d carried it down stream
like an arrow. Another moment, and the gushing water dragged them to
the verge of the fall, which thundered and foamed among frightful chasms
and rocks many feet below. It was the work of a moment. The stern of
the canoe almost overhung the abyss, and the voyageurs plied their
paddles with the desperation of men who felt that their lives depended
on the exertions of the next awful minute. For a few seconds the canoe
remained stationary, and seemed to tremble on the brink of destruction--
the strength of the water and the power of the men being almost equally
balanced--then, inch by inch, it began slowly to ascend the stream. The
danger was past! A few nervous strokes, and the canoe shot out of the
current like an arrow, and floated in safety in the still water below
the point.

The whole thing, from beginning to end, occurred in a few seconds; but
who can describe or comprehend the tumultuous gush of feeling aroused
during those brief moments in the bosoms of the _voyageurs_? The
sudden, electric change from tranquil safety to the verge of what
appeared certain destruction--and then, deliverance! It was one of
those thrilling incidents which frequently occur to those who thread the
wildernesses of this world, and is little thought of by them beyond the
moment of danger; yet it was one of those solemn seasons, more or less
numerous in the history of all men, when the Almighty speaks to his
careless creatures in a voice that cannot be mistaken, however much it
may be slighted; awakening them, with a rough grasp, to behold the
slender cord that suspends them over the abyss of eternity.

The canoes used by the Eskimos who inhabit the Polar Regions are made of
a light framework of wood, which is covered entirely over with
seal-skin--a round hole being left in the centre, in which the Eskimo
sits. Round this hole there is a loose piece of skin, which is drawn up
by the man and fastened round his waist. The machine is thus completely
water-tight. No waves can dash into, although they can sweep over it;
and if by chance it should upset, the Eskimo can turn it and himself up
into the proper position by one dexterous sweep of his long,
double-bladed paddle. The paddle, which varies from ten to fifteen
feet, is simply a pole with a blade at each end. It is grasped in the
centre, and each end dipped alternately on either side of the _kayak_,
as this canoe is called. Eskimo kayaks are first-ra