The idea of making a portage, with the loss of nearly a
day, did not appeal to me.
Emery agreed to this reluctantly, and advised waiting until morning,
for it was growing dusk, but with the remark "I will sleep better with
both boats tied at the lower end of the rapid," I returned to the
_Edith_. To make a long story short I missed my channel, and was
carried over the rock in the centre of the stream. The _Edith_ had
bravely mounted the first wave, and was climbing the second comber,
standing almost on end, seemed to me, when the wave crested over the
stern while the current shooting it from the side struck the submerged
bow and she fell back in the water upside down. It was all done so
quickly, I hardly knew what had occurred, but found myself in the
water, whirling this way and that, holding to the right oar with a
death-grip. I wondered if the strings would hold, and felt a great
relief when the oar stopped slipping down,--as the blade reached the
ring. It was the work of a second to climb the oar, and I found I was
under the cockpit. Securing a firm hold on the gunwale, which had
helped us so often, I got on the outside of the boat, thinking I might
climb on top. About that time one of the largest waves broke over me,
knocking me on the side of the head as if with a solid object, nearly
tearing me from the boat. After that I kept as close to the boat as
possible, paddling with my feet to keep them clear of rocks.
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