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
Sometimes I had to back out of shallows which were invisible in the
dark, and often I stopped a long time before a glance of some ripple
obscurely told me the probable course. The necessity for this caution
will be evident when it is remembered that in case of an upset here
_both_ sets of clothes would have been wet together, and without any
house at hand to dry them.
All at once I heard a bell toll quite near me in the thick wood, and I
came to the bank, but it was impossible to get ashore on it, so I passed
that place too, and finally made up my mind to sleep in the boat, and
soon had all sorts of plans in course of devising.
Just then two drops of rain came on my nose, and I resolved at once to
stop, for if my clothes got wet before I was snug in the canoe there
would be little comfort all night, without anything solid to eat since
morning, and all my cigars already puffed away.
As I now cautiously searched for some root projecting from the bank to
make fast to, a light appeared straight in front, and I dashed forward
with the boat to reach it, and speedily ran her into a strange sort of
lake or pond, where the stream ceased, and a noise on the boat's side
told of weeds, which proved to be large round leaves on the surface,
like those of the Victoria Regia lily.
I drew up the boat on shore, and mounted the high bank through a
thicket, carrying my long paddle as a protection against the large dogs
which farmhouses sport here, and which might be troublesome to quarrel
with in the dark. The house I came to on the top of the precipice had
its window lighted, and several people were talking inside, so I
knocked loudly, and all was silence. Then I knocked again, and whined
out that I was a poor benighted "Englander," and hoped they would let me
in, at which melancholy tale they burst out laughing, and so did I!
After an argument between us, which was equally intelligible on both
sides, a fat farmer cautiously took the light upstairs, and, opening a
window, thrust the candle forward, and gazed out upon me standing erect
as a true Briton, and with my paddle, too, but in reality a humiliated
vagrant begging for a night's lodging.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
After due scrutiny he pulled in his head and his candle, shut the
window, and fell to laughing immoderately. At this I was glad, for I
never found it difficult to get on with a man who begins in good humour.
Presently the others went up, and I stood their gaze unflinchingly, and,
besides, made an eloquent appeal in the vernacular--mine, not theirs, be
it clearly understood.
Finally they were satisfied that I was alone, and, though probably mad,
yet not quite a match for all of them, so they came down gallantly; but
then there was the difficulty of persuading the man to grope down to the
river on this dark night to carry up a boat.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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