The island pirate, a tale of the Mississippi

by Mayne Reid

Getting quietly aboard, and arming myself with the paddle, I unloosed the fastening of twisted vines, and pushed on toward the river, which I reached without hearing or seeing any one.

Fortunately the night was a dark one, like that which preceded it. I was further favored by a thick fog that had come on after sunset.

Once out in the river I had no difficulty about the direction. The current guided me, and setting the stern of the canoe straight against it, I plied the paddle with all the strength I could command.

I took good care to dip the blade lightly, so as to make no noise in the water. The flat might still be within ear-shot. It might have been brought to for some purpose, alongside that island plantation, which I now knew to be the property of a pirate, and by the border of which I was now slowly feeling my way. The chill fog seemed to have quieted the night-chanters of the forest, and a slight sound could be heard far off. The stroke of the paddle might reach the ears of the pirates, and prompt them to follow me in their skiff that served as a tender to the cotton-boat.

I knew that they could easily overtake me, in which case I might count upon certain death. They would recognize the dug-out and know whence I had taken it.

For the first mile or so, I made but a snail's progress. With only one hand to work with, and it the wrong one, I had great difficulty in keeping the canoe stern on to the stream. Several times it came round broadside to the current, causing me to lose way before I could again get it headed in the right direction.

As I began to feel more confident that there was no pursuit, I also became more adroit in the management of the craft. Further up, too, the current was not so rapid, and I had less fear about dipping my oar-blade into the water.

Still I was not free from apprehension, and I moved on as silently as ever, at intervals suspending my stroke and listening to catch any sound from below.

Once I fancied I heard the plunge of oars close behind me, and in fear I gazed into the thick fog, thinking I should see the pursuing skiff. I listened intently for the plash of an oar-blade, or the murmur of human voices.

I heard neither. I must have mistaken the sound that had reached me. It may have been caused by an alligator floundering through the flood, or some drift-tree turned suddenly over by the current.