on my suggestion, gasping that, "Haction of--of--
hany kind would tend to--to--k-p limbs warm."

We proceeded in silence for some minutes, when I observed the masts and
rigging of several vessels drawn faintly against the dark sky. They
were considerably to our right, and the current was evidently bearing us
away from them.

"A strong effort now, Lancey," said I, "and we may reach them."

I could feel, as well as see, that my faithful servant exerted himself
to the utmost.

As we approached the vessels, their huge black hulls loomed up out of
the dark surroundings, and were pictured against the sky, which, dark
though it was, had not the intense blackness of the vessels themselves.

We passed the nearest one within twenty yards.

"Let go, sir, and swim for it," cried Lancey.

"No, no!" I cried earnestly, "never let go your--"

I stopped, for Lancey had already let go, and made a dash for the
nearest ship. I heard him hail, and saw the flashing of lights for a
moment, then all was dark again and silent, as I was hurried onward.
The feeling of certainty that he could not have been saved with so rapid
a current sweeping him past, filled my mind with intense anxiety. Just
then I felt a shock. The hen-coop had been driven against another
vessel, which I had not observed.

I tried to grasp her, but failed. I uttered a loud cry, not with the
expectation that the crew of the vessel could save me,--that I knew to
be impossible,--but in the hope that they might be ready for Lancey
should he be carried close to them.

Then I was dragged onward by the powerful current, and tossed like a
cork on the river. I had observed in passing that the vessel was a
Turkish ironclad, and came to the conclusion that I had passed the
Turkish flotilla, which I knew was at that time lying near the fortress
of Matchin.

At the very time that I was being thus driven about by the wild waters,
and praying to God for the deliverance of my comrades and myself--
sometimes audibly, more frequently in spirit--another and a very
different scene was taking place, not far off, on the Roumanian shore.

The wind had fallen; the clouds that covered the moon had just thinned
enough to render darkness visible, and nothing was to be heard save the
continual croaking of the frogs, which are very large and numerous in
the marshes of the Danube, when four boats pushed off and proceeded
quickly, yet quietly, up the river.

No men were visible in t