The Lake Narrows At La Chine, And Becomes Again The St.
Lawrence, Which Presents A Most Extraordinary Appearance, Being A Hill Of
Shallow Rushing Water About A Mile Wide, Chafing A Few Islands Which Look
Ready To Be Carried Away By It.
The large river Ottawa joins the St.
Lawrence a short distance from this, and mingles its turbid waters with
that mighty flood.
The river became more and more rapid till we entered
what might be termed a sea of large, cross, leaping waves, and raging
waters, enough to engulf a small boat. The idea of descending it in a
steamer was an extraordinary one. It is said that from the shore a vessel
looks as if it were hurrying to certain destruction. Still we hurry on,
with eight men at the wheel - rocks appear like snags in the middle of the
stream - we dash straight down upon rocky islets, strewn with the wrecks of
rafts; but a turn of the wheel, and we rush by them in safety at a speed
('tis said) of thirty miles an hour, till a ragged ledge of rock stretches
across the whirling stream. Still on we go - louder roars the flood -
steeper appears the descent - earth, sky, and water seem mingled together.
I involuntarily took hold of the rail - the madman attempted to jump over -
the flighty lady screamed and embraced more closely her poodle-dog; we
reached the ledge - one narrow space free from rocks appeared - down with
one plunge went the bow into a turmoil of foam - and we had "shot the
cataract" of La Chine.
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