to be in such a fix.  I says to myself, there ain't no telling but I might come to be a murderer myself yet, and then how would I like it?  So says I to Jim: “The first light we see we'll land a hundred yards below it or above it, in a place where it's a good hiding-place for you and the skiff, and then I'll go and fix up some kind of a yarn, and get somebody to go for that gang and get them out of their scrape, so they can be hung when their time comes.” But that idea was a failure; for pretty soon it begun to storm again, and this time worse than ever.  The rain poured down, and never a light showed; everybody in bed, I reckon.  We boomed along down the river, watching for lights and watching for our raft.  After a long time the rain let up, but the clouds stayed, and the lightning kept whimpering, and by and by a flash showed us a black thing ahead, floating, and we made for it. It was the raft, and mighty glad was we to get aboard of it again.  We seen a light now away down to the right, on shore.  So I said I would go for it. The skiff was half full of plunder which that gang had stole there on the wreck.  We hustled it on to the raft in a pile, and I told Jim to float along down, and show a light when he judged he had gone about two mile, and keep it burning till I come; then I manned my oars and shoved for the light.  As I got down towards it three or four more showed--up on a hillside.  It was a village.  I closed in above the shore light, and laid on my oars and floated.  As I went by I see it was a lantern hanging on the jackstaff of a double-hull ferryboat.  I skimmed around for the watchman, a-wondering whereabouts he slept; and by and by I found him roosting on the bitts forward, with his head down between his knees.  I gave his shoulder two or three little shoves, and begun to cry. He stirred up in a kind of a startlish way; but when he see it was only me he took a good gap and stretch, and then he says: “Hello, what's up?  Don't cry, bub.  What'