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
He was a very short, very fat, and very hilarious personage, with a
minute smattering of English, which he had to speak loudly, so as to
magnify its value among his Allemand friends, envious of his
accomplishment.
His explanations of the contents of my sketch-book were truly ludicrous
as he dilated on it page by page, but he well deserved all gratitude for
ordering my hotel bedroom and its comforts, which were never more
acceptable than now after a hard day's work. Music finished the evening,
and then the hum of the distant rapids sung me a lullaby breathing soft
slumber.
Next morning, as there was but a short row to Bâle, I took a good long
rest in bed, and then carried the canoe half way across the bridge where
a picturesque island is formed into a terraced garden, and here we
launched the boat on the water. Although the knocks and strains of the
last few days were very numerous, and many of them of portentous force,
judging by the sounds they made, the Rob Roy was still hale and hearty,
and the carpenter's mate had no damages to report to the captain. It was
not until harder times came, in the remainder of the voyage, that her
timbers suffered and her planks were tortured by rough usage.
A number of ladies patronized the start on this occasion, and as they
waved their parasols and the men shouted Hoch! and Bravo! we glided
down stream, the yellow paddle being waved round my head in an original
mode of "salute," which I invented specially for returning friendly
gratulations of this kind.
Speaking about Rheinfelden, Baedeker says, "Below the town another rapid
of the Rhine forms a sort of whirlpool called the Höllenhaken," a
formidable announcement, and a terrible name; but what is called here a
"whirlpool" is not worth notice.
The sound of a railway train beside the river reminds you that this is
not quite a strange, wild, unseen country. Reminds you I say, because
really when you are in the river bed, you easily forget all that is
beyond it on each side.
Let a landscape be ever so well known from the road, it becomes new
again when you view it from the level of the water. For before the scene
was bounded by a semicircle with the diameter on the horizon, and the
arch of sky for its circumference. But when you are seated in the canoe,
the picture changes to the form of a great sector, with its point on the
clear water, and each radius inclining aloft through rocks, trees, and
mossy banks, on this side and on that. And this holds good even on a
well worn river like the Thames. The land-scenes between Oxford and
London get pretty well known and admired by travellers, but the views
will seem both fresh and fair if you row down the river through them.
Nay, there are few rivers which have such lovely scenery as the Thames
can show in its windings along that route.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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