They fastened the boat with a rope to a great projecting piece of Spanish bayonet. For a while, despite the sheltered spot into which they had driven, it rose and fell as though it were at sea, but this passed with the passing hours. At last the excited negroes fell quiet, at last they lay asleep, head pillowed on arms. As best he might Cary wore out the darkness. It was not yet dawn when he roused the negroes. The boat lay quiet now; the river was over its disturbance of the evening before. Since its origin deep in past ages the river had pulled down too many shores, swallowed too many strips of land to be long concerned over its latest work. Yellow and deep and terrible, on it ran, remorseless and unremembering. The boat on the edge of the swamp, in the circle of projecting root and snag, lay quiet. Above and around it hung lifeless from the boughs the grey moss. Bough and moss, there was made a vast tracery through which showed the primrose sky, cold, quiet, infinitely withdrawn. Looking down the stream, all that was missed was Cape Jessamine. The yellow water rolled over that. “There was a bayou a mile or two back,” said Edward. “The one on which stood ’Rasmus’s house. It ran north and south and the road went across it. Can we get to that bayou?” “Yes, sah. Hit’s haid ain’ far from here. But we’d have to leave de boat.” “It is fastened and hidden. You will find it again.” The elder negro looked doubtful. “We’s poor men, marster. Ain’t anybody to look after us now—” “I ain’ er-carin’ how poor I is,” broke in the younger. “I’se gwine. Ef dey got warnin’ dey might hab took to de bayou, crosst hit, an’ went on to de Fusilier place. But hit don’ look ter me lak de river give any warnin’.” “That’s what we’ve got to see,” said Edward. He touched the shoulder of the elder black. “You’re a good man, like Daniel here! Leave the boat and come on.” In the deep wood, among the cypresses, the light was faint enough. The three crept over the purple brown hummocks, the roots like stiffened serpents. Now and again they plunged into water or black mire. Edward moved in silence, and though the negroes talked, their voices were subdued to the place. It was slow, slow going, walking among traps. An hour passed. The cypresses fell away and cane and flowering vines topped by giant magnolias took their place. “Haid of bayou,” said Daniel. They found an old dugout half full of water, bailed it out, and began to pole down the narrow, winding water, that ran two miles in the wood behind the lost Cape Jessamine. “If she had even an hour—” said Edward. “Miss Désirée des’ er-sa’nter er-long,” said Daniel, “but what she wan’ ter do, hit gets done lak er bolt ob lightnin’ runnin’ down de sky! Dar’ ain’ any tellin’. Ef she saw hit er-comin’ she sholy mek ’em move—”