With a forward churning of her paddles which sent water high along the rail, the _River Belle_ shuddered and lay still, her engines throbbing and groaning.
In an instant every one on the boat was on his feet and running to the side.

I joined the rush to the bows, and leaning over, saw that we were hard aground at the lower end of a sand bar.

Imbedded in this bar was a long white snag, a tree trunk whose naked arms, thrusting far down stream, had literally impaled us.

The upper woodwork of the boat was pierced quite through; and for all that one could tell at the moment, the hull below the line was in all likelihood similarly crushed.

We hung and gently swung, apparently at the mercy of the tawny flood of old Missouri..