A Hard Day's March

The dawn came with rosy promise of a fair day, a frost lying white over the grass-land, sufficient nip in the air to stir the blood. Before the others were aroused I examined the boat, which rested high in the mud where we had heaved it the evening previous. The cruel rent in the solid planking was such as to afford little hope of our ever being able to repair it. How the accident occurred I did not rightly comprehend, but we had been cast ashore on the western bank of that swift maelstrom. In the light of dawn, I gazed forth upon the whirlpool extending between the rock against which we had struck and the bank where I stood, in speechless wonder at the miracle of our rescue. Standing there in silence broken only by the wild tumult of the waters, I thought of Eloise tossed helpless in their merciless grip, and bowed my head humbly above the shattered boat, offering up a heartfelt petition. I was not in those days a man of prayer, yet the germ of my father's robust faith was ever in my blood, and love teaches many a good lesson. Certainly I felt better within my own heart for that instant of communion under the paling stars.

My head was yet bowed over the gunwale when the heavy footsteps of the Puritan sounded close at hand. I could not fail to remark a softness in his deep voice as he spoke, resting one hand upon my shoulder.