In an instant I was upon the ground and walking towards the boat wharves, but a few blocks distant.
Only by prompt action in getting off the train, and knowing which side to alight on, had I been able to escape the wide-awake officials at Mobile.
I felt like laughing as I reached the wharves and noted that no one had pursued me.
Evidently, I was getting to be an expert "hobo"—but my joy was of short duration, for now I was as anxious to reach New Orleans as I had been to reach Mobile—and what if I was thrown in jail for a long term in Southern Mississippi? Well, my people should never hear of it, I resolved.
Going on a small vessel I asked for soap and water.
I was given a big cake of dirty looking soap, half as large as my head, and told to draw my own water. Seizing a water bucket to which a long rope was attached, I cast overboard and soon drew into view a big bucketful of slimy looking water, that at home my own dog would have sniffed at contemptuously. But a chap buffeting against the world, as I was now doing, soon learns not to be too choice. After awhile he forgets the luxuries that were once his, and in most respects life assumes a different aspect.
Having washed up, I thanked the boatman and left the wharves.
A good dinner made me feel better, and I decided to stay in town over night and rest up.