and pay a farewell
visit, and when we returned Max had packed and nailed the cases of books
to be left. Chance thus limited my choice to those that happened to be
in my room--"Paradise Lost," the "Arabian Nights," a volume of
Macaulay's History I was reading, and my prayer-book. To-day the
provisions for the trip were cooked: the last of the flour was made into
large loaves of bread; a ham and several dozen eggs were boiled; the few
chickens that have survived the overflow were fried; the last of the
coffee was parched and ground; and the modicum of the tea was well
corked up. Our friends across the lake added a jar of butter and two of
preserves. H. rode off to X. after dinner to conclude some business
there, and I sat down before a table to tie bundles of things to be
left. The sunset glowed and faded, and the quiet evening came on calm
and starry. I sat by the window till evening deepened into night, and as
the moon rose I still looked a reluctant farewell to the lovely lake and
the grand woods, till the sound of H.'s horse at the gate broke the
spell.

IX

HOMELESS AND SHELTERLESS

_Thursday, July 10._ (---- _Plantation._)--Yesterday about four o'clock
we walked to the lake and embarked. Provisions and utensils were packed
in the lockers, and a large trunk was stowed at each end. The blankets
and cushions were placed against one of them, and Annie and I sat on
them Turkish fashion. Near the center the two smaller trunks made a
place for Reeney. Max and H. were to take turns at the rudder and oars.
The last word was a fervent God-speed from Mr. E., who is left in charge
of all our affairs. We believe him to be a Union man, but have never
spoken of it to him. We were gloomy enough crossing the lake, for it was
evident the heavily laden boat would be difficult to manage. Last night
we stayed at this plantation, and from the window of my room I see the
men unloading the boat to place it on the cart, which a team of oxen
will haul to the river. These hospitable people are kindness itself,
till you mention the war.

_Saturday, July 12._ (_Under a cotton-shed on the bank of the
Mississippi River._)--Thursday was a lovely day, and the sight of the
broad river exhilarating. The negroes launched and reloaded the boat,
and when we had paid them and spoken good-by to them we felt we were
really off. Every one had said that if we kept in the current the boat
would almost go of itself, but in fact the current seemed