A tight squeeze

by William Staats

OUR HERO TAKES A SWIM.

Memphis was passed and numerous points of historical interest. Points that had dyed the river crimson in the days gone by. But the river shows no stain—let us sincerely hope the country does not. The Argenta had passed Napoleon early in the evening. Napoleon is situated in Arkansas—that is in the aqueous part of that commonwealth—for Napoleon lies at the bottom of the river. Some years ago the stream made a highwater dinner off of several plantations and then ate up Napoleon by way of desert.

It was a lovely starlit night, and the soft, balmy air of the southern country had a soothing lullaby in it, that entranced our travellers as they lounged at full length on the guards of the port side. Ben lay with his elbow on a pile of ropes and his head resting on his hand. Tommy had nestled close to him and was softly humming a tune, all to himself. On the deck above was heard the murmur of voices and ripples of laughter proceeding from the cabin passengers, as they also sat out enjoying the evening. Suddenly a rich soprano voice broke out in Foster's lovely melody, "Way down upon the Swannee River," and the notes went floating over the waters, and way off to the dark line of timber that skirted the horizon of their vision. In the chorus there mingled fine tenor and bass voices. Ben lay entranced. He recognized his infatuation from the first note. He listened for a verse or two and then unconsciously joined in the refrain himself:

"All the world is sad and dreary,

Every where I roam;

Oh, darkies, how—"

The song was never finished. There was a harsh, groaning, crunching noise; the boat quivered from stem to stern and lurched over like a drunken man; a crashing of timbers followed; and Ben found himself hurled far out into the river. Even in his transit through the air he heard the cries of alarm and shouts of fear that rent the stillness of the night. Then the great river embraced him, and he commenced battling for life. Down, down he sank, and when he rose to the surface, his head struck against a plank and he seized upon it, and found to his joy that it would just about support his full weight. For an instant the glare from the open fires of the boilers shot a broad avenue of light over the waters, and there in the center of the illuminated pathway, there flashed from darkness into light and from light into darkness again, the face of Tommy as he clung to one end of a spar while at the other extremity was Blackoat, his countenance ghastly with a supernatural terror that something worse than the fear of death had produced. It was but a moment that they were in view and then the current had swept them into the gloom. But the light had revealed another form to Ben. A form that had turned a beseeching face toward him from the cruel waters, and then sank beneath them. The next instant he felt his limbs grasped from below, and reaching down a hand to release himself it became tangled in the meshes of a woman's hair. With an effort he raised the body, and there in the cold starlight was the countenance of Bertha facing him! A thrill of joy even in that terrible moment shot through his frame. He tried to draw her semi-insensible form upon the plank, but found that it sank beneath their united weights. With an arm over the plank he slid into the water, and after much exertion managed to get her upon the preserver he had deserted. It not only bore her weight, but allowed him to hang upon it with his hands, and partially kept him up. Ben was a good swimmer and with this support had a chance for life. But the Argenta, their only hope of rescue, where was she? Afar off—it appeared to Ben miles away—her cabin lights were seen on the waters; and another light moving about in her near vicinity that Ben surmised must be the steamer's yawl boat searching for those thrown overboard.

Would they find him? Could they hear him? Every moment the distance between rescue and himself was growing greater and greater. He shouted with all his strength. Again and again he called for help! Alas! The river and the night swallowed up his cries. The plank with its precious freight drifted swiftly away from succor.

The causes leading to Cleveland's shipwreck are briefly told. The Argenta was hugging a point on the left bank, and just as she had made it and was about to shoot for the opposite bend, a long, slimy snag caught in her larboard guard and went crashing through to her "Texas," scattering to right and left everything in its course, and throwing our two friends, and the party of cabin passengers, sitting on the deck above them, into the river. The headway of the boat tore her loose from the snag with a loss of guards and decking, but no serious injury to the craft's hull, and the motion she was under carried her far out into the stream before the engines could be reversed and her headway checked. When she at last controlled herself the victims of the disaster were being rapidly swept away, out of hearing and reach, by the point current. The steamer's boat picked up one man clinging to the end of a spar. His face was ashy, his eyes wild, and his mouth set agape with a speechless terror. When spoken to he did not answer, and they were compelled to drag him forcibly from the spar into the yawl. Fright had evidently overthrown reason, and he remained in this dumb terrified state long after the steamboat was regained.

It was Blackoat.