Judging from the sound, however, it was easy to determine that the heavy boat was traveling much faster than I, and was steadily passing me, close in against the dense shadow of the southern shore.
With silent strokes I waited patiently, until the steady chugging of the engine grew faint in the distance, and then finally ceased entirely.
I was alone in the grasp of the waters, wrapped in the night silence, both shores veiled beneath the dense shadows; every dim outline had vanished, and I realized that the swift current had already swept me into the broad Mississippi.

Uncertain in that moment which way to turn, and conscious of a strange lassitude, I made no struggle to reach land, but permitted myself to be borne downward in the grip of the water.

Suddenly something drifted against my body, a black, ill-defined object, tossing about on the swell of the waves, and instinctively I grasped at it, recognizing instantly the shell of our wrecked boat.

It was all awash, a great hole stove in its side well forward, and so filled with water the added weight of my body would have sunk it instantly.

Yet the thing remained buoyant enough to float, and I clung to its stern, thankful even for this slight help.
There was no occasion for fear, although I became aware that the sweep of the current was steadily bearing us further out toward the center of the broad stream, and soon felt convinced that escape from my predicament would be impossible until after daylight.