In spite of such efforts to appear light-hearted, the nature of our work, 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 then two-thirds of the distance between the mainland and the island, in the full sweep of the raging current.  It struck us sidelong, with such force as to require all our combined strength to afford the laboring boat headway.  Suddenly Eloise startled us with an outcry.

“What is that yonder?” she questioned excitedly, pointing directly up-stream.  “It looks the strangest red thing ever I saw on water.  I believed it moved but now, as if alive.”