less than fifty miles in length as the stream runs, contains the wildest, swiftest, steepest piece of river on this continent except a portion in Cataract Canyon.  The declivity is tremendous.  Between the Little Colorado and the Kanab the total fall is 890 feet, and the bulk of this drop occurs in the granite.  In one stretch of ten miles the descent is 210 feet.  All through this granite the character of the river is different from anything above.  The falls are short and violent, while the stretches in between are smooth and not always swift.  But the moment a break occurs the turbulence and commotion are instantly very great.  The summer is the wet season here, and to add to our troubles we were treated to frequent rains.  The next day toward noon, as we were sailing along between the black walls, on a rather sluggish current, a deep-toned roar was borne up to our ears.  Nothing could be seen of the cause of it, but a complete disappearance of the river from our sight warned us to make a landing as soon as possible.  Some broken rocks protruding a few feet above the water at the base of the right-hand wall afforded the desired opportunity, and running in we stepped out and mounted them.  The cause of the roaring was immediately apparent.  For a third of a mile the river was a solid mass of huge waves and foam and plunges, and on each side the granite came down so precipitously that a footing was impossible.  It took no second glance to tell us that, at least with this stage of water, there was but one course, and that was to run the place.  There is nothing like having the inner man fortified for exertion, therefore with a few bits of driftwood a fire was built, by means of which Andy prepared dinner.  When this had been disposed of operations were begun.  The Canonita was to remain here till our boat was well through.  In case we smashed up they would have a better chance, as they might profit by our course, and if we went through safely, we would be prepared to pick them up should disaster overtake them.  At last we were ready.  The crew of the Canonita placed themselves where they could carefully watch our fortunes, and we pulled up the river very close to the right-hand wall in slack current, for about a quarter of a mile, when we turned the bow out and struck for the middle, heading there straight for the descent.  I pulled the bow oars, and my back was toward the terrific roar which, like the voice of some awful monster, grew louder as we approached.  It was difficult to refrain from turning round to see what it looked like now, but as everything depended on the promptness with which Hillers and I handled our oars in obedience to Powell’s orders, I waited for the plunge, every instant ready to execute a command.  We kept in the middle of the stream, and as we neared the brink our speed began to accelerate.  Then of a sudden there was a dropping away of all support, a reeling sensation, and we flew down the declivity with the speed of a locomotive.  The gorge was