I had ordered a canoe to take me down the rapids, and presently I saw it
coming, with the two Indian canoe-men in pink calico shirts, moving it
about with their long poles, with a grace and dexterity worthy fairy
land. Now and then they cast the scoop-net; all looked just as I had
fancied, only far prettier.
When they came to me, they spread a mat in the middle of the canoe; I
sat down, and in less than four minutes we had descended the rapids, a
distance of more than three quarters of a mile. I was somewhat
disappointed in this being no more of an exploit than I found it. Having
heard such expressions used as of "darting," or, "shooting down," these
rapids, I had fancied there was a wall of rock somewhere, where descent
would somehow be accomplished, and that there would come some one gasp
of terror and delight, some sensation entirely new to me; but I found
myself in smooth water, before I had time to feel anything but the
buoyant pleasure of being carried so lightly through this surf amid the
breakers. Now and then the Indians spoke to one another in a vehement
jabber, which, however, had no tone that expressed other than pleasant
excitement. It is, no doubt, an act of wonderful dexterity to steer amid
these jagged rocks, when one rude touch would tear a hole in the birch
canoe; but these men are evidently so used to doing it, and so adroit,
that the silliest person could not feel afraid. I should like to have
come down twenty times, that I might have had leisure to realize the
pleasure.
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