Treats of Torpedoes, Terrible Catastrophe, Unexpected Meetings, and Such Like.  
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.”
 
Clinging to our frail support we were hurried by the rapid current we knew not whither, for, although the moon was in the sky, it was so covered with black clouds that we could not see whether we were being swept towards the shore or into the middle of the stream. Besides this, the wind was driving the rain and dashing the water into our eyes continuously.
 
“Lancey,” I gasped, “it is u–useless to let ourselves be—swe—swept about at the will of chance currents. The river is very wi-wide. Let us place ourselves side by side—and—strike—out—in—the—same—d’rection. Uniformity of action—necessary—in desp’r’t situations!”
 
Lancey at once acted on my suggestion, gasping that, “Haction of—of—hany kind would tend to—to—k–p limbs warm.”
 
We proceeded in silence for some minutes, when I observed the masts and rigging of several vessels drawn faintly against the dark sky. They were considerably to our right, and the current was evidently bearing us away from them.
 
“A strong effort now, Lancey,” said I, “and we may reach them.”
 
I could feel, as well as see, that my faithful servant exerted himself to the utmost.
 
As we approached the vessels, their huge black hulls loomed up out of the dark surroundings, and were pictured against the sky, which, dark though it was, had not the intense blackness of the vessels themselves.
 
We passed the nearest one within twenty yards.
 
“Let go, sir, and swim for it,” cried Lancey.
 
“No, no!” I cried earnestly, “never let go your—”
 
I stopped, for Lancey had already let go, and made a dash for the nearest ship. I heard him hail, and saw the flashing of lights for a moment, then all was dark again and silent, as I was hurried onward. The feeling of certainty that he could not have been saved with so rapid a current sweeping him past, filled my mind with intense anxiety. Just then I felt a shock. The hen-coop had been driven against another vessel, which I had not observed.
 
I tried to grasp her, but failed. I uttered a loud cry, not with the expectation that the crew of the vessel could save me,—that I knew to be impossible,—but in the hope that they might be ready for Lancey should he be carried close to them.
 
Then I was dragged onward by the powerful current, and tossed like a cork on the river. I had observed in passing that the vessel was a Turkish ironclad, and came to the conclusion that I had passed the Turkish flotilla, which I knew was at that time lying near the fortress of Matchin.
 
At the very time that I was being thus driven about by the wild waters, and praying to God for the deliverance of my comrades and myself—sometimes audibly, more frequently in spirit—another and a very different scene was taking place, not far off, on the Roumanian shore.
 
The wind had fallen; the clouds that covered the moon had just thinned enough to render darkness visible, and nothing was to be heard save the continual croaking of the frogs, which are very large and numerous in the marshes of the Danube, when four boats pushed off and proceeded quickly, yet quietly, up the river.
 
No men were visible in these boats, no sails, no oars. They were “steam launches,” and were destined for a night attack on the flotilla which I had just passed. Their crews were covered nearly from stem to stern by iron bullet-proof awnings, which, as well as the boats, were painted black. The engines were so constructed as to make the least possible amount of noise, and when speed was reduced no sound was heard save a dull throbbing that was almost drowned by the croaking frogs.
 
It was a little after midnight when these boats set out—two being meant to attack, and two to remain in support. They had seven miles of river to traverse before reaching the enemy, and it was while they were in the midst of their voyage that I chanced to meet them, clinging to my hen-coop. They came so straight at me that I was on the point of being run down by the leading boat, when I gave a sharp “halloo!”
 
It was replied to by one that indicated surprise, and was decidedly English in tone. Next moment the launch scraped violently against my raft, and I saw a hand extended. Grasping it, I was drawn quickly into the boat. Another hand instantly covered my mouth, and I was thrust down into the bottom of the boat with considerable violence. Being allowed to raise myself a little, the chink of a dark lantern was opened, and the light streamed full upon me. It at the same time lighted up several faces, the inquiring eyes of which gazed at me intently. A stern voice demanded who I was.
 
Just then a gleam of light fell on a countenance which gazed at me with open-mouthed and open-eyed amazement. It was that of Nicholas Naranovitsch! I was just going to answer, when the sight of him struck me dumb.
 
Nicholas touched the officer who had questioned me on the shoulder, and whispered in his ear. He at once closed the lantern, leaving us all in total darkness, while Nicholas caught me by the arm, and, making me sit down on a box of some kind beside him, gave vent to his surprise in hurried, broken whispers.
 
A short time sufficed to explain how it was that I came to be there. Then he began to tell me about his being sent on a secret expedition, and his having obtained leave to join in this midnight attack by torpedo-boats, when a low stern order to be silent compelled him to stop.
 
From that moment he and I remained perfectly quiet and observant.
 
After an hour&rs............