a much larger river. All this volume of water, confined, as it is, in a
narrow channel and rushing with great velocity, is set eddying and
spinning in whirlpools by projecting rocks and short curves, and the
waters waltz their way through the canyon, making their own rippling,
rushing, roaring music. The canyon is much narrower than any we have
seen. We manage our boats with difficulty. They spin about from side to
side and we know not where we are going, and find it impossible to keep
them headed down the stream. At first this causes us great alarm, but we
soon find there is little danger, and that there is a general movement
or progression down the river, to which this whirling is but an
adjunct--that it is the merry mood of the river to dance through this
deep, dark gorge, and right gaily do we join in the sport.

But soon our revel is interrupted by a cataract; its roaring command is
heeded by all our power at the oars, and we pull against the whirling
current. The "Emma Dean" is brought up against a cliff about 50 feet
above the brink of the fall. By vigorously plying the oars on the side
opposite the wall, as if to pull up stream, we can hold her against the
rock. The boats behind are signaled to land where they can. The "Maid
of the Canyon" is pulled to the left wall, and, by constant rowing, they
can hold her also. The "Sister" is run into an alcove on the right,
where an eddy is in a dance, and in this she joins. Now my little boat
is held against the wall only by the utmost exertion, and it is
impossible to make headway against the current. On examination, I find a
horizontal crevice in the rock, about 10 feet above the water and a
boat's length below us; so we let her down to that point. One of the men
clambers into the crevice, into which he can just crawl; we toss him
the line, which he makes fast in the rocks, and now our boat is tied up.
Then I follow into the crevice and we crawl along up stream a distance
of 50 feet or more, and find a broken place where we can climb about 50