Half a mile from the spot it became evident, even to the passengers clustered forward on the cabin-deck, that the sycamore had remained quite near to its old home, for a long, rough ripple was seen directly across the line of the channel.
Then arose the question as to how much water was on top of the tree, and whether any bar had had time to accumulate.
The steamer was stopped, the engines were reversed and worked by hand to keep the Bennett from drifting down-stream, a boat was lowered and manned, the Chums forming part of her crew, and the second officer went down to take soundings; while the passengers, to whom even so small a cause for excitement was a godsend, crowded the rail and stared.
The boat shot rapidly down stream, headed for the shore-end of the ripple. She seemed almost into the boiling mud in front of her when the passengers on the steamer heard the mate in the boat shout: "Back all!"
The motion of the oars changed in an instant, but a little too late, for, a heavy root of the fallen giant, just covered by the water, caught the little craft, and caused it to careen so violently that one man was thrown into the water. As she righted, another man went in.
"Confound it!" growled the captain, who was leaning out of the pilot-house window. "I hope they can swim, still, 'tain't as bad as it would be if we had any more cargo to take aboard."
"It's the Chums," remarked the pilot, who had brought a glass to bear upon the boat.
"Thunder!" exclaimed the captain, striking a bell. "Below there! Lower away another boat—lively!" Then, turning to the passengers, he exclaimed: "Nobody on the river'd forgive me if I lost the Chums. 'Twould be as bad as Barnum losing the giraffe."
The occupants of the first boat were evidently of the captain's own mind, for they were eagerly peering over her side, and into the water.
Suddenly the pilot dropped his glass, extemporized a. trumpet with both hands, and shouted: