He resumed his labors with the oars, but both boys were alert now, and were waiting for the welcome tug which would indicate that the longed for strike had been made.
Bob was the next to reel in his line, and to his delight he discovered that he too had a pike, though not so large as that of his friend. Several fish were caught by each of the boys as they went down the stream, and for the time the thoughts of the rapids were forgotten in the excitement of the present occupation.
“This fishing doesn’t amount to much,” said George, quietly, as he removed Jock’s latest catch. “When we get below the rapids yonder we’ll be more likely to find ’em.”
At his words the boys glanced up, and the sight before them almost drove the color from their faces. Far in advance they could see the tossing waters of the Longue Seaut Rapids. A whirling mass of water seemed to stretch away in the distance as far as they could see. The waves tossed and rose and fell, and the air was filled with clouds of spray. The rocks along the shore were at times almost hidden from sight as the mad river dashed against them. A roaring sound seemed to fill the air, and already the boat appeared to feel the quickened movement of the river, for all about them the St. Lawrence was moving forward, swift and silent, as if it, too, had drawn in its breath for that fearful plunge into the tossing, heaving, boiling, boisterous mass before it.
Not far in advance they could see a great island, which seemed to present a point to the advancing river. At all events the waters divided there, and along each side went rushing on to the calmer regions below.
“Whew!” said Jock, drawing a long breath. “Then that’s the Longue Seaut, is it?”
“Yes,” replied George, quietly, as if the awe-inspiring sight produced no impression upon him.
“You don’t mean to say we’re going through that in this skiff?” inquired Bob.
“Yes.”
“Is it safe? Can you make it?”