As soon as we had transferred the family of Colonel Shepard to the Islander, we unlashed the two vessels, and each stemmed the swift current of the Mississippi on its own account.  I stopped the screw to allow the other steamer to go clear of the Sylvania, and she went ahead several lengths before we could recover our headway.  I saw Captain Blastblow waving his adieus to me, as though he intended to run away from us, notwithstanding his former experience.

“Let her out, Moses,” I called to the engineer through the speaking-tube.

The chief engineer understood me perfectly, and I immediately heard the sound of the coal-shovel in the fire-room.  I saw from the smoke issuing from the smoke-stack of the Islander, that her captain intended to hurry her.  I had beaten her several times to my own satisfaction; and I was certain that he could not sail her any faster than those who had handled her on the Great Lakes.  I did not like the idea of having the Sylvania beaten, though I was not much inclined to race for any reason.

It was Washburn’s watch, and I gave him the wheel.  I had run the steamer over on the left bank of the river, and the mate kept her at a safe distance from the shore.  It was soon evident to me that we were gaining on the Islander.  We were overhauling her as we had done many times before Captain Blastblow had proved that he was a good seaman, as well as an upright and straightforward man.  He had intimated that he could sail the Islander faster than I could the Sylvania; and I only desired to show him that he was mistaken.

While the race was in progress, I went down into the cabin to arrange about changing the passengers into other quarters.  Four of the late occupants of the cabin, besides Chloe, had gone on board of Colonel Shepard’s yacht, and four were left in the Sylvania.  There was a state-room for each of them, and I proposed that they should arrange the matter among themselves.  But my father insisted that I should do it myself.  I put my father and Mr. Tiffany into the two large apartments, and Miss Margie and Owen into the two small ones.  Cobbington and the new waiter each had a berth, and there were still two spare ones.  Everybody was entirely satisfied, though I could see that Owen was very sorry that Miss Edith had moved into the Islander.

When I went on deck the Sylvania was abreast of the Islander.  Both steamers were tugging hard against the current, and each was carrying all the steam it was safe to put on.  Slowly we walked by the Islander, and I could not help going aft to see how Captain Blastblow liked the looks of the stern of the Sylvania.  When he saw me, he laughed pleasantly, and I was convinced there was no bad feeling in his heart.  I had no feeling of personal triumph, for I was satisfied he would have beaten me if we had exchanged vessels.  The superiority was in the steamer, and not in the management.

The river presented the same unvarying features, and in the whole of Plaquemine Parish, which contains the river almost up to New Orleans and the Delta, there is no land more than ten feet above the level of the gulf.  The water was loaded with a sort of yellow mud, and it was easy enough to see how the levees had been formed and the Delta projected far out into the gulf.

When the water, for any reason, lost its five-mile current, the soil it contained was deposited on the bottom.  As the mighty stream brings its load of mud down to the gulf, it is left there, and the same force works it to each side.  In this way, though the effect of a century of accumulations are hardly perceptible, the Delta has been extended fifteen or twenty miles out into the gulf.

In this mud, which forms the bars at the mouth of the river, vessels drawing from sixteen to twenty feet ground; but their keels are driven through it by strong tugs, or even by the winds acting on the sails.  The State of Louisiana has to look out for its levees almost as carefully as Holland does for its dikes.  Millions have been spent on them, and every year requires additional expenditures to keep them in repair.  Even New Orleans is four feet below high-water mark, as well as much of the surrounding country.  The levees, created by the deposit of sediment from the river, and by human labor, are broken through when the freshets send the water down faster than the flow of the river will carry it off.

As I have said before, it was now a season of unusually high water.  The country beyond the levees was covered.  Sugar, cotton, and rice plantations were inundated.  Occasionally we could see a group of houses on a knoll, like an island, but a few inches above the level of the water.  In other places we saw dwellings floating, and others still in their places, but partly submerged.  It all looked to me like a region in which I should not care to live.

“We are leaving the Islander a good way behind us,” said Washburn, when I returned to the pilot-house, after my survey of the surrounding country.

“She is only about half a mile astern of us,” I replied.  “I suppose we shall gain about half a mile an hour on her in this current, when we drive the Sylvania.”

“It is five o’clock in the afternoon,” added the mate, glancing at the clock.  “I estimate that we are all of fifty miles from New Orleans.  Do you intend to run after dark, Alick?”

“Why not?” I asked, somewhat surprised at the question.

“I don’t think it is quite prudent to do so.  The river is very high, and I would rather see where we are going than go on in the dark,” answered Washburn.

“The river is over a mile wide, and too deep for snags and sawyers.”

“It is cloudy now, and it will be very dark.  We don’t run by courses here, and we may get into trouble in some way, though I confess I can’t see how.”

“We shall get to New Orleans by midnight,” I added.

“What good will it do to get there by midnight?  As we approach the city there will be something to be seen, but our passengers can’t see it in the night.  If I understand the matter, we are in no hurry, and it makes no difference whether we get in to-night or to-morrow noon.”

“I think you are right, Washburn; at any rate it is best to be on the safe side.  We will keep on as far as we can while we have the light, and then we will look out for a good place to tie up for the night,” I answered.

I had hardly come to a decision before we saw a large body floating down the river.  We could not make out what it was at first.  A bend of the river swept it over to the side on which we were sailing, and Washburn headed out for the middle to avoid it.  We soon ascertained that it was an old flatboat, such as come down the great river with a cargo of coal, lumber, grain, or other merchandise, and is then broken up, because it will not pay its cost to take it back to the point from which it started.

The flatboat came down the stream broadside to, though we saw it make two or three whirls as it advanced.  It had evidently broken loose from its moorings at or near the city, and was on its way to the gulf on its own account.  After passing the bend, the current began to carry it out into the middle of the river, and we were obliged to sheer off again to avoid a collision with it.  I breathed easier when I saw it astern of the Sylvania.

“I should not like to make that thing out, close aboard of us in the dark,” said Washburn.

“Would you like to have it drift against you while moored to the shore?” I asked.

“I should not; but that would be better than hitting it with full steam on.  But we must haul up in the right place.  We needn’t choose a place where the current sets against the shore, as it does at a bend.  I should haul her up on the other side of the river, and then anything floating on its own hook will be carried away from us,” replied Washburn.

“The logic is correct, and we will seek such a place as you describe.”

The sight of the flatboat assured me that it was not safe to run in the night, at least during high water, when the current was bearing off houses, vessels, and other cumbrous things.  Running over a floating log might disable our propeller, and we should be helpless then.  There were but few great bends in this part of the river, much as the mighty stream twists about above New Orleans.  I kept a lookout for a suitable place to moor the steamer to the shore.

The supper-bell had just rung when I saw such a place as I had been looking for.  On the right bank was a point of land where a considerable bend sent the whole force of the powerful current over to the other side of the river.  I rang the bell to reduce the speed, as I pointed out the spot to the mate.  He ran the nose of the boat up to the bank, and Buck jumped ashore with a line, with which a hawser was drawn to the land.  It was made fast to a pine-tree, and no other line seemed to be needed.

I could see the Islander about two miles down the river.  We all went down to supper except a hand to notify us of danger from any source.  I was not at my meal more than fifteen minutes, for I had dined late.  When I came on deck, the Islander was almost abreast of the Sylvania.  Colonel Shepard was in the pilot-house with the captain, and they seemed to be in earnest conversation.

Probably Captain Blastblow had not thought of hauling up for the night any more than I had when Washburn spoke to me about the matter.  I had no doubt they were discussing the same subject which the mate and I had disposed of.

“What are you doing here, Captain Alick?” shouted Captain Blastblow, as he rang his speed-bell.

“Waiting for the Islander to come up with us,” I replied, laughing, for I could not be less good-natured than the captain of the Islander.

“Did you have to tie up to the bank to wait?” asked Captain Blastblow; and by this time the steamer was working just steam enough to balance her in the current, so that she was nearly stationary.

“We are going to lie here to-night,” I replied.

“What for?”

“Did you meet a flatboat floating down the river about an hour ago?” I asked, thinking that would furnish sufficient explanation of my action.

“I did; I ran into it, and smashed in one of its sides so that it filled with water,” answered Captain Blastblow.

“Then the next man that meets it in the dark cannot see it as well as you did,” I continued.  “I don’t think it is safe to run in the night when the river is full of floating logs, flatboats, and other things.”

The captain and the owner of the Islander discussed the subject, though I could not hear what they said.  In a few minutes the captain rang the gong, and the steamer went ahead at full speed.  I hoped no accident would happen to the Islander, and the chances were in favor of her reaching New Orleans in safety.  But there was not much fun in paddling through the muddy river in the dark, let alone the prudence of doing so.  My father and Owen came into the pilot-house after supper, and both of them approved what I had done.

The Sylvania lay alongside the bank of the stream, held by the hawser, with her stern a little way out from the shore.  At seven o’clock it was very dark, and I directed the watch I had set for the first part of the night to rig lanterns at the fore-stay and the topping lift of the main-boom.  I had a quantity of Bengola lights put in the pilot-house, that we might light up the scene around us, if it should be desirable to do so.

About nine o’clock I heard the noise of escaping steam, not more than half a mile distant.  Then shouts came from the same direction.  I lighted one of the fireworks, and in the glare I saw the Islander with a house hanging to her bow.