e waves rolled like those of the sea. Despite powerful hands on oar and
paddle, the fleet was driven about like a covey of frightened birds.
Meanwhile, the darkness increased until it was almost like night.

Adam Colfax struggled hard. He wished to keep to the middle of the river,
and a single boat might have fought out the storm there, but the danger
was steadily increasing. Two boats, already, were in collision, and with
great difficulty were saved from sinking.

"We'll have to make for the shore and tie up," he shouted to Henry, who
was in the boat next to him. "I think it's the most violent storm I ever
saw on the Mississippi."

"We may find a sheltered place," Henry shouted back above the roar of the
wind.

"There's nothing else to do," said Adam Colfax. "The eastern shore looks
the lower, and we'll go for it at once."

He gave the signal with hand and voice, and all the boats began to pull
with their whole strength in a diagonal course toward the east bank, while
the wind shrieked in gust after gust, the thunder crashed incessantly, and
the coppery lightning flared in great saber-cuts across the sky.

It was enough to daunt the heart of many a brave man, but Henry Ware was
not appalled. His primeval instincts had risen to the surface again. He
saw the grandeur of it rather than the weirdness and danger. Like Long
Jim, though less outspoken, he had been troubled by the intrigue, the
shiftiness, and the false seeming of New Orleans, and now his spirit
replied to the battle of the elements. He was the most active man in the
fleet. His quick hand and eye and powerful arm kept one canoe loaded with
medical stores, which had in them the saving of many lives, from going to
the bottom. The harder the wind blew and the rougher the waves grew the
higher his spirit rose to meet them.

"Look!" he shouted to Adam Colfax, as they approached the shore, "an
opening! See it? I think it's a bayou, and if we go up that we'll be
safe!"

Henry was right. Its mouth almost hidden by trees, the deep, still bayou
opened out before them, and ran its narrow length far back into the land.
One could not conceive a better anchorage for the small boats such as
constituted their fleet. The men, when they saw it, gave a hearty cheer
that rose above the wind. Hardy as they were, fear had entered most of
them.

The leading boats passed into the bayou, and all the others, many
struggling hard with wind, current, and waves, followed them. T