hythm of the engine, which announced that the voyage was
begun. When he hurried on deck, he was at first disappointed to learn
that the boat was still some distance from the open sea, for which he
longed with all an inlander's curiosity over the mystery of endless
waters. _The Bonita_ was now working forward slowly through the old
Dismal Swamp Canal, to reach the Pasquotank River and Albemarle Sound.
Zeke's astonished eyes perceived in every direction only the level,
melancholy expanse of the swamp. His sensitive soul found,
nevertheless, a strange charm and beauty in the scene. There was space
here, even as in the mountains. Yet this calm was not of strength, he
felt vaguely, like that he had known, but the tranquillity of nature
in another, a weaker, less-wholesome mood, apathetic, futile. The
thickly dotting cypresses and junipers, bedecked with streaming
draperies of Spanish moss, touched the vistas with a funereal aspect.
The languid movement of the festoons under the breeze was like the
sighings of desolation made visible. The dense tangle of the
undergrowth stretched everywhere, repellent, unrelieved by the vivid
color flashes of the mountain blossoms. Stagnant wastes of amber-hued
water emphasized the dreariness.

Zeke's spirits were too exultant to suffer more than a fleeting
depression from this first survey of the waste. He realized how unjust
his impressions might be when he learned that this seemingly filthy
water was highly esteemed. The deck-hand, filling the water barrel
from a pail let over the ship's side, explained the swamp water's
virtues.

"All the capens fill their barrels with it. Juniper water cures chills
an' fever, an' keeps 'em off if ye hain't got 'em. Some says it's
better 'n gin for the kidneys." But the deck-hand looked doubtful.

Zeke, still suspicious because of the unlikeness of this liquid to the
crystal-clear element of the mountains, essayed an experimental
swallow, then spat disgustedly.

"Hit may be all right fer med'cine, or yarb tea," was his verdict,
"but it needs real water to wash it down."

The progress was tediously slow, for a strong southwest wind had come
on, which lowered the water in the canal, so that _The Bonita_ often
went scraping along the bottom, and betimes stuck fast in the mud.
When they were come to the Lake Drummond region, Captain Lee decided
to tie up until a change or falling of the wind, with its consequent
rise of water in the channel. At the poin