Читать книгу With Sam Houston in Texas онлайн

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“We’re rooted fast, this time,” spoke a pleasant voice in his ear, as from the forward rail of the upper deck he was sighting on the shore, to see whether they really did move. “There’s scarcely water enough under her here to float a peanut shell.”

It was his friend Lieutenant Neal, in charge of the army recruits bound, like Ernest, for Fort Gibson of the Indian Country. A fine young man was Lieutenant Neal; not much more than a boy himself. Ever since he and Ernest had got acquainted, on the first day up the Arkansas from where it emptied into the Mississippi, he had rather taken Ernest under his wing. He and his recruits were from New Orleans; and Ernest was from Cincinnati, in the other direction.

“She is stuck, isn’t she!” agreed Ernest. “But they’ll get her off, won’t they? They always have.”

For the “Arkansas” to be aground was nothing new. Through almost two weeks she had been threshing and thumping and snorting on her noisy crooked way, stemming the tricky current and dodging (when she could) the numerous bars and snags half-exposed by the falling water. But every now and again she struck.