The sweat ran down his face, he felt his muscles strain and his sinews crack, and the canoe's bow lifted as the paddle-blades beat the water.

Driscoll leaned far forward to get a longer stroke and urged the others with breathless shouts, but the shingle they were heading for slowly slipped away.
"Try along the bank," Driscoll ordered, and Thirlwell, turning to pick up a pole, saw his face in the moonlight.

It was strangely set, and he was not looking at the bank, but at the rapid.

His gaze was fixed and horrified.
For some minutes they scarcely held the craft against the stream.
Indeed, Thirlwell afterwards wondered why they kept it up, since it was obvious that they could not reach the landing, but imagined that Driscoll urged them.

The fellow seemed resolved not to be drawn into the rapid.
"We can't make it; I've got to let up," Scott gasped at length, and Thirlwell, breathing hard, wiped his wet face as the canoe drove away.
It was galling to be beaten, and there was some danger unless the craft was handled well.