CHAPTEK XXVII. 



WOODLAND CHORUSES. 



"In the long nights of winter when the cold north wind doth blow, 

 And the howling of the wolves is heard amid the snow." 



Macaulay. 



As we descended the St. John's River, the water views gradually 

 enlarged and became more characteristic. The wider volume of 

 water set back the forest to a further distance, and not only 

 removed all question of Indian bullets, but the change from the 

 heavy woods to the open vista made us freer in feelings and more 

 rapid in our motions. The boats moved faster, and wind and 

 current in our favour, with trolling lines astern for sea-trout, and 

 the negroes singing their Methodist air — 



" In a few days, and a few days 

 We 're gwine to glory, 

 In a few days, " 



we rapidly sped northward to our final destination and the scenes 

 of civilised life. 



One day we passed an Indian canoe. Mike said the paddler 

 was an Indian, though he looked more like a negro, and had a 

 long talk with him. They used the Indian language and we could 

 not understand them, though from some names we heard spoken 

 we judged their conversation went back to Tiger Tail. The Indian, 

 we thought, once mentioned Jackson, and once gave the native 

 motion for taking a scalp. After he was gone Mike seemed moody 

 for a day, and then the meeting with the Indian was forgotten. 



The jumping mullet were frequently seen and at night we could 

 catch them in abundance in our canoes by carrying a torch. They 

 sprung from the water toward the light, frequently two or three at 



B 



