FAMILIAR SCENES ON THE MISSISSIPPI. 119 
homes, gave an expression of malignity, as well as sor- 
row, and then silently and sluggishly sank into repose, 
as if nothing unusual had occurred. 
“ That old fellow brags well of his infernal deeds,” 
observed one of the white men accompanying the In- 
dians, ‘‘ and the red-skinned devils about here drink it 
in as a Cuba hound would blood.” 
The intense heat of the weather, and the quietness 
_ that reigned so profoundly among the Indians, broken 
only by the saw and hammer of the carpenter making 
coffins at the capstan, made us sigh for a landing-place, 
and a separation from such melancholy scenes. This 
desire was encouraged from the well-known fact, that 
the savages grew every hour more troublesome, and the 
song of the dying old chief had neither allayed their 
feelings, nor made them more contented. 
* % ; * * * 
The morning fitlowing the death of the old chief 
had been preceded by one of those nights in which the 
fog rose from the water so thick, that, in the hyperboli- 
cal language of the boatman, you could make feather- 
beds of it. The pilot had “felt his way along” for 
many hours, until the sudden crash that shook every 
thing in the boat, convinced us that we were aground. 
The engine stopped, and left us in perfect silence and 
obscurity. | 
Long after our accustomed hour of rising, we went 
