THE HOODED WARBLER.Sylvia mitrata,Lath.PLATE CX. Male and Female.In many parts of our woods, the traveller, as he proceeds, cannot help stopping to admire the peaceful repose that spreads its pleasing charm on all around. The tall trees are garlanded with climbing plants, which have entwined their slender stems around them, creeping up the crevices of the deeply furrowed bark, and vying with each other in throwing forth the most graceful festoons, to break the straight lines of the trunks which support them; while here and there from the taller branches, numberless grape-vines hang in waving clusters, or stretch across from tree to tree. The underwood shoots out its branches, as if jealous of the noble growth of the larger stems, and each flowering shrub or plant displays its blossoms, to tempt the stranger to rest a while, and enjoy the beauty of their tints, or refresh his nerves with their rich odours. Reader, add to this scene the pure waters of a rivulet, and you may have an idea of the places in which you will find the Hooded Warbler.The Southern and Western States are those to which this beautiful bird gives a preference. It abounds in Louisiana, along the Mississippi, and by the Ohio nearly to Cincinnati. It is equally plentiful in the northern parts of the Floridas, Georgia, and the two Carolinas, after which it becomes rare. None, I believe, are ever seen east of the State of New York. It enters the lower parts of Louisiana about the middle of March, and by the beginning of May has laid its eggs, or sometimes even hatched them. It arrives in South Carolina in April, immediately constructs its nest, and has young quite as soon as in Louisiana.The Hooded Flycatcher is one of the liveliest of its tribe, and is almost continually in motion. Fond of secluded places, it is equally to be met with in the thick cane brakes of the high or low lands, or amid the rank weeds and tangled bushes of the lowest and most impenetrable swamps. You recognise it instantly on seeing it, for the peculiar graceful opening and closing of its broad tail distinguishes it at once, as it goes on gambolling from bush to bush, now in sight, now hid from your eye, but constantly within hearing.Its common call-note so resembles that of the Painted Finch or Nonpareil, that it requires a practised ear to distinguish them. Its song, however, is very different. It is rather loud, lively yet mellow, and consists of three notes, resembling the syllablesweet,weet,weeteē, a marked emphasis being laid on the last. Although extremely loquacious during the early part of spring, it becomes almost silent the moment it has a brood; after which its notes are heard only while the female is sitting on her eggs; for they raise two, sometimes three, broods in a season.Full of activity and spirit, it flies swiftly after its insect prey, securing the greater part of it on wing. Its flight is low, gliding, and now and then protracted to a considerable distance, as it seldom abandons the pursuit of an insect until it has obtained it.The nest of this gay bird is always placed low, and is generally attached to the forks of small twigs. It is neatly and compactly formed of mosses, dried grasses, and fibrous roots, and is carefully lined with hair, and not unfrequently a few large feathers. The eggs are from four to six, of a dull white, spotted with reddish-brown towards the larger end. The male and female sit by turns, and show extreme anxiety for the safety of their eggs or young.My worthy friendJohn Bachman, gave me the following account of the courageous disposition and strength of attachment of the Hooded Flycatcher. "I found a nest of these birds in a low piece of ground, so entangled with smilax and briars that it was difficult for me to pass through it. The nest was not placed more than two feet from the ground. This was in the month of May, and the parents were engaged in feeding the young it contained. Not far from that spot, whilst on astand, waiting for a deer to pass, I saw another pair of the Hooded Flycatcher collecting materials to build a nest. The female was the most active, and yet the male was constantly near to her. A Sharp-shinned Hawk suddenly pounced upon them, seized the female, and flew off with her. The male, to my surprise, followed close after the Hawk, flying within a few inches of him, and darting at him in all directions, as if fully determined to make him drop his prey. The pursuit continued thus until the birds were quite out of my sight!"This species, like many of its delicate tribe, appears to suffer so much from occasional cold, that, although at all other times a shy and wary bird, when chilly weather surprises it, it becomes at once careless of its safety.On such occasions I have approached them near enough to touch them with my gun. By the middle of September they all retire farther south.The plant on which I have represented a pair of these birds, is common in the localities which they usually prefer. Although richly coloured, it has no scent.Hooded Flycatcher, Muscicapa cucullata,Wils.Amer. Ornith. vol. iii. p. 101. Pl. 26. Fig. 3. Male.—Nuttall, Manual, vol. i. p. 373.Sylvia mitrata,Lath.Index Ornith. vol. ii. p. 528.—Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 79.Adult Male. Plate CX. Fig. 1.Bill of moderate length, straight, subulato-conical, acute, nearly as deep as broad at the base, the edges acute, the gap line a little deflected at the base. Nostrils basal, elliptical, lateral, half-closed by a membrane. Head rather small. Neck short. Body rather slender. Feet of ordinary length, slender; tarsus longer than the middle toe, covered anteriorly by a few scutella, the uppermost long; toes scutellate above, the inner free, the hind toe of moderate size; claws slender, compressed, acute, arched.Plumage soft and blended. Wings short, a little rounded, the second and third quills longest. Tail longish, slightly emarginate. Rather strong bristles at the base of the bill.Bill blackish above, paler below. Iris brown. Feet flesh-coloured. Forehead, sides of the head, and the chin deep yellow, as are the breast and belly. Hind-head, throat, and lower part of the neck black. The general colour of the upper parts is yellowish-olive; wings dusky; three lateral tail-feathers white on the terminal half of their inner webs.Length 5½, extent of wings 8; bill along the ridge nearly5⁄12.Adult Female. Plate CX. Fig. 2.The Female has the forehead, the sides of the head, and all the lower parts yellow, the hind part of the head dusky; in other respects she resembles the male.Dimensions nearly the same as in the male.This species more resembles a Flycatcher than a Sylvia in its habits, as well as in the bristles at the base of the bill, and, in fact, is very nearly allied to theMuscicapa Selbii,vol. i. p. 46.THE LOST ONE.A "Live-oaker" employed on the St John's River, in East Florida, left his cabin, situated on the banks of that stream, and, with his axe on his shoulder, proceeded towards the swamp in which he had several times before plied his trade of felling and squaring the giant trees that afford the most valuable timber for naval architecture and other purposes.At the season which is the best for this kind of labour, heavy fogs not unfrequently cover the country, so as to render it difficult for one to see farther than thirty or forty yards in any direction. The woods, too, present so little variety, that every tree seems the mere counterpart of every other; and the grass, when it has not been burnt, is so tall that a man of ordinary stature cannot see over it, whence it is necessary for him to proceed with great caution, lest he should unwittingly deviate from the ill-defined trail which he follows. To increase the difficulty, several trails often meet, in which case, unless the explorer be perfectly acquainted with the neighbourhood, it would be well for him to lie down, and wait until the fog should disperse. Under such circumstances, the best woodsmen are not unfrequently bewildered for a while; and I well remember that such an occurrence happened to myself, at a time when I had imprudently ventured to pursue a wounded quadruped, which led me some distance from the track.The live-oaker had been jogging onwards for several hours, and became aware that he must have travelled considerably more than the distance between his cabin and the "hummock" which he desired to reach. To his alarm, at the moment when the fog dispersed, he saw the sun at its meridian height, and could not recognise a single object around him.Young, healthy, and active, he imagined that he had walked with more than usual speed, and had passed the place to which he was bound. He accordingly turned his back upon the sun, and pursued a different route, guided by a small trail. Time passed, and the sun headed his course: he saw it gradually descend in the west, but all around him continued as if enveloped with mystery. The huge grey trees spread their giant boughs over him, the rank grass extended on all sides, not a living being crossed his path, all was silent and still, and the scene was like a dull and dreary dream of the land of oblivion. He wandered like a forgottenghost that had passed into the land of spirits, without yet meeting one of his kind with whom to hold converse.The condition of a man lost in the woods is one of the most perplexing that could be imagined by a person who has not himself been in a like predicament. Every object he sees, he at first thinks he recognises, and while his whole mind is bent on searching for more that may gradually lead to his extrication, he goes on committing greater errors the farther he proceeds. This was the case with the live-oaker. The sun was now setting with a fiery aspect, and by degrees it sunk in its full circular form, as if giving warning of a sultry morrow. Myriads of insects, delighted at its departure, now filled the air on buzzing wings. Each piping frog arose from the muddy pool in which it had concealed itself; the squirrel retired to its hole, the crow to its roost, and, far above, the harsh croaking voice of the heron announced that, full of anxiety, it was wending its way to the miry interior of some distant swamp. Now the woods began to resound to the shrill cries of the owl; and the breeze, as it swept among the columnar stems of the forest-trees, came laden with heavy and chilling dews. Alas, no moon with her silvery light shone on the dreary scene, and the Lost One, wearied and vexed, laid himself down on the damp ground. Prayer is always consolatory to man in every difficulty or danger, and the woodsman fervently prayed to his Maker, wished his family a happier night than it was his lot to experience, and with a feverish anxiety waited the return of day.You may imagine the length of that cold, dull, moonless night. With the dawn of day came the usual fogs of those latitudes. The poor man started on his feet, and with a sorrowful heart, pursued a course which he thought might lead him to some familiar object, although, indeed, he scarcely knew what he was doing. No longer had he the trace of a track to guide him, and yet, as the sun rose, he calculated the many hours of day-light he had before him, and the farther he went continued to walk the faster. But vain were all his hopes: that day was spent in fruitless endeavours to regain the path that led to his home, and when night again approached, the terror that had been gradually spreading over his mind, together with the nervous debility induced by fatigue, anxiety, and hunger, rendered him almost frantic. He told me that at this moment he beat his breast, tore his hair, and, had it not been for the piety with which his parents had in early life imbued his mind, and which had become habitual, would have cursed his existence. Famished as he now was, he laidhimself on the ground, and fed on the weeds and grass that grew around him. That night was spent in the greatest agony and terror. "I knew my situation," he said to me. "I was fully aware that unless Almighty God came to my assistance, I must perish in those uninhabited woods. I knew that I had walked more than fifty miles, although I had not met with a brook, from which I could quench my thirst, or even allay the burning heat of my parched lips and blood-shot eyes. I knew that if I should not meet with some stream I must die, for my axe was my only weapon, and although deer and bears now and then started within a few yards or even feet of me, not one of them could I kill; and although I was in the midst of abundance, not a mouthful did I expect to procure, to satisfy the cravings of my empty stomach. Sir, may God preserve you from ever feeling as I did the whole of that day!"For several days after, no one can imagine the condition in which he was, for when he related to me this painful adventure, he assured me that he had lost all recollection of what had happened. "God," he continued, "must have taken pity on me one day, for, as I ran wildly through those dreadful pine barrens, I met with a tortoise. I gazed upon it with amazement and delight, and, although I knew that were I to follow it undisturbed, it would lead me to some water, my hunger and thirst would not allow me to refrain from satisfying both, by eating its flesh, and drinking its blood. With one stroke of my axe the beast was cut in two, and in a few moments I dispatched all but the shell. Oh, Sir, how much I thanked God, whose kindness had put the tortoise in my way! I felt greatly renewed. I sat down at the foot of a pine, gazed on the heavens, thought of my poor wife and children, and again, and again thanked my God for my life, for now I felt less distracted in mind, and more assured that before long I must recover my way, and get back to my home."The Lost One remained and passed the night, at the foot of the same tree under which his repast had been made. Refreshed by a sound sleep, he started at dawn to resume his weary march. The sun rose bright, and he followed the direction of the shadows. Still the dreariness of the woods was the same, and he was on the point of giving up in despair, when he observed a racoon lying squatted in the grass. Raising his axe, he drove it with such violence through the helpless animal, that it expired without a struggle. What he had done with the turtle, he now did with theracoon, the greater part of which he actually devoured at one meal. With more comfortable feelings, he then resumed his wanderings—his journey I cannot say,—for although in the possession of all his faculties, and in broad daylight, he was worse off than a lame man groping his way in the dark out of a dungeon, of which he knew not where the door stood.Days, one after another, passed,—nay, weeks in succession. He fed now on cabbage-trees, then on frogs and snakes. All that fell in his way was welcome and savoury. Yet he became daily more emaciated, until at length he could scarcely crawl. Forty days had elapsed, by his own reckoning, when he at last reached the banks of the river. His clothes in tatters, his once bright axe dimmed with rust, his face begrimmed with beard, his hair matted, and his feeble frame little better than a skeleton covered with parchment, there he laid himself down to die. Amid the perturbed dreams of his fevered fancy, he thought he heard the noise of oars far away on the silent river. He listened, but the sounds died away on his ear. It was indeed a dream, the last glimmer of expiring hope, and now the light of life was about to be quenched for ever. But again, the sound of oars awoke him from his lethargy. He listened so eagerly, that the hum of a fly could not have escaped his ear. They were indeed the measured beats of oars, and now, joy to the forlorn soul! the sound of human voices thrilled to his heart, and awoke the tumultuous pulses of returning hope. On his knees did the eye of God see that poor man by the broad still stream that glittered in the sunbeams, and human eyes soon saw him too, for round that headland covered with tangled brushwood boldly advances the little boat, propelled by its lusty rowers. The Lost One raises his feeble voice on high;—it was a loud shrill scream of joy and fear. The rowers pause, and look around. Another, but feebler scream, and they observe him. It comes,—his heart flutters, his sight is dimmed, his brain reels, he gasps for breath. It comes,—it has run upon the beach, and the Lost One is found.This is no tale of fiction, but the relation of an actual occurrence, which might be embellished, no doubt, but which is better in the plain garb of truth. The notes by which I recorded it were written, in the cabin of the once lost live-oaker, about four years after the painful incident occurred. His amiable wife, and loving children, were present at the recital, and never shall I forget the tears that flowed from them as they listened to it, albeit it had long been more familiar to them than atale thrice told. Sincerely do I wish, good reader, that neither you nor I may ever elicit such sympathy, by having undergone such sufferings, although no doubt such sympathy would be a rich recompense for them.It only remains for me to say, that the distance between the cabin and the live-oak hummock to which the woodsman was bound, scarcely exceeded 8 miles, while the part of the river at which he was found, was 38 miles from his house. Calculating his daily wanderings at 10 miles, we may believe that they amounted in all to 400. He must, therefore, have rambled in a circuitous direction, which people generally do in such circumstances. Nothing but the great strength of his constitution, and the merciful aid of his Maker, could have supported him for so long a time.
Sylvia mitrata,Lath.PLATE CX. Male and Female.
In many parts of our woods, the traveller, as he proceeds, cannot help stopping to admire the peaceful repose that spreads its pleasing charm on all around. The tall trees are garlanded with climbing plants, which have entwined their slender stems around them, creeping up the crevices of the deeply furrowed bark, and vying with each other in throwing forth the most graceful festoons, to break the straight lines of the trunks which support them; while here and there from the taller branches, numberless grape-vines hang in waving clusters, or stretch across from tree to tree. The underwood shoots out its branches, as if jealous of the noble growth of the larger stems, and each flowering shrub or plant displays its blossoms, to tempt the stranger to rest a while, and enjoy the beauty of their tints, or refresh his nerves with their rich odours. Reader, add to this scene the pure waters of a rivulet, and you may have an idea of the places in which you will find the Hooded Warbler.
The Southern and Western States are those to which this beautiful bird gives a preference. It abounds in Louisiana, along the Mississippi, and by the Ohio nearly to Cincinnati. It is equally plentiful in the northern parts of the Floridas, Georgia, and the two Carolinas, after which it becomes rare. None, I believe, are ever seen east of the State of New York. It enters the lower parts of Louisiana about the middle of March, and by the beginning of May has laid its eggs, or sometimes even hatched them. It arrives in South Carolina in April, immediately constructs its nest, and has young quite as soon as in Louisiana.
The Hooded Flycatcher is one of the liveliest of its tribe, and is almost continually in motion. Fond of secluded places, it is equally to be met with in the thick cane brakes of the high or low lands, or amid the rank weeds and tangled bushes of the lowest and most impenetrable swamps. You recognise it instantly on seeing it, for the peculiar graceful opening and closing of its broad tail distinguishes it at once, as it goes on gambolling from bush to bush, now in sight, now hid from your eye, but constantly within hearing.
Its common call-note so resembles that of the Painted Finch or Nonpareil, that it requires a practised ear to distinguish them. Its song, however, is very different. It is rather loud, lively yet mellow, and consists of three notes, resembling the syllablesweet,weet,weeteē, a marked emphasis being laid on the last. Although extremely loquacious during the early part of spring, it becomes almost silent the moment it has a brood; after which its notes are heard only while the female is sitting on her eggs; for they raise two, sometimes three, broods in a season.
Full of activity and spirit, it flies swiftly after its insect prey, securing the greater part of it on wing. Its flight is low, gliding, and now and then protracted to a considerable distance, as it seldom abandons the pursuit of an insect until it has obtained it.
The nest of this gay bird is always placed low, and is generally attached to the forks of small twigs. It is neatly and compactly formed of mosses, dried grasses, and fibrous roots, and is carefully lined with hair, and not unfrequently a few large feathers. The eggs are from four to six, of a dull white, spotted with reddish-brown towards the larger end. The male and female sit by turns, and show extreme anxiety for the safety of their eggs or young.
My worthy friendJohn Bachman, gave me the following account of the courageous disposition and strength of attachment of the Hooded Flycatcher. "I found a nest of these birds in a low piece of ground, so entangled with smilax and briars that it was difficult for me to pass through it. The nest was not placed more than two feet from the ground. This was in the month of May, and the parents were engaged in feeding the young it contained. Not far from that spot, whilst on astand, waiting for a deer to pass, I saw another pair of the Hooded Flycatcher collecting materials to build a nest. The female was the most active, and yet the male was constantly near to her. A Sharp-shinned Hawk suddenly pounced upon them, seized the female, and flew off with her. The male, to my surprise, followed close after the Hawk, flying within a few inches of him, and darting at him in all directions, as if fully determined to make him drop his prey. The pursuit continued thus until the birds were quite out of my sight!"
This species, like many of its delicate tribe, appears to suffer so much from occasional cold, that, although at all other times a shy and wary bird, when chilly weather surprises it, it becomes at once careless of its safety.On such occasions I have approached them near enough to touch them with my gun. By the middle of September they all retire farther south.
The plant on which I have represented a pair of these birds, is common in the localities which they usually prefer. Although richly coloured, it has no scent.
Hooded Flycatcher, Muscicapa cucullata,Wils.Amer. Ornith. vol. iii. p. 101. Pl. 26. Fig. 3. Male.—Nuttall, Manual, vol. i. p. 373.Sylvia mitrata,Lath.Index Ornith. vol. ii. p. 528.—Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 79.
Hooded Flycatcher, Muscicapa cucullata,Wils.Amer. Ornith. vol. iii. p. 101. Pl. 26. Fig. 3. Male.—Nuttall, Manual, vol. i. p. 373.
Sylvia mitrata,Lath.Index Ornith. vol. ii. p. 528.—Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds of the United States, p. 79.
Adult Male. Plate CX. Fig. 1.
Bill of moderate length, straight, subulato-conical, acute, nearly as deep as broad at the base, the edges acute, the gap line a little deflected at the base. Nostrils basal, elliptical, lateral, half-closed by a membrane. Head rather small. Neck short. Body rather slender. Feet of ordinary length, slender; tarsus longer than the middle toe, covered anteriorly by a few scutella, the uppermost long; toes scutellate above, the inner free, the hind toe of moderate size; claws slender, compressed, acute, arched.
Plumage soft and blended. Wings short, a little rounded, the second and third quills longest. Tail longish, slightly emarginate. Rather strong bristles at the base of the bill.
Bill blackish above, paler below. Iris brown. Feet flesh-coloured. Forehead, sides of the head, and the chin deep yellow, as are the breast and belly. Hind-head, throat, and lower part of the neck black. The general colour of the upper parts is yellowish-olive; wings dusky; three lateral tail-feathers white on the terminal half of their inner webs.
Length 5½, extent of wings 8; bill along the ridge nearly5⁄12.
Adult Female. Plate CX. Fig. 2.
The Female has the forehead, the sides of the head, and all the lower parts yellow, the hind part of the head dusky; in other respects she resembles the male.
Dimensions nearly the same as in the male.
This species more resembles a Flycatcher than a Sylvia in its habits, as well as in the bristles at the base of the bill, and, in fact, is very nearly allied to theMuscicapa Selbii,vol. i. p. 46.
A "Live-oaker" employed on the St John's River, in East Florida, left his cabin, situated on the banks of that stream, and, with his axe on his shoulder, proceeded towards the swamp in which he had several times before plied his trade of felling and squaring the giant trees that afford the most valuable timber for naval architecture and other purposes.
At the season which is the best for this kind of labour, heavy fogs not unfrequently cover the country, so as to render it difficult for one to see farther than thirty or forty yards in any direction. The woods, too, present so little variety, that every tree seems the mere counterpart of every other; and the grass, when it has not been burnt, is so tall that a man of ordinary stature cannot see over it, whence it is necessary for him to proceed with great caution, lest he should unwittingly deviate from the ill-defined trail which he follows. To increase the difficulty, several trails often meet, in which case, unless the explorer be perfectly acquainted with the neighbourhood, it would be well for him to lie down, and wait until the fog should disperse. Under such circumstances, the best woodsmen are not unfrequently bewildered for a while; and I well remember that such an occurrence happened to myself, at a time when I had imprudently ventured to pursue a wounded quadruped, which led me some distance from the track.
The live-oaker had been jogging onwards for several hours, and became aware that he must have travelled considerably more than the distance between his cabin and the "hummock" which he desired to reach. To his alarm, at the moment when the fog dispersed, he saw the sun at its meridian height, and could not recognise a single object around him.
Young, healthy, and active, he imagined that he had walked with more than usual speed, and had passed the place to which he was bound. He accordingly turned his back upon the sun, and pursued a different route, guided by a small trail. Time passed, and the sun headed his course: he saw it gradually descend in the west, but all around him continued as if enveloped with mystery. The huge grey trees spread their giant boughs over him, the rank grass extended on all sides, not a living being crossed his path, all was silent and still, and the scene was like a dull and dreary dream of the land of oblivion. He wandered like a forgottenghost that had passed into the land of spirits, without yet meeting one of his kind with whom to hold converse.
The condition of a man lost in the woods is one of the most perplexing that could be imagined by a person who has not himself been in a like predicament. Every object he sees, he at first thinks he recognises, and while his whole mind is bent on searching for more that may gradually lead to his extrication, he goes on committing greater errors the farther he proceeds. This was the case with the live-oaker. The sun was now setting with a fiery aspect, and by degrees it sunk in its full circular form, as if giving warning of a sultry morrow. Myriads of insects, delighted at its departure, now filled the air on buzzing wings. Each piping frog arose from the muddy pool in which it had concealed itself; the squirrel retired to its hole, the crow to its roost, and, far above, the harsh croaking voice of the heron announced that, full of anxiety, it was wending its way to the miry interior of some distant swamp. Now the woods began to resound to the shrill cries of the owl; and the breeze, as it swept among the columnar stems of the forest-trees, came laden with heavy and chilling dews. Alas, no moon with her silvery light shone on the dreary scene, and the Lost One, wearied and vexed, laid himself down on the damp ground. Prayer is always consolatory to man in every difficulty or danger, and the woodsman fervently prayed to his Maker, wished his family a happier night than it was his lot to experience, and with a feverish anxiety waited the return of day.
You may imagine the length of that cold, dull, moonless night. With the dawn of day came the usual fogs of those latitudes. The poor man started on his feet, and with a sorrowful heart, pursued a course which he thought might lead him to some familiar object, although, indeed, he scarcely knew what he was doing. No longer had he the trace of a track to guide him, and yet, as the sun rose, he calculated the many hours of day-light he had before him, and the farther he went continued to walk the faster. But vain were all his hopes: that day was spent in fruitless endeavours to regain the path that led to his home, and when night again approached, the terror that had been gradually spreading over his mind, together with the nervous debility induced by fatigue, anxiety, and hunger, rendered him almost frantic. He told me that at this moment he beat his breast, tore his hair, and, had it not been for the piety with which his parents had in early life imbued his mind, and which had become habitual, would have cursed his existence. Famished as he now was, he laidhimself on the ground, and fed on the weeds and grass that grew around him. That night was spent in the greatest agony and terror. "I knew my situation," he said to me. "I was fully aware that unless Almighty God came to my assistance, I must perish in those uninhabited woods. I knew that I had walked more than fifty miles, although I had not met with a brook, from which I could quench my thirst, or even allay the burning heat of my parched lips and blood-shot eyes. I knew that if I should not meet with some stream I must die, for my axe was my only weapon, and although deer and bears now and then started within a few yards or even feet of me, not one of them could I kill; and although I was in the midst of abundance, not a mouthful did I expect to procure, to satisfy the cravings of my empty stomach. Sir, may God preserve you from ever feeling as I did the whole of that day!"
For several days after, no one can imagine the condition in which he was, for when he related to me this painful adventure, he assured me that he had lost all recollection of what had happened. "God," he continued, "must have taken pity on me one day, for, as I ran wildly through those dreadful pine barrens, I met with a tortoise. I gazed upon it with amazement and delight, and, although I knew that were I to follow it undisturbed, it would lead me to some water, my hunger and thirst would not allow me to refrain from satisfying both, by eating its flesh, and drinking its blood. With one stroke of my axe the beast was cut in two, and in a few moments I dispatched all but the shell. Oh, Sir, how much I thanked God, whose kindness had put the tortoise in my way! I felt greatly renewed. I sat down at the foot of a pine, gazed on the heavens, thought of my poor wife and children, and again, and again thanked my God for my life, for now I felt less distracted in mind, and more assured that before long I must recover my way, and get back to my home."
The Lost One remained and passed the night, at the foot of the same tree under which his repast had been made. Refreshed by a sound sleep, he started at dawn to resume his weary march. The sun rose bright, and he followed the direction of the shadows. Still the dreariness of the woods was the same, and he was on the point of giving up in despair, when he observed a racoon lying squatted in the grass. Raising his axe, he drove it with such violence through the helpless animal, that it expired without a struggle. What he had done with the turtle, he now did with theracoon, the greater part of which he actually devoured at one meal. With more comfortable feelings, he then resumed his wanderings—his journey I cannot say,—for although in the possession of all his faculties, and in broad daylight, he was worse off than a lame man groping his way in the dark out of a dungeon, of which he knew not where the door stood.
Days, one after another, passed,—nay, weeks in succession. He fed now on cabbage-trees, then on frogs and snakes. All that fell in his way was welcome and savoury. Yet he became daily more emaciated, until at length he could scarcely crawl. Forty days had elapsed, by his own reckoning, when he at last reached the banks of the river. His clothes in tatters, his once bright axe dimmed with rust, his face begrimmed with beard, his hair matted, and his feeble frame little better than a skeleton covered with parchment, there he laid himself down to die. Amid the perturbed dreams of his fevered fancy, he thought he heard the noise of oars far away on the silent river. He listened, but the sounds died away on his ear. It was indeed a dream, the last glimmer of expiring hope, and now the light of life was about to be quenched for ever. But again, the sound of oars awoke him from his lethargy. He listened so eagerly, that the hum of a fly could not have escaped his ear. They were indeed the measured beats of oars, and now, joy to the forlorn soul! the sound of human voices thrilled to his heart, and awoke the tumultuous pulses of returning hope. On his knees did the eye of God see that poor man by the broad still stream that glittered in the sunbeams, and human eyes soon saw him too, for round that headland covered with tangled brushwood boldly advances the little boat, propelled by its lusty rowers. The Lost One raises his feeble voice on high;—it was a loud shrill scream of joy and fear. The rowers pause, and look around. Another, but feebler scream, and they observe him. It comes,—his heart flutters, his sight is dimmed, his brain reels, he gasps for breath. It comes,—it has run upon the beach, and the Lost One is found.
This is no tale of fiction, but the relation of an actual occurrence, which might be embellished, no doubt, but which is better in the plain garb of truth. The notes by which I recorded it were written, in the cabin of the once lost live-oaker, about four years after the painful incident occurred. His amiable wife, and loving children, were present at the recital, and never shall I forget the tears that flowed from them as they listened to it, albeit it had long been more familiar to them than atale thrice told. Sincerely do I wish, good reader, that neither you nor I may ever elicit such sympathy, by having undergone such sufferings, although no doubt such sympathy would be a rich recompense for them.
It only remains for me to say, that the distance between the cabin and the live-oak hummock to which the woodsman was bound, scarcely exceeded 8 miles, while the part of the river at which he was found, was 38 miles from his house. Calculating his daily wanderings at 10 miles, we may believe that they amounted in all to 400. He must, therefore, have rambled in a circuitous direction, which people generally do in such circumstances. Nothing but the great strength of his constitution, and the merciful aid of his Maker, could have supported him for so long a time.