LOST AMONG THE ALLIGATORS.
Many years ago I was journeying by steamboat up one of the many bayous or creeks in the southern part of the State of Louisiana.
In the course of the morning the steamboat drew up at a wooding station to take in a supply of fuel, and, led by curiosity, I went ashore with a lad about my own age.
Growing tired of watching the negroes carrying the split wood on board, we yielded to the temptation to venture a little way into the forest.
A squirrel crossed our path. We gave chase, and the frisky little animal led us on till we found ourselves out of hearing of the hissing of the steam and the voices of the negroes at the woodpile.
Suddenly a bell rang; this we knew to be the signal for the steamer’s departure, and were horrified to note how faint and far-off the sound appeared. However, shouting at the top of our voices, we turned back.
Through brambles and briers, thorns and thickets, climbing over fallen logs and splashing through marshy places, we scrambled and leaped.
Then we distinctly heard the coughing of the steam and the dash of the paddle wheels. The boat had started! The sound grew more indistinct, and our hearts sank as we heard them rapidly die away in the distance.
We thought it would be an easy thing to find the river; yet our efforts were utterly in vain.
After a time, no river appearing, we realized the fact that we were lost!