coupled with the sombre surroundings of the night, rested heavily
upon the spirits, and long before morning broke, we had all subsided
into disheartening silence, holding grimly to our onward course through
sheer force of will. With wearied eyes I marked the slow coming of
dawn above that desolation; the faint gray light creeping like some
living thing across the swirling waters, leaving more ghastly than
before the immense flood sweeping past. It was a sombre sight, yet
became more heartsome as crimson light streaked the sky, flashing forth
over the wide river, reddening the heaving surface, until the waters
blazed like burnished metal, and our blinded eyes could hardly gaze
upon it.

We were at this time approaching a vast curve in the shore-line,
appearing to the eye as if it might prove the mouth of some important
tributary stream. Beyond, perhaps a hundred feet out in the main
river, appeared a low island, a mere rock as it fronted us, yet thickly
covered by small trees and bushes, growing close to the water's edge.
No sign of life was apparent anywhere. The mainland, so far as the
sweep of vision extended, bore the same marshy and inhospitable look,
and I immediately determined upon the island as the more suitable
camping spot.

"Turn the prow of the canoe toward the upper end of that rock, Madame,"
I said, resuming my place at the oar. "It appears the most promising
halting place hereabout, and should afford us excellent vantage of view
both up and down the river."

"It will prove vantage of sleep for me," grumbled the Chevalier
gruffly. "I take it I should have been resting better had I remained
with the Dons."

I noticed the sudden uplifting of his wife's face, and seeing a pained
expression upon it, I replied:

"Such words bespeak little appreciation, Monsieur, of our efforts to
pluck you from a fate which has befallen your companions. Surely your
work is no harder than that of others, while you have more at issue."

He glanced from her face to mine in apparent surprise, but replied
readily:

"Those knowing me best, friend Benteen, pay least heed to my words.
When I bark I seldom bite, and when I intend biting I waste small time
on the bark. But, _parbleu_! how can I feel life worth living, if it
is all toil? There may be those who enjoy such existence, but I
discover no pleasure in it. _Sacre_! I love not hard hands and poor
fare, nor will I make pretence of what I do not feel."

We were