Prisoners of Chance

Our boat was securely hidden amid a thick growth of reeds, which extended their domain far down the shore, even out into the river shallows. These reeds sprang quickly back into position as we pressed through, leaving no trail for pursuers to follow. Nevertheless, making all secure on board, and removing from the locker a quantity of biscuit and some smoked meat, we took the further precaution of covering the boat with rushes so as thoroughly to disguise its presence from prying eyes. Satisfied with the result of these efforts, we clambered up the slight ridge to where we found a small open space, carpeted with soft grass, and sufficiently elevated to permit our looking about above the level of the cane, while remaining concealed ourselves.

Our lodgment was upon a small island, a stream of languidly flowing water extending between us and the main west shore. This, so far as my eyes could distinguish, did not differ in appearance from our present abiding place, being composed of low, swampy land, thickly covered with a heavy growth of cane, and exhibiting no sign of human habitation. The sole break to this dull monotony of outline was a narrow fringe of trees situated farther back, where doubtless firmer soil gave spread to their roots.

Northward the eye might trace the slight curve of the bank for miles. It appeared irregular and low, slightly diversified by small, marshy islands, similar to this we occupied, possibly cloven from the mainland by some eccentricity of current. Occasionally I distinguished openings into lagoons, such passages into the low-lying mainland being evidenced by the deeper green of the vegetation bordering them, as well as by wind-twisted trees clinging despairingly to the crooked banks. East and south swept the river, so broad our eyes could barely trace the dim presence of a distant shore. Below, that majestic yellow flood poured downward unbroken, although De Noyan imagined he perceived distant spars of the Spanish fleet outlined against the blue background of the southern sky. This may have been possible, yet to my eyes all was blank, although I could mark pretty accurately where they should have been.

We indulged in little conversation, reclining on the short grass, partaking of our cold meal. The Chevalier attempted a sorry jest or two, yet soon subsided, discovering so unresponsive an audience. It was plain to my mind the reflections of Madame were altogether with her father--lying dead before this hour--and this sad memory darkened even the delight of her husband's safety. His affected gayety of manner, and reckless speech, jarred more harshly upon her in this hour than perhaps ever before in her life. Yet she made a pathetically brave effort to appear of good cheer, managing to eat with us, although it was easy to perceive the food choked her, while her eyes were blurred with tears resolutely held in restraint. It was plain, I say, yet this is but my thought, for I question whether De Noyan, in his careless mood, observed her depression. He was of a nature reflecting slightly on any save himself; past sorrow being quickly forgotten in any present gleam of sun. As we thus ended this silent meal it occurred to me they might require slumber more than I, and I expressed my willingness to stand guard while they sought rest. Perhaps my face told a tale of weariness easily read, for this proposal met immediate resistance.