In Which I Walk and Talk With Helena

It was nine of as fine a winter morning as the South ever saw when at
last, having passed without pause all intervening ports, we found
ourselves at the city of New Orleans. Rather, in the vicinity of that
city; for when we reached the railway ferry above the town, I ran
alongshore and we made fast the Belle Helène at a somewhat
precarious landing place. I now called Peterson to me.

"It's a fine morning, Peterson," said I.

"Yes, sir, but I think 'tis going to rain." (Peterson was always
gloomy.) "You must go down-town, Peterson," said I. "The through train from the
West is late and just now is coming into the ferry. You can take it
easily. We have got to have still more gasoline, for there is a long
trip ahead of us, and I am not sure what may be the chance for
supplies below the city."

"Are you going into the Gulf, Mr. Harry?"

"Yes, Peterson. You will continue to navigate the boat; and, meantime,
you may be quartermaster also. I shall be obliged to remain here until
you return."

The old man touched his cap. "Very good, sir, but I'm almost sure not
to return."

"Listen, Peterson," I went on, well used to his customary depression
of soul, "go to the ship's furnisher, Lavallier and Thibodeau, toward
the Old Market. Tell them to have all our supplies at slip K, below
the railway warehouses, not later than nine this evening. We want four
drums of gasoline. Also, get two thousand rounds of ammunition for the
twelve gages, ducking loads, for we may want to do some shooting. We
also want two or three cases of grapefruit and oranges, and any good
fresh vegetables in market. All these things must be ready on the
levee at nine, without fail. Here is my letter of credit, and a bank
draft, signed against it--I think you will find they know me still."