which a boat would have to pass.

We knew, too, how Major Powell, undismayed by legends of underground
channels, impassable cataracts, and whirlpools; of bloodthirsty tribes
haunting its recesses,--had passed through the canyons in safety,
measuring and surveying as he went. We also knew of the many other
attempts that had been made--most of them ending in disaster or death,
a very few being successful.

Well, it had been done;[1] it could be done again--this was our answer
to their premonitions.

We had present worries enough to keep us from dwelling too much on the
future. It had been our intention to start two weeks earlier, but
there had been numerous unavoidable delays. The river was low; "the
lowest they had seen it in years" they told us, and falling lower
every day. There were the usual difficulties of arranging a lot of new
material, and putting it in working order.

At last we were ready for the boats, and you may be sure we lost no
time in having them hauled to the river, and launching them.

They were beauties--these two boats of ours--graceful, yet strong in
line, floating easily, well up in the water, in spite of their five
hundred pounds' weight. They were flat-bottomed, with a ten-inch rake
or raise at either end; built of white cedar, with unusually high
sides; with arched decks in bow and stern, for the safe storing of
supplies. Sealed air chambers were placed in each end, large enough to
keep the boats afloat even if filled with water. The compartment at
the bow was lined with tin, carefully soldered, so that even a leak in