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
However, the grown-up people came instead, and flocked to the bridge and
its approaches. While I was endeavouring to answer all the usual
questions as to the boat, a man respectfully asked me to delay the start
five minutes, as his aged father, who was bedridden, wished exceedingly
just to see the canoe. In all such cases it is a pleasure to give
pleasure, and to sympathize with the boundless delight of the boys,
remembering how as a boy a boat delighted me; and then, again, these
worthy, mother-like, wholesome-faced dames, how could one object to
their prying gaze, mingled as it was with friendly smile and genuine
interest?
The stream on which I started here was not the main channel of the
Danube, but a narrow arm of the river conducted through the town, while
the other part fell over the mill-weir. The woodcut shows the scene at
starting, and there were crowds as large as this at other towns; but a
picture never can repeat the shouts and bustle, or the sound of guns
firing and bells ringing, which on more than one occasion celebrated the
Rob Roy's morning paddle.
The lovely scenery of this day's voyage often reminded me of that upon
the Wye,[XII.] in its best parts between Ross and Chepstow. There were the
white rocks and dark trees, and caverns, crags, and jutting peaks you
meet near Tintern; but then the Wye has no islands, and its muddy water
at full tide has a worse substitute in muddier banks when the sea has
ebbed.
[XII.] Murray says: "The Meuse has been compared to the Wye; but
is even more romantic than the English river." I would rank the Wye as
much above the Meuse as below the Danube for romance in scenery.
The islands on beauteous Donau were of all sizes and shapes. Some low
and flat, and thickly covered with shrubs; others of stalwart rock,
stretching up at a sharp angle, under which the glassy water bubbled all
fresh and clear.
Almost each minute there was a new scene, and often I backed against
the current to hold my post in the best view of some grand picture.
Magnificent crags reached high up on both sides, and impenetrable
forests rung with echoes when I shouted in the glee of health, freedom,
and exquisite enjoyment.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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