On Tuesday morning, July 14, at six o'clock, we paddled away from the
island to the foot of the lake. The outlet is entirely obscured by
reeds and wild rice, through which the water converges in almost
imperceptible current toward the river's first definite banks. This
screen penetrated, I stopped the Kleiner Fritz in mid-stream and
accurately measured width, depth and current. I found the width twenty
feet, the depth on either side of my canoe as she pointed down the
stream thirty-one inches, and the speed of the current two and
one-tenth miles to the hour. The first four miles of the infant's
course is swift and crooked, over a bed of red sand and gravel, thickly
interspersed with mussel and other small shells, and bordered with
reeds. Through these, at two points, we beat our way on foot, dragging
the canoes through unmade channels. Indeed, nearly all of these first
four miles demanded frequent leaps from the boats to direct their swift
and crooked course, until we came to a stretch of savanna country,
through which the river washes its way in serpentine windings for nine
miles with a gentle current from thirty to sixty feet wide, bordered by
high grass, bearing the appearance and having the even depth of a
canal.
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