382 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 



another is pulled through the rushing waters of the rapid. Now 

 and then at certain places the sail alone is sufficient to carry the 

 boat up, but in such cases a lull of the wind not unfrequently 

 endangers both craft and crew. Often, too, boats are forced to 

 linger in the midst of the tumult for hours or even days, waiting 

 for a favourable wind. Then one may see a tiny bark hanging 

 behind every jagged rock, all alike unable to help their neighbours. 

 Several times I have been forced to make my bed on one of the 

 black rocks amid-stream, for the violent rocking of the boat in the 

 rapids made sleep an impossibility. A stranger sleeping-place can 

 scarcely be imagined. The ground on which one lies seems to tremble 

 before the assaults of the flood; the roaring and bellowing, hissing 

 and splashing, rumbling and thundering of the waves drowns every 

 other sound; one sits or lies on a rug with his comrades without 

 uttering a word. Every blast of wind drives the spray like a fleeting 

 mist across the rock island. The glowing camp-fire throws a weird 

 light on the rock, and on the dark water foaming around its ragged 

 edges; the falls and whirlpools in the shade seem even more grue- 

 some than they are. At times one cannot help fancying that they 

 open a hundred jaws to engulf the poor child of man. But his 

 confidence is firm as the rock on which he rests. The mighty stream 

 may thunder as it will, the seething waves may rage and foam, he 

 is safe on a rock which has defied the flood for ages. But what if 

 the rope break, and the boat be hurled and shattered on the nearest 

 rocks? Then another will come to take the shipwrecked crew 

 ashore! In spite of these and similar thoughts, and in spite of the 

 ceaseless roar, the traveller can sleep, and sleep tranquilly too. For 

 danger lends courage, and courage brings confidence, and the thunder 

 of the waves becomes at length a lullaby to the wearied ear. And 

 on the ensuing Corning what an awakening! In the east the sky 

 is suffused with red, the ancient giant-rocks wear a purple cloak on 

 their shoulders, and shine in gleaming light, as if they were clad in 

 burnished steel. Sunshine and shadow flit over the dark reefs and 

 through the gullies filled with golden-yellow sand, and over all is 

 thrown the marvellous, indescribably beautiful, colour-garment of 

 the desert. Thousands and thousands of water-pearls shine and 



