glimmer of starlight pointed the way to safety.

It must have been nearly midnight before I finally wearied of this, and
decided to seek a few hours' rest below, descending the short ladder,
and walking forward along the open deck for one last glance ahead.
Some time the next day we were to be in St. Louis, and this expectation
served to brighten my thoughts. It was a dark night, but with a clear
sky, the myriad of stars overhead reflecting their lights along the
river surface, and bringing into bold relief the dense shadows of the
shores on either side. The boat, using barely enough power to afford
steering way, swept majestically down stream, borne by the force of the
current, which veered from bank to bank. We were moving scarcely
swifter than from eight to ten miles an hour, and the monotonous voice
of the man casting the lead line arose continuous through the brooding
silence. The only other perceptible sounds were the exhaust of the
steam pipes and the splash of running water. Thockmorton had told me
we were already approaching the mouth of the Illinois, and I lingered
against the rail, straining my eyes through the gloom hoping to gain a
distant glimpse of that beautiful stream. We were skirting the eastern
shore, the wooded bank rising almost as high as our smokestack, and
completely shutting off all view of the horizon.

As I stood there, gripping the rail, half fearful lest we strike, the
furnace doors below were suddenly flung open for a fresh feeding of the
fire, and the red glare of the fire lit up the scene. Close in against
the shore nestled a flatboat, evidently tied up for the night, and I
had a swift glimpse as we shot by of a startled man waving his arms,
and behind him a wildly barking dog. An instant more and the vision
had vanished as quickly as it had appeared; even the dog's sharp bark
dying away in the distance. The furnace doors banged shut, and all was