The slope of the land made the current of the river much swifter, and Robert and Willet drew in their paddles, leaving the work to Tayoga alone, who sat in the prow and guided their light craft with occasional strokes, letting the stream do the rest.
There was no more expert canoeman than Tayoga in the whole northern wilderness.

A single sweep of his paddle would send the canoe to any point he wished, and apparently it was made without effort.

There was no shortening of the breath nor any sudden and violent movement of his figure.

It was all as smooth and easy as the flowing of the water itself.

It seemed that Tayoga was doing nothing, and that the canoe once more was alive, the master of its own course.
The ocean of fire faded into a sea of gray, and then black night came, but the canoe sped on in the swift current toward the St.Lawrence.