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the current, and yet they do nothing. What prayers and cries of entreaty, what wild imprecations I uttered, I know not; but I am sure that reason had already left me, and nothing remained in its place except the mad impulse to save them, or perish. There was then so much of calculation in my mind that I could balance the chances of breasting the stream on horseback, or alone, and this done, I spurred my animal over the bank into the Danube. A horse is a noble swimmer, when he has courage, and a Hungarian horse rarely fails in this quality. Heading toward the opposite shore, the gallant beast cleared his track through the strong current, snorting madly, and seeming to plunge at times against the rushing waters. I never turned my eyes from the skiff all this time, and now could see the reason of what had seemed their apathy. The anchor had become entangled, fouled among some rocks or weeds of the river, and the boatman's efforts to lift it were all in vain. I screamed and yelled to the man to cut the rope, but my cries were unheard, for he bent over the gunwale, and tugged and tore with all his might. I was more than fifty yards higher up the stream, and rapidly gaining the calmer water under shore, when I tried to turn my horse's head down the current; but the instinct of safety rebelled against all control, and the animal made straight for the bank. There was then but one chance left, and taking my sabre in my mouth, I sprang from his back into the stream. In all the terrible excitement of that dreadful moment I clung to one firm purpose. The current would surely carry the boat into safety, if once free; I had no room for any thought but this. The great trees along shore, the great fortress, the very clouds over head, seemed to fly past me, as I swept along; but I never lost sight of my purpose, and now almost within my grasp. I see the boat and the three figures, who are bending down over one that seems to have fainted. With my last effort, I cry again to cut the rope, but his knife has broken at the handle! I touch the side of the skiff, I grasp the gunwale with one hand, and seizing my sabre with the other, I make one desperate cut. The boat swings round to the current, the boatman's oars are out--they are saved. My "thank God!" is like the cry of a drowning man--for I know no more. Chapter LIII. A Loss And A Gain. To apologize to my reader for not strictly tracing out each day of my history, would be, in
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