Not far away was a small island, stretching several hundred feet along the course of the river. The distance between the river bank and the island shore was little more than twenty feet, hardly room enough for the boats to get through. And to make matters worse, there were several large boulders protruding near the bank. Disaster seemed almost certain!
In the face of this grave danger the explorers remained calm, determining to save themselves and the boats if it were at all possible. But how?
With sinking hearts they saw the boats head directly for the rocks, where they would immediately be dashed to pieces.
“We must—we’ve got to do something!” cried Professor Bigelow, rapidly losing his nerve.
Bob and Joe were nearest the bank, and anything that could be done was up to them.
Summoning all his power, Joe thrust a sturdy pole into the roots of a large tree that grew almost in the water. He little expected anything to come of the act, but it was a last resort.
Much to the surprise and relief of all, the sudden impact forced the boat back into midstream, although Joe was nearly thrown overboard by the clash.
Bob drew a sigh of relief. A narrow escape! Perhaps the closest they would ever be to death and yet evade it.
But what of the other boat? The whites were so intent upon guiding the one they were in that they completely forgot about the one that trailed.
They quickly glanced around, to see that it had escaped also, and was dashing along behind. How the good luck was brought about they never knew.