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Show RIVER desolate bend above Baton Rouge, coming around the point and into the roadstead just as it was getting dark. The city was lit up for Saturday night. The mooring lights of the huge seagoing ships riding at anchor began to blink on. The refineries that littered the shore shot blue flames high into the air that became part of the hot, blood-colored sunset. Olinda Chotin left her load of barges for the harbor tugs to handle and turned immediately back upriver to dock at the Chotin company's boat store where the crew burst into frenetic activity, taking on food and water and fuel and replacements for the men whose long thirty day tour of duty was up. A couple of Chotin executives and their lawdogs were waiting for us when Olinda docked. We went upstairs to the company offices where they grinned real wide when I signed the legal release and I grinned back when they handed over the check. They even gave me fifty dollars cash so that I could enjoy the weekend. One of the executives assured me I could get a job on one of their towboats and told me to come back Monday. As the fuel lines were dragged away, Captain Gale came up and said, "You aren't going to be taking any more rowboats down the river, are you?" "I'm cured of that," I said. "Well, you be careful. And listen, if you're ever in New Orleans and you need any help, let me know, all right?" "Thanks," I said. Then, forty-five minutes after she had docked, Olinda Chotin was gone, pushing another load of petroleum up to Cincinnati for the Yankees to burn. I was alone again. The adventure was over. -218- ^ |