with tremendous violence, the rending fans of the
water-mill. Marie knew full well that any drift boat, or
log, or raft, carried down the river at freshet-flow,
was always swept into the toils of the inexorable wheels.
Yet, if she were reckless and without heed a few minutes
before, I am told that now she was calm. As she is present,
I must refrain from too much eulogy of her behaviour.
Violette gave the alarm that Marie was adrift in the
river without a paddle, and in a few seconds, every body
living near had turned out, and were running down the
shore. Several brought paddles, but it took hard running
to keep up with the canoe, for the flood was racing at
a speed of eight miles an hour. When they did get up in
line each one flung out a paddle. But one fell too far
out, and another not far enough. About fifteen men were
about the banks in violent excitement, and every one of
them saw nothing but doom for Marie. As the canoe neared
a point about two hundred yards above the fall, a young
white man--all the rest were bois-brules--rushed out upon
the bank, with a paddle in his hand, and, without a word,
leaped into the mad waters. With a few strokes, he was
at the side of the canoe, and put the paddle into Marie's
hand. 'Here,' he said, 'Keep away from the mill; that
is your only danger, and steer sheer over the fall,
getting as close as possible to the left bank.' The height
of the fall, as you are aware, was not more than fifteen
or eighteen feet, and there was plenty of water below,
and not very much danger from rocks. 'Go you on shore
now, and I will meet my doom, or achieve my safety,'
Marie said; but the young man answered, 'Nay, I will go