The canoe danced like an autumn leaf in the swells of the rapid,
and Job's excited shouting came faintly over the sound of the
water. At what a pace they were going? Was the canoe under
control? I could not tell. What would happen when they reached
the point where the water swings round to the north again? In an
agony of suspense I watched and waited. Now they were nearing the
critical point. And--now---_they had passed it_, and with a wild
cry of triumph turned towards the little bay below. As they drew
in to where I waited for them, George waved his cap to me and
shouted, "I saw the island."
We passed out beyond the point below and there it lay, some miles
away, in the quiet water, with the sunshine of the calm Sabbath
morning flooding down upon it. But the post was not yet in sight.
Quite out of harmony with the still dignity of the day and the
scenes of desolate grandeur about was the mind within me. The
excitement at the rapid had seemed to increase the strain I was
under, and every moment it became more intense. I did wish that
the men would not chat and laugh in the unconcerned way they were
doing, and they paddled as leisurely as if I were not in a hurry at
all.
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