September 21 Monday – Near the village of Port-de-Groslee, France at 4:15 p.m., Sam wrote again to Livy, declaring as was his usual habit while away from her, to write daily.

Slept until 8, breakfasted in bed, and lay till noon, because there had been a very heavy rain in the night and the day was still dark and lowering. But at noon the sun broke through and in 15 minutes we were tramping toward the river. Got afloat at 1 p.m. but at 2.40 we had to rush suddenly ashore and take refuge in the above village [Port-de-Groslee] Just as we got ourselves and traps safely housed in the inn, the rain let go and came down in great style. We lost an hour and a half there, but we are off again, now, with bright sunshine.

I wrote you yesterday my darling, and shall expect to write you every day.

Good-day, and love to all of you / SAML. [MTLP 2: 550]. Note: “Down the Rhone” offers a more detailed coverage of this day’s events. The inn is named as the Hotel des Voyageurs. Sam describes:

The public room was full of voyageurs and tobacco smoke. The voyageurs may have been river folk in the old times when the inn was build, but this present crowd was made up of teamsters. They sat at bare tables, under their feet was the bare floor, about them were the four bare walls — a dreary place at any time, a heartbreaking place now in the dark of the downpour. However, it is manifestly not dreary to the teamsters. They were sipping red wine and smoking; they all talked at once, and with great energy and spirit, and every now and then they gave their thighs a sounding slap and burst into a general horse laugh. The courier said that this was in response to rude wit and coarse anecdotes.

4.10 p.m. — Left Port de Groslee.

4.50 p.m. — Chateau of the Count Cassiloa — or something like that — the Admiral’s pronunciation is elusive. Courier guesses the spelling at “Quintionat.” I don’t quite see the resemblance. …

5.30. — Lovely sunsest. Mottled clouds richly painted by sinking sun, and fleecy shreds of clouds drifting along the fronts of neighboring blue mountains. Harrow in a field. Apparently harrow, but was distant and could not tell; could have been a horse.

5.35. — Very large gray broken-arched and unusually picturesque ruin crowning a hilltop on right. Name unknown. This is a liberal mile above village of Briord (my spelling — the Admiral’s pronunciation), on same side. Passed the village swiftly, and left it behind. The villagers came out and made fun of our strange tub. The dogs chased us and were more noisy than necessary.

6 p.m. — Another suspension bridge — this is the sixth one. They have ceased to interest…. Presently landed on left bank and shored the boat for the night. Hotel du Rhone Moine. Isolated. Situated right on the bank. Sort of a village — villagette, to be exact — a little back. Hotel is two stories high and not pretentious — family dwelling and cow stable all under one roof.

[Neider, Complete Essays 603-6].