way along the river side, keenly looking for some means of
conveyance on its waters. He soon found what he wanted in the shape of a
small log canoe, tied to a tree on the river bank. Pressing this into
his service, and disposing himself and his burden safely within, he
paddled down the stream, hoping to reach the Mississippi and drift down
to the city front before break of day.

Success was not to come so easily. A sound of puffing steam came from
down the river, and soon a trio of gunboats loomed through the gloom,
heading towards Yazoo City. These were avoided by taking shelter among
a bunch of willows that overhung the bank and served to hide the boat
from view. The gunboats well past, Fontain took to the current again,
soon reaching Snyder's Bluff, which was lighted up and a scene of
animation. Whites and blacks mingled on the bank, and it looked like a
midnight ball between the Yankee soldiers and belles of sable hue.
Gunboats and barges lined the shore and the light was thrown far out
over the stream. But those present were too hilarious to be watchful,
and, lying flat in his canoe, the scout glided safely past, the dug-out
not distinguishable from a piece of driftwood. Before the new day dawned
he reached the backwater of the Mississippi, but in the darkness he
missed the outlet of the Yazoo and paddled into what is called "Old
River."

The new day reddened in the east while he was still vainly searching for
an opening into the broad parent stream. Then his familiarity with the
locality showed him his mistake, and he was forced to seek a
hiding-place for himself and his boat. He had now been out two days and
nights. The little food he brought had long been devoured, and hunger
was assailing him. Sleep had also scarcely visited his eyes, and the
strain was growing severe.

Getting some slumber that day in his covert, he set out again as soon as
night fell, paddling back into the Yazoo, from which he soon reached the
Mississippi. He was here on a well-peopled stream, boats and lights
being abundant. As he glided on through the gloom he passed forty or
fifty transports, but had the good fortune to be seen by only one man,
who hailed him from the stern of a steamer and asked him where he was
going.

"To look after my fishing-lines," he replied.

"All right; hope you'll have a good catch." And he floated on.

Farther down in the bend of the stream above Vicksburg he came upon a
more animated scene. Here were t