The bow of the boat had been deflected to the north, and was silently cleaving the sluggish downward trend of the water, for we had passed out of the swifter current and were close in to the eastern shore.

The bank appeared low and unwooded, a mere black line barely above the water level and I guessed that behind it stretched uninhabitable marshes overflowed by the spring floods.
As we fought our way up stream the boat gradually drew away, the low shore fading from view as the negro sought deeper water, until finally the craft was nearly in the center of the broad stream where the eye could see only turbulent water sweeping past on every side.
Occasionally a log scraped along our side, dancing about amid foam, or some grotesque branch, reaching out gaunt arms, swept by.

The stars overhead reflected their dim light from off the surface, rendering everything more weird and desolate.

The intense loneliness of the scene seemed to clutch my soul.

Far off to the left a few winking lights appeared, barely perceptible, and I touched the negro, pointing them out to him and whispering my question so as not to disturb the motionless girl.
"Is that the Landing over there ?" "Ah certainly 'spects it must be, sah; dar ain't no other town directly 'round dese parts." "Then those lights higher up must be on the bluff at Beaucaire ?" "Yas, sah; looks like de whol' house was lit up.