into the wooded bottom-lands, we
watched the demolition of a little town. The siege had reached the
proper stage for a sally, and the attacking forces were howling over the
walls. The sacking was in progress. Shacks, stores, outhouses suddenly
developed a frantic desire to go to St. Louis. It was a weird retreat in
very bad order. A cottage with a garret window that glared like the eye
of a Cyclops, trembled, rocked with the athletic lift of the flood, made
a panicky plunge into a convenient tree; groaned, dodged, and took off
through the brush like a scared cottontail. I felt a boy's pity and
sympathy for those houses that got up and took to their legs across the
yellow waste. It did not seem fair. I have since experienced the same
feeling for a jack-rabbit with the hounds a-yelp at its heels.

But--to _swim_ this thing! To fight this cruel, invulnerable, resistless
giant that went roaring down the world with a huge uprooted oak tree in
its mouth for a toothpick! This yellow, sinuous beast with hell-broth
slavering from its jaws! This dare-devil boy-god that sauntered along
with a town in its pocket, and a steepled church under its arm for a
moment's toy! Swim _this_?

For days I marvelled at the magnificence of being a fullgrown man,
unafraid of big rivers.

But the first sight of the Missouri River was not enough for me. There
was a dreadful fascination about it--the fascination of all huge and
irresistible things. I had caught my first wee glimpse into the
infinite; I was six years old.

Many a lazy Sunday stroll took us back to the river; and little by
little the dread became less, and the wonder grew--and a little love
crept in. In my boy heart I condoned its treachery and its giant sins.
For, after all, it sinned through excess of strength, not through
weakness. And that is the eternal way of virile things. We watched the
steamboats loading for what seemed to me far distant ports. (How the
world shrinks!) A double stream of "roosters" coming and going at a
dog-trot rushed the freight aboard; and at the foot of the gang-plank
the mate swore masterfully while the perspiration dripped from the point
of his nose.

And then--the raucous whistles blew. They reminded me of the lions
roaring at the circus. The gang-plank went up, the hawsers went in. The
snub nose of the steamer swung out with a quiet majesty. Now she feels
the urge of the flood, and yields herself to it, already dwindled to
half her size. The pilo