However, I chose the west shore for my experiment, as the current seemed less strong in that direction, and was about to plunge in, determined to fight a way across, when my eyes suddenly detected a faint wreath of smoke curling up into the pale sky above a headland far to the southward.

As I stared at this it became black and distinct, tossed about in the wind.

I watched intently, clinging to my support, scarcely trusting my eyesight, while that first wisp deepened into a cloud, advancing slowly toward me.

There was no longer doubt of what it was--unquestionably some steamer was pushing its course up stream.

Even before my ears could detect the far-off chug of the engine, the boat itself rounded the sharp point of the headland, and came forth into full view, heading out toward the middle of the river in a search for deeper water.
It was an unusually large steamboat for those days, a lower river packet I guessed, with two funnels painted yellow, and a high pilot house, surmounted by a huge brazen eagle.