The man waved his hat to us, and rowed on. There was but one thing for
us to do: to make the passage quickly through the safe channel of the
rapids, and to be of what service we could on the other side of the
Slide, if necessary. We bent to the oars, and the boat shot through the
water. Ruth held the rudder firmly, and her young sister and Mrs. Revel
sat perfectly still. But the man in the other boat, thinking, doubtless,
that we were attempting a race, added his efforts to the current of the
channel. I am afraid that I said some words below my breath scarcely
proper to be spoken in the presence of maidens and a clerk in holy
orders. Roscoe was here, however, a hundred times more sailor than
parson. He spoke in low, firm tones, as he now and then suggested a
direction to Ruth Devlin or myself. Our boat tossed and plunged in the
rapids, and the water washed over us lightly once or twice, but we went
through the passage safely, and had turned towards the Slide before the
other boat got to the rocky archway.

We rowed hard. The next minute was one of suspense, for we saw the boat
shoot beneath the archway. Presently it emerged, a whirling plaything in
treacherous eddies. The man wildly waved his arm, and shouted to us.
The women were grasping the sides of the boat, but making no outcry. We
could not see the faces of the women plainly yet. The boat ran forward
like a race-horse; it plunged hither and thither. An oar snapped in the
rocks, and the other one shot from the man's hand. Now the boat swung
round and round, and dipped towards the hollow of a whirlpool. When we
were within a few rods of them, it appeared to rise from the water, was
hurled on a rock, and overturned. Mrs. Revel buried her face in her
hands, and Ruth gave a little groan, but she held the rudder firmly, as
we swiftly approached the forms struggling in the water. All,
fortunately, had grasped the swamped boat, and were being carried down
the stream towards us. The man was caring resolutely for himself, but