Though still necessarily slow, my progress improved as I got further away from that place of horror—the Devil's Island. But I was not easy in my mind, until by the earliest break of day, I saw before me an open spot on the bank, which I recognized as the landing of Henry Woodley's plantation. There was no house near it, no erection of any kind. Only some cords of firewood upon the bank, intended for the supply of such passing steamboats as chose to put in for it. It was part of the industrial resources of the plantation.
The house stood a full half-mile from the river's edge, screened from view by the cottonwood forest.
At that early hour, I did not expect to see any one at the landing. I hoped not, as I did not myself wish to be seen. I had begun to reflect on the future, more than the past, on the punishment of these murdering pirates, and the mode of bringing it about.
I knew that in such a lawless land, justice might not be so easily obtained, and that despite the proofs I had, stratagem would still have to be resorted to. At all events, it would be as well that none of the plantation negroes should know of my return until I had first placed myself in communication with their master.
With the view of making my approach unobserved, I clung close along the bank, and came to at some distance below the landing-place.
Drawing the dug-out up under some branches that overhung the bank, I made it secure, at the same time that it was concealed from view. I did not intend that the old craft should drift down-stream, and perhaps tell a tale to the pirates below.
CHAPTER XXI.
A TERRIFIED DARKY.
Once safely ashore, I walked silently through the underwood in the direction of the landing.