"
The fleet resumed its passage up the river in its usual arrow formation,
with the five near the tip of the barb, but the bright promise of the
morning was deceitful. Toward noon the clouds of the night before that had
not retreated far, came back again, filing solemnly across the sky in a
long, somber procession. No air stirred. The wide, yellow river stretched
before them, a smooth, molten surface.
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.
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