FAMOUS LACHINE RAPIDS.
At the head of these Rapids is the pretty little Indian village of Lachine, and here comes aboard our Indian pilot, Baptiste by name, who has piloted the boats through the Lachine Rapids for forty years. These Rapids are the most perilous in all the river’s extent, on account of the devious nature of the channel, and the dangerous rocks which lie just enough below the surface to deceive any but the skillful navigator. The swarthy giant who takes the wheel at this point pays little attention to anything but the duty in hand, and that seems to demand all his energies. Casting alternate glances at him and at the rushing waters ahead of us, we involuntarily breathe the words of the hymn,
“Steady, O pilot, stand firm at the wheel.”
Right in our path lies a ragged rock, which threatens us with instant destruction; but a turn of the wheel at just the right moment sends our good craft a little to the left of it, and the apparent danger is past. With bated breath we watch for the next peril that looms ahead of us, to find it, like its predecessor, vanquished by the strong arm and steady nerve of the man to whom every inch of the channel is as familiar as a beaten path.
Entering once more into quiet waters, we steam on our way toward Montreal, and soon the horizon is marked with the long line of the famous Victoria Bridge, which rises higher and higher as we approach it, until we glide under it and are soon at the wharf of the American Line, at the close of a day that has been filled with a succession of delights unapproachable in a day’s experience in travel elsewhere on the American Continent.
CANADIAN CARRYALL.