Marion realized, too late, that he had been led by a forlorn hope into entering a cul de sac. He kept up the spirits of the men, however, and after nightfall led many an excursion up and down the bayou, spearing alligators by torchlight, from the skiffs. The men enjoyed this, for there are few more exciting sports, and it helped to keep the alligators at a distance from the camp, where they were too fond of coming at night to look for garbage around the cooking quarters, and terrify the horses and Tige. His life, poor fellow, was not a happy one. Jimmy had captured a baby alligator, about two feet long, and was trying to tame him in a little corral near the camp. Natural sin was deeply rooted in his nature, however, and he and Tige, who could not leave such small fry to scoff at him unpunished, kept up a constant and deadly warfare; and yet it ended in the little reptile’s drooping away from too much civilizing, until, like a flower out of water, he withered up, his skin grew cracked and dingy, and he died and was buried with melancholy rites.
Marion also sent the men fishing a good deal, and they trolled all the way to the head of the bayou after green trout, or black bass, as they are called in the north.
It was on one of these trips that the boys made a curious discovery which greatly excited the imagination of Moses, and led Jimmy to think of something which indirectly saved the fortunes of the crew, and, in all probability, Marion Royce’s life as well.
The two were paddling up a branch of the bayou, which they had never explored before. It was just sunrise, for they usually made these expeditions about daybreak, and brought back the camp’s breakfast. The creek was very narrow—not more than ten feet across from one high bank to the other, but fully fifteen feet deep in most places, and fed by many little springs, which they could see purling at the bottom. The still water at the surface was so clear that they could see the clean sand and the tufts of grass in which the fish hid, motionless. After the months on the dirty Mississippi, and the black waters of the lower bayou, this little creek was a marvel of delight to the boys, and they paddled along, their blades brushing the banks as they went.
“It’s the first perfectly clear water we’ve seen since we left home, isn’t it?” said Mose. “My, don’t it make you homesick?”
Jimmy shook his head. He had not been homesick. The ark had been his first real home. “Look!” he cried.
Moses looked, and saw, blocking the little creek ahead of them, the ribs of an ancient, many-oared galley. It rose, skeleton-like, to the surface of the water, hung with tatters that looked like sea-weed and turned out to be rust-eaten chains. The boys paddled up to it and felt them over, dipping their arms in to the shoulder. They could see it as clearly as if it had been out of water.
“Curious, ain’t it?” said Jimmy. “Escaped, most likely, from Corsairs, or Spaniards, or something. Wonder what became of the crew?”
“Let’s go ashore and look,” suggested Mose.
There was a tiny strip of shelving beach, up which they drew the skiff, and then they wandered about the landing-place.