The Excitement
Of This Passage Is Rather Too Great For Pleasure.
It is like
being run away with by a 'motor' down a steep hill.
The bow
of the canoe is often several feet below the stern, as if
about to take a 'header.' The water, in glassy ridges and
dark furrows, rushes headlong, and dashes itself madly
against the reefs which crop up everywhere. There is no
time, one thinks, to choose a course, even if steerage, which
seems absurd, were possible. One is hurled along at railway
speed. The upreared rock, that a moment ago seemed a hundred
yards off, is now under the very bow of the canoe. One
clenches one's teeth, holds one's breath, one's hour is
surely come. But no - a shout from the Indians, a magic
stroke of the paddle in the bow, another in the stern, and
the dreaded crag is far above out heads, far, far behind;
and, for the moment, we are gliding on - undrowned.
At the lower end of the rapids (our Indians refusing to go
further), we had to debark. A settler here was putting up a
zinc house for a store. Two others, with an officer of the
Mounted Rifles - the regiment we had left at the Dalles -
were staying with him. They welcomed our arrival, and
insisted on our drinking half a dozen of poisonous stuff they
called champagne. There were no chairs or table in the
'house,' nor as yet any floor; and only the beginning of a
roof. We sat on the ground, so that I was able
surreptitiously to make libations with my share, to the
earth.
According to my journal: 'In a short time the party began to
be a noisy one. Healths were drunk, toasts proposed,
compliments to our respective nationalities paid in the most
flattering terms. The Anglo-Saxon race were destined to
conquer the globe. The English were the greatest nation
under the sun - that is to say, they had been. America, of
course, would take the lead in time to come. We disputed
this. The Americans were certain of it, in fact this was
already an accomplished fact. The big officer - a genuine
"heavy" - wanted to know where the man was that would give
him the lie! Wasn't the Mounted Rifles the crack regiment of
the United States army? And wasn't the United States army
the finest army in the universe? Who that knew anything of
history would compare the Peninsular Campaign to the war in
Mexico? Talk of Waterloo - Britishers were mighty fond of
swaggering about Waterloo! Let 'em look at Chepultapec. As
for Wellington, he couldn't shine nohow with General Scott,
nor old Zack neither!'
Then, WE wished for a war, just to let them see what our
crack cavalry regiments could do. Mounted Rifles forsooth!
Mounted costermongers! whose trade it was to sell 'nutmegs
made of wood, and clocks that wouldn't figure.' Then some
pretty forcible profanity was vented, fists were shaken, and
the zinc walls were struck, till they resounded like the
threatened thunder of artillery.
But Fred's merry laughter diverted the tragic end. It was
agreed that there had been too much tall talk. Britishers
and Americans were not such fools as to quarrel. Let
everybody drink everybody else's health. A gentleman in the
corner (he needed the support of both walls) thought it
wasn't good to 'liquor up' too much on an empty stomach; he
put it to the house that we should have supper. The motion
was carried NEM. CON., and a Dutch cheese was produced with
much ECLAT. Samson coupled the ideas of Dutch cheeses and
Yankee hospitality. This revived the flagging spirit of
emulation. On one side, it was thought that British manners
were susceptible of amendment. Confusion was then
respectively drunk to Yankee hospitality, English manners,
and - this was an addition of Fred's - to Dutch cheeses.
After which, to change the subject, a song was called for,
and a gentleman who shall be nameless, for there was a little
mischief in the choice, sang 'Rule Britannia.' Not being
encored, the singer drank to the flag that had braved the
battle and the breeze for nearly ninety years. 'Here's to
Uncle Sam, and his stars and stripes.' The mounted officer
rose to his legs (with difficulty) and declared 'that he
could not, and would not, hear his country insulted any
longer. He begged to challenge the "crowd." He regretted
the necessity, but his feelings had been wounded, and he
could not - no, he positively could not stand it.' A slight
push from Samson proved the fact - the speaker fell, to rise
no more. The rest of the company soon followed his example,
and shortly afterwards there was no sound but that of the
adjacent rapids.
Early next morning the settler's boat came up, and took us a
mile down the river, where we found a larger one to convey us
to Fort Vancouver. The crew were a Maltese sailor and a man
who had been in the United States army. Each had his private
opinions as to her management. Naturally, the Maltese should
have been captain, but the soldier was both supercargo and
part owner, and though it was blowing hard and the sails were
fully large, the foreigner, who was but a poor little
creature, had to obey orders.
As the river widened and grew rougher, we were wetted from
stem to stern at every plunge; and when it became evident
that the soldier could not handle the sails if the Maltese
was kept at the helm, the heavy rifleman who was on board,
declaring that he knew the river, took upon himself to steer
us. In a few minutes the boat was nearly swamped. The
Maltese prayed and blasphemed in language which no one
understood. The oaths of the soldier were intelligible
enough. The 'heavy,' now alarmed, nervously asked what had
better be done. My advice was to grease the bowsprit, let go
the mast, and splice the main brace.
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