The Chalmetta pursued her way, stemming with difficulty, as it would seem by her lazy pace, the current of the mighty river.  She had just passed Vicksburg.  The night was dark and gloomy.  Those bright, beautiful moons, with which the panorama-mongers are wont to gild the eddying current, and solemnize the scenery with a pale loveliness, were not in the ascendant.  Even the bright stars were hid by the thick clouds.  The darkness cast a sad gloom over the scene, which a few hours before had been “leaping in light, and alive with its own beauty.”  The yellow bank rose high on either side of the river, and formed a sombre wall, which seemed to keep the sojourner on the tide a prisoner from the world above.

Yet, deep as was the darkness, and perilous as was the navigation of the river, the Chalmetta sluggishly pursued her upward course, shunning sand-bars and snags which the eye could not see, and which the stranger knew not of.  Now she crept, like a thief at night, so closely beneath the high bank that her tall chimneys almost swept the overhanging branches; then, stealing from the treacherous shoal, she sped her way through the middle of the vast waters, as if ashamed of her former timidity.  Here she shot through the narrow cut-off, and there left her foaming surge in the centre of the broad expanse.

On board all was still, save the puffing blasts of steam, which, at each stroke of the pistons, echoed through the woods and over the plains.  The cabin lights had long been extinguished, and, from a distance, nothing could be seen of her but the huge blazing furnaces, and the red signal lantern, which was suspended over the boiler deck.  The firemen, just roused from their dream of comfort, no more passed round the coarse jest, no more whistled “Boatman, dance,” but, like automata, threw the fuel into the roaring furnaces.  Occasionally, the startling note of the great bell roused the deck-watch from his slumber, and he sang over again the monotonous song that told the pilot how far his keel was from the sands below.  Again the bell pealed a heavy stroke, which indicated that the steamer was in free water, and the leadsman settled himself for another nap.

The passengers, save those whom we have before noted, were deep in the arms of Morpheus, rejoicing, no doubt, in their dreams, over the many tedious hours they thus annihilated.

Wakeful and watchful, Henry Carroll still kept his post.  Ever present to his mind was the fair being over whose safety his vigil was kept.  Her image, clothed in all the gorgeous fancies which the love-sick brain conjures up, spoke in silver tones to his heart, and the melody of her voice thrilled his soul.  Descending from the dignity of the man, he built childish air-castles, wherein he throned his idol, and in a few fleeting moments squandered years of happiness by her side.  The perils of the past, the sternness of the present, the responsibilities of the future, all faded away, and from their ashes rose the bright empress of his soul.