“It’s not so very bad,” said he, “although the river has come up an inch or so during the night. The whole rapid is about a quarter of a mile long, but the worst place is only a couple of hundred yards or so. We’ll drop down to the head of that strip on the line and portage around there.”
They followed this plan, loading the boats and dropping down for a short time, saving themselves all the portage work they could. In places the water seemed very wild, tossing over the rocks in long, rolling waves or breaking in foam and spray. The boys scrambled alongshore, allowing Alex and Moise to care for the first boat when it became necessary for them to double up on each trip over the worst water. Part of the time they bore a hand on the line, and were surprised to see the strength of the current even on a boat without a load.
“You see,” said Alex, when at length they came to a place where the water seemed still more powerful and rough, and where it seemed necessary to haul the boat entirely from the water for a carry of some distance over the rocks, “it’s better to take a little trouble and go slow rather than to lose a boat in here. If she broke away from us we’d feel a long way from home!”
After they got the Mary Ann again in the water and at the foot of the rapids, the men went up after the Jaybird, while the boys did what they could toward advancing the cargo of the Mary Ann. In less than an hour they had everything below the rapids and saw plain sailing once more ahead of them. Moise expressed his disappointment at not being allowed to run the Finlay rapids.
“My onkle, she’ll always ron those rapeed,” said he. “S’pose I’ll tell heem I’ll walk aroun’, he’ll laugh on me, yes!”
“That’s all right, Moise,” said Rob; “your uncle isn’t here, and for one, I’m glad we took it easy coming through here. That’s rough water either way you look at it, up-stream or down. But now,” he continued, once more consulting his maps and notes, “we ought to have a couple of days of good, straightaway running, with almost no bad water. It’s about seventy miles from here to the Parle Pas rapids. And speaking of rapids, they tell me that’s the worst place on the whole river.”
“That’s a funny name—why do they call them the Parle Pas rapids?” asked Jesse.
“Those were Frenchman words,” said Moise. “Parle Pas means ‘no speak.’ He’s a quiet rapeed. S’pose you’ll ron on the river there, an’ smoke a pipe, an’ talk, an’ not think of nothing. All at once, Boum! You’ll been in those rapeed, an’ he’ll not said a word to you!”
“Well,” said Rob, “the traders used to run them somehow, didn’t they?”
“Yes, my onkle he’ll ron them in beeg boat many tam, but not with leetle boat. She’ll jump down five, three feet sometams. Leetle boat she’ll stick his nose under, yes. My onkle he’ll tol’ me, when you come on the Parle Pas take the north side, an’ find some chute there for leetle boat. Leetle boat could ron the Parle Pas, maybe so, but I suppose, us, we’ll let those boat down on the line because we’ll got some scares, hein?”