A pull at the Cognac flask served him for breakfast and he paddled away on his voyage with vigorous stroke.

The sun rose that morning in a deep red color and as the rays illumined the snow clad Alps, that looked so near him, the valley of the Po and the remnants of the fog were bathed in a soft red light, so that even the very water seemed turned to blood.

A sight more beautiful and peculiar than this, Paul never witnessed since or before.

The river now seemed to shoot from the hills into the low land.

On either side was a heavy growth of willows.
He saw no one until about nine that morning, when sweeping around a bend he came on a boat containing two men with a swivel gun, after ducks.
Both men were greatly excited and one of them turned the swivel in his direction.