228 



WANDERINGS IN 



Third the end of the rope. Nothing now remained to do, but 



Journey. 



to get him out of the water without injuring his scales, 



" hoe opus, hie labor." We mustered strong : there 

 were three Indians from the creek, there was my own 

 Indian Yan, Daddy Quashi, the negro from Mrs. Peter- 

 son's, James, Mr. R. Edmonstone's man, whom I was 

 instructing to preserve birds, and, lastly, myself. 



I informed the Indians that it was my intention to 



draw him quietly out of the water, and then secure him. 

 They looked and stared at each other, and said, I might 

 do it myself ; but they would have no hand in it ; the 

 Cayman would worry some of us. On saying this, 



consedere duces," they squatted on their hams with 

 the most perfect indifference. 



The Indians of these wilds have never been subject to 

 the least restraint ; and I knew enough of them to be 

 aware, that if I tried to force them against their will, 

 they would take off, and leave me and my presents 

 unheeded, and never return. 



Daddy Quashi was for applying to our guns, as usual, 

 considering them our best and safest friends. I imme- 

 diately offered to knock him down for his cowardice, and 

 he shrunk back, begging that I would be cautious, and 

 not get myself worried ; and apologizing for his own 

 want of resolution. My Indian was now in conversation 

 with the others, and they asked if I would allow them to 

 shoot a dozen arrows into him, and thus disable him. 

 This would have ruined all. I had come above three 



