his endeavor.  There was, however, something he preferred to money, and with which he was lavishly supplied, as we shall see hereafter.

So much for rumor.  Now let us examine facts.  A short time before Mr. Cloud’s death, two reporters of a western paper attempted to row to New Orleans in a small boat, but met with an untimely end, being run down by a steamboat.  Their fate and Mr. Cloud’s were quoted as precedents to all canoeists and boatmen, and quite a feeling against this healthful exercise was growing among the people.  Several editors of popular newspapers added to the excitement by warnings and forebodings.  Believing that some imprudence had been the cause of Mr. Cloud’s death, and forming my opinion of him from the fact of his undertaking such a voyage in August,—­the season when the swamps are full of malaria,—­I took the trouble to investigate the case, and made some discoveries which would have startled the sympathetic friends of this unfortunate man.

One of the first things that came to light was the fact that Mr. Cloud was not a married man.  His family was a creation of his imagination, and a most successful means of securing the sympathy and ready aid of those he met during his voyage, though his daily progress shows that neither sympathy nor money were what he craved, but that whiskey alone would “fill the bill!”

Mr. Cloud had once been a sailor in the United States navy, but having retired from the cruel sea, he became an actor in such plays as “Black-eyed Susan” in one of the variety theatres in Philadelphia.  Mr. Charles D. Jones, of that city, who was connected with theatrical enterprises, and knew Mr. Cloud well, was one day surprised by the latter gentleman, who declared he had a “bright idea,” and only wanted a friend to stand by him to make it a sure thing.  He proposed to row from Philadelphia to New Orleans in a small boat.  Mr. Jones was to act as his travelling agent, going on in advance, and informing the people of the coming of the great oarsman.  When Mr. Cloud should arrive in any populous river-town, a theatrical performance was to be given, the boatman of course to be the “star.”  Mr. Jones was to furnish the capital for all this, while Mr. Cloud was to share with his manager the profits of the exhibitions.