182 WILD SPORTS IN THE SOUTH. 



fitting music for the scene, and soothed and interested the mind, 

 while the low song the oarsmen sung did not disturb the wild 

 inhabitants of the air, or mar the unity of the scene. 



Nothing is sweeter than the negro songs, which they sing in 

 perfect accord and with rich guttural voices, sometimes low and 

 sometimes swelling full and high with the emotion of the singers. 

 While rowing they nearly always sang, and one refrain the hearer 

 will carry in his mind until the dark river is crossed. It ran thus : — 



" Roll, Jordan, roll, roll, Jordan, roll, 

 I want to go to Heaven when I die 



To hear Jordan roll. 

 Oh ! brothers, you ought to have been dare, 

 Yes, my Lord ! a-sittin' in the kingdom 



To hear Jordan roll." 



The river grew familiar, and we recognised remembei-ed trees 

 and openings, and soon we saw ahead of us the bluff that marked 

 the landing at " Far Away," and then the logs that formed the rustic 

 wharf, and then the seat under the oaks, and then we landed once 

 again on familiar ground ; and leaving the boys to " tote the 

 plunder," wound our way up the hill toward the house, Jackson 

 taking the lead. The young Indian seemed to have made up his 

 mind to accompany us, if not pleasantly, at least without any 

 manifest reluctance, though I noticed Mike was always by his side. 



As we mounted the hill I looked for the flock of sheep that 

 usually fed on the bluff, but they were not there, though in a 

 moment we passed one of the wethers dead by the side of the path. 

 Before I could remark upon this, I heard a cry ahead from Jackson, 

 and hastening forward we saw the house and the negro cabins were 

 not there, but a pile of ashes that was drifting hither and yon by 

 the wind, and a column of smoke that ascended from the ruins 

 marked the place where they stood. The sheds were burned, and 

 the sheep pen. The little kitchen, where so many pleasant dinners 

 had been cooked, was gone. There was no voice or sound, no neigh 

 of horses, or bark of dogs, or bleat of sheep. The only living thing 

 there was a group of buzzards that, heavily gorged, flitted up on 

 the stones that formed the chimney. Looking to where they arose 

 we saw a naked body, half-eaten and scalped. It was Aunty Blase, 



