In Which We Close With The Enemy

Nor did we. We were hot on the trail of the enemy as he flew south
along the Chickasha Bluffs, hot as he left Memphis behind, and taking
the widening waters which now wandered through low forest lands,
reached out for the next city of size, historic Vicksburg on her
seventy hills. And hot and eager, more than ever, were we when,
chugging around the head of that vast arm of the river, where it
curves like a boy of some southern sea, with its heights rising beyond
and afar, we saw what caused me to exclaim aloud, "At last! There she
lies, my hearties!"

I pointed on ahead. To my eyes, who had designed her, every line of
that long, graceful, white hull was familiar. The jaunty rake of her
air-shafts, like stacks of a liner, the sweep of her clean freeboard
up to her shining rail, the ease of her bows, the graceful boldness of
her overhang--all were familiar enough to me. She was my boat, and
once I was wont to enjoy her. And on board her now was the woman who
had taken away from me all desire to keep a yacht in commission, to
keep open a house in town, or an office, or to frequent my clubs, or
to meet my friends. Was she there, this woman; and was she still?--but
I dared not ask that question.

"Full speed ahead, Jean!" I called. "That's the Belle Helène! Yonder
lies the enemy!"

And then the inevitable happened. Perhaps it was too much gas,
perhaps too much lubricant, perhaps a spark plug was carrying too much
carbon. At any rate, the engine of the Sea Rover chose that time to
chug and cease to revolve!