There is a true story of a man who crossed the river Usk, England,
under circumstances where faith was far better than sight:
He had been absent on business for some time, and in the
meantime the bridge had been washed away, and a new one was
being constructed. While the buttresses were in place, he drove
up in his gig one very dark night, and gave the reins to his
horse, who, he knew, was well accustomed to the road. They
crossed safely over what he took to be the bridge, and came to
an inn near the river. The landlady asked him, being an old
acquaintance, what part of the country he had come in from.
“From Newport,” he answered. “Then you must have crossed the
river?” said the woman in astonishment. “Yes, of course. How
else could I have come?” “But how did you manage it, and in
the dark, too?” “The same as usual; there is no difficulty in
driving over the bridge, even tho it be dark.” “Bless the man!”
said the landlady, “there is no bridge to drive over. You must
have come along the planks left by the men.” “Impossible,” was
the answer; and nothing could persuade the traveler that night
that there was no bridge. But early next morning he went to the
river-side, and found, as he had been told, that the bridge was
gone. His horse had taken him safely over three planks, left by
the workmen, where one false step, to the right or to the left,
would instantly have plunged him into the swollen river beneath.
The man stood aghast at the dreadful danger he had gone through,
and so marvelously escaped. (Text.)
(1035)