They soon reached a place, however, where the river turned a sharp angle, and the waters were furiously precipitated down upon a bed of rocks, which threatened them with instant destruction.
"We shall be smashed to pieces!" exclaimed the foolhardy pilot, as his eye measured the descent of the waters. "Let's try to get ashore."
"Too late now," replied Harry, coolly. "Put her through, hit or miss."
But Ben's courage all oozed out, in the face of this imminent peril, and he made a vain attempt to push the boat toward the shore.
"Paddle your end round, Harry," gasped Ben, in the extremity of fear. "We shall be smashed to pieces."
"Too late, Ben; stand stiff, and make the best of it," answered Harry, as he braced himself to meet the shock.
The rushing waters bore the boat down the stream in spite of the feeble efforts of the pilot to check her progress. Ben seemed to have lost all his self-possession, and stooped down, holding on with both hands at the gunwale.
Down she went into the boiling caldron of waters, roaring and foaming like a little Niagara. One hard bump on the sharp rocks, and Harry heard the boards snap under him. He waited for no more, but grasping the over-hanging branches of a willow, which grew on the bank, and upon which he had before fixed his eyes as the means of rescuing himself, he sprang up into the tree, and saw Ben tumbled from the boat into the seething caldron.
"Save me, Harry!" shouted Ben.
But Harry had to save himself first, which, however, was not a difficult matter. Swinging himself from branch to branch till he reached the trunk of the willow, he descended to the ground, without having even wet the soles of his shoes.