As you cut along by the
power of steam, the flat boat seems anything but a place of toil or
care. One of the hands scrapes a violin, while the others dance.
Affectionate greetings, or rude defiances, or trials of wit, or
proffers of love to the girls on shore, or saucy messages pass between
them and the spectators along the bank, or on the steam-boat. Yet,
knowing the dangers to which they were really exposed, the sight of
them often brought to my remembrance an appropriate verse of Dr.
Watts:--
"Your streams were floating me along
Down to the gulf of black despair;
And, whilst I listened to your song,
Your streams had e'en conveyed me there."
These boats, however, do not venture to travel by night; consequently,
at any good landing-place on the Mississippi, you may see towards
evening a large number of them assembled. They have come from regions
thousands of miles apart. They have never met before,--they will
probably never meet again. The fleet of flats covers, perhaps, a
surface of several acres. "Fowls are fluttering over the roofs as
invariable appendages. The piercing note of the chanticleer is heard.
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