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Updated: May 4, 2025
He was not, of course, able to discover the boundary line which separated his little tract from the rich government reserve, so he kept a large force of men cutting down Uncle Sam's immense pines, and, hauling them to the Suwanee, floated them to his mill. This thing went on for some time, till the government agent made his appearance and demanded a settlement.
Our best voice sang: "Way down up-on de Suwanee Rib-ber, Far, far away, Dere's whar my heart is turn-ing eb-ber, Dere's whar de old folks stay. All up and down de whole creation Sadly I roam, Still longing for de old plantation, And for de old folks at home. "All round de little farm I wander'd When I was young; Den many happy days I squan-der'd Many de songs I sung.
Now we glided gently but swiftly over the deep current. The few inhabitants we met along the banks of the Suwanee seemed to carry with them an air of repose while awake. To rouse them from mid-day slumbers we would call loudly as we passed a cabin in the woods, and after considerable delay a man would appear at the door, rubbing his eyes as though the genial sunlight was oppressive to his vision.
They had already "given 'em" three or four selections, each of which had been vociferously encored by Peterday, or Bellew, and had just finished an impassioned rendering of the "Suwanee River," when the Sergeant appeared with his boots beneath his arm. "Shipmate!" cried Peterday, flourishing his whistle, "did ye ever hear a tin whistle better played, or mellerer in tone?"
Anon there is a touch just a dash, rather of "Home, Sweet Home," and then a bewilderment of sounds, wonderfully reminding one of "Dixie" and of "Way down upon the Suwanee River," and then suddenly it loses all connection with memory, and rolls, and swells, and thunders, and goes off again into an exquisite tinkle of melody that makes an old farmer for there was here and there an old farmer even in that modern church murmur as he shook hands with a friend, "Kind of a dancing jig that is, ain't it?"
It would not be an exaggeration to say that we passed thousands of these dangerous reptiles while descending the Suwanee.
"Why," he said, "you're a big girl, aren't you?" "I don't know," she said, through a little laugh of embarrassment, and noticing that, regarding her, he wetted his lips. "That part's all right. What I need is a good refined ballad voice. Understand? The kind that can sing 'The Suwanee River' as if the only thing in the world that mattered is that old plantation down there. Understand?" "I see."
Why, the rescuing of the wrecked balloonists alone paid us for coming," said Will. They found plenty of water, and anchored in the mouth of the famous Suwanee River, with the busy city something like twelve miles away. Once more they went ashore, and on the bank of the stream of which they had so many times sung they built their last campfire and put up their tent.
"What shall it be, boys?" he asked, after a preliminary tuning up. "Give us 'The Wearing of the Green," suggested Lane. Soon the wailing strains of the familiar Irish melody were breathing through the cabin. "Kathleen Mavourneen" followed, and the stranger sat as if fascinated. At "'Way Down Upon the Suwanee River" he dropped his head in his hands and his shoulders shook.
The moonlight fell full on her lovely, sympathetic face. "Miss Suwanee," he said, gravely, "I've been your guest about a month. Are you not tired of me yet?" "That's a roundabout way of saying you are tired of us." "I beg your pardon: it is not. But, in all sincerity, I should be getting back to duty, were it possible."
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