On the morning of the fourth day—and what a day that was, with a copper cover on it, and a crater underneath—sweltering, we woke up, and both had the same thought—a swim. "Jim," a very interesting colored "boy" from a neighboring "swampers'" camp, was outside, and he stared aghast at our preparations.
"No, no, don't do dat!" he said earnestly.
"Why not?"
"Moccasins!" with a grave head-shake.
We did not jump in; we contented ourselves with a bath in the boat. But we laughed at "Jim," and sat down to breakfast in the open air. In a few minutes we stopped laughing.
"What is that swimming out there?" asked Moseley, pointing to a slight dark streak about twenty yards out in the lake.
"A moccasin!" cried Abeham, getting on his feet excitedly. Abeham was used to snakes, but terriblly afraid of them. "Shoot him!"
We shot him; slight and short as he looked swimming, he was four feet seven inches in length. In a minute another—his mate probably—swam past and was killed, and was exactly the same length.
The moccasin swims with its head and about fourteen inches of its back over the water. The
