the labor of an indomitable pigmy

Against rather than into that impenetrable enmeshment of rain, the glow dispersed itself ineffectually. Io sat, not frightened so much as wondering. Her body ached in sympathy with the panting, racking toil of the man at the oars, the labor of an indomitable pigmy, striving to thwart a giant's will. Suddenly he shouted. The boat spun. Something low and a shade blacker than the dull murk about them, with a white, whispering ripple at its edge, loomed. The boat's prow drove into soft mud as Banneker, all but knocking her overboard in his dash, plunged to the land and with one powerful lift, brought boat and cargo to safety. For a moment he leaned, gasping, against a stump. When he spoke, it was to reproach himself bitterly. "We must have come through the town. There's a dam below it. I'd forgotten it. My God! If we hadn't had the luck to strike shore." "Is it a high dam?" she asked. "In this flood we'd be pounded to death the moment we were over. Listen! You can hear it." The rain had diminished a little. Above its insistence sounded a deeper, more formidable beat and thrill. "We must be quite close to it," she said. "A few rods, probably. Let me have the light. I want to explore before we start out." Much sooner than she had expected, he was back. He groped for and took her hand. His own was steady, but his voice shook as he said: "Io." "It's the first time you've called me that. Well, Ban?" "Can you stand it to--to have me tell you something?" "Yes." "We're not on the shore." "Where, then? An island?" "There aren't any islands here. It must be a bit of the mainland cut off by the flood." "I'm not afraid, if that's what you mean. We can stand it until dawn."