Read it through once

I kept quiet, with my ears cocked, about fifteen minutes, I reckon. I was floating along, of course, four or five miles an hour; but you don’t ever think of that. No, you _feel_ like you are laying dead still on the water; and if a little glimpse of a snag slips by you don’t think to yourself how fast _you’re_ going, but you catch your breath and think, my! how that snag’s tearing along. If you think it ain’t dismal and lonesome out in a fog that way by yourself in the night, you try it once—you’ll see.