HALIBUT FISHING. 145 
novelists, who are prone to draw imaginary 
sketches, would lead the uninitiated to believe. 
It would be impossible to trust oneself in a more 
uncomfortable, dangerous, damp, disagreeable 
kind of boat— generally designated a ‘ fairy 
barque,’ that ‘ rides, dances, glides, threads its 
silvery course over seas and lakes, or, arrow- 
hike, shoots foaming rapids.’ Alla miserable de- 
lusion and a myth! Getting in (unless lifted, 
as I was, bodily, like baggage) is to any but 
an Indian a dangerous and difficult process ; 
the least preponderance of weight to either 
side, and out you tumble into the water to a 
certainty. Again, lowering oneself into the 
bottom is quite as bad, if not worse, requiring 
extreme care to keep an even balance, and a 
flexibility of back and limb seldom possessed 
by any save tumblers and _ tightrope-dancers. 
Down safely, then, as I have said, you are com- 
pelled to sit in a most painful position, and the 
least attempt to alter it generally results in a 
sudden heeling-over of the canoe, when you find 
yourself sitting in a foot of cold water. 
We are off, and, swiftly crossing the harbour, 
the beach grows indistinct in the distance; but 
we still see the dusky forms of the Indians, the 
rough gaudily painted huts, the gleam of many 
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