With Cochrane the DauntlessHenty, G. A. (George Alfred)
General
With Cochrane the Dauntless
Henty, G. A. (George Alfred)
Biographical fiction; Dundonald, Thomas Cochrane, Earl of, 1775-1860
“It has caught on something,” he said. “Now, haul in rapidly this time,
Hurka, as soon as we pass the opposite point, so as to get the strain on
as quickly as we can. Pita, do you keep your eye on the logs, and shout if
there is anything in the way.”
As soon as they had passed the half-way point on their way back to the
shore, Stephen and Hurka began to pull. They could get but little tension
on the rope, for the boat was travelling almost as fast as they could pull
it in; still, once or twice they were able to put their strength on it for
a moment, and the raft moved a foot or two through the water. Again and
again this manœuvre was repeated, and little by little they gained ground,
until at last they edged the raft so near to the edge of the current that
the two Indians, seizing their paddles, were able to get her into the
still water beyond. They rowed to the trees, and there tied up.
“That was a good plan, señor,” Pita said. “I should never have thought of
it. I did think of shooting an arrow across to the trees, but I saw that
the jerk would be so great that it would tear the raft to pieces.”
It was some time before Stephen was inclined to talk; for the exertion
necessary to pull the rope in at a rate exceeding that at which the boat
was travelling towards the trees, coming as it did after the excitement of
the passage down the rapids, had completely exhausted him. He was drenched
with perspiration, and was glad to lie still in the bottom of the canoe
for a time.
“Well, what next. Pita?” he asked when his breath came quietly.
“We shall float down as before, señor. It is a flat country for the next
fifty miles, and the great inundations will rob the river of its power. We
shall have several more rapids to pass, but I do not think they will be
worse than these. Then we shall get to the falls. There are several small
ones, round which we shall have to carry our boats, and there is a great
one where the whole river leaps down a hundred feet in a mass. On still
nights you can hear it, I am told, nigh a hundred miles away. It is the
greatest fall in South America, though a traveller I once met told me that
in North America there was a fall that was higher, but that there was
nothing like the same quantity poured over it as over this at flood-time.
Once beyond that there remain no more falls or rapids, and a ship can sail
up there from the Amazon. Good-sized craft do come up sometimes, for there
is a mission-station there, and the fathers carry on a trade with the
Indians, who come from the lower districts to purchase goods.”
“I shall be very glad when the water gets clear enough for us to take to
fishing again,” Stephen said. “We have caught no fish of late, and have
got but a few birds, and I am getting very tired of these cakes.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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