CHAPTER VIII.
THE WHITE-HEAD EAGLE.
We started a little after daylight; and as my skiffman had forewarned me, found the current exceedingly sharp, and not a little dangerous—especially as we approached the island.
What with snags, whirls and "sawyers," we had some difficulty in making land, and might not have succeeded, but for a large tree that had fallen over the bank and formed a sort of pier to which we were able to make fast the skiff. The tree was a gigantic cottonwood, whose weight had hindered the current from carrying it off.
Scrambling along the trunk, I at length succeeded in planting my foot upon terra firma.
The nest I supposed could not be far off, and by the directions given me, I could easily find it.
The darky did not seem inclined to go ashore, or otherwise assist me in the search. He made some excuse about taking care of the skiff, and in the skiff I left him.
I again thought his behavior strange, but made no objection to his remaining. In finding the eagles, the old negro could be of no particular service to me. The island did not appear to be of any great superficial extent. I could soon traverse it in every direction. If the birds were upon it, I should see or hear them, and in stalking them I would be better alone—my sable companion not being much of a sportsman.
Getting over the ground did not prove such an easy task. It was thickly studded with heavy timber—cottonwood, tulip-tree, and cypress; and between the trunks there was an undergrowth of palmettoes, in places almost impenetrable.
Although the sun was shining brightly—I had left it so outside the island—under the trees it resembled twilight. In addition to their own thick foliage, they were festooned with Spanish moss, that shut out the sky like a curtain.