Prisoners of Chance

After brief respite Madame steered as closely beside the bank as possible, thus avoiding the swift current, yet it was no small task to win our way upward through the lagging hours. More and more frequently tired muscles drove us to the shore for intervals of relaxation. Still, in spite of much time thus lost, we made steady progress, so before morning dawned I was confident many a mile had been placed behind, although the low shore we skirted remained so similar in outline as to afford few landmarks with which to gauge our passage.

De Noyan grew more cheerful toward the end, his sullen mood changing to a gay semblance of reckless abandon. To me, however, he appeared scarcely more engaging in snatches of ribald song, and careless speech, freely interspersed with French oaths and much complaint at unwonted toll, than in his former moody silence; yet his cheerfulness had effect upon Madame, who contrived to rally from her mental depression, becoming in turn a veritable sunburst in the gloom. I experienced a glow of pleasure listening to her merry banter, and, once or twice, to a low-voiced French song, sounding sweetly enough as it echoed back from off the black water.

In spite of such efforts to appear light-hearted, the nature of our work, coupled with the sombre surroundings of the night, rested heavily upon the spirits, and long before morning broke, we had all subsided into disheartening silence, holding grimly to our onward course through sheer force of will. With wearied eyes I marked the slow coming of dawn above that desolation; the faint gray light creeping like some living thing across the swirling waters, leaving more ghastly than before the immense flood sweeping past. It was a sombre sight, yet became more heartsome as crimson light streaked the sky, flashing forth over the wide river, reddening the heaving surface, until the waters blazed like burnished metal, and our blinded eyes could hardly gaze upon it.

We were at this time approaching a vast curve in the shore-line, appearing to the eye as if it might prove the mouth of some important tributary stream. Beyond, perhaps a hundred feet out in the main river, appeared a low island, a mere rock as it fronted us, yet thickly covered by small trees and bushes, growing close to the water's edge. No sign of life was apparent anywhere. The mainland, so far as the sweep of vision extended, bore the same marshy and inhospitable look, and I immediately determined upon the island as the more suitable camping spot.

"Turn the prow of the canoe toward the upper end of that rock, Madame," I said, resuming my place at the oar. "It appears the most promising halting place hereabout, and should afford us excellent vantage of view both up and down the river."