On the morning of the 1st of May we set out from the Cedars, the barge
very deep and very leaky. The captain, a daring rash man, refused to
take a pilot. After we passed the Cedar rapid, not without danger, the
captain called for some rum, swearing, at the same time, that ---- could
not steer the barge better than he did! Soon after this we entered the
Split-rock rapids by a wrong channel, and found ourselves advancing
rapidly towards a dreadful watery precipice, down which we went. The
barge slightly grazed her bottom against the rock, and the fall was so
great as to nearly take away the breath. We here took in a great deal of
water, which was mostly baled out again before we were hurried on to
what the Canadians call the "grand bouillon," or great boiling. In
approaching this place the captain let go the helm, saying, "Here we
fill!" The barge was almost immediately overwhelmed in the midst of
immense foaming breakers, which rushed over the bows, carrying away
planks, oars, &c. About half a minute elapsed between the filling and
going down of the barge, during which I had sufficient presence of mind
to rip off my three coats, and was loosening my suspenders, when the
barge sunk, and I found myself floating in the midst of people, baggage,
&c. Each man caught hold of something; one of the crew caught hold of
me, and kept me down under water, but, contrary to my expectation, let
me go again.
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