214: WILD SPORTS IN THE SOUTH. 



oars, as we rounded a point where numerous openings 

 and bays presented to view, and the boats glided to- 

 gether. 



"Any way is beautiful enough," answered the Doctor, 

 in the highest tone of enjoyment, chanting away 

 snatches of songs, and Lou Jackson joining the chorus. 



" Hi, you Scip, you pull a baby oar." 



" Git out a de way dat air clam-boat I" 



" Row brothers row, 

 The stream runs fast." 



" That song isn't true in fact or music, Doctor." 

 " There goes Mike ; he will show us the way." 

 " The old rat, he has stolen the march ! Give way, boys 1 

 All together !" and the boats filing off followed in the 

 wake of Mike, who was making for a level shore about 

 two miles ahead, where the bushes grew so dense you 

 could scarcely see the land. As we approached, we 

 could see no passage beyond, and even Mike seemed 

 uncertain, for he steered along the beach a hundred 

 yards distant, examining carefully, the bushes that grew 

 close to the water, colored with red hawberries, and 

 spiked with cactus of several varieties. After skirting 

 the shore in this manner for several hundred yards, the 

 prow of the hunter's canoe was turned shoreward ; ours 

 followed the leader. The boatmen bent to their work 

 and the boats flew. 



" Trail yer oars !" called out Mike. 



The negroes threw their oars from the rowlocks, let- 



