opened out before them, and ran its narrow length far back into the land.
One could not conceive a better anchorage for the small boats such as
constituted their fleet. The men, when they saw it, gave a hearty cheer
that rose above the wind. Hardy as they were, fear had entered most of
them.

The leading boats passed into the bayou, and all the others, many
struggling hard with wind, current, and waves, followed them. The change
was immediate. They came into quarters comparatively still, but there was
a new danger. A tree, snapped through its mighty trunk by the hurricane,
fell across the bayou directly in front of them. It was lucky that no
canoe was in its way.

"Out, men, with axes!" shouted Adam Colfax, and a dozen leaped to obey his
command. The tree was quickly cut apart and a score more dragged the two
halves up to the banks, leaving a passage once more for the fleet. This
was repeated further on, and now they began to look anxiously for more
open country. Only good fortune had saved them so far.

The bayou ran on narrow and deep, and they pulled and paddled with all
their might, until at last they came to a place that was fringed only by
high bushes. The forest on either side was two or three hundred yards
away, and Adam Colfax, despite his stern New Hampshire nature, did not
repress a cry of joy. Here they were safe, alike from the Mississippi and
the forest.

"Tie up!" he shouted, and the boats were soon fastened to the bushes in
parallel rows on either side of the bayou. Then they hurried to make
shelter for themselves. The supplies were already covered. The skies were
now at the darkest, a solid circle of heavy black clouds. The lightning