One of the boys leapt out with the bow-rope, and the others with scull and boat-hook worked the boat round to the upper edge of the rock, and then, steadying her for the dash across, pushed off again into the swirling current and made like fiends for the bank.

Standing on the stern, managing the sheet and tiller, and with his bamboo pole ready, the laoban yelled and stamped in his excitement; there was the roar of the cataract below us, towards which we were fast edging stern on, destruction again threatened us and all seemed over, when in that moment we entered the back-wash and were again in good shelter.

And so it went on, my men with splendid skill doing always the right thing, in the right way, at the right time, with unerring certainty.
At Yehtan rapid, which is said to be the worst on the river in the winter, as the Hsintan rapid is in summer, three of the boys went ashore to haul us up the ledge of water--they were plainly insufficient.
While we were hanging on the cataract extra trackers appeared from behind the rocks and offered their services.

They could bargain with us at an advantage.

It was a case well known to all Chinese "of speaking of the price after the pig has been killed." But, when we agreed to their terms, they laid hold of the towrope and hauled us through in a moment.
Here, as at other dangerous rapids on the river, an official lifeboat is stationed.