“Then hadn’t you better stop ashore?”
“And starve?” said the man bitterly.
“You’re ready to risk it, then?” said Dallas.
“I’d risk anything rather than stop alone in this horrible solitude,” said the stranger excitedly.
“All right, then, my son. There’s a spare pole. Set your pack down; take hold, and come on.”
The stranger did as he was told, and took the place pointed out.
“If it’s as noisy as he says,” continued the Cornishman, “there’ll be no shouting orders—it’ll all be signs. So what you see me do you’ve got to follow. Spit in your hands, all of you, and hold tight with your feet. Stick to it, and we’ll get through. We must; there’s no other way.”
No one spoke in reply, but their companion’s cheery way of meeting the perils ahead sent a thrill of confidence through the party, as they stood on the triangular raft, noting that the current was gradually growing swifter as the rocky walls on either side closed in from being hundreds of yards apart to as many feet, and the distance lessening rapidly more and more.
It was horrible, but grand, and as the pace increased, a curious sensation of intoxicating excitement attacked the party, whose senses seemed to be quickened so that they could note the wondrous colours of the rocks, the vivid green of the ferns and herbs which clustered in the rifts and cracks, and the glorious clearness of the water.
So excited was the great fellow at the head of the raft that he raised his pole, turned to look at his companions, and then pointed onward, while moment by moment the great walls of rock seemed to close in upon them as if to crush all flat.