"Maybe they didn't think we were good to eat," said Hubert, wondering, and then joining nervously in Ted's merry laugh.
"I've heard that they eat animals sometimes, but they live on fish mostly," said Ted. "It was lucky, though, that we had the log to get up on."
"Would they have eaten us if we hadn't had it?"
Ted laughed again before he answered:
"I don't think so, but I shouldn't care to risk it a second time. Hunters say alligators don't attack man except in self-defense."
"But I've heard of their catching pigs and even little niggers," persisted Hubert.
"Well," admitted Ted, still smiling, "you never can tell when such creatures may want a change of diet. That place back there—a breeding place, I think—is like one I heard Mr. Hardy speak of. He called it an 'alligator heaven.'"
"Deliver me from an 'alligator heaven,' if that's one," said Hubert, so solemnly that Ted was amused and laughed once more.
Entering shallower water, they dared to step into it and wade toward the little island. Leaving their log safely lodged on the "trembling earth" formation, and having struggled through and over this, they landed on firm but damp ground. The island was circular in form and hardly two hundred yards in diameter. Cassina bushes fringed the shores, the vegetation rising thence to a few tall cypress trees in the center. Everywhere the funereal Spanish moss fluttered in the gentle breeze.
It had now ceased raining, but a dense mist still floated upon the great marsh. The raw atmosphere seemed as cold as the water had been and the boys moved about shivering, bitterly regretting their attempt to cross the flooded wilderness. The wildness and desolation of the scene seemed to be intensified by the presence of two small gray eagles, which screamed in a harsh shrill way as they hovered about a large nest in the top of the tallest tree on the island.