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Updated: June 12, 2025
Cornwood had evidently "studied up" on alligators; and I was quite interested in his comparison of the different reptiles, for I had supposed they were all alike. "You can't very well help seeing them when you go up the river, for some of the streams we shall doubtless explore are full of them," added the Floridian. "Are you not afraid of them?"
The Colonel decided to ask his friend, Colonel Ives, a lawyer of influence, and a Floridian, to attend court with me. Washburn was on hand in season, and the mayor listened to the testimony. Cornwood had his opportunity to badger the witnesses, and he made the most of it.
Washburn's boat was the first to return, and I went on shore in it. I wanted the mate to see Mr. Cornwood; but I did not mention him, for I wanted my friend to make up his mind in regard to the Floridian without any suggestion from me, and without his knowing that he was doing duty as a judge. I asked Washburn to take a stroll with me.
"There is not much game about here, I am told. I have talked with several of the old guides, and they say this part of the country has been hunted out," continued Cornwood. "Where shall we go, then?" "I find there have been heavy rains down south of us, and that the streams are high. We can certainly go as far as Lake Harney, and perhaps thirty or forty miles farther.
"I dare say there are; but I don't know anything about it," I replied. "Undoubtedly there are snakes on the island," interposed Mr. Cornwood; and I saw that he glanced at me, with a smile, as if in allusion to my experience on the evening before. "I am very much afraid of snakes," said Miss Margie, looking timidly about her.
The poles were ten feet long, but they were to report no depths above four feet; for if we had four feet, it made no difference how much deeper the water was. "No bottom!" called both of them, for some time; then, "Four feet." "Three feet!" shouted Hop, when we had gone about two miles. Cornwood rang the speed bell, and the boat slowed down to five miles an hour.
The assistant engineer thought he had been there two or three minutes, at least, waiting for a chance to speak to one of us. I was vexed at the circumstance. If Cornwood was the agent of Captain Boomsby, and Griffin Leeds was the tool of the Floridian, our conversation would all be reported to the principal in the conspiracy, always granting there was any truth in our surmises.
"You needn't put that flag in the fore-rigging," said Mr. Cornwood, when he discovered the signal for a pilot flying, as we approached the bar. "Why not?" I asked, forgetting some of the wonderful things he had told me he could do.
It was a considerable river, but Cornwood seemed to be quite at home in it. It was a crooked stream, but the pilot ran from one side to the other, talking to me all the time with the utmost indifference. I observed him for a couple of hours, until I was entirely satisfied that he knew what he was about, and then joined the party astern.
"The idea of fishing for catfish is absurd!" exclaimed Colonel Shepard. "It isn't a proper use to put a white man to." "Don't fish so deep, then," suggested Cornwood. "The catfish live on the bottom." I was as much disgusted with the idea of catching catfish as the Colonel, for I had seen plenty of them caught by the negroes on the wharves at Jacksonville.
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