lf hour.

The bell of the steamer rang furiously for the start, and I began to be
afraid that my passenger's devotion to his friends would lead him to
accompany them down the river. I went up into the cabin, and found him
taking a "parting drink" with them. I told him the boat was just
starting; he hastily shook hands with his companions, and accompanied me
down to the plank. I crossed it, and had hardly touched the shore
before I heard a splash behind me. I turned, and saw that Squire Fishley
had toppled into the river. His last dram appeared to be the ounce that
had broken the camel's back.

I saw the current bear him under the guards of the boat, where, in the
darkness, he was lost to my view. I ran, followed by a dozen idlers, to
the stern of the boat, and presently the helpless tippler appeared
again. A raft of floating logs lay just below the steamer. I cast off
the up-stream end of one of them, and the current swung it out in the
river. Leaping astride it, I pushed off, just in time to intercept the
unfortunate senator, who had sense enough left to grasp it.

"Hold on tight, squire!" I cried to him.

I worked along the log to the place where he was, and assured myself
that he had a secure hold. Beyond keeping myself afloat, I was as
helpless as he was, for I could not do anything to guide or propel our
clumsy bark. We had disappeared from the view of the people on shore,
for the night was, as Captain Fishley had predicted, very dark.

I think we floated half a mile down the river, and I heard persons
shouting far above us, in boats. We were approaching a bend in the
stream, where I hoped the current would set us near enough to the shore
to enable me to effect a landing. Just then the steamer came puffing
along; but her course took her some distance from us. She passed us, and
in the swell caused by her wheels we were tossed up and down, and I was
afraid the squire would be shaken from his hold. I grasped him by the
collar with one hand, and kept him in position till the commotion of the
water had partially subsided.

But the swell did us a good turn, for it drove the log towards the
shore, at the bend of the stream, and I found that I could touch bottom.
With a hold for my feet, I pushed the timber towards the bank till one
end of it grounded. I then helped the squire to walk up the shoaling
beach, out of the river. Cold water is the natural enemy of ardent
spirits, and in this instance it had gained a part