During the day I was visited by a young northerner who had been for some time in New Orleans, but was very anxious to return to his home in Massachusetts.  He had no money, but thought if I would allow him to accompany me as far as Florida he could ship as sailor from some port on a vessel bound for New York or Boston.  Feeling sorry for the man who was homeless in a strange city, and finding he possessed some experience in salt-water navigation, I acceded to his request.  Having purchased of the harbor-master, Captain M. H. Riddle, a light boat, which was sharp at both ends, and possessed the degree of sheer necessary for seaworthiness, the next thing in order was to make some important alterations in her, such as changing the thwarts, putting on half-decks, &c.  As this labor would detain me in the unpleasant neighborhood, I determined to secrete my own boat from the public gaze.  To accomplish this, while favored by the darkness of night, I ran it into a side canal, where the watchman of the New Lake End Protection Levee lived in a floating house.  The duck-boat was drawn out of the water on to a low bank of the levee, and was then covered with reeds.  So perfectly was my little craft secreted, that when a party of roughs came out to interview the “government spy,” they actually stood beside the boat while inquiring of the watchman for its locality without discovering it.

I now slept in peace at night; but during the day, while working upon the new boat in another locality, was much annoyed by curious persons, who hovered around, hoping to discover the meaning of my movements.  On Saturday evening, January 22, I completed the joining and provisioning of the new skiff, which was called, in honor of the harbor-master, the “Riddle.”  The small local population about the mouth of the canal was in a great state of excitement.  The fitting out of the “Riddle” by the supposed “government spy” furnished much food for reflection, and new rumors were set afloat.  I passed the first day of the week as quietly as possible amid the gala scenes of that section which knows no Sunday.  All day long carriages rolled out from New Orleans, bringing rollicking men and women to the lake, where, free from all restraint, the daily robe of hypocrisy was thrown aside, and poor humanity appeared at its worst.  Little squads of roughs came also at intervals, but their attempts to find me or my boat proved fruitless.

The next day my shipmate, whom, for convenience, I will call Saddles, was not prepared to leave, as previously agreed upon, so I turned over to him the “Riddle,” her outfit, provisions, &c., and instructed him to follow the west shore of Lake Pontchartrain until he found me, preferring to trust myself to the tender mercies of the Chinese fishermen—­whom the reader will remember had been “Civilized”—­rather than to linger longer in the neighborhood of the New Orleans firemen and police corps.  Saddles had hunted and fished upon the lake, and therefore felt confident he could easily find me the next day at Irish Bayou, two miles beyond the low “Point aux Herbes” Light-house.