THE RIVER 121 



have been hauled up on the bank. A skiff partly drawn 

 up on the beach rocks as the current strives to work it 

 loose, and up the varnish of the side glides a flickering 

 light reflected from the wavelets. A fleet of such skiffs 

 are waiting for hire by the bridge ; the waterman cleaning 

 them with a parti-coloured mop spies me eyeing his 

 vessels, and before I know exactly what is going on, and 

 whether I have yet made up my mind, the sculls are 

 ready, the cushions in ; I take my seat, and am shoved 

 gently forth upon the stream. 



After I have gone under the arch, and am clear of 

 all obstructions, I lay the sculls aside, and reclining let 

 the boat drift past a ballast punt moored over the shal- 

 lowest place, and with a rising load of gravel. One 

 man holds the pole steadying the scoop, while his mate 

 turns a windlass the chain from which drags it along the 

 bottom, filling the bag with pebbles, and finally hauls it 

 to the surface, when the contents are shot out in the punt. 



It is a floating box rather than a boat, square at each 

 end, and built for capacity instead of progress. There 

 are others moored in various places, and all hard at work. 

 The men in this one, scarcely glancing at my idle skiff, 

 go steadily on, dropping the scoop, steadying the pole, 

 turning the crank, and emptying the pebbles with a rattle. 



Where do these pebbles come from ? Like the stream 

 itself there seems a continual supply ; if a bank be scooped 

 away and punted to the shore presently another bank 

 forms. If a hollow be deepened, by-and-by it fills up ; if 

 a channel be opened, after a while it shallows again. 

 The stony current flows along below, as the liquid current 

 above. Yet in so many centuries the strand has not 

 been cleared of its gravel, nor has it all been washed 

 out from the banks. 



The skiff drifts again, at first slowly, till the current takes 



