It was only five feet deep, but, struggle as
I might, I could not get even my arm down. I ducked and dived, but
I was held in the surface like a pennant on an air-blast. In a few
minutes the icy flood had robbed me of all sensation in my limbs,
and showed how impossible was the plan, so I gave the signal to
haul me in; which they did, nearly cutting my body in two with the
rope. And if ever there was a grovelling fire-worshipper, it was
my frozen self when I landed.
Now we tried a new scheme. A tall spruce on the shore was leaning
over the place; fifty feet out, barely showing, was the rock that
wrecked us. We cut the spruce so it fell with its butt on the shore,
and lodged against the rock. On this, now, Rob and Billy walked
out and took turns grappling. Luck was with Rob. In a few minutes
he triumphantly hauled up the rifle and a little later the shotgun,
none the worse.
Now, we had saved everything except the surplus provisions and my
little camera, trifling matters, indeed; so it was with feelings
of triumph that we went on south that day.
In the afternoon, as we were tracking up the last part of the Boiler
Rapid, Billy at the bow, Rob on the shore, the line broke, and we
were only saved from another dreadful disaster by Billy's nerve
and quickness; for he fearlessly leaped overboard, had the luck to
find bottom, and held the canoe's head with all his strength.
