XCV111 
LIFE OF 
twisted, and straighted before the fire, and covered for several 
inches at one end with the down of thistles, in a spiral form, so as 
just to enter the tube. By a puff, they can send these with such 
violence, as to enter the body of a Partridge twenty yards off. I 
set several of them a-hunting birds, by promises of reward, but 
not one of them could succeed. I also tried some of the blow- 
guns myself, but found them generally defective in straightness. 
I met six parties of boatmen to-day, and many straggling Indians, 
and encamped about sunset near a small brook, where I shot a 
Turkey, and, on returning to my fire, found four boatmen, who 
staid with me all night, and helped to pick the bones of the Turkey. 
In the morning, I heard the Turkeys gobbling all round me, but not 
wishing to leave my horse, having no great faith in my guest’s 
honesty, I proceeded on my journey. 
“ This day (Wednesday) I passed through the most horrid 
swamps I had ever seen. These are covered with a prodigious 
growth of canes and high woods, which, together, shut out almost 
the whole light of day, for miles. The banks of the deep and 
sluggish creeks, that occupy the centre, are precipitous ; where I 
had often to plunge my horse seven feet down, into a bed of deep 
clay, up to his belly, from which nothing but great strength and 
exertion could have rescued him ; the opposite shore was equally 
bad, and beggars all description. For an extent of several miles, 
on both sides of these creeks, the darkness of night obscures every 
object around. On emerging from one of the worst of these, I 
met General Wade Hampton, with two servants and a pack-horse, 
going, as he said, towards Nashville. I told him of the mud 
campaign immediately before him ; I was covered with mire and 
wet, and I thought he looked somewhat serious at the difficulties 
he was about to engage. He has been very sick lately. About 
half an hour before sunset, being within sight of the Indian’s where 
I intended to lodge, the evening being perfectly clear and calm, I 
laid the reins on my horse’s neck, to listen to a Mocking Bird, the 
first I had heard in the western country, which, perched on the 
top of a dead tree before the door, was pouring out a torrent of 
melody. I think I never heard so excellent a performer. I had 
alighted, and was fastening my horse, when, hearing the report of 
a rifle immediately beside me, I looked up, and saw the poor 
