To return to my personal experiences. It now became a matter of the deepest importance that we should get out of the river before the Russian army reached its banks and stopped the navigation. The weather, however, was against us. It rained a great deal, and the nights were very dark. The swollen current, it is true, was in our favour; nevertheless, as we had already spent several weeks in ascending the river, it was clear that we should have to race against time in retracing our course.

 

One dark night about the end of May, as we were approaching the Lower Danube, and speculating on the probability of our getting out in time, I gave orders to run into a creek and cast anchor, intending to land and procure a supply of fresh meat, of which we had run short.

 

“Better wait for daylight, sir,” suggested my skipper. “It’s not unlikely, in these days of torpedoes, that the entrance to places may be guarded by them.”

 

The skipper was so far right. The entrance to unimportant creeks, indeed, had not been guarded, but the Russians had already laid down many torpedoes in the river to protect them from Turkish ironclads while engaged in constructing their pontoon bridges. He had scarcely made the remark, when I was half stunned by a shock under my feet, which seemed to rend the yacht asunder. There followed a terrific report, and the deck was instantly deluged with water. There could be no doubt what had occurred. We had touched a torpedo, and the yacht was already sinking. We rushed to our little boat in consternation, but before we could lower it, our trim little vessel went down, stern foremost.

 

For a few moments there was a horrible rushing sound in my ears, and I felt that I could hold my breath no longer when my head rose above the surface. I struck out with a gasp of relief, which was, as it were, echoed close to me. I looked round, as well as darkness and water would allow, and observed an object floating near me. I pushed towards it, and just as I caught hold, I heard a panting voice exclaim—

 

“’Eaven be praised!”

 

“Amen,” said I; “is that you, Lancey?”

 

“It is, sir, an’ I’m right glad to ’ear your voice. Cetch a tight ’old, sir; it’s big enough for two.”

 

“What is it?” I asked.

 

“One of the ’en-coops,” said Lancey.

 

“It’s too small for two, I fear,” said I, seizing hold of it.

 

“Hall right, sir; it’ll ’old us both. I can swim.”

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