"
"Good stuff, Jonas!" exclaimed Harden. "Can you row?"
"Brought up on the Potomac," replied Jonas.
"All right, folks," cried Milton. "We're off."
The Ida would have shot the rapid successfully, but for one important
point. It was necessary, in order to land on the right side of the
whirlpool, to steer to the right of a tall, finger-like rock, that
protruded from the water at the bottom of the rapids. About a boat's
length from this rock, however, a sudden wave shot six feet into the
air, throwing the Ida off its course, and drenching the crew, so that
they entered the churning tureen at a speed of twenty miles an hour and
almost at the middle of the stream.
"Pull to the right wall! To the right!" roared Milton. But he might
as well have roared to the wind. Enoch and Forrester rose from their
seats and threw the whole weight of their bodies on their oars. But
the noiseless power of the whirlpool thrust the Ida mercilessly toward
the center.
"Harder!" panted Milton, straining with all his might at the steering
oar. "Put your back into her, Judge! Bend to it, Forr!"
Enoch's breath came in gasps. His palms, the cords of his wrists felt
powerless. His toe muscles cramped in agony. As in a mist he saw the
right wall recede, felt the boat twist under his knees like a
disobedient horse.
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