The horses were fresh of course, and travelled at a fine exhilarating rate. And so great was the glee of the picnic party, that they could scarcely refrain from breaking into song, even there in the streets. They were only enabled to restrain themselves by thinking how they would sing when once free of the city and town.
An hour’s rapid jolting brought them to the lock in Georgetown, where the little canal steamboat Gadfly, with the Union flag flying, lay puffing and blowing as with impatience to receive them. Their colored band of musicians and their colored servants were standing on the deck waiting for them.
The party quickly alighted from their ambulances, and went on board the boat.
The servants speedily unloaded the baggage wagon, and transferred the stores to the deck.
And just as the sun arose, the band of music struck up Hail Columbia, and the little steamer blew her shrill signal whistle, and started for up the country.
Past the useful and necessary, but excessively ugly warehouses, past the lumber yards and fish market, past the Aqueduct Bridge and the suburban grog-shops, steamed the little Gadfly, until she was well free of the town and its suburbs, and in a comparatively quiet country, with the narrow tow path and the broad river on the south, and the narrow road and rocky precipice on the north.
The party were all on deck, and as soon as they dared do so they broke into song. First they sang “Hail Columbia,” because the band was playing that tune. Then in turn followed “Yankee Doodle,” “The Star Spangled Banner,” “Rally Round the Flag, Boys,” “John Brown,” “We are Coming, Father Abraham,” “The Year of Jubilo,” “Just Before the Battle,” and, in fact, one after another, every popular song of the day. If music had been their profession, and if they had been well paid for singing so many songs at one time, they would have thought that they had been working too hard, and they would have felt very tired; but as they were singing only for their own amusement, they were insensible to fatigue. But then you see it makes all the difference whether our violent exertions are called work or play. There are those who fretfully play at work, and those who cheerfully work at play, and those who invariably do both.
Our picnickers were very perseveringly working at play. They were, indeed, so taken up with their singing, that they found themselves at the picturesque Chain Bridge Military Depot, four miles above Georgetown, before they knew where they were.
“How far do you call it from here to the Great Falls?” inquired Ben. Allison of one of the young officers of the post, as the steamer was passing through the lock.
“Some call it nine miles only, but I think it nine of the very longest miles I ever travelled,” laughingly answered the young man.