I measured the distance between us with my eye, and leaped as far out as possible, striking out with lusty strokes. The swift current swung me about like a chip, and swept me downward in spite of every struggle. I was squarely abreast of the boat, already caught in her suction, and being drawn straight in toward her wheel, when the looped end of a flying noose struck my shoulder. "Keep your head, lad!" roared out a hoarse voice. "Hang on now, an' we'll get yer." It was such a rush, such a breathless, desperate struggle, I can scarcely recall the details. All I really remember is that I gripped the rope, and clung; was dragged under again and again; was flung against the steamer's side, seemingly losing all consciousness, yet dimly realizing that outstretched hands grasped me, and lifted me up by main strength to the narrow footway, dropping me there in the pool of water oozing from my clothes. Someone spoke, lifting my head on his arm, in answer to a hail from above. "Yes, he's all right, sir; just a bit groggy. What'll we do with him?" "Bring him along up to Haines' cabin, and get him the old suit in my room. You might warm him up with a drink first. You tend to it, Mapes." The liquor I drank out of a bottle burnt like fire, but brought me new strength, so that, with Mapes' help, I got to my feet, and stared about at the group of faces surrounding us. They were those of typical river men, two negroes and three whites, ragged, dirty, and disreputable. Mapes was so bushily bearded, that about all I could perceive of his face was the eyes, yet these were intelligent, and I instantly picked him out as being the mate. "How long yer all bin roostin' on thet snag?" he questioned, evidently somewhat amused. "Dem me, stranger, if I ever see thet sorter thing done afore." "I was caught there last night," I answered, unwilling to say more, "Boat got snagged in the dark, and went down." "Live round yere, I reckon?" "No; just floating. Came down the Illinois. Where is this steamer bound?" "Hell alone knows," dryly. "Yeller Banks furst, enyhow; we're loaded with supplies." "Supplies! For Yellow Banks?" in surprise. "Why; what's going on there? My friend, there aren't ten families within a hundred miles of that place." Mapes laughed, his mouth opening like a red gash, exhibiting a row of yellow fangs. "No, I reckon not; but thar's a hell ov a lot o' fellers thar whut ain't families, but kin eat. Didn't yer know, pardner, thar's a right smart war on? thet the Illinoy militia is called out, an' is a marchin' now fer Yeller Banks? They're liable fer ter be thar too afore ever this damn scow makes it, if we hav' ter stop an' pick eny mor' blame fools outer the river. Come on, let's go up." "Wait a minute. This is an Indian war? Black Hawk has broken loose?" "Sure; raised perticular hell. We heerd down et Saint Louee he'd killed 'bout a hundred whites, an' burned sum ov 'em--ther ol' devil." "And where is he now?"