268 The Unknown River. 



may be well to observe, is intended to represent a moon- 

 light), and I wandered first about the river, and then in 

 a small valley between precipitous little hills. I was in 

 the heart of the Morvan, a highland district in the east 

 of France, almost unknown to tourists. The river to be 

 explored was the Arroux, that passes by the antique 

 Augustodunum, and flows to the historic Loire. No- 

 body had explored it yet, and all the hazards of the 

 enterprise rose before me as I leaned over the low para- 

 pet of the one-arched bridge at Voudenay. 



The stream flowed under the bridge, after a curve like 

 a snake in the grass, a silvery snake glittering under the 

 moon. It came from a rustic mill, and the monotonous 

 noise of the mill-wheel was the only audible sound, ex- 

 cept the wash of the swift current on its pebbly margin. 

 Beyond the bridge the stream looked dark and treacher- 

 ous (for the moon was behind me then), and it went and 

 buried itself in a black wood. This was all that could 

 be seen of it from Voudenay. It was very narrow, and 

 wilful and swift, and it hurried away into the black 

 wood as if it had some deadly unavowable work to do 

 there, somebody to stifle and drown in the awful shade 

 of the forest. 



What would this adventure bring me to ? No man 

 knew the river, no man had ever known it. Its course 

 was full of dangers. A thousand strong boughs were 

 waiting for me, stretching their gnarled and knotty arms 

 across the stream. There were festoons of briers and 

 thorns, there were deep black pools hidden under the 

 intricate branches, there were roots in the river, and 



