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Yet here was reality enough: the Indian paddlers, stripped to the waist, their bodies glistening, as with steady, tireless strokes, they forced our canoe forward, following relentlessly the wake of the speeding boat ahead; the little group of soldiers huddled in the bows, several sleeping already, the others amusing themselves with game of cards; while just in front of me sat the priest, his fingers clasping an open book, but his eyes on the river.
Rondon, Lyra, the doctor, Cherrie, Kermit, and I, with sixteen paddlers, in seven canoes, were to descend the Duvida, and find out whether it led into the Gy-Parana, our purpose was to return and descend the Ananas, whose outlet was also unknown. Having this in view, we left a fortnight's provisions for our party of six at Bonofacio.
This was the almost universal method of construction: even the war canoes, that would carry sixty paddlers sitting two by two on a bench and thirty soldiers, being hewn from great single logs of teak. The nets were stowed one, at each end. In the middle was the fireplace, on which the brands of the fire had already been laid. Near it were the faggots and stores.
At each set of rapids the canoes were unloaded and the loads borne past on the shoulders of the camaradas; three of the canoes were paddled down by a couple of naked paddlers apiece; and the two sets of double canoes were let down by ropes, one of one couple being swamped but rescued and brought safely to shore on each occasion.
Except for a single canoe, laden with furs, and propelled by Indian paddlers, bound for Quebec and a market, we encountered no travelers. These swept past us swiftly in grip of the current, gesticulating, and exchanging salutations, and were soon out of sight. Our own boats scattered, as no danger held us together, and there were hours when we failed to have even a glimpse of their presence.
The fort fired guns and waved farewell; the paddlers struck up a voyageurs' song; and the blades dipped in rhythmic time. Mackenzie waved his hat back to the group in front of the fort gate; and then with set face headed his canoe westward for the Pacific. Recall what was happening now out on the Pacific! Robert Gray was heading home to Boston with news of the discovery of the great river.
They were maneuvered by skillful, half-naked paddlers, and I viewed their advance with definite alarm. It was obvious these Papuans had already entered into relations with Europeans and knew their ships. But this long, iron cylinder lying in the bay, with no masts or funnels what were they to make of it? Nothing good, because at first they kept it at a respectful distance.
He leaped to his feet and, peering toward the water, saw, close to the shore, a canoe manned by four stalwart paddlers. He looked closer, scarcely able to credit his eyes. And at the same moment, in response to a low-voiced order, the canoe swung abruptly shoreward and grated upon the shingle of the beach.
As they advanced I moved my boat farther and farther in beneath the overhanging wall, but at last it became evident that their craft was holding the same course. The five paddlers sent the larger boat ahead at a speed that taxed my energies to equal. Every instant I expected to feel my prow crash against solid rock.
After luncheon I went on down the river to Glenora in a fine canoe owned and manned by Kitty, a stout, intelligent-looking Indian woman, who charged her passengers a dollar for the fifteen-mile trip. Her crew was four Indian paddlers. In the rapids she also plied the paddle, with stout, telling strokes, and a keen-eyed old man, probably her husband, sat high in the stern and steered.
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