The boats were soon launched upon the dark cypress waters of the creek, the cargo carefully stowed, and the voyage resumed.  Though the roundabout course through the woods was fully seven miles, a direct line for a canal to connect the Bon Secours and Portage Creek waters would not exceed four miles.  About two miles from the logging-camp the stream entered “Bay Lalanch,” from the grassy banks of which alligators slid into the water as we rowed quietly along.

We now entered a wide expanse of bay and river, with shores clothed with solemn forests of dark green.  The wide Perdido River, rising in this region of dismal pines, flows between Bear Point and Inerarity’s Point, when, making a sharp turn to the eastward, it empties into the Gulf of Mexico.  In crossing the river between the two points mentioned, we were only separated from the sea by a narrow strip of low land.  The Perdido River is the boundary line between the states of Alabama and Florida.  In a bend of the river, nearly three miles east of Inerarity’s Point, we landed on a low shore, having passed the log cabins of several settlers scattered along in the woods.

It was now necessary to make a portage across the low country to the next interior watercourse, called “Big Lagoon.”  It was a shallow tidal sheet of water seven miles in length by one in width, and separated from the sea by a very narrow strip of beach.  We camped in our boats for the night, starting off hopefully in the morning for the little settlement, to procure a team to haul our boats three-quarters of a mile to Big Lagoon.  The settlers were all absent from their homes, hunting and fishing, so we returned to our camp depressed in spirits.  There was nothing left for us but to attempt to haul our boats over the sandy neck of land; so we at once applied ourselves to the task.  The boats were too heavy for us to carry, so we dragged the sneak-box on rollers, cut from a green pine-tree, half-way to the lagoon; and, making many journeys, the provisions, blankets, gun, oars, &c., were transported upon our shoulders to the half-way resting-place.

So laborious was this portage that when night came upon us we had hauled one boat only, with our provisions, tent, and outfit, to the beach of Big Lagoon.  The Riddle still rested upon the banks of the Perdido River.  The tent was pitched to shelter us from mosquitoes, and partaking of a hearty supper, we rolled ourselves in our blankets and slept.  The camp was in a desolate place, our only neighbors being the coons, and they enlivened the solitude by their snarling and fighting, having come down to the beach to fish in apparently no amiable mood.

Before midnight, that unmistakable cry so human in its agonizing tone, warned us of the approach of a panther.  Coming closer and closer, the animal prowled round our tent, sounding his childlike wail.  It was too dark to get a glimpse of him, though we watched, weapons in hand, for his nearer approach.  Saddles had hunted the beast in his Louisiana lairs, and was eager to make him feel the weight of his lead.  We succeeded in driving him off once, but he returned and skulked in the bushes near our camp for half an hour, when his cries grew fainter as he beat a retreat into the forest.