The motion of the fleet became perceptibly slower. The men in that turgid
atmosphere felt languid and inert, and their hands rested but lightly on
oar and paddle. Cheerfulness gave way to depression. The voyage was far
less easy than it had seemed a few hours before. Overhead the clouds
united and drew a leaden blanket from horizon to horizon.

"It's a storm, of course," said Henry. "Remember the one that struck us
when we were coming down the river. It's just such another."

There was a sudden rush of hot air. Dull thunder, singularly uncanny in
its low, distant note, began to grumble. Lightning of an intense coppery
color flashed again and again across the heavens. The river began to rise
in yellow waves that crumbled and rose again.

Some of the boats had sails, but these were quickly taken in--Adam Colfax
was no careless seaman. The fleet, nevertheless, began to heave on the
troubled water, break its formation, and fall into imminent danger of
frequent collision. The great river, usually so friendly, and, like a long
cord, uniting the green lands on either side, was now full of wrath and
fury. Burst after burst of wind, screaming ominously, swept over it, and
the 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