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Parrish, Randall, 1858-1923

"A Romance of the Black Hawk War"

Great volumes of black smoke swept forth
from the funnels, and my ears could distinguish the ceaseless hiss of
steam. Again I permitted my body to sink into the depths, swimming
onward with easier stroke, satisfied I had not been seen.
When I came up the second time I was quite far enough to be safe, and
the stragglers had largely disappeared on board. Content to tread
water, yet constantly drifting farther away in the trend of the
current, I was able to observe all that took place. The sun had
disappeared, and the western shore rested obscured by a purple haze,
the wide stretch of water between slowly darkening. Light lingered
still, however, along the clay hills of Yellow Banks, crowded with
those soldiers left behind, who had gathered to speed the departure of
their more fortunate comrades. The decks of the _Adventurer_ were
black with men, their cheers and shouts echoing to me along the surface
of the river. Slowly the steamer parted from the shore, as the
paddle-wheel began to revolve, flinging upward a cataract of spray, the
space of open water widening, as the advancing bow sought the deeper
channel, and headed northward. A great resounding cheer from both ship
and shore mingled, rolling out over the darkening waters of the river,
and echoed back by the forests along the bank. Farther up two other
boats--mere phantoms in their white paint--cast off also, and followed,
their smoke wreaths trailing behind as they likewise turned their prows
up stream.


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