rs. The rapid at the end of this canyon was
one of the worst of the entire series, and had been the scene of more
than one fatality, we had been told. It had a very difficult approach
and swung against the right wall, then the water was turned abruptly
to the left by a great pile of fallen boulders. The cresting waves
looked more like breakers of the ocean than anything we had seen on
the river.

We each had a good scare as we ran this rapid. Emery was completely
hidden from my view, he was nearly strangled and blinded by the waves
for a few seconds while struggling in the maelstrom; the _Edith_ was
dropped directly on top of a rock in the middle of this rapid, then
lifted on the next wave. I also had a thrilling experience but avoided
the rock. In the lower part of the rapid a rowlock pulled apart; and
to prevent the boat from turning sideways in the rapid, I threw up my
knee, holding the oar against it for a lever until I was in quieter
water, and could get the other rowlock in position.

Separated from my brother in this instance, I had an opportunity to
see the man and water conflict, with a perspective much as it would
have appeared to a spectator happening on the scene. I was out of the
heat of the battle. The excitement and indifference to danger that
comes with a hand-to-hand grapple was gone. I heard the roar of the
rapid; a roar so often heard that we forgot it was there. I saw the
gloom of the great gorge, and the towering, sinister shafts of rock,
weakened with cracks, waiting for the moment that would send them
crashing to the bottom. I saw the mad, wild water hurled at the
curving wall. Jagged rocks, like the bared fangs of some
dream-monster, appeared now and then in the leaping, tumbling waves.
Then down toward the turmoil--dwarfed to nothingness by the magnitude
of the walls--sped the tiny shell-like boat, running smoothly like a
racing machine! There was no rowing. The oar-blades were tipped high
to avoid loss in the first comber; then the boat was buried in foam,
and staggered through on the other side. It was buffeted here and
there, now covered with a ton of water, now topping a ten-foot wave.
Like a skilled boxer--quick of eye, and ready to seize any temporary
advantage--the oarsman shot in his oars for two quick strokes, to
straighten the boat with the current or dodge a threatening boulder;
then covered by lifting his oars and ducking his head as a brown flood
rolled over him. Time and again th