The dying embers of a campfire were visible across an arm of the lake and after dinner we went to pay a neighborly call. Beside the fire was a tiny "pup" tent supported by two canoe paddles. On our approach three young men greeted us. A week before, they told us, they had started out from their homes in Washington on a fishing trip up the river. In the Potomac the bass were not biting but the mosquitoes were and betwixt hope and desperation they had turned into the canal. Now they were having fairly good luck and were comfortable.

Our new friends punctilously returned the call. One of the youths was the son of a naval officer and expressed much interest in "Sometub," and its unique cabin arrangement. We sat in the lantern light till midnight swapping motorboat experiences for fish stories. In this we had the better of the deal.

Thursday dawned clear and hot. Our neighbors, the fishermen, were out before sunrise and had breakfasted on their catch of perch, catfish and "sunnies" before we were stirring. Old Sol drank up the dew within a few minutes after his appearance over the Virginia hills and we made an excursion into a blackberry thicket where we picked a dish of luscious fruit for breakfast. It was our last berry feast of the season. After reciprocating photographs of our respective "camps," we headed for Seneca lock and were lowered through it by members of a troop of Washington Boy Scouts who volunteered their assistance to the lockmaster.

At noon we reached Great Falls. Here are 13 locks in a series of two, seven chambers in the first and six in the second. The actual time in making the descent was considerably less than two hours. We stopped at the first lock, and upon payment of a small fee to the lockmaster, were admitted to the private park surrounding the Great Falls of the Potomac. Crossing a swinging bridge to an island in the river we obtained a magnificent view of the cataract. The stream was at flood stage and the scene rivaled the rapids of the lower Niagara.

In the late summer and autumn of 1861 the Union and Confederate pickets frequently exchanged compliments at short range from behind the rocks and boulders along this stretch of the Potomac. If you have any friends among the survivors of the Pennsylvania Reserves, ask them to tell you of their experiences during the open season for snipers in those exciting days.

In the middle of the afternoon we passed Cabin John bridge and moored "Sometub" at the lock at the foot of Glen Echo park. In the shade of the trees everything looked cool and refreshing and we decided to spend the evening with friends in Washington, but a few minutes after we stepped off the boat we realized that it was the hottest day of the summer. The lockmaster's wife invited us to go into her house and assigned us "spare rooms" to change our clothes. Going to Washington by trolley, we found the heat in the city almost intolerable after our fortnight in the open air of the mountains. After dinner in town against the protests of friends we returned to the boat and were lulled to slumber by the music in the dancing pavilion of the park.

Threading our way between a fleet of canal boats, tugs, skiffs and nondescript craft we reached the coal wharf in Georgetown and ran "Sometub" into the mud at the ancient lock which connects the canal with Rock creek, its outlet into the waters of the Potomac. The waterfront at Georgetown is no prepossessing place and the attitude of the bystanders was not calculated to lead the boatman to leave his property unguarded. Asking the obliging lockmaster to "keep an eye" on "Sometub" I went up a side street to the office of the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal Company to report our arrival and to meet in person Mr. A. Sahli, the secretary, with whom I had had an interesting telephone conversation last winter when in Washington arranging for the voyage.

Mr. Sahli had been most obliging and we felt grateful for his advice. He told me that a short distance below the lock at the railroad yards I could take the boat from the water and ship it back to Pittsburgh. It seemed that every possible convenience was provided for the skipper directing a "portable cruise."

I cannot describe my feelings when I returned to the wharf. We refused to realize that our voyage was at an end. It seemed that to take down the canopy, pack our stores and utensils and lift "Sometub" from the water would leave us absolutely homeless. It was still raining. For a long time we sat in the boat debating what to do. It was Friday and we had three days remaining on our hands. The little boat never looked more friendly, cozy and hospitable than just now. We had been companions on a most interesting journey and to leave it to pursue our own pleasure was like parting with a faithful partner in adversity.

We compromised by exploring new waters. Giving the signal to the lockmaster, we were lowered into Rock creek and started up that winding stream toward Rock Creek park where we hoped to find a quiet place to tie up. We ran under the arched bridge of Pennsylvania avenue and under the trees to a point at the foot of the hill below DuPont circle but here shoal water checked our progress. Reluctantly we turned back and ran out to the dam where the creek empties into the Potomac. Here our cruise came near terminating in a tragedy. We were within 30 yards of the dam before we saw that water to a depth of a foot or more was pouring over its crest into the swirling river 15 feet below. The motor refused to reverse. We were caught in the current and drifted broadside toward the dam.

Then we learned that a spruce canoe paddle is the most reliable of all motors for a small boat in moments of emergency. It was impossible to stem the current, but we succeeded in edging off from the middle of the stream and when almost at the edge of the dam caught some wisps of willows and held "Sometub" until a line was thrown ashore.

After extricating ourselves from this predicament we ran back to the entrance of the canal and met a great, whole-souled man in the person of Mr. Michael O'Leary, night watchman in a machine shop on the river front and the owner of a houseboat in Rock Creek. True to all the virtues of his nationality, Mr. O'Leary possesses a generous heart and bountiful hospitality. Shure, it would be all right to tie up to his boat and he would be plased to keep an eye on the wee tub.

Honesty was written all over his face and we left "Sometub" in his care, going downtown to spend another evening with friends but returned at night to our cabin. Saturday morning we were confronted by the inevitable necessity of "taking down" the superstructure of the boat and packing our baggage. Mr. O'Leary was on hand with a group of longshoremen who lifted "Sometub" from the water and carried it to a freight car as if it were a toy. We felt homeless now indeed. Only the refreshing good humor of Michael O'Leary mellowed our regret that our voyage was at an end.

"Sometub" in its freight car berth started that night on its return to Pittsburgh for many subsequent weekend excursions on the Allegheny, but we tarried a day longer. On Sunday morning we crossed over to Virginia and went to old Christ Church in Alexandria. There in that historic temple of worship, with its sacred memories of George Washington, we rounded our fortnight's journey. From first to last we had followed in the footsteps of the greatest American.