He had the courage to go
forward, but not to retrace his steps; and the river, deep and
swift, barred his path. As he glanced about, he saw almost at
his feet a dug-out, made from a single poplar log. It was
secured to an overhanging branch by a length of wild grape-vine.
With one last fearful look off across the deadening in the
direction of the tavern, he crept down to the water's edge and
entered the canoe. In a moment, he had it free from its lashing
and the rude craft was bumping along the bank in spite of his
best efforts with the paddle. Then a favoring current caught it
and swept it out toward the center of the stream.
It was much too big and clumsy for him to control without the
stream's help, though he labored doggedly with his paddle. Now
he was broadside to the current, now he was being spun round and
round, but always he was carried farther and farther from the
spot where he had embarked. He passed about a bend; and a
hundred yards beyond, about a second bend; then the stream opened
up straight before him a half-mile of smooth running water. Far
down it, at the point where the trees met in the unbroken line of
the forest and the water seemed to vanish mysteriously, he could
distinguish a black moving object; some ark or raft, doubtless.
In the smoother water of the long reach, Hannibal began to make
head against the flood. The farther shore became the nearer, and
finally he drove the bow of his canoe up on a bit of shelving
bank, and seizing his pack and rifle, sprang ashore.
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