ON THE STREAM. 



3i 



shot under, true as an arrow, with scarcely 

 2 feet of room to spare, and all fell Mat on 

 deck, as the bridge was only 3 feet above 

 us. Then the high waves caught us, toss- 

 ing the boat like cork and rolling over our 

 bows. A mighty cheer went up from the 

 assembled throng as we swept through. 



We now had about 10 miles of easy, open 

 water. The stream was bank full, in many 

 places spreading far out in the meadow 

 and grain fields. Then we ran into a long 

 line of drift, trees, willows and stumps, a 

 solid mass in seemingly endless proces- 

 sion. Our deeper draught carried us faster, 

 but we ran several miles before finally 

 clearing it. A new channel then caught us 

 in its current, shot us through a tangled 

 mass of young trees, and then out through 

 a grain field. The channel was only 50 to 

 100 feet wide and so tortuous we could not 

 swing fast enough. First we would ram 

 the bank, shooting half our length out of 

 water. Then the current would sweep us in, 

 only to run aground with the other end. 

 We changed ends 7 times in as many min- 

 utes, then shot out in the old channel again. 



Every man was exhausted with the rapid 

 work, so we rested and relaxed our vigil- 

 ance. 



A man plowing, ran after us, shouting 

 and gesticulating, but we had seen so many 

 excited natives en route, the thought of 

 danger did not occur to us, and the warn- 

 ing shouted was lost in the river's sullen 



roar. Approaching a large island we took 

 the left hand channel, to avoid a well- 

 known dam in the other. The channel 

 now was deep and narrow, the water hiss- 

 ing and seething like a boiling cauldron. 

 The sun's rays on the rushing foam, glinted 

 a blinding glare full in our faces, hiding a 

 suspension bridge of many strands of tele- 

 graph wire, hanging tense and stable bare- 

 ly 2 feet above the water. There was no 

 time to land, much less to think. I ordered 

 all to run forward and lie down on their 

 sweeps, except one man. I told him to take 

 a 2 by 6 scantling and do as I did; but he 

 got rattled and followed the example of the 

 others. With those wires waiting to brush 

 him off, the hardiest swimmer could scarce- 

 ly hope to land from the icy waters. Drop- 

 ping on one knee, I put the scantling under 

 the bow apron, resting it on knee and 

 shoulder to catch the wire, and by grad- 

 ually raising it, shoot it over the boat. The 

 device worked all right, but the tense wires 

 surged down stream with us until it seemed 

 T was sustaining a ton. Then they shot 

 back, catching one of our canoes, breaking 

 a 3 by 8 bow post and a board 42 inches 

 wide from its side. After it was all over, a 

 badly frightened lot of men unanimously 

 voted I had saved their lives. 



The rest of the journey was uneventful, 

 and the difficult task of putting a cable over 

 the torrent, at our destination, was success- 

 fully accomplished. 



ON THE STREAM. 



C. S. REID. 



The boat glides freely on the sunlit stream, 



And away we go like the flight of a dream, 



Along with the current that ripples, and roars 



As it whirls o'er the reefs that line the dark shores. 



There the rocks glide by, and the shrubs and the trees; 

 In our ears rings the song of the morning breeze, 

 And we shout and we sing with a joyful heart 

 As on o'er the silvery surface we dart. 



Now we glide past the oaks and down by the bend, 

 And on to the chute where the waters descend 

 With a rush and a roar through the narrow way 

 Where the spray and the sunlight laughingly play. 



And then by the cliff, and along o'er the pool 

 Where the shadows of morn lie listless and cool, 

 And on by the brake where the hermit thrush sings 

 The plaintive, sweet song that the near autumn brings. 



Oh, the heart beats quick, and the life bubbles o'er 

 In a shout or a song that rings from the shore 

 In an echo that meets the ripples' bright gleam, 

 As a-drifting we go down the sunlit stream. 



