XVIII.

A NIGHT'S ADVENTURE IN THE FLORIDA

SWAMP.

NEAR the close of the year '37, as I was quietly strolling on the banks of the Susquehanna, the idea came into my cranium of taking a trip to Florida, wishing to see the land of which I had heard and read so much. A day sufficed to prepare me for the journey. A small travelling trunk was packed, containing nearly all my worldly goods, and shouldering my rifle I was soon en route for the land of promise. It was in the height of the famous Seminole war, but I had not the slightest idea of volunteering in Uncle Sam's service, merely going on my own hook, more for hunting than fighting.

In due course of time I arrived at Pensacola, from whence I proceeded direct to Florida city, which I found consisted of a

very inconsiderable number of huts. I had been at the settlement but a few days, when I received an invitation from one of my new acquaintances to accompany him in a ride. some forty miles across the country, where he was going on business, which I of course very gladly accepted, and at two o'clock that afternoon, we were on our way well mounted and armed. My companion was a wild freeand-easy sort of chap, who had the reputation of being the best shot in the clearing, could run down an elk or wild Indian, and was always counted 'some in a bar fight,'he answered to the name of Joe Peters, though more familiarly called 'Crazy Joe.'

We had started late, both to avoid the heat of the day and enjoy the cool of the evening. Our route was a pleasant one, leading through a fine country heavily stocked with timber, and sprinkled with an occasional swamps and thickets. We had got over about two thirds of our journey without starting game of any kind, when up went a bevy of some half-dozen turkeys; some stopped in the trees, and we succeeded in bagging a brace of them, and then continued leisurely on, my companion spinning yarns of border life in general, and turkey shooting in particular, and myself an at

tentive listener, when we were suddenly awakened to a sense of our situation by the heavy report of a musket not twenty yards distant, just within the confines of a thick swamp, and at the same moment an arrow (aimed with more precision than the bullet) scraped a very familiar acquaintance with my arm. Nothing could be seen of the lurking foe, completely hidden as he was by the dense bushes. Our horses were, however, brought to a halt, and throwing ourselves from the saddle, we were on the point of entering the swamp to dislodge the redskins (for such they undoubtedly were, though at that time it was generally believed there were none in the neighbourhood), when Joe stopped short, and turning to me, said, "I guess upon the whole the shortest way out of this scrape is the best, for there's no telling how many of the red devils there may be, and they will likely lead us into the swamp, and before we get back steal our horses,"

This would have been a decided fix, to be left without horses in such a place, and leaping into the saddle, we galloped off at a quick pace; not being very anxious to set ourselves up as a mark to be shot at, without the possibility of returning the compliment.

But we had not proceeded fifty rods when bang, bang, cracked half-a-dozen muskets, the bullets whizzing past our ears quite unceremoniously, but unluckily with more effect than the first, Joe having his thigh badly scratched by one, and my horse receiving another in the shoulder, but not being so badly wounded but that he sprang forward with a limping gait, which I was not at all anxious to restrain, and we kept on as fast as could be expected under the circumstances. At the instant of the fire we heard a whoop, and the cracking of bushes, and the next moment some dozen red-skins burst from the swamp, and commenced chase. They were within metal range, and turning in the saddle, our rifles were immediately levelled, and with a simultaneous crack, two of the rascals tumbled into the bushes, performing various feats of 'ground and lofty tumbling.' Such a hideous yelling as now burst forth from their enraged companions is past description. I can fancy it ringing in my ears at the present moment. Had a regiment of Satan's imps been let loose from the infernal regions on our heels, they could not have caused a more desperate effort on the part of the poor animal whom I bestrode to increase the distance between

himself and his persecutors.

Here was an

exhibition of the 'turf' not to be witnessed every day. But it was a vain effort, he made a few long strides and then fell to the ground. Joe, however, was at my side, and giving me his hand, I leaped on behind him just as three of the Indians, who were in advance of the rest, fired, two with muskets, and the other with an arrow. The bullets, as in nine cases out of ten, were harmless, but the arrow cut a deep furrow in the animal's quarter, and somewhat to my inconvenience lodging in my thigh, from which it was easily extracted, having spent its force on the poor horse, who was now so effectually blown, what with a long journey and a hard chase, that the best he could do was to keep our distance good. This state of things did not last long. The Indians, who were fresh from the chase, gained perceptibly on us, and as they drew near their infernal yells seemed more furious than ever, and each was apparently doing his best to be 'in at the death.' Joe looked over his shoulder and remarked, "Would'nt them are red devils like to get us into their clutches though!" "Perhaps they will yet," I replied, "our horse can't stand it much longer." "No, I'll be blowed if they do," he said,

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