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Making a rough topographical sketch of the country as I descended Hutchinson's Creek； or Big River； the latter appellation being the most appropriate； as it is a very wide watercourse； I came upon a group of low islands； and found upon one of them a plantation which had been abandoned to the negroes； and the little bluff upon which two or three rickety buildings were situated was the last land which remained unsubmerged during a high tide between the plantation and the sea。
I was now in a quandary。 I had left the hospitable residence of Governor Aiken at ten o'clock A。 M。； when I should have departed at sunrise in order to have had time to enter and pass through St。 Helena Sound before night came on。 The prospect of obtaining shelter was indeed dismal。 Just at this time a loud shout from the negroes on shore attracted my attention； and I rested upon my oars； while a boat…load of women and children paddled out to me。
〃Is dat de little boat？〃 they asked； viewing my craft with curious eyes。 〃And is dat boat made of paper？〃 they continued； showing that negro runners had posted the people； even in these solitary regions； of the approach of the paper canoe。 I questioned these negro women about the route； but each gave a different answer as to the passage through the Horns to St。 Helena Sound。 Hurrying on through tortuous creeks； the deserted tract called 〃the Horns〃 was entered； and until sunset I followed one short stream after another； to its source in the reedy plain； constantly retracing the route； with the tide not yet ebbing strong enough to show me a course to the sound。 Presently it ebbed more rapidly； and I followed the tide from one intricacy to another； but never found the principal thoroughfare。
While I was enveloped in reeds； and at a loss which way to go； the soft ripple of breaking waves struck my ear like sweet music。 The sea was telling me of its proximity。 Carefully balancing myself； I stood up in the cranky canoe； and peering over the grassy thickets； saw before me the broad waters of Helena Sound。 The fresh salt breeze from the ocean struck upon my forehead； and nerved me to a renewal of my efforts to get within a region of higher land； and to a place of shelter。
The ebbing tide was yet high； and through the forest of vegetation； and over the submerged coast； I pushed the canoe into the sound。 Now I rowed as though for my life； closely skirting the marshes； and soon entered waters covered by a chart in my possession。 My course was to skirt the coast of the sound from where I had entered it； and cross the mouths of the Combahee and Bull rivers to the entrance of the broad Coosaw。 This last river I would ascend seven miles to the first upland； and camp thereon until morning。 The tide was now against me； and the night was growing darker； as the faithful craft was forced along the marshes four miles to the mouth of the Combahee River； which I had to ascend half a mile to get rid of a shoal of frisky porpoises； who were fishing in the current。
Then descending it on the opposite shore； I rowed two miles further in the dark； but for half an hour previous to my reaching the wide debouchure of Bull River； some enormous blackfish surged about me in the tideway and sounded their nasal calls； while their more demonstrative porpoise neighbors leaped from the water in the misty atmosphere； and so alarmed me and occupied my attention； that instead of crossing to the Coosaw River； I unwittingly ascended the Bull； and was soon lost in the contours of the river。 As I hugged the marshy borders of the stream to escape the strong current of its channel； and rowed on and on in the gloom； eagerly scanning the high； sedge…fringed flats to find one little spot of firm upland upon which I might land my canoe and obtain a resting…spot for myself for the night； the feeling that I was lost was not the most cheerful to be imagined。 In the thin fog which arose from the warm water into the cool night air； objects on the marshes assumed fantastical shapes。 A few reeds； taller than the rest； had the appearance of trees twenty feet high。 So real did these unreal images seem； that I drove my canoe against the soft； muddy bank； repeatedly prompted to land in what seemed a copse of low trees； but in every instance I was deceived。 Still I pulled up that mysterious river； ignorant at the time of even its name； praying only for one little spot of upland where I might camp。
While thus employed； I peered over my shoulder into the gloom； and beheld what seemed to be a vision； for； out of a cloud of mist rose the skeleton lines of a large ship； with all its sails furled to the yards。 〃A ship at anchor； and in this out…of…the…way place！〃 I ejaculated； scarcely believing my eyes； but when I pointed the canoe towards it； and again looked over my shoulder； the vision of hope was gone。
Again I saw tall masts cutting through the mists； but the ship's hull could not be distinguished； and as I rowed towards the objects； first the lower masts disappeared； then the topmasts dissolved； and later； the topgallant and royal masts faded away。 For half an hour I rowed and rowed for that mysterious vessel； which was veiled and unveiled to my sight。 Never did so spectral an object haunt or thwart me。 It seemed to change its position on the water； as well as in the atmosphere； and I was too busily employed in trying to reach it to discover in the darkness that the current； which I could not distinguish from smooth water； was whirling me down stream as fast as I would approach the weird vessel。
Drawing once more from the current； I followed the marsh until the canoe was opposite the anchorage of a real ship； then； with hearty pulls； I shot around its stern； and shouted： 〃Ship ahoy！〃
No one answered the hail。 The vessel looked like a man…of…war； but not of American build。 Not a light gleamed from her ports； not a footfall came from her decks。 She seemed to be deserted in the middle of the river； surrounded by a desolate waste of marshes。 The current gurgled and sucked about her run； as the ebbtide washed her black hull on its way to the sea。 The spectacle seemed now even more mysterious than when； mirage…like； it peered forth from a cloud of mist。 But it was real； and not fantastic。 Another hail； louder than the first； went forth into the night air； and penetrated to the ship's forecastle； for a sailor answered my call； and reported to the captain in the cabin the presence of a boat at the ship's side。
A quick； firm tread sounded upon the deck； then； with a light bound； a powerfully…built young man landed upon the high rail of the vessel。 He peered down from his stately ship upon the little speck which floated upon the gurgling current； then； with a voice 〃filled with the fogs of the ocean；〃 he thundered forth； as though he were hailing a man…of…war： 〃What boat's that？〃
〃Paper canoe Maria Theresa；〃 I replied； in as foggy a voice as I could assume。
〃Where from； and where bound？〃 again roared the captain。
〃From Quebec； Canada； and bound to sleep on board your vessel； if I can ever get up there；〃 I politely responded； in a more subdued voice； for I soon discovered that nature had never intended me for a