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