"Why, stranger," said he, "my gran'ther digged that ditch."
I jumped, I leaped! at thought of what a pilot this man would be.
"Well, stranger," said he, in reply to my query, "stranger, if any man
kin take y' thro' that ditch, why, I kin"; adding doubtfully, however,
"I have not hearn tell befo' of a vessel from Brazil sailing through
these parts; but then you mout get through, and again ye moutent. Well,
it's jist here; you mout and you moutent."
A bargain was quickly made, and my pilot came aboard, armed with a long
gun, which as we sailed along proved a terror to ducks. The entrance to
the ditch, then close by, was made with a flowing sheet, and I soon
found that my pilot knew his business. Rush-swamps and corn-fields we
left to port and to starboard, and were at times out of sight among
brakes that brushed crackling along the sides of the canoe, as she swept
briskly through the narrows, passing them all, with many a close hug,
though, on all sides. At a point well on in the crooked channel my pilot
threw up his hat, and shouted, with all his might:
"Yer trouble is over! Swan to gosh if it ain't! And ye come all the way
from Brazil, and come through gran'ther's ditch! Well, I d'clar!"
From this I concluded that we had cleared all the doubtful places, and
so it turned out.
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