In Which Is Further Parley With The Captive Maiden

Cal Davidson's taste in neckwear was a trifle vivid as compared with
my own, yet I rather liked his shirts, and I found a morning waistcoat
of his which I could classify as possible; beside which I obtained
from John the cook a suit of flannels I had given him four years ago,
and which he was saving against the day of his funeral and shipment
back to China. So that, on the whole, I did rather well, and I was not
ill content with life as I sat, with the Pirate's Own Book in my
lap, and Partial's head on my knee, looking out over the passing
panorama of the river. The banks now were low, the swamps, at times,
showing their fan-topped cypresses close to where we passed; and all
the live oaks carried their funereal Spanish moss, gray and ghostlike.

We sometimes passed river craft, going up or down, nondescript, dingy
and slow, for the most part. Sometimes we were hailed gaily by
monkey-like deck-hands, sometimes saluted by the pilot of a larger
boat. At times we swept by busy plantation landings where the levees
screened the white-pillared mansion houses so that we could only see
the upper galleries. And now at these landings, we began to see the
freight, made up as much of barrels as of bales. We were passing from
cotton to cane. But though it still was early in the fall, the weather
was not oppressive, and the breeze on the deck was cool. I had very
much enjoyed my breakfast, and so had my shipmates L'Olonnois and
Lafitte, to whom each moment now was a taste of paradise revealed. I
envied them, for theirs, now, was that rare, fleeting and most
delectable of all human states, the full realization of every
cherished earthly dream. It made me quite happy that they were thus
happy; and as to the right or wrong of it, I put that all aside for
later explanation to them.