“Can we pass, Digui?” we asked.—“Yes, perhaps,” he replied, “if it is the will of Allah!”
With this assurance we had to be content, and I gave the order “Forward!”
When my old guide saw us steering towards the left to take the course impracticable even to native canoes he was terrified. “Laol alla! Laol alla!” he cried, “there is no pass there!” I put my hand over his mouth to make him hold his tongue, and flinging himself upon the deck he hid his head in his cloak.
I got my camera ready for taking a photograph, but Digui said to me. “It is not worth while!”—“Why?” I asked.—“Because you will not be able to look. You will be afraid!”
Yet Digui had seen me look at places still less attractive than this pass, which was no pass.
I proved him wrong to some extent, for I did succeed in getting two photographs of the banks we were passing. I don’t deny, however, that I felt a slight shudder pass over me, and I hope I am not more of a coward than any one else would have been under the circumstances.
AMONG THE RAPIDS.
This time we experienced a peculiar sensation such as we had never had before; when the boat passed over the whirlpools, everywhere intersecting each other, it seemed to be alternately sucked in and flung out again by the masses of water.
One instant of calm, then a second rapid, and we anchored in a little creek; Digui then went back to fetch the Aube and the Dantec, and we found ourselves all once more safely together.