What had become the fate of the others I could not for the moment determine.  I could see little, with eyes scarcely above the surface, and struggling hard to breast the sweep of the current.  The darkness shadowed everything, the bulk of the keel-boat alone appearing in the distance, and that, shapelessly outlined.  The craft bore no light, and had it not been for a voice speaking, I doubt if I could have located even that.  The rowboat could not be distinguished—­it must have sunken, or else drifted away, a helpless wreck.  The first sound my ears caught, echoing across the water, was an oath, and a question, “By God! a good job; do you see that fellow anywhere?”

“Naw,” the response a mere growl.  “He’s a goner, I reckon; never knowed whut hit him, jedgin’ frum the way he upended it.”

“Well, then he isn’t likely to bother us any more.  Suppose he was the white man?”

“Sure he wus; it wus the nigger who was up ahead.  We hit him, an’ he dropped in ‘tween ther boats, an’ went down like a stone.  He never yeeped but just onct, when I furst gripped ther girl.  I don’t reckon as she wus hurt et all; leastwise I never aimed fer ter hurt her none.”

“Has she said anything?”

“Not a damned twitter; maybe she’s fainted.  I dunno, but that’s ther way females do.  What shall I do with the bird, Kirby?”

“Oh, hold on to her there awhile, long as she’s quiet.  I’m going to try the steam again, and get outside into the big river.  Hell, man, but this hasn’t been such a bad night’s work.  Now if we only make it to St. Louis, we’ll have the laugh on Donaldson.”

“I reckon he won’t laugh much,” with a chuckle.  “It’s cost him a valuable nigger.”

“You mean Sam?  Yes, that’s so.  But I’d like to know who that other fellow was—­the white one.”

“Him! oh, sum abolitionist likely; maybe one o’ ol’ Shrunk’s gang.  It’s a damn good thing fer this kintry we got him, an’ I ain’t worryin’ none ’bount any nigger-stealer.  The boat must ’er gone down, I reckon; enyhow ther whol’ side wus caved in.  What’s ther matter with yer engine?”

“It’s all right now—­keep your eyes peeled ahead.”

The steam began to sizz, settling swiftly into a rhythmatic chugging, as the revolving wheel began to churn up the water astern.  Confident of being safely hidden by the darkness, I permitted the current to bear me downward, my muscles aching painfully from the struggle, and with no other thought in my mind except to keep well out of sight of the occupants of the boat.  To be perceived by them, and overtaken in the water, meant certain death, while, if they continued to believe that I had actually sunk beneath the surface, some future carelessness on their part might yield me an unexpected opportunity to serve Rene.  The few words overheard had made sufficiently plain the situation.  Poor Sam had already found freedom in death, crushed between the two colliding boats,