We struggled frantically and Jim bent the sweep till it seemed on the point of breaking. The best we could do was to modify the force of the current.
We bore down on the cliff like a shot, as if we were about to ram it. But we managed to swerve the boat somewhat, and we struck the rock a glancing blow that jarred our boat through and through.
The force of the impact sent me hard against the side of the boat.
How Jim kept his legs I do not know, but before I had time to struggle to my feet, we had rounded the curve and were taking a dizzying plunge down the current.
To you boys of these days, it was comparable only to shooting the chutes.
On the downward slant the experience was like that when a buggy goes around a curve on two wheels, almost tipping over.
Fortunately our boat did not capsize. I sprung and got my oar as we shot down into the boiling river.
There was no time to be frightened, only to act. A great rock rose squarely in our way.
We were rushing down on it with the speed of an express train.
Jim bent the sweep into the rushing tide of the river and I buckled to the oar. We grazed by and down the rapids we went.