“I am afraid these will betray us, should any Indians be near,” I observed.
“They’ll be quite aisy soon,” answered Tim. “They’ve got sense enough to know it’s of no use makin’ a fuss when they cannot help themselves.”
Fortunately Tim found some corn in an out-house, the door of which had been closed, so that the hens had been unable to get at it. We filled a basket full, to serve as food for the fowls, as well as for ourselves should we be hard pressed. The rest of the hens had, in the meantime, made their escape.
As we were unwilling longer to delay, we returned with our prizes to the canoe. Though the eggs were little more than sufficient for a single meal, the birds, if we could keep them alive, would last us for four days.
Soon after this we came to another settlement, but were again disappointed. The blackened walls of the houses alone remained. We again landed, but had not wandered far when we came upon the dead body of a man. It was too clear how he had been slain; the Indians had done the deed—he was scalped. Others lay dead within the walls, all of whom had been treated in the same manner. We shouted, but no voice replied. We hurried from the spot, filled with apprehensions. The reports we had heard were now fully corroborated. The red men had raised the standard of revolt against the pale-faced intruders, as they called the whites. We were in great doubt as to what might have been the fate of our friends. All this time we had found no traces of Carlos and Lejoillie. Still we could not but suppose that they had long ago made their way down the river, and we hoped that they had arrived at Castle Kearney long ago.
Evening was approaching. We were again passing through a cypress swamp, which extended on both sides of the river. Knotted and twisted trunks projected far into the stream; the tall stems of trees rose high above our heads; while here and there the rays of the sun, penetrating a short way into the forest, and falling on the lower parts of the trunks, the huge roots, and the enormous creepers suspended from the boughs, served to render the rest of the forest more dark and gloomy. Now and then a vulture croaked at us as we passed; and we could see huge snakes twisting and wriggling among the trunks in search of prey.
We were approaching the right bank, to cut off a bend of the river, when Tim exclaimed—
“Look there, Mr Maurice! I saw some one moving. Yes, sure enough, there’s a Redskin; and he has a rifle in his hand.”
I looked in the direction to which Tim pointed. There, indeed, was an Indian, in war-paint and feathers, cautiously making his way amid the tangled roots.