smash yourself up, if you like!" I cried to the balky craft. And
then I waited to see her do it. She swung 'round sharply with the first
suck of the rapids, struck a rock, side-stepped, struck another, and
went on down, grinding and dragging on a stony reef.

It suddenly came to me that this was what they called the Grocondunez
Rapids. I remembered that they said the name meant "the big bridge of
the nose." The name had a powerful fascination for me--I wanted to hit
something good and hard somewhere in that region!

Finally she swung clear of the reef, caught the swirl of the main
current, and started for New Orleans with the bit in her teeth. I wasn't
ready to arrive in New Orleans at once; I had made other arrangements.
So I grasped a paddle and drove her into shallow water. I leaped out,
waist-deep in the cold stream, and threw my weight against her.
Pantingly, I wondered what was the exact distance to the nearest axe. I
resolved to crank her once more, and then for the axe hunt!

I leaned over the gunwale and began to grind. For the life of me, I
don't know just what I did to her; but it seemed that she had taken some
offence. Without the least warning, she leaped forward at three-quarter
speed, and started up stream with that haughty head of her thrust
skyward!

I clung desperately to her gunwale, and she dragged me insultingly in
the drink! She made a soppy rag of me! I managed to scramble
aboard--something after the fashion of a bronco-buster who mounts at a
gallop.

But the way she _traveled_! I forgot the ducking and forgave her with
all my heart. I held her nose well out into the channel where the
current ran with swells, though no wind blew.

[Illustration: THE "ATOM I" UNDER CONSTRUCTION.]

[Illustration: THE CABLE FERRY TOWED US OUT.]

[Illustration: LAID UP WITH A BROKEN RUDDER.]

Bucking the rapids, she split the fast water over her nose and sent it
aft in two clean-cut masses, that hissed about her like angry skirts. A
light, V-shaped wake spread after, scarcely agitating the surface. She
dragged no water. There was no churning at her stern. Only the dull,
sub-aqueous drone, felt rather than heard beneath the rapid banging of
her exhaust, told me how the honest little screw thrust hard.

I pushed the spark-lever close to the reversing point, and opened her
throttle wide. This acted like a bottle-fly on the flank of a spirited
mare. She shook herself, quivering through all her light, pliable