The Willows | Page 3

join it from the Alps, and to refuse to acknowledge them when in,
but to run for miles side by side, the dividing line well marked, the very
levels different, the Danube utterly declining to recognize the
newcomer. Below Passau, however, it gave up this particular trick, for

there the Inn comes in with a thundering power impossible to ignore,
and so pushes and incommodes the parent river that there is hardly
room for them in the long twisting gorge that follows, and the Danube
is shoved this way and that against the cliffs, and forced to hurry itself
with great waves and much dashing to and fro in order to get through in
time. And during the fight our canoe slipped down from its shoulder to
its breast, and had the time of its life among the struggling waves. But
the Inn taught the old river a lesson, and after Passau it no longer
pretended to ignore new arrivals.
This was many days back, of course, and since then we had come to
know other aspects of the great creature, and across the Bavarian wheat
plain of Straubing she wandered so slowly under the blazing June sun
that we could well imagine only the surface inches were water, while
below there moved, concealed as by a silken mantle, a whole army of
Undines, passing silently and unseen down to the sea, and very
leisurely too, lest they be discovered.
Much, too, we forgave her because of her friendliness to the birds and
animals that haunted the shores. Cormorants lined the banks in lonely
places in rows like short black palings; grey crows crowded the
shingle-beds; storks stood fishing in the vistas of shallower water that
opened up between the islands, and hawks, swans, and marsh birds of
all sorts filled the air with glinting wings and singing, petulant cries. It
was impossible to feel annoyed with the river's vagaries after seeing a
deer leap with a splash into the water at sunrise and swim past the bows
of the canoe; and often we saw fawns peering at us from the underbrush,
or looked straight into the brown eyes of a stag as we charged full tilt
round a corner and entered another reach of the river. Foxes, too,
everywhere haunted the banks, tripping daintily among the driftwood
and disappearing so suddenly that it was impossible to see how they
managed it.
But now, after leaving Pressburg, everything changed a little, and the
Danube became more serious. It ceased trifling. It was half-way to the
Black Sea, within seeming distance almost of other, stranger countries
where no tricks would be permitted or understood. It became suddenly

grown-up, and claimed our respect and even our awe. It broke out into
three arms, for one thing, that only met again a hundred kilometers
farther down, and for a canoe there were no indications which one was
intended to be followed.
"If you take a side channel," said the Hungarian officer we met in the
Pressburg shop while buying provisions, "you may find yourselves,
when the flood subsides, forty miles from anywhere, high and dry, and
you may easily starve. There are no people, no farms, no fishermen. I
warn you not to continue. The river, too, is still rising, and this wind
will increase."
The rising river did not alarm us in the least, but the matter of being left
high and dry by a sudden subsidence of the waters might be serious,
and we had consequently laid in an extra stock of provisions. For the
rest, the officer's prophecy held true, and the wind, blowing down a
perfectly clear sky, increased steadily till it reached the dignity of a
westerly gale.
It was earlier than usual when we camped, for the sun was a good hour
or two from the horizon, and leaving my friend still asleep on the hot
sand, I wandered about in desultory examination of our hotel. The
island, I found, was less than an acre in extent, a mere sandy bank
standing some two or three feet above the level of the river. The far end,
pointing into the sunset, was covered with flying spray which the
tremendous wind drove off the crests of the broken waves. It was
triangular in shape, with the apex up stream.
I stood there for several minutes, watching the impetuous crimson
flood bearing down with a shouting roar, dashing in waves against the
bank as though to sweep it bodily away, and then swirling by in two
foaming streams on either side. The ground seemed to shake with the
shock and rush, while the furious movement of the willow bushes as
the wind poured over them increased the curious illusion that the island
itself actually moved. Above, for a mile or two, I