Paul sat at the stern of the boat leaning against the side, and his eyes
were on New Orleans, where he saw the formless shapes of buildings and
twinkling lights here and there. The city, in a way, attracted him and,
in another way, it repelled him. It interested him, but he had no desire
to live there. It was a port, a gate, as it were, opening into the vast
old world, to which belonged the centuries, and of which he had read and
thought so much, but the single taste of it turned Paul's heart with a
stronger affection than ever toward the New World to which he belonged.
The great forests of the north seemed clean and fresh to him as they had
seemed to Jim. There, at least, a man could know who were his friends and
who were his enemies.
He saw boats passing on the turbid, brown current of the Mississippi and
he heard snatches of strange, foreign songs. The night had fully come and
heavy darkness hung over land and water, but New Orleans did not sleep.
The smugglers, the adventurers, the former galley slaves, the riff-raff of
Europe, and the mixed bloods of the West Indies were abroad in pursuit of
either business or pleasure, each equally favored by the dusk.
Shif'less Sol and Long Jim were already asleep, but Paul was restless and
slumber would not come.
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