appear to be in the canyon. I soon discover that it is the bright star
Vega; so it occurs to me to designate this part of the wall as the
"Cliff of the Harp."

_June 9.--_One of the party suggests that we call this the Canyon of
Lodore, and the name is adopted. Very slowly we make our way, often
climbing on the rocks at the edge of the water for a few hundred yards
to examine the channel before running it. During the afternoon we come
to a place where it is necessary to make a portage. The little boat is
landed and the others are signaled to come up.

When these rapids or broken falls occur usually the channel is suddenly
narrowed by rocks which have been tumbled from the cliffs or have been
washed in by lateral streams. Immediately above the narrow, rocky
channel, on one or both sides, there is often a bay of quiet water, in
which a landing can be made with ease. Sometimes the water descends with
a smooth, unruffled surface from the broad, quiet spread above into the
narrow, angry channel below by a semicircular sag. Great care must be
taken not to pass over the brink into this deceptive pit, but above it
we can row with safety. I walk along the bank to examine the ground,
leaving one of my men with a flag to guide the other boats to the
landing-place. I soon see one of the boats make shore all right, and
feel no more concern; but a minute after, I hear a shout, and, looking
around, see one of the boats shooting down the center of the sag. It is
the "No Name," with Captain Howland, his brother, and Goodman. I feel
that its going over is inevitable, and run to save the third boat. A
minute more, and she turns the point and heads for the shore. Then I
turn down stream again and scramble along to look for the boat that has
gone over. The first fall is not great, only 10 or 12 feet, and we often
run such; but below, the river tumbles down again for 40 or 50 feet, in
a channel filled with dangerous rocks that break the waves into
whirlpools and beat them into foam. I pass around a great crag just in
time to see the boat strike a rock and, rebounding from the shock,
careen and fill its open compartment with water. Two of the men lose
their oars; she swings around and is carried down at a rapid rate,
broadside on, for a few yards, when, striking amidships on another rock
with great force, she is broken quite in two and the men are thrown into
the river. But the larger part of the boat floats buoyantly, and they
soon seize