has now fallen, and from the overclouded sky the full moon sheds a dim and hazy light. Not a ripple stirs the water, and a deep quiet rests upon the river. True, we hear faintly, from the hamlet with the beech trees, the hum of voices, and sounds that suggest the chopping of ice around the ice-bound boats. As silent and motionless as a group of statuary, we keep our several attitudes for the space of an hour. The mental tension is extreme.
Finally we observe that water to the depth of an inch has come over the ice. The tide is coming in! Now the water has risen to the depth of two or three inches. Then we are conscious that the cake upon which we are seated has broken loose from the ice-field, and is turning around, preparatory to floating down the river. Our danger now is great, for should our frail raft strike against an obstruction, we would inevitably sink beneath the deep black waters.
But just then from an unobserved quarter, the direction of the village of Yong-san, came the sound of the plash of an oar. Through the dim moonlight we discern a boat with five rescuers approaching. The revulsion of feeling was strong. But still we dreaded lest, by the ungentle striking of the boat against the ice, we should be precipitated into the stream. Under the doctor's directions they reach the edge of the ice without mishap. A long oar is extended toward us, which we, beginning with the boys, grasp each in turn,
