rgan's
upturned face.

"No catch hold, massa?" cried Pomp; and then he said something in his
own tongue, whose effect was to make Hannibal swim rapidly towards him
from where he had been supporting my father, he being the only one not
entangled by the boughs.

The peril taught the man how to act, and catching his son's hand, he
bridged the space and extended his other hand to Morgan, so that we
formed a human chain in the water, dependent upon the strength of my
wrist and the bunch of twigs and leaves I held.

"Now, father," I said; "can you get clear?"

He struggled feebly, and I began to tremble for my hold.

"No," he said; "my foot is caught in a fork among the boughs, and if you
draw, it only tightens it."

A dead silence ensued. What was to be done? I could not answer the
question, and I knew that everything depended upon how long I could hold
on. Was all our effort to result in failure after all? It seemed so,
and I tried to say something about kicking free, but no words would
come, and once more I began to feel a horrible sensation of fear. The
difficulty was solved by my father, who roused himself to a final effort
just in the height of our despair.

"Get her into the tree," he said, hoarsely. "Never mind me."

What followed seems to me now like part of a confused dream. Nearly all
my early adventures stand out, when I go back, brightly vivid and
distinct, but a mist comes over my brain when I try to recall that
scene.

I can remember though how Pomp changed his grasp of my hand after a
struggle, by getting his teeth well into the skirt of the loose black
garment I wore, thus setting both my hands at liberty, so that I was
able to get a double hold upon the boughs, and drag and draw with such
good effect that Pomp was soon within reach of another.

He seized this, and together we managed to draw Hannibal and then Morgan
within reach, so that they too got a good grip of the bended twigs, and
were in comparative safety.

But my father?

I looked from where I held on, up to my chin in the water, outward
toward the spot in which I had seen him last. But he was not there. He
had really been the only one entangled, and as soon as he had loosened
his hold of poor Sarah, a good struggle in the outward direction had set
him free, and I saw him now striking out feebly and floating helplessly
away.

My first thought was to swim to his help, but I was utterly unnerved and
overdone. A few strokes