of the house, avoiding the windows as much as possible, until I emerged
into a somewhat clearer space of ground at the rear. The kitchen was
an ell, constructed of rough boards, but with shingle roof. The door
stood ajar, and I glanced in, only to find the room empty, the pots and
pans used the night before still unwashed.

There was nothing there to interest me, and I crossed a narrow space of
grass to where a broken picket fence was visible amid a fringe of
weeds. No description can fitly picture the gloomy desolation
surrounding that ramshackle place. It got upon the nerves, the decay,
the neglect apparent on every side. The very silence seemed
depressing. Evidently this fence, now a mere ruin, had once served to
protect a garden plot. But I saw merely a tangled mass of wild
vegetation, so thick and high as to obstruct the view. Narrow
footpaths branched in either direction, and I chose to follow the one
to the right, thinking thus to skirt the fence, and learn what was
beyond, before approaching the negro cabins on the opposite side. To
my surprise, I found myself suddenly standing on the bank of a narrow
bayou, the water clear, yet apparently motionless, the opposite shore
heavily timbered. Owing to a sharp curve I could see scarcely a
hundred yards in either direction, yet close in beside the shore a
light boat was skimming over the gray water. Even as I gazed, the
fellow plying the paddle saw me, and waved his hand. In another moment
the bow grounded on the bank and its occupant came stumbling up the
slight declivity.

He was a medium-sized, wiry-looking fellow, with olive skin and small
mustache, dressed in brown corduroy, a colored handkerchief wound about
his head in lieu of a hat. As he came to the level where I stood, he
stopped suddenly, staring into my face.