Paul’s hand trembled.  Every nerve in him was jumping, but he resolutely steered the boat while the others rowed and fought.  Once he barely grazed a snag and he shivered, knowing how one of these terrible obstructions could rip the bottom out of a boat.  But soon the trees and bushes almost disappeared.  They were coming into open water.  The fog, too, ceased to close down, and the wind began to blow steadily out of the north.  Banks and streamers of white vapor rolled away toward the south.  In a few minutes it would all be gone.  Out of the mists behind them rose the shapes of war canoes not far away, and the fierce triumphant yell that swept far over the river sent a chill to Paul’s very marrow.  Once again rose the rifle fire, and it was now a rapid and steady crackle, but the bullets thudded in vain on the thick sides of “The Galleon.”

All except Paul now pulled desperately for the middle of the stream, while he, bending as low as he could, still kept a steady hand on the tiller.  The triumphant shout behind them rose again, and the great stream gave it back in a weird echo.  Paul suddenly uttered a gasp of despair.  Directly in front of them, not thirty yards away, was a large war canoe, crowded with a dozen savages while behind them came the horde.

“What is it, Paul?” asked Henry.

“A big canoe in front of us full of warriors.  We’re cut off!  No, we’re not!  I have it!  Bend low! bend low, you fellows, and pull with all the might that’s in you!”

Paul had an inspiration, and his blood was leaping.  The rifle shots still rattled behind them, but, as usual, the bullets buried themselves in the wood with a sigh, doing no harm.  Four pairs of powerful arms and four powerful shoulders bent suddenly to their task with new strength and vigor.  Paul’s words had been electric, thrilling, and every one felt their impulse instantly.  The prow of the heavy boat cut swiftly through the water, and Paul bent still lower to escape the rifle-shots.  No need for him to choose his course now!  The boat was already sent upon its errand.

A wild shout of alarm rose from the war canoe, and the next instant the prow of “The Galleon” struck it squarely in the middle.  There were more shouts of alarm or pain, a crunching, ripping and breaking of wood, and then “The Galleon,” after its momentary check, went on.  The war canoe had been cut in two, and its late occupants were swimming for their lives.  Not in vain had Paul read in an old Roman history of the battles between the fleets when galley cut down galley.

Henry, although he did not look up, knew at once what had happened, and he could not restrain admiration and praise.

“Good for you, Paul!” he cried.  “You took us right over the war canoe and that’s what’s likely to save us!”

Henry was right.  The other canoes, appalled by the disaster, and busy, too, in picking up the derelicts, hung back.  Henry and Shif’less Sol took advantage of the opportunity, and sent bullet after bullet among them, aiming more particularly at the light bark canoes.  Three filled and began to sink and their occupants had to be rescued.  The utmost confusion and consternation reigned in the savage fleet, and the distance between it and “The Galleon” widened rapidly as the latter bore in a diagonal course across the Mississippi.