There was a general consensus of opinion with the mate’s position, and one of the elderly ladies openly remonstrated against Floyd-Rosney’s risky proposition, but his wife said never a word. Suddenly the mate called out in a startled voice: “Back oars,--back,--back,” and every roustabout put his full force against the current, but their utmost strength only sufficed to retard the progress of the boat. The tree had been struck by a flaw of wind which almost turned it over on the surface of the water, and then went skirling and eddying down the river. The whirling foliage gave an effect as of a flash of iridescent light through the sad-hued landscape; the leaves all green and yellow, as in a blend of some gorgeous emblazonry, showed now against the white foam and now against the slate-tinted sky. The myriad wild waves, surging to and fro in the commotion, leaped in long, elastic bounds, and shook their tawny manes. In the tumultuous undulations of the waters it required all the skill of the experienced boat-hands to keep the yawl afloat. “Give it up,” said Floyd-Rosney, at length. “We must go back to the _Cherokee Rose_.” “Impossible,--against the current with this load,” said the mate. “We can try, at least,” urged Floyd-Rosney. “If we don’t turn back the current will carry us down into the midst of that cursed tree in case we have another gust.” “Isn’t there a bayou about half a mile further?” suggested Adrian Ducie. “Does the current make in?” “I am not sure whether it’s a creek or a bayou,” said the mate, “but the current does make in along there.” “As if it matters a _sou marqué_ whether it is a creek or a bayou,” fleered Floyd-Rosney contemptuously. “It makes all the difference in the world,” retorted Ducie. “If it is a creek it flows into the Mississippi,--a tributary. If it is a bayou the Mississippi flows into it, for it is an outlet. If the current sets that way it may carry the tree into the bayou, provided it is wide enough, and, if it is narrow, the boughs may be entangled there.” It was one of the misfortunes under which the voyagers labored that these consultations of the leaders must needs be made in the hearing of the others, owing to the restricted space which they occupied. Several had begun to grow panicky with the suggestion that progress was so environed with danger, and yet that return was impossible. Perhaps the mate was skilled in weather-signs not altogether of the atmosphere when he said, casually, “You seem to be well acquainted with the river hereabouts, Mr. Ducie.” “Not the river itself, but I have made a study of a plot of survey of the Duciehurst lands. Bayou Benoit touches the northwestern quarter-section just where it leaves the river. We cannot be far now.”