No wonder they were called "floating palaces," thought Abe.
Sometimes passengers standing by the rail waved to the boys.
Each day of their journey brought gentler breezes, warmer weather.
Cottonwood and magnolia trees grew on the low swampy banks of both
shores. The boys passed cotton fields, where gangs of Negro slaves were
at work. Some of them were singing as they bent to pick the snowy white
balls of cotton. A snatch of song came floating over the water:
"Oh, brother, don't get weary,
Oh, brother, don't get weary,
Oh, brother, don't get weary,
We're waiting for the Lord."
[Illustration]
Abe leaned on his oar to listen. A few minutes later he pointed to a big
house with tall white pillars in the middle of a beautiful garden.
"Nice little cabin those folks have," he said drily. "Don't recollect
seeing anything like that up in Pigeon Creek."
"Why, Abe, you haven't seen anything yet. Just wait till you get to New
Orleans."
This was Allen's second trip, and he was eager to show Abe the sights. A
few days later they were walking along the New Orleans waterfront.
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