Tom, breathing more easily, waited for five minutes, then picked up his rail and shoved it under the boat. "If you had as much sense as your dog, mister, you'd be all right." That was his parting shot at the two men as he gave another heave at the rail. Water was pouring into the boat, so he stuffed his coat into the hole. That would keep the boat from filling so rapidly, at least. Two more heaves at the rail and the current caught the forward end, swinging it around slightly. Another heave; and he jumped aboard, dragging the rail after him. He stood up and poled the boat away from the shore. The current turned it end for end; he changed his rail to the other side, reached down for the bottom and gave another shove, which sent him out into the full flow of the Tennessee River. The flatboat had shipped about two inches of water, and more was entering just as fast as it could flow through the cracks. "But it's a boat," Tom repeated. "And she'll be a boat until she sinks--and then I'm a swimmer." He tried to reach the bottom of the river with his rail, but the water washed it aside; then he tried to steer by holding the rail against the upstream side, but the old boat was in no mood to answer a helm. She veered about in the current, twisting, turning, going sideways, wallowing in the uneven water. Tom, squatting in the center, watched its aimless, crazy actions, wondering what he could do to get it edging towards the opposite shore. The water was mounting higher; the boat was half-filled now, and the waves were splashing over. But still she careened, as though enjoying her new freedom, down the Tennessee. Tom glanced up, and saw, to his amazement, the lights of Chattanooga glowing like dim yellow stars in the darkness. Chattanooga! And he was passing it in the darkness! He sat speechless watching the city as the current carried him along. Below Chattanooga there was a sharp bend in the river where it turned to the northward. He remembered that from studying the map. Would he be washed up on the same side of the river from which he had just escaped? Would it be better to jump overboard and swim, letting the boat drift wherever it pleased her? But there was no time for considering what might happen, and what he might do: he was already at the bend. The flat-boat, caught in the eddy, was whirling about dizzily. Tom snatched up the rail and reached for the bottom, poling her off towards midstream whenever he could get the rail down. Gradually the boat drifted into the current, and started north. It had sunk far down in the water, and the waves slopped over the sides. "If you'll last to the next turn!" exclaimed Tom prayerfully. He was sitting waist-deep in water, and his teeth were chattering. He was becoming numb again, but there was no opportunity for exercise now. The old flatboat seemed ready to slide from under him at any minute.