low rushing water about a mile wide, chafing a few islands which look ready to be carried away by it. The large river Ottawa joins the St. Lawrence a short distance from this, and mingles its turbid waters with that mighty flood. The river became more and more rapid till we entered what might be termed a sea of large, cross, leaping waves, and raging waters, enough to engulf a small boat. The idea of descending it in a steamer was an extraordinary one. It is said that from the shore a vessel looks as if it were hurrying to certain destruction. Still we hurry on, with eight men at the wheel—rocks appear like snags in the middle of the stream—we dash straight down upon rocky islets, strewn with the wrecks of rafts; but a turn of the wheel, and we rush by them in safety at a speed ('tis said) of thirty miles an hour, till a ragged ledge of rock stretches across the whirling stream. Still on we go—louder roars the flood—steeper appears the descent—earth, sky, and water seem mingled together. I involuntarily took hold of the rail—the madman attempted to jump over—the flighty lady screamed and embraced more closely her poodle-dog; we reached the ledge—one narrow space free from rocks appeared—down with one plunge went the bow into a turmoil of foam—and we had "shot the cataract" of La Chine.
The exploit is one of the most agreeable which the traveller can perform, and the thick morning mist added to the apparent danger. We steamed for four or five miles farther down the river, when suddenly the great curtain of mist was rolled up as by an invisible hand, and the scene which it revealed was Montreal.
