A young man and his sister have kept this ferry several years, during
which they have performed many acts of heroic benevolence, and have
rescued numbers of their fellow creatures from a watery grave. One of
these had so much of perilous adventure in it, that I shall make no
apology for giving some account of it, the more especially as I was
myself one of the trembling and anxious spectators of the whole scene.
A raft of timber, on its way down the river to the nearest port, was
dashed to pieces by the violence of the rapids. There was the usual
number of men upon it, all of whom, except two, were fortunate enough to
get upon a few logs, which kept together, and were comparatively safe,
while their two poor comrades, were helplessly contending with the
tumbling waves, almost within reach of them, but without their being
able to afford them the slightest assistance. After a minute or two, and
when one more would have been their last, a long oar or sweep,
belonging to the wretched raft, came floating by. They instantly seized
it, and held on till they were carried down more than a mile, loudly
calling for help as they went along; but what aid could we render them?
No craft, none, at least, which were on the banks of the river, could
live in such a boiling torrent as that; for it was during one of the
high spring freshets. But the ferryman was of a different opinion, and
could not brook the thought of their dying before his eyes without his
making a single effort to save them. "How could I stand idly looking
on," he said to me afterward, "with a tough ash oar in my hand, and a
tight little craft at my feet, and hear their cries for help, and see
them drowned?" He determined, at all risks, to try to rescue them from
the fate which seemed to us inevitable. He could not, however, go alone,
and there was not another man on that side of the river within half a
mile of him. His sister knew this, and, courageously, like another Grace
Darling, proposed, at once, to accompany him in his perilous adventure.
From being so often on the water with her brother, she knew well how to
handle an oar. Often, indeed, without him she had paddled a passenger
across the ferry in her little canoe. He accepted her proposal, and we
had the satisfaction of seeing the light punt put off from the shore
opposite to that from which we were idly and uselessly looking on, and
go gallantly over the surging torrent toward the sinking men. We feared,
however, that it would not be in time to save them, as their cries for
help grew fainter and fainter, till each one, we thought, would have
been their last. We saw that the oar, with the drowning men clinging to
it, was floating rapidly down the middle of the stream, which, in this
particular locality, is more than a quarter of a mile in breadth, and
would inevitably, in two or three minutes more, be in the white water
among the breakers, when their fate must be sealed, and the boat, if it
followed, dashed to pieces among the rocks. This was the principal point
of danger, and they had to run down within a most fearful proximity of
it, to cross the course down which the drowning men were drifting, and,
as they did so, to seize hold of them without losing their own headway;
for there was not time for that. They succeeded in shooting athwart the
current, rapid as it was, just below the men. With breathless and
painful anxiety we saw them execute this dangerous manoeuver. We saw the
ferryman lean over the side of his boat, for a moment, as it passed
them, while his sister backed water with her oar.
"They are saved!" some one said, close behind me, in a whisper so deep
and earnest that I started, and turned to look at the speaker; when
another, who heard him, exclaimed, "No, no! they are gone! they are
lost! the boat has left them!" And sure enough, it had. But, in an
instant afterward, just as we thought they were about to be driven into
the fatal breakers, they turned, to our inexpressible delight, as if
drawn by some invisible power (the rope the ferryman had attached to the
oar was, indeed, invisible to us,) and followed the boat.
The ferryman and his sister had yet to pull a fearful distance for the
time they had to do it in, to get out of that part of the current
leading to the breakers: and they accomplished it. The man had the bow
oar, and we could see the tough ash bend like a willow-wand as he
stretched out to keep the head of the boat partially up the stream. His
sister, too, "kept her own," and the little punt shot out rapidly into
the comparatively quiet stream, beyond the influence of the fearful
current, which was rapidly driving them upon the breakers. When this was
accomplished, our fears for the noble-hearted brother and sister were at
an end, and we took a long breath; it was, indeed, a relief to do so.
Still we continued to watch their further proceedings with the
deepest interest.
The moment they got into a less rapid current, which, they knew, led
into comparatively still water they ceased rowing, and allowed the punt
to float down with it. The young ferryman now drew up the sweep
alongside, and succeeded in getting the two unfortunate men into his
boat. While he was doing this, his sister went aft, and used her oar as
a rudder to steer the boat. At the foot of the current, which they soon
afterward reached, there was no further danger. But we watched them
still; and we saw them row ashore, on their own side of the river. One
of the poor fellows was so much exhausted, that the ferryman had to
carry him on his back to the nearest house, where he soon recovered.
Twelve months after this took place, I had the satisfaction of
presenting to this worthy ferryman, in the presence of above five
hundred men, a beautiful silver medallion, sent out to me by the Royal
Humane Society--to which I had transmitted an account of the occurrence.
Nor was the heroine of my story forgotten. A similar medallion was given
to him for his sister. She could not, with propriety, be present
herself, as it was the annual muster-day of the militia in
that locality.