All looked straight ahead.
Suddenly they saw in the middle of the bayou, about a hundred yards before
them, a small, black shape, so low that it seemed to blend with the water.
It was an Indian canoe, the first outpost of the savage force, and its
occupant, promptly firing a rifle, raised a long, warning shout. In an
instant the woods on either side began to crackle with rifle-fire.
Skirmishers had met skirmishers, and the battle of the bayou had begun.
"Press on! Press on! We must cut through somehow!" cried Adam Colfax, and
the American fleet moved steadily and unfalteringly on toward its goal.
They came now to the narrowest part of the bayou, and stretched across it
they saw a dark line of canoes, all crowded with Indians and the
desperadoes of Alvarez. Behind them heaved up the dark bulk of the
captured schooner.
The battle blazed in an instant into volume and fury. Two lines of fire
facing each other were formed across the bayou, one bent upon pushing
forward, the other bent upon holding it back. These lines, moreover,
stretched far into the woods on either bank, where sharpshooters lay, and
both sides shouted at intervals as the blood in their veins grew hot.
The dark hulk of the schooner suddenly burst into spots of flame, and the
woods and waters echoed with heavy reports.
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