From Davis's Cut-off I followed Big Black Island Bend and Hard Times Bend, past the now silent batteries of Grand Gulf, down to the town of Rodney. I went ashore near the old plantation of an ex-president (General Taylor) of the United States, being attracted by a lot of dry drift-wood which promised a blazing fire. While cooking my rice and slowly developing an omelet, I calculated upon the chances of finding the lost flatboat. It was now evident that she was behind, not in advance of me. It was about four o'clock, and I determined to await her arrival. At half-past six o'clock clouds had obscured the sky, and it was impossible to see across the water, but I continued to watch and listen for the flat. The current was strongest on my side of the river, and I felt certain the boat would follow it and pass close to my camp. Her lantern and blazing stove-pipe would reveal her presence. Suddenly a man coughed within a few rods of the shore, and out of the gloom appeared the dark outlines of the fisherman's craft, but like a phantom ship, it instantly disappeared. It was but the work of a moment to embark and follow the vanishing flat. I soon overhauled it, and received a warm welcome from its occupants, who had supposed that after the steamer had driven me from them I had sought refuge in a creek to make up my lost hours of sleep. We floated side by side all night, disturbed but once, and then by the powerful steamer Robert Lee, which unceremoniously threw about a pail of water over me, gratuitously washing my blankets. The next day, January 13, we passed Natchez, Mississippi, about four o'clock A. M. This city, founded by D'Iberville in 1700, is geographically divided into two parts. "Natchez on the Hill" is situated on a bluff two hundred feet above the river, while "Natchez under the Hill " is at the base of the cliff, and from its levee vessels sail for foreign as well as for American ports. Its inland and foreign trade is extensive, though it has a population of only ten or twelve thousand. The aspect of the country was changing as we approached New Orleans. Fine plantations, protected by levees, now lined the river-banks, while the forests of dense green, heavily draped with Spanish moss, threw dark shadows on the watery path. We arrived at the mouth of the Red River about dark, and my companions were fortunate enough to find a steamer at the landing, the captain of which promised to take them in tow to their distant goal. We parted like old friends; and as I rowed in darkness down the Mississippi I heard the shrill whistle of the steamer which was dragging my companions up the current of Red River into the high lands of Louisiana.