RUNNING THE RAPIDS. 153 



"Yes, if he knew how; run himself and birch 

 upon the other shore of the Styx if he didn't." 



"Sticks ! No sticks in the channel." 



" Oh, unclassical, untutored Indian ! let us see 

 you ' go it alone,' and, if all is well, come back for 

 us." 



The words were scarcely out of my mouth, when 

 Joe, standing in his canoe, straight as an arrow, is 

 cutting the water of the lake ; a moment more, 

 and the birch is in the boiling vortex below the 

 dam, having passed over the swiftly-running cur- 

 rent, and, in less time than it has taken me to 

 write these few lines, Joe has pulled to the shore, 

 and is awaiting our commands. 



From the pool below the dam, for a distance of 

 half a mile, the stream is one continuous rapid, its 

 dark and seething waters boiling and foaming as 

 they rush forward on their down-hill course. 



Here and there, in its wild track, the waters leap 

 up to embrace a rocky boulder, and scatter their 

 flecks of foam high in air. A wild, turbulent, and 

 tortuous pathway to the comparatively smoother 

 water below. 



A few of the older guides often descend these 

 rapids alone, in their birches ; but rarely do they 

 take any one with them, as a slight error in judg- 

 ment, a change of current, or the breaking of a 



