up stream.

I stood there for several minutes, watching the impetuous crimson flood
bearing down with a shouting roar, dashing in waves against the bank as
though to sweep it bodily away, and then swirling by in two foaming streams
on either side. The ground seemed to shake with the shock and rush, while
the furious movement of the willow bushes as the wind poured over them
increased the curious illusion that the island itself actually moved.
Above, for a mile or two, I could see the great river descending upon me;
it was like looking up the slope of a sliding hill, white with foam, and
leaping up everywhere to show itself to the sun.

The rest of the island was too thickly grown with willows to make walking
pleasant, but I made the tour, nevertheless. From the lower end the light,
of course, changed, and the river looked dark and angry. Only the backs of
the flying waves were visible, streaked with foam, and pushed forcibly by
the great puffs of wind that fell upon them from behind. For a short mile
it was visible, pouring in and out among the islands, and then disappearing
with a huge sweep into the willows, which closed about it like a herd of
monstrous antediluvian creatures crowding down to drink. They made me think
of gigantic sponge-like growths that sucked the river up into themselves.
They caused it to vanish from sight. They herded there together in such
overpowering numbers.

Altogether it was an impressive scene, with its utter loneliness, its
bizarre suggestion; and as I gazed, long and curiously, a singular emotion
began to stir somewhere in the depths of me. Midway in my delight of the
wild beauty, there crept, unbidden and unexplained, a curious feeling of
disquietude, almost of alarm.