Feeling helpless as babes, we passively obeyed, and watched our guide as he moved about like a spectre in the long grass on the banks of the Potomac, looking for his canoe.

At last he returned and whispered that the boat was all right, and we all crept like serpents to where it was concealed.

Nothing could be heard but the wind blowing through the trees, and the discordant noises of frogs and other denizens of the swamp.

So dark was the night that we could hardly see fifty yards across the river.

I suppose this was all in our favour; but how our guide knew the marks by which to steer was a puzzle to me, and as I never meant to profit by this experience I asked no questions.
Not a word was spoken as we (myself and my friend) launched the canoe silently into the water and seated ourselves, or rather obeyed orders and lay down, the pilot sitting in the stern, with his face towards the bows of the boat, having a light paddle in his hand, which he worked wonderfully well and silently.