40 WILD SPORTS IN THE SOUTH. 



CHAPTER III. 



A BEAK IN THE CAMP. 



I'll pitch my tent on dis camp ground 



A few days, and a few days, 

 Till I give old Cuff annudder round, 

 A few days, and a few days. 



Wake, snakes, day's a breaking. 



Negro Ballads. 



After one or two days of quiet southward travel, some- 

 times verging toward the seaside, sometimes turning into 

 the back country, we came one day on the banks of the 

 Wakassare River, a deep, black stream that empties into 

 the Gulf. ISTo fording place being discovered, we halted 

 preparatory to crossing the river. As this is an every- 

 day exploit in travelling a new country, as much tra- 

 versed by sluggish streams as the Florida peninsula, a 

 description will not be unimportant. 



Picture to the eye of fancy a camp, with all its acces- 

 sories of rustic comfort, its bright fire, its feeding ponies, 

 dogs, and hunters under thfe pine woods. Before it 

 a close hummock of tangled vines, and tall trees border- 

 ing the bank of the river, and the long vines pendent 

 from the branches. Beyond this leafy barrier, turbid 

 with the gleanings of swamps, with whirl and glassy 



