e cones, then, he
wanted, but the young shoots that grew on the very tops of the branches.
These were of a brownish-red colour, and thickly coated with resin--for
the _Pinus taeda_ is more resinous than any tree of its kind--emitting a
strong aromatic odour, which has given to it one of its trivial names.

Having collected the shoots until he had both hands full, my guide now
bent down, and rubbed the resin over both the soles and upper surface of
his coarse brogans. He then advanced to where I stood, stooped down
again, and treated my boots to a similar polishing!

"Now, mass', all right--de dam, blood-dogs no scent Ole Gabe now--dat
_hill de trail_. Come, mass' Edwad, come 'long."

Saying this, he again shouldered the snake and started off, leaving me
to follow in his tracks.

CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT.

THE PIROGUE.

We soon after entered the _cypriere_. There the surface was mostly
without underwood. The black taxodiums, standing thickly, usurped the
ground, their umbellated crowns covered with hoary epiphytes, whose
pendulous drapery shut out the sun, that would otherwise have nourished
on that rich soil a luxuriant herbaceous vegetation. But we were now
within the limits of the annual inundation; and but few plants can
thrive there.

After a while I could see we were approaching a stagnant water. There
was no perceptible descent, but the dank damp odour of the swamp, the
noise of the piping frogs, the occasional scream of some wading bird, or
the bellowing of the alligator, admonished me that some constant water--
some lake or pond--was near.

We were soon upon its margin. It was a large pond, though only a small
portion of it came under the eye; for, as far as I could see, the
cypress-trees grew up out of the water, their huge buttresses spreading
out so as almost to touch each other! Here and there the black "knees"
protruded above the surface, their fantastic shapes suggesting the idea
of horrid water-demons, and lending a supernatural character to the
scene. Thus canopied over, the water looked black as ink, and the
atmosphere felt heavy and oppressive. The picture was one from which
Dante might have drawn ideas for his "Inferno."

On arriving near this gloomy pond, my guide came to a stop. A huge tree
that had once stood near the edge had fallen, and in such a position
that its top extended far out into the water. Its branches were yet
undecayed, and the parasites still clung to them in