Reeds again--innumerable reeds--through which we had to drag the canoe, for
we had somehow lost the current. Arrow-head and prickly bur-reed, great
rushes and sedges--a joy to the marsh botanist by the variety of their
species--stood against us in serried phalanxes, saying: 'Union is strength;
we are weak when alone, but altogether we will give you some work that you
will remember.' And they did so before we left them behind. Now, above the
lily-spotted water, deep and clear, showed a little cluster of houses on a
low cliff, and below these, close to the river, an old pigeon-house with
pointed roof.

To finish the picture, a narrow wooden bridge supported by poles stretching
downward at all angles, like the legs of an ungainly insect, had been
thrown across the stream. And here a great flock of geese, horrified at so
unwonted an apparition as the pale green boat and the paddles in fantastic
movement, were holding a hasty council of war, which we broke up before
they came to a decision.

The flow of water in the river had been perceptibly increased by
tributaries, and now, after each mill, the current was strong enough to
take us down for a mile or two at a quick rate. The little boat danced
gaily in the rapids. The great heat of the day had gone, and the light was
waning, when we mistook an arm of the river for the main stream, and found
ourselves at length in a little gully, very dim with overarching foliage,
and where the sound of rushing water grew momentarily louder.

It was all one to Hugh whether he got turned out or not, but I had lived
long enough not to like the vision of a roll in the stream at the end of
the day, with baggage swamped, if not lost. Therefore I chained up the
boat, and went to examine the rapids. I found the stream in great turmoil,