A few moments of rest and whispered congratulations, and then again on. On—yes, but in what direction? The wind had ceased to blow, thick clouds obscured the sky, we had no guide to direct us. A few moments' reflection convinced us that the attempt to travel farther that night would result in the useless expenditure of our little remaining strength. So, crawling into a thicket, we huddled together like swine, to save a little warmth to our bodies, while as patiently as we could, we waited for daylight.
Morning at last, and no clouds to obscure the sun. At our feet, all around us, glittering and sparkling in the dewdrops, kind Providence had provided us with a breakfast—whortleberries by the handsful. Eagerly gathering them, we satisfied the cravings of appetite.
Refreshed and invigorated by our breakfast, with our direction secured, and with renewed energy we again pushed on to the coast. It was past noon. We knew that we must be within a few miles of the ocean. Hark! What is that? Away back of us, at regular intervals, came the long-drawn-out yell of a pack of hounds. For several minutes we looked in each others' faces, and listened. Were they after us? The sound came from last night's camp. A short time sufficed to make our fears a certainty. The hounds were on our trail.
Now again for the bayou! A half-mile would take us to the swamp again. Can we reach it in time? Now, boys, keep together if you can! Like greyhounds, away we started. Our intelligence was matched against brute instinct. Which would succeed?
We had heard that water would baffle the keen scent of the dogs. The friendly bayou was at last reached, and into it we plunged, now unmindful of the lazy alligators, quite regardless of the dangerous moccasin snakes that infested it. We floundered along, now in mud and mire, now stumbling over logs, for perhaps a mile. Then, fainting and exhausted, we left this morass and started on our course. Ever and anon, however, we could hear the baying of the hounds, sometimes farther, sometimes nearer.
Prisoners Again
Would our ruse be successful? Could the beasts follow us through the water? At intervals we stopped and listened. We could easily tell when they struck the bayou. For a short time there was a cessation of their regular bay, and then it broke out again, accompanied by the sound of horses. Nearer and nearer they came. They were following our trail through the bayou.
Billings had that courage that never failed. He had been the life of the party. When it became evident that we must be overtaken, he selected the feeblest of us, directed them to crawl through a thicket of willows, one after the other, himself bringing up the rear, leaving but a single track for the brutes to follow; and then, under his direction, we armed ourselves with clubs and awaited the attack. Imagine, if you can, the feelings of that group of officers.