men were assembled, talking hurriedly and pointing to the
river. Others each moment arrived, and two boats were hastily shoved off
from an adjacent landing-place.

"A man in the river," was the reply to my hasty inquiry.

It was so dark that I could not distinguish countenances close to me,
and at a very few yards even the outline of objects was scarcely to be
discerned. There were no houses close at hand, and some minutes elapsed
before lights were procured. At last several boats put off, with men
standing in the bows, holding torches and lanterns high in the air.
Meanwhile I had questioned the by-standers, but could get little
information; none as to the person to whom the accident had happened.
The man who had given the alarm, was returning from mooring his boat to
a neighbouring jetty, when he perceived a figure moving along the quay a
short distance in his front. The figure disappeared, a heavy splash
followed, and the boatman ran forward. He could see no one either on
shore or in the stream, but heard a sound as of one striking out and
struggling in the water. Having learned this much, I jumped into a boat
just then putting off, and bid the rowers pull down stream, keeping a
short distance from the quay. The current ran strong, and I doubted not
that the drowning man had been carried along by it. Two vigorous oarsmen
pulled till the blades bent, and the boat, aided by the stream, flew
through the water. A third man held a torch. I strained my eyes through
the darkness. Presently a small object floated within a few feet of the
boat, which was rapidly passing it. It shone in the torchlight. I struck
at it with a boat-hook, and brought it on board. It was a man's cap,
covered with oilskin, and I remembered Van Haubitz wore such a one.
Stripping off the cover, I beheld in officer's foraging cap, with a
grenade embroidered on its front. My doubts, slight before, were
entirely dissipated.

When the search, rendered almost hopeless by the extreme darkness and
power of the current, was at last abandoned, I hastened to the hotel,
and inquired for Madame Sendel. She came to me in a state of great
agitation. Van Haubitz had not returned, but she thought less of that
than of the state of her daughter, who, since recovering from a long
swoon, had been almost distracted with anxiety. She knew some one had
been drowned, and her mind misgave her it was her husband. The
foraging-cap, which Madame Sendel immediately recognised,