The character of the swamp continued much
the same. A broad sheet of water, from nearly every portion of which
rose numerous trees, like thin, dark columns, here and there twisted
round and round, and, seemingly, smothered by some luxuriant vine;
others prostrate, the roots sunk out of sight, and the trunk protruding
upward, as if a giant had used them for spears and hurled them into the
swamp; shallow portions, where the water was but a few inches deep, and
then others, where you could gaze down for twenty feet, as if you were
looking through liquid air. These were the peculiarities of this
singular spot in the wilderness, through which the Huron was journeying.
He must have proceeded fully a half-mile into this water wilderness,
when he reached what might properly be termed the edge of the swamp;
that is, the one through which he had been making his way, for there
was still another a short distance from him. The growth of trees
terminated almost in a mathematical line, and a lake of water,
something less than a quarter of a mile in width, stretched out before
him, perfectly clear of every obstruction. The Indian stood a long
time, looking about in every direction. What was unusual, there was an
expression of the most intense anxiety upon his countenance. Well
might there be; for, sooner than to have a human eye (whether it was
that of the white or red man) to witness the movements he was now about
to make, he would have suffered death at the stake a thousand times!
Apparently satisfied, he laid his rifle on the tree upon which he had
been standing, and then sprung out into the deeper water, sinking like
a stone from sight.
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