13&quot; THE CYPEESS SWAMPS, 197 



go with it, I was powerless for the want of a boat. There 

 was nothing for us but to cross it, though we were 

 obliged to swim with the criticising gaze of dozens of 

 alligators fixed upon us, and dodge fallen trees and 

 tangled vines as best we could. Beyond was another 

 swamp, and still beyond this a broad stretch of blessed 

 prairie. Over this we cantered for miles, then through 

 deep woods, now through swamps, belly deep in mud, 

 and still no signs of the signal smokes that were to indi 

 cate the hunter s camp at Fort Bassenger. Before night 

 it dawned upon us that we were lost. Now, so long as 

 a man will fight oif the conviction that he is lost, there is 

 hope that he may eventually find his way out. But my 

 guide, no sooner than this idea had dawned upon him, 

 gave himself over to the most unreasonable of actions 

 and doings. Heretofore I trusted in him implicitly, but 

 I now saw that his reason was gone for the time, and my 

 heart sank. Yielding to my persuasions, he camped 

 in a palmetto clump, and we ate our last biscuit and 

 piece of pork. We had saved this same pork to the last, 

 hoping that we could induce some unwary Indian to ac 

 cept it, in lieu of more palatable food. But no Seminole 

 was so accommodating, and we chewed it in silence. 

 The rind was an inch thick, and had the appearance of 

 amber. I sliced my piece thin and bolted it, and when 

 my guide said it was six years old I didn t raise a doubt. 

 In the morning we awoke refreshed, and heading our 

 horses northward we set out. Notwithstanding his age 

 and experience, my guide allowed his fears to control 

 him, and would not stop to secure one of the many deer 

 that grazed about us, for fear that we should not reach 

 our destination, and should have to pass another night 

 in the woods. 



