a snag-boat, the _Mandan_, at an expense ridiculously
disproportionate to its usefulness. The _Mandan_ is little more than an
excursion boat maintained for a few who are paid for indulging in the
excursions. A crew of several hundred men with shovels, picks, and
dynamite, could do more good during one low water season than such boats
could do during their entire existence.

The value of the great river as an avenue of commerce is steadily
increasing; and those who discourage the idea of "reopening" navigation
of the river, are either railroad men or persons entirely ignorant of
the geography of the Northwest. Captain Marsh would say, "Reopen
navigation? I've sailed the river sixty years, and in that time
navigation has not ceased."

Rocks could and should be removed from the various rapids, and the banks
at certain points should be protected against further cutting. A natural
canal, extending from New Orleans in the South and Cincinnati in the
East to the Rockies in the Northwest, is not to be neglected long by an
intelligent Government.

As a slow freight thoroughfare, this vast natural system of waterways is
unequalled on the globe. Within another generation, doubtless, this
all-but-forgotten fact will be generally rediscovered.

Having waited four days for the engine, we put off again with oars. It
was near sundown when we started, hungry for those thousand miles that
remained. When we had pulled in to the landing at Bismarck, we were like
boxers who stagger to their corners all but whipped. But we had
breathed, and were ready for another round. A kind of impersonal anger
at the failure of another hope nerved us; and this new fighting spirit
was like another man at the oars. Many of the hard days that followed
left on our memories little more than the impress of a troubled dream.
We developed a sort of contempt for our old enemy, the head wind--that
tireless, intangible giant that lashed us with whips of sand, drove us
into shallows, set its mighty shoulders against our prow, roared with
laughter at us when, soaked and weary, we walked and pushed our boat for
miles at a time. The quitter that is in all men more or less, often
whispered to us when we were weariest: "Why not take the train? What is
it all for?" Well, what is life for? We were expressing ourselves out
there on the windy river. The wind said we couldn't and our muscles said
we shouldn't, and the snag-boat captain had said we couldn't get
down--so we