The day after, we descended the Cascades. They are the beginning of an immense fall in the level, and form a succession of rapids nearly two miles long. The excitement of this passage is rather too great for pleasure. It is like being run away with by a 'motor' down a steep hill. The bow of the canoe is often several feet below the stern, as if about to take a 'header.' The water, in glassy ridges and dark furrows, rushes headlong, and dashes itself madly against the reefs which crop up everywhere. There is no time, one thinks, to choose a course, even if steerage, which seems absurd, were possible. One is hurled along at railway speed. The upreared rock, that a moment ago seemed a hundred yards off, is now under the very bow of the canoe. One clenches one's teeth, holds one's breath, one's hour is surely come. But no - a shout from the Indians, a magic stroke of the paddle in the bow, another in the stern, and the dreaded crag is far above out heads, far, far behind; and, for the moment, we are gliding on - undrowned.

At the lower end of the rapids (our Indians refusing to go further), we had to debark. A settler here was putting up a zinc house for a store. Two others, with an officer of the Mounted Rifles - the regiment we had left at the Dalles - were staying with him. They welcomed our arrival, and insisted on our drinking half a dozen of poisonous stuff they called champagne. There were no chairs or table in the 'house,' nor as yet any floor; and only the beginning of a roof. We sat on the ground, so that I was able surreptitiously to make libations with my share, to the earth.

According to my journal: 'In a short time the party began to be a noisy one. Healths were drunk, toasts proposed, compliments to our respective nationalities paid in the most flattering terms. The Anglo-Saxon race were destined to conquer the globe. The English were the greatest nation under the sun - that is to say, they had been. America, of course, would take the lead in time to come. We disputed this. The Americans were certain of it, in fact this was already an accomplished fact. The big officer - a genuine "heavy" - wanted to know where the man was that would give him the lie! Wasn't the Mounted Rifles the crack regiment of the United States army? And wasn't the United States army the finest army in the universe? Who that knew anything of history would compare the Peninsular Campaign to the war in Mexico? Talk of Waterloo - Britishers were mighty fond of swaggering about Waterloo! Let 'em look at Chepultapec. As for Wellington, he couldn't shine nohow with General Scott, nor old Zack neither!'

Then, WE wished for a war, just to let them see what our crack cavalry regiments could do. Mounted Rifles forsooth!

Mounted costermongers! whose trade it was to sell 'nutmegs made of wood, and clocks that wouldn't figure.' Then some pretty forcible profanity was vented, fists were shaken, and the zinc walls were struck, till they resounded like the threatened thunder of artillery.