Our second night on the river was tinged with incident.  We had come to anchor near a small settlement, and our craft had been moored to a rude wharf.  About the middle of the night a wind-storm arose, and Euphemia and I were awakened by the bumping of the boat against the wharf-posts.  Through the open end of the cabin I could see that the night was very dark, and I began to consider the question whether or not it would be necessary for me to get up, much preferring, however, that the wind should go down.  Before I had made up my mind we heard a step on the cabin above us, and then a quick and hurried tramping.  I put my head out of the little window by me, and cried—­

“Who’s there?”

The voice of the boatman replied out of the darkness:—­

“She’ll bump herself to pieces against this pier!  I’m going to tow you out into the stream.”  And so he cast us loose, and getting into the little boat which was fastened to our stern, and always followed us as a colt its mother, he towed us far out into the stream.  There he anchored us, and rowed away.  The bumps now ceased, but the wind still blew violently, the waves ran high, and the yacht continually wobbled up and down, tugging and jerking at her anchor.  Neither of us was frightened, but we could not sleep.

“I know nothing can happen,” said Euphemia, “for he would not have left us here if everything had not been all right, but one might as well try to sleep in a corn-popper as in this bed.”

After a while the violent motion ceased, and there was nothing but a gentle surging up and down.

“I am so glad the wind has lulled,” said Euphemia, from the other side of the centre-board partition which partially divided the cabin.

Although I could still hear the wind blowing strongly outside, I too was glad that its force had diminished so far that we felt no more the violent jerking that had disturbed us, and I soon fell asleep.

In the morning, when I awoke, I saw that the sun was shining brightly, and that a large sea-grape bush was hanging over our stern.  I sprang out of bed, and found that we had run, stern foremost, upon a sandy beach.  About forty feet away, upon the shore, stood two ’possums, gazing with white, triangular faces upon our stranded craft.  Except these, and some ducks swimming near us, with seven pelicans flying along on the other side of the river, there was no sign of life within the range of my sight.  I was not long in understanding the situation.  It had not been the lulling of the storm, but the parting of our cable which had caused the uneasy jerking of our little yacht to cease.  We had been blown I knew not how far down the river, for the storm had come from the north, and had stranded I knew not where.  Taking out my pocket-compass I found that we were on the eastern shore of the river, and that the wind had changed completely, and was now blowing, not very strong, from the southeast.  I made up my mind what must be done.  We were probably far from the settlement and the rest of the party, and we must go back.  The wind was in our favor, and I knew I could sail the boat.  I had never sailed a boat in my life, and was only too glad to have the opportunity, untrammelled by any interference.