There was no help for it. The time had come for taking departure.
The peltries of the hunting planter were sent aboard, along with my own traps—these consisting of a spare suit of clothes, my chase trophies collected during my stay, and a stock of comestibles to serve me during a three-days' river voyage.
Bidding an adieu to Miss Woodley, which was not designed to be the last, I walked toward the landing, my host going along with me.
On reaching the river-bank, we found the crew of the flat engaged in getting the peltries aboard. I was a little surprised, and more than a little chagrined, to discover that the captain of the craft was no other than Mr. Black, her builder, whose uncivil behavior in Tennessee had caused mean unpleasant reminiscence. Stinger, too, was there acting as his mate, the hands, four in number, being negroes from Squire Woodley's plantation.
The discovery caused me to repent of my design—a voyage of three hundred miles in such company did not promise much pleasure, and I regretted my rashness in having proposed it.
It was too late, however, to recede, though I was not long in discovering that the captain of the craft would have been delighted by my doing so.
Every thing had been got aboard, the packages of skins, with the large case containing the souvenirs of my hunting achievements; but my personal luggage and the provision-hamper still rested on the shore, presided over by the plantation darky who had conveyed them to the landing.
The crew of the flat appeared to take no notice of these last, but were standing as if ready to draw in the plank.
"Mr. Black—I believe that is your name?" said my host, addressing himself to the ci-devant boat-builder—"I've brought you a passenger. I hope you'll contrive to make him comfortable on the voyage."