A Thousand Miles in the Rob Roy Canoe on Rivers and Lakes of EuropeMacGregor, John
History
A Thousand Miles in the Rob Roy Canoe on Rivers and Lakes of Europe
MacGregor, John
Canoes and canoeing -- Europe; Europe -- Description and travel; History -- Miscellanea; MacGregor, John, 1825-1892 -- Travel -- Europe
When the poor mother heard we had seen the little fellows and they were
safe, her tears of joy were quite affecting, and they vividly recalled
one's schoolboy days, when the thoughtless playtime of childhood so
often entails anxiety on a loving mother's heart.
Such, then, are the river sights and river wonders, ever new, though
trifling perhaps when told, but far more lively and entertaining than
the common incidents of a dusty road, or a whirring, shrieking train.
With a few wadings and bumpings, and one or two "vannes," or weirs, we
slipped along pleasantly until evening came. Still it was only a slow
stream, and the towers of St. Nicholas, long visible on the horizon,
seemed ever to move from side to side without being any nearer, so much
does this river wind in its course. I paddled at my best pace, but the
evening rapidly grew darker, until we overtook two French youths in a
boat, the first occasion on which we had noticed Frenchmen rowing for
exercise. They could not keep up with the canoe, so we had to leave them
ingloriously aground on a bank, and yet too lazy to get out and help
their boat over the difficulty.
Soon after I came to a great weir about fifteen feet in height, the
deepest we had yet encountered, and half a sigh was heaved when it was
evident that there was no escape from all the bother of getting out and
gymnasticizing here after a long day's work. It was a matter of some
time and trouble to get the boat over this weir in the dark; but what
was far worse immediately followed, as I found myself in a maze of
shallows, without light to see how to get through them. Whenever we
stopped, too, for rest, there was only darkness, silence, and no
motion--not even the excitement of a current to arouse. Finally, I had
to wade and haul the boat along, and jump in and ferry myself over the
pools, for nearly half a mile, until at length the "look-out" man of our
starboard watch shouted, "A bridge and a house on the lee bow!" and a
joyous cheer burst forth from the crew.
All this, which may be told in a few sentences, took a full hour of very
tiresome work, though, as there was no current, there was no danger, and
it was merely tedious, wet, unlighted, and uncomfortable. Nevertheless I
sang and whistled all the time.
When the bridge was arrived at, I was sure it must be a town, and then
there happened a scene almost an exact counterpart of that which took
place at Gegglingen, on the Danube.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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