"Bad water, but no rocks." The rumble expanded to a roar, the roar to a boom that charged the air with heaviness, with a dreamy burr.

The whole indistinct world appeared to be moving to the lash of wind, to the sound of rain, to the roar of the river.

The boat shot down and sailed aloft, met shock on shock, breasted leaping dim white waves, and in a hollow, unearthly blend of watery sounds, rode on and on, buffeted, tossed, pitched into a black chaos that yet gleamed with obscure shrouds of light.

Then the convulsive stream shrieked out a last defiance, changed its course abruptly to slow down and drown the sound of rapids in muffling distance.

Once more the craft swept on smoothly, to the drive of the wind and the rush of the rain.
By midnight the storm cleared.