It was not long after this before a fire was made, and breakfast ready for the explorers. Mary employed herself in every useful way she could devise, until the slow minute hand measured the hour of eight; then taking a hasty meal, they set out upon their march. Sam led the van with a gun upon his shoulder, and a gourd of water in his hand. Mary followed, carrying a basket of provision for the hungry boys, and Frank went from one to the other, at will, or lagged behind to watch the motions of the dogs, that looked thoughtful, as if aware that something unusual was on hand.
The ground was still quite wet, and they were compelled to pick their way around little pools and puddles that lay in their path; but with care they succeeded so well that they would have reached Duck Point in advance of the boys, had it not been for a circumstance that interested them much, while it filled them with gloom.
Nearing the point, the dogs, that had hitherto followed very demurely behind, pricked up their ears, and trotted briskly towards the water's side. Sam noticed this, and remarked, "Dey after tukkey I 'speck, but we a'n't got no time fo' tukkey now." Soon after, their attention was arrested by hearing a cry from the dogs, which was neither a bark nor a whine, but a note of distress made up of both.
"Eh! eh!" said Sam. "Wat dem dog after now? Dah no cry for deer, nor for tukkey, nor for squirrel. Missus, you and Mas Frank stay here one minute, till I go see w'at dem dog about. I sho' dey got some'n strange. Only harkee how dey talk!"
Sam was in fact fearful that some sad accident had befallen Robert and Harold, and that the dogs, having scented them by the light wind coming down the river, had given utterance to this moan of distress. He therefore walked with hurried steps in the direction from which the sound proceeded, while Mary and Frank, unwilling to be left alone, followed slowly behind him. He had not gained more than twenty paces the advance, when they saw him stop--run a few steps forward--then stop again, and lift up his hands with an exclamation of surprise. They hurried to his side, and found him gazing, with looks of horror, into a little strip of bushes that skirted the margin of the tide water.
"What is the matter, Sam?" inquired Mary.
"Look, Missus," he replied, pointing with his finger. "Enty[#] dat some people drown dey in de ma'sh?"
[#] Is not that.
Mary and Frank looked, and saw what appeared to be in truth, the bodies of two persons fast locked in each other's arms, and lodged upon the top of a submerged mallow, which allowed them to sway back and forth with the undulations of the water. Sam was hesitating what to do--for negroes are almost universally superstitious about dead people. Mary urged him on.
"You will not leave them there, will you?" she inquired; "you will surely draw them out, and see who they are. May be, too, they are not dead. O, get them out, Sam, get them at once."