I could not reach the firm shore, for the willow brush would not support my weight.  There was no assistance to be looked for from fellow-voyagers, as the river-craft seemed to follow the channel of the opposite shore; and my camp could not be seen from the river, as I had taken pains to hide myself in the thicket of young willows from all curious eyes.  There was no hope that my voice would penetrate to the other side of the stream, neither could I reach the water beyond the soft ooze.  Being well provisioned, however, it would be an easy matter to await the rise of the river; and if no friendly freshet sent me the required assistance, the winds would harden the ooze in a few days so that it would bear my weight, and enable me to escape from my bonds of mud.

While partaking of a light breakfast, an idea suddenly presented itself to my mind.  I had frequently built crossways over treacherous swamps.  Why not mattress the muddy flat?  Standing upon the deck of my boat, I grasped every twig and bough of willow I could reach, and making a mattress of them, about two feet square and a few inches thick, on the surface of the mud at the stern of my craft, I placed upon it the hatch-cover of my boat.  Standing upon this, the sneak-box was relieved of my weight, and by dint of persevering effort the after part was successful]y lifted, and the heavy burden slowly worked out of its tenacious bed, and moved two or three feet nearer the water.  By shifting the willow mattress nearer the boat, which was now on the surface of the mud, and not in it, my floating home was soon again upon the current, and its captain had a new experience, which, though dearly bought, would teach him to avoid in future a camp on a soft flat when a river was falling.

A foggy day followed my departure from the unfortunate camp of willows; but through the mist I caught glimpses of the fine lands of the Kentucky farmers, with the grand old trees shading their comfortable homes.  In the drizzle I had passed French’s Creek, and after dark ran upon a stony beach, where, high and dry upon the bank, was a shanty-boat, which had been converted into a landing-house, and was occupied by two men who received the freight left there by passing steamers.  The locality was six miles below Brandenburg, Kentucky, and was known as “Richardson’s Landing.”  Having rowed forty miles since morning, I “turned in” soon after drawing my boat upon the shelving strand, anticipating a quiet night.

At midnight a loud noise, accompanied with bright flashes of light, warned me of the approach of a steamboat.  She soon after ran her bow hard on to the beach, within a few feet of my boat.  Though the rain was falling in torrents, the passengers crowded upon the upper deck to examine the snow-white, peculiarly shaped craft, or “skiff” as they called it, which lay upon the bank, little suspecting that her owner was snugly stowed beneath her deck.  I suddenly threw up the hatch and sat upright, while the strong glare of light from the steamer’s furnaces brought out every detail of the boat’s interior.