We didn't expect to see him again that afternoon, for the pace he was leading should have carried him miles in no time; but while he couldn't swim, Dutchy had his own ideas of fun on the water. It was about twenty minutes later that we saw him coming down-stream lying full length on one of the 2-inch planks taken from the bridge wreck. He was paddling himself along with arms and legs hung over the sides of the plank. We all gave him a cheer, and then started out to have some fun with him. We tried to pull him off his raft, but he stuck on like a leech. It was only when we made his craft turn turtle that Dutchy got his head under water. But it wasn't a moment before he scrambled back on top again, gasping and sputtering to get the water out of his nose and mouth.

Fig. 86. Swimming on a Plank.

Uncle Ed all this time had been sunning himself on the bank, when suddenly he uttered a shout of warning. We were right at the mouth of the mill-race. For the moment we forgot about Dutchy, and swam out for shore. Before we realized it Dutchy was caught in the current, and was being swept full tilt down the stream. My but wasn't he scared. I can see him yet clinging for dear life to the plank, his face the color of ashes and his eyes bulging out in terror. First he tried to make for the bank, but the water was so swift that when the front end of the board struck land the rear end swung around in a circle, carrying him on again, but backward this time, before we could reach him. Two or three more times the plank struck the bank and turned him around, while we raced along the high bank, scrambling down to catch him every time he headed for shore, but each time just missing him. Then he swung out past the Tiger's Tail into the open river just above the rapids. Fortunately he was going along headforemost this time, and Uncle Ed, who had just arrived, panting and breathless, from running, shouted to him to keep his head and steer for a narrow opening between two jutting boulders. I don't know whether Dutchy did any steering or not, but the raft shot straight through the opening, and was lost in a cloud of spray. In a moment he reappeared below the rapids, paddling like mad for a neck of land on the Pennsylvania side of the river.

Dutchy would never own up that he was afraid. He never told a lie under other circumstances, but when it came to a question of courage he had the habit of stretching facts to the very limit. Even in this case, he said that he started out with the idea of shooting the rapids, and if we hadn't flustered him so, he would not have bumped into the bank and turned about so many times. Dutchy was a very glib talker. He nearly persuaded us that it was all done intentionally, and his thrilling account of the wild dash between the rocks and through the shower of spray stirred us up so that we all had to try the trick too.