Tad had some inkling of what this trip meant to him--getting out of the little backwoods world where he had been raised, and seeing the great valley and the cities of the South. He thought a lot of Abe. He liked the big, homely, raw-boned youngster better than any friend he had ever had. He hoped his father would like him, too. Perhaps he could give him a good job in the New Orleans office. Perhaps ... but sleep overtook Tad in the middle of his perhapsing, and he was kidnapped over the border into dreamland. CHAPTER XIX Tad was roused, as he had been on that eventful morning in the Ohio, nearly four weeks earlier, by Allen’s voice raised in song: “Hard upon the beach oar-- She moves too slow! All the way to New Orleans, Lo-o-ong time ago-o!” It was barely daylight; yet the breakfast fire was snapping merrily, and Abe was busy preparing for a start. As the boy washed himself, he saw signs of similar activity on board the other broadhorns, and by the time they were finishing the morning meal, one or two of the craft had already taken their departure. Abe sent a loud challenge after them as he cast loose the mooring-line, and in another thirty seconds he was boiling along in their wake. It was a brisk morning, with a little breeze from down river ruffling the water. Everybody’s spirits were high, and for the next half hour all the rowers put the best they had into the race. By the end of that time Abe’s brawny strokes had carried the _Katy Roby_ so far into the lead that there was no longer any hope of catching her, and the other boats settled down to their normal gait. Not so Abe. He kept a wrinkle of foam under the flatboat’s square bow for two hours without a let-up. When at last he snatched a moment’s rest, he explained his haste to Tad. “You’ve eaten your last meal o’ hog meat an’ johnny-cake fer a spell, son,” said he. “I aim to git you down thar in time fer you to have a civilized dinner with your Paw.” In spite of the boy’s remonstrances, his big friend kept up the pace. And sure enough, by a little after ten o’clock they came in sight of the upper outposts of the city. Along the left bank the vegetable gardens gave way to scattered hovels, and they in turn to houses--streets of them--closely built, all sheltered behind the broad rampart of the levee. Then came the steamboat landings, and all three of the _Katy Roby’s_ crew stared in open-mouthed wonder at the ranks of tall stacks and the glistening white and brasswork of more than thirty steamers moored there, noses in to the bank. Even along the water fronts of New York and Philadelphia, Tad had never seen such swarming activity as he witnessed here. Hundreds of blacks toiled in the sun, rolling molasses barrels and cotton bales. Directing them were sharp-faced Yankee merchants and brawny steamboat mates, with an occasional soft-spoken Creole or gesticulating Spaniard.