In that moment of decision I cared not at all for Rene Beaucaire's drop of negro blood, nor for the fact that she was a slave in her master's hands.

Her appeal to me ignored all this.

To my mind she was but a woman, a sweet, lovable, girlish woman, in the unrestrained power of a brute, and dependent alone on me for rescue.

That was enough; I cared for nothing more.
The intense blackness hid me completely, as I held my head barely above the surface, no longer making any effort to stem the downward sweep of the stream.

Conscious of being thus borne rapidly to the mouth of the river, my only endeavor was to keep afloat, and conserve my strength.
The ceaseless noise of the engine told me accurately the position of the keel-boat, although, by this time, there was a stretch of rushing water between us which prevented me even seeing the hulking shadow of the craft.